> Sufficiently Advanced
>  by Lord Of Dorkness
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> A Small Preamble From The Author
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have tried to keep the science of this as hard as possible, but for the tale I wished to tell I needed three decently sized fibs.

In this story, it is the year 2310 and humanity has mastered quantum-physics to the point that certain quantum-effects may be applied on a macro-sized, aka, daily-life level. This is a theoretically possible phenomena, but there is no current even hypothetical way of causing them, let alone in a predictable and controllable manner.

In the same field, a way has been found to cause vacuum energy to last long enough to be used or converted. This is currently hotly-debated if even possible, as well if such zero-point energy is actually potent enough to be worth the effort it would take to ‘tap.’

The graviton is one of the current hypothesis for how gravity works and is currently completely unproven. In the SA universe that particle has not only been proven, but mastered almost as well as electricity.

The short version: I wanted teleportation, ‘telekinesis’, force-fields, energy-constructs and anti-gravity in my story about pastel-colored unicorn-cyborgs with detachable heads meeting pastel-colored magical ponies. 

In other words, anything that involves the devices with the name HORN or mentions of gravitons is to be taken with a bit of salt, but with all other sci-fi things I’ve done my utmost to keep them grounded completely in the sci part of the pool rather than the fi one.

If you notice anything (except the above) being wrong, then please inform me in the comments and I will do my best to either correct it or add it to the above list depending on how much it impacts the story.

> Chapter One - Some Assembly Required
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sol Guard HQ. London, Earth.

Monday January 31, 2310.

The offices of Captain Blake Gregory.





My head hit my wooden desk with a soft thud, as the growing headache got a bit too much for me.

It’s just crew recruitment and placements. Why must something that simple be such a political headache? I glared slightly at the pastel colored folders beneath and beside my head, daring them to start making sense.

I vaguely heard my door open, as my assistant poked her head in. “You all right, boss?”

And of course the one person that actually wondered what’s bothering me, is the one in the building that I would be extremely stupid to talk about this with…

I let out a deep, deep sigh and sat up. 

And gave the pink unicorn mare in front of me a long look. Long enough to make her shift uncomfortably.

That was when I decided. Fuck it.  “Would you mind telling me about your mom, #431?”

The pink… whatever the fuck the right name for an android shaped like a cartoon pony is. Blinked her crystal blue eyes, before tilting her head and looking a bit suspicious at me. “...Why?”

I gave a small smile at that. Not a drop of blood in her, and she’s still defensive about ‘good ol’ mum...’ 

Perhaps this might be simpler than I thought.

I pointed to the chair in front of my desk. “She’s one of the last minute candidates for the Pheidippides… consider this a interview of a relative…”

#431’s cheeks did the strange squeaking sound I had never understood the purpose off by grinning so wide I almost saw her tonsils, before bounding over to the offered seat.

I stifled a chuckle with a fake cough. “Would you like some water, or something? Before we begin?”

She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “...Wouldn't it be my job to bring that? The whole secretary thing?”

I let out a laugh, before getting out of my seat. “Tell you what? How about we fudge the protocol, just this once?” I’m feeling a bit peckish, how about you? We could do this over a early lunch...”

#431 suddenly looked interested. “Real food?”

I raised a questioning eyebrow at the wo- mare.

She scratched the back off her head in embarrassment, the smart-fibre that made up her ha- mane bouncing back into the normal mess that made a decent impression of a rat’s nest. I’d pressed on that and the dress-code , but apparently it was a religious thing...“...Well, this is a bit embarrassing, but this frame is mostly for looks. I can’t actually eat with it… I usually just charge it overnight.”

Ah. Should have know, considering she very seldom even bothers with clothes… Not that this particular frame had anything to hide, but still. 

“I see…” Curiosity got the better of me. “Do you actually need to sleep? Just curious…”

She let out a laugh. “Now, anybody but you asking that, Mr. Gregory? I’d think such a person would be leading me on for some cruel joke on the ‘tin-man’s’ expense…”

“Have anybody here given you that kind of trouble?” I quickly asked at hearing the slur, face set hard. “If so, say the word. We do not tolerate discrimination of any type here.”

#431 blinked away a few tears…  but smiled while doing so, so I forced myself to relax.

“Thank you,” she said. “but no. I've been treated very well here.”

She blushed slightly. “...Actually, it was mostly a poor joke leading up to…” She cleared her throat, looking nervous. “‘Or a poor attempt at flirting…’”

She fidgeted slightly, as my cheeks caught fire. “I know only a week or two before going on a cramped research vehicle is poor timing, I honestly don’t know how you feel about AI’s in that regard…” She gulped, looking nervous as hell. “...but I’ve been trying to breach the subject for… month now, and it just never came up…”

I leaned back, letting out the breath I’d been holding. The sight of her ears falling nearly broke my heart. “...Let me think, OK?”

Her ears perked up, and she smiled hesitatingly. I closed my eyes as I thought it over…

On one hand… she was smart, clever, a hard worker, cute…

On the other… she was a AI.

Based on a rea- 

A nor- 

A person, but still. Did I really want to risk all the potential complications of dating a underling and somebody that might show up to work wearing a tank? And that wasn't even counting long term complications...

But a thought struck me. I opened my eyes and gave her a level look. “Promise you're not just trying to grease the way for your mom by seducing the Captain?”

She gave me this adorable pout. “Do you think I’m that cynic? Really?”

“No, but you have this thing where you try to do as many things at once at possible, just because your brain can handle it…” I just had to smile a bit. “Can you blame a man, for seeing a pattern?”

She fidgeted a bit. “...I must admit, physically seeing mom… by being led up the gangplank on such a prestigious vessel, arm in arm with the Captain? I’m… a bit tempted trying to arrange things, yes…” She suddenly looked dead serious. “But I wouldn't even think about it, if I didn't find you attractive. Pinkie promise.”

She started doing the rhyme and the gestures, but I waved her off. “I’ll take your word for it…” She smiled, and I leaned back again. “You are aware even this might cause complications for both of us?”

“Wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was worth it…” She ended the sentence by fluttering her eyelashes at me.

I must admit… she was damn exotic, but I couldn't help but feel a bit affected by that. It is hardly everyday a friend near throws themselves at you…

That I knew she had complete control off how she looked below the neck… I must admit, more than a part of me got interested at the prospect of what such a date might entail.

“You're OK with the chance that you might need to switch boss? Sol Guard doesn't have any rules against inter-company relations... but the higher ups are almost guaranteed to move you if this leads to more than a date or two…”

She nodded once, eyes near burning with desire. “Would it matter if I let slip I’m technically a princess? Mom never did get around to take back that declaration of being the Queen of The Rock Farm… then people thought she was serious and started humoring her...”

“...Seriously?” I said, smiling softly.

“Well, I’m not exactly next in line…” #431 said. “But the title is real!”

“Princess Pinkie Pie #431… that’s seriously your full name?”

“Actually, its Princess Pinkamena Diane Pie #431…” #431 coughed embarrassedly into a hoof. “Mom isn't very good with original names…”

I could not help myself. “...Ran out of them, perhaps?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” “#431 said. “But seriously, big sis #2 was only meant as an experiment in personality backuping, mom refined the design with #3, then experimented a bit with big bro #4…” She gave a tiny shrug. “And then… Well, people change, right? As mom tells it, she looked up one day and realized that she had a house full of other people that she had made… Thus, the mom thing. The number names became something of a family tradition after that.”

I just had to shake my head at that, but I was smiling as I did so. That was both one of the weirdest and sweetest things I've heard… “I take it family reunions get complicated?”

“We use a modified augmented reality IFF system with a name-tag and biography function,” she said, without any hesitation. “Don’t get me wrong, I love them all… but even thinking about trying to remember all that info gives me a headache.”

I wondered briefly if it was wise, but curiosity got the better of me.“...No dad?”

#431 made a vague gesture with a hoof. “Well~l… Yes… and no, in a way. Since I remember everything mom did up to the point of my forking, I do remember dad slash grand-dad… but I never actually met the man. Does that make sense?”

“...Did something happen to him?” I quickly added. “Sorry if I bring forth any bad memories, but since your mom is still alive and thriving…”

“He chose to stay baseline.” #431 looked a bit sad, but gave a weak smile and shrugged. “It was what he wanted. I… honestly don’t get that viewpoint, but he died content after a… long life. I eve-... I meant mom, even got to say goodbye. Has to count for something, right?”

I nodded slowly, pretending I hadn't heard the hesitation between ‘a’ and ‘long life...’ 

I glanced down at the pink folder with three balloons, the personal folder of the third oldest human alive. Somebody that remembered a time when Mars and Venus where distant dreams… and not carefully tended homeworlds… 

Then I looked up at her youngest daughter, that knew the majority she did. Somebody like that… should have a story or two, to tell…

Call me a sucker for older women.

I gave her my sweetest smile. “Sure, I would love to have dinner with you. Any preferences in time and place?”

She grinned wide enough to do the squeak thing again. “...How about you let me and mine pull some strings. Pick you up at seven on Friday? Your place?”

“...Oh?” 

“Please~e?” She pleaded, giving me a disturbingly effective try at puppy-dog eyes. “It would give me enough time to pull of something… impressive.”

I rested my cheek against my hand. “I thought you wanted to be ‘your own mare...’ if I remember the job interview tapes correctly.”

She just giggled at me. “Please, this is completely different. That was business, this is family business.” I must admit, the way she nearly drooled when she looked at me felt good. “Do you have any idea how long it was since we welcomed a new person into the fold? Even if this completely blows up in my face, it will still make almost all my siblings green with envy!”

I raised an eyebrow. “What, a date?”

She shrugged, eyes still near smoldering. “People have this insulting idea that we Pie’s are near clones of each other… it gets very irritating.” She actually licked her lips suggestively, right there and then. “You don’t.”

I coughed a bit embarrassed, and sat up straight. “Thank you, it feels nice having somebody show interest like that… But perhaps we should focus on the work at hand?”

She fluttered her eyelids once, before giggling and getting a bit more serious. “Fine, what do you want to know?”

I reached forward and tapped the folders, before spreading them out. There were eight in total. Light blue, white, green, purple, yellow, a darker blue, orange and finally, pink. 

#431’s eyes widened, and I could almost see the ge- see her thinking.

She looked up wide eyed at me, I nodded towards them. “Is it alright if I’m a bit candid?”

She just laughed at that. “You're a friend, boss. I might hope to become more than that to you, but the day I make a fuss over a friend telling me the truth is the day I jump into a recycler. Shoot.”

“I know that these are very impressive people with merit lists each taller than I am and I don’t mean any disrespect…” Now it was my turn to fidget a bit. “...but I don’t get the pony thing. I was hoping you could offer some perspective…?”

“Ah, so a humanoid frame for the first date, then?” Then she wiggled her eyebrows at me.

My cheeks started burning. #431 just giggled.

Then her eyes widened, making her stop mid giggle. “...Oh. My. God.”

I tapped the pink folder, giving her an incredulous look. “I believe we were already talking about her, yes…”

She just waved me off. “Let me get my laptop!”

Then she galloped to her desk, yanked the poor computer in question of it so hard I almost wondered if she might have broken it, before galloping back. The computer trailing behind her in the glow of her HORN.

“...And the thing that is so important is…?”

She put the laptop on my desk facing me. “I get to show my boss MLP:FIM… on company time! For a actual research purpose!” She clapped her hooves together under her chin, grinning wide. “And I got a date! This is the best day ever!”

Looked a bit worried at the ludicrously tiny video window… or more precise, the watermark in the corner.

“#431… what is that level three memetics warning doing there?”

#431 leaned over the screen and snorted at what she saw, before looking up and leaning back again. “Freaking nanny state… It’s just a really good show, OK?”

“You sure?”

“Come on, boss. The memetics classes are a complete joke. Like anybody pays attention to anything about them. Twinkle Little Star is a four, for fucks sake. What’s the worst that can happen? You getting a new favorite?”

“...I’m more worried about not being able to get the damn thing out of my head…” I muttered, to #431 clear amusement. 

I gently folded the laptop’s screen down. “How about a rain-check and you just give me a quick summary? 

“Boss…” she said, reopening the laptop. “Trust me, seeing is believing. They’re only twenty minutes a pop, anyway. By the time I’ve gotten you the rundown... Well, why not get the info from the horse’s mouth, anyway?”

I gave the grinning pony automaton a long look. “...Seriously?”

“Oh, please. As if this is the first time I've been horsing around.” #431 said, still grinning. “Or are you one of these neigh sayers that don’t like puns?”

I couldn't resist. “You know, I really thought you were one of the stable ones…”

“Please, I’m completely sane and healthy… I just happen to be a little horse.”

I groaned, before giving a slow clap. “That’s it. You win.”

“Aww, getting colt feet already? How can I be whinnying when I’m still foal of ideas!”

I gave her a warning glare, but I couldn't stop myself from smiling a bit.

“Just one more, promise!” I against my better judgment, I waved her on…

She backed off from the desk, rose on her back-legs… and then the shrieks of an electric-guitar started forcing themselves out of her throat, as she rocked out on a air-guitar.

I facepalmed.

“Sorry, but that one is a fav of mine… I just had to do it!”

“I must admit, that was a fun distraction…” I waved towards the computer. “But shall we?”

She waved me off. “You go ahead, I've got some paperwork and I've seen them all a dozen times over.“ She paused in the door and turned her head back towards me. “Oh, and the first two are a bit weird compared to the rest. Give it a few more then that, OK?”

With a shrug, I leaned back and got started. My door clicked softly as #431 got back to work.

The resolution was atrocious, but not that bad considering the age of the thing. It seemed clear that somebody had spent quite a bit on maintaining the clips...

I had to pause and think a bit, as soon as the opening ‘theme’ finished. A bit cutesy, but seemed like decent fantasy fare...

But reshaping yourself to look like the characters good? I must admit I doubted it. 

Perhaps it was a generation gap I simply couldn't grasp?

I reached for the folders, and rifled through them until I had pictures of all the remaining candidates…

Truth be told, there were dozens more… but these folders had somewhat jumped out at me…

My eyes flickered towards my door. Had a certain mare planned that part? The colors and pics were family crests of a sort and the rules allowed the folders to be customized like that for easier identification…

With a shrug, I opened all the folders in front me, so I could more easily make comparisons.

And what really jumped out at me, was the sheer age on display. The youngest among them was only so with a few decades…Bloody hell, most of them had been born during the twentieth century!  All in all, these folders represented nearly three millennia of expertise…

I gently tapped the armrest of my chair as I thought it over. That… would be something of an asset, alright. 

My eyes drifted over to the screen, and the smiling purple unicorn on it… 

But was it worth the PR nightmare? There has been quite a bit of push-back against both the Pheidippides and transhumans lately… Do I dare combine those two into one shitstorm?

My eyes drifted back to my desk, but to the larger stack of plain folders I hadn't even cracked open yet.

That kind of expertise would be more than nice… but the biggest asset would be the flexibility of the phylactery/frame system they all possessed. Something I could get with people that… Well, actually looked human, to be blunt…

My eyes went to the door this time. But yet again… I had one ‘pony’ as a underling, and #431 had so far been scary effective. So effective in fact, that I wondered if she actually had any paperwork left…

Or had she simply left me alone to come to that conclusion myself?

Humanity's first attempt at a manned mission outside our solar system…

I had asked for the best of the best… so why was I hesitating in actually calling them in?

A image formed in my mind, of getting there but not home and looking out over a sea of faces…

A shudder swept through me.

...And having to even think I hadn't done every damn thing in my power to ensure success for such an important task.

I made my decision. “Hey, #431?”

She stuck her head through the door so fast I almost suspected teleportation. “Yes?” she said, looking a bit excited but nervous.

I tapped the pink folder again. “I saw repeated mentions of these girls working together… Would getting one of them improve the chances of recruiting all of them, and if so, in which order?”

Her jaw dropped, but only for a moment. “...Uh, not to toot my own horn, but the only way I could even imagine mom saying no to such an adventure, would be if I didn't vouch for you as a Captain…” She grinned wickedly. “Slightest chance you’d accept a few of my siblings, as well? Just a few, a hundred or two…”

I thought it over… 

A couple of hundred of the Pie clan.

In an enclosed space.

Perhaps for years, if things did go wrong.

But I sadly had to shake my head, even if it would have almost been worth it just for the look on those neo-luddite twits faces... “Sorry, #431.” Her ears fell, but her smile remained. “The general positions are already filled. What I need are specialists.”

She shrugged, but her ears perked up again, “Had to ask, boss.”

I waved a hand dismissively, smiling softly. “No worries, I get it.”

Then I leaned forward, a bit more serious. “I also noticed that thanks to you being a personality fork, your mom being friends with these girls…”

#431 waved me off, looking completely unfazed at my implied accusation. “Boss, care to compare thickness of the piles? I assure you, familiarity had nothing to do with it.”

My eyes darted to the three or four dozen normal folders… that was almost as thick as the other eight.

I let out a small sigh. “I see your point. What order would you recommend?”

#431 let out a small cough. “They are a bit… old fashioned, when it comes to certain things. Mom and the others will probably want to hear this offer face to face…”

My jaw fell. “Wha…?”

#431 sat down on her haunches and held her fore-legs up defensively. “Just saying what might improve the chances of a yes, boss. They would see it as a rare and polite gesture.”

I rubbed at my temples, as I felt my headache return. “You certain?”

#431 just gave me a level look. 

“Right, right… that was a stupid question.” I leaned back, trying to relax a bit. “So, any modifications to the order considering that?”

Her HORN lit up, and the orange and purple folders floated towards me in a blue nimbus.

I took them, and started tentatively re-reading them.

“Twilight and Applejack are holding a lecture right here in London…” She smiled, so innocently it simply had to be fake. “...this Friday. Late afternoon, but before dinner, even.” 

I raised an eyebrow at the smiling mare, over the folders. 

“I even have tickets….” she near purred.

I barked out a little laugh. “Aren't you the little chess-master…”

She let out a giggle I had to admit was completely adorable. “Love and war, boss. Love and war…”

“I must admit, that could work,…” I gently put the folders back on the desk. “but that is a few days away yet. Surely there must be time to reach at least one or two, before that.”

She pointed at the lighter blue. “Asteroid mining in the asteroid field…”

The yellow. “On the moon, building and maintaining drones for the terraforming project…”

The green. “On Venus, working as a MD…”

The pink, smiling a bit wider. “Well, Queen of The Rock Farm.”

I grunted, I should have seen that one coming, at least…

The white. “And I think Rarity is doing something in Sahara…”

I sat up straight in surprise. “You think?” It wasn't like #431 to speak of ‘maybes...’

“Rarity has a tendency to fall off the grid when testing new designs, “ she said, giving a tiny shrug. “Something about less distractions and getting more time with Sweetie… I've got the coordinates for her camp, but that is it.”

She perked up a bit. “On the other hand I can almost guarantee she’d be very impressed with a young gentleman that bothered to track her down, during such circumstances…”

I grunted, before flipping open the white folder.

A press-photo, from some manner of press conference fittingly enough. She had a similar phylactery design to #431, but a bit leaner and regal. Her colors were white for the pelt and she had a purple mane, tied up in a carefully styled bun.

I had to bite back a small whistle. The frame she was wearing was human… and one of those designer jobs were the curves starts at the ankles.  In conjunction with the black cocktail-dress and jewelry that seemed each to be in a similar price class…

The woman practically screamed “Rich enough to be this eccentric!”

If it wasn't for the jarring line at the at the bottom of the neck where snow white pelt met equally flawless and white skin, and her equine face…

Well, even then, that kind of body wouldn't have looked natural even if it had been… but it was a gorgeous piece of work, either way.

I scanned the rest… and a name jumped out at me.

“...Carousel Boutique Cybernetics… Where have I heard that before?” I thought outloud.

My concentration was broken by #431 tapping her head with a hoof. “She invented the phylactery and frames system, boss. CBC isn't that big a company, but their stuff is, if you follow…”

My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, as I connected the dots. “...Well, I guess I should have seen something like that coming when I asked for the best of the best and it actually was taken seriously…”

“Word of advice, boss,” #431 said, sounding serious. “Don’t remind her of the whole second oldest person alive thing. She’s proud of all she’s done, but she doesn't care to be reminded of that bit.”

“Duly noted…” I muttered. “Out of morbid curiosity, which one of these are the oldest?”

She bit back a laugh, and tapped the blue folder with… A cloud shooting a rainbow colored thunderbolt, really?

Some incredulity must have flashed across my face, because #431 patted the folder, almost... relevantly. “You’d never know just from how she acts… But she was actually old enough to to remember the moonlanding.”

My brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s so special about having gone to the moon? I mean, we are working on it, but there’s really nothi-”

Then my mind and face went blank, as the former registered the The.

#431 just nodded slowly, as she saw my mind catch up with my mouth. “...You're serious?” I managed in a near whisper.

“Born the thirteenth of February 1945…” #431 shivered slightly. “...in Dresden, Germany.”

“...You’re serious?”

#431 let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah…You know that expression about a silver spoon?  Dash got a black cat that had swallowed a mirror, instead… Her mom literally had to run for her life in the middle of labor.”

“...And then?”

#431 shifted nervously. “...Sorry, boss… but I think I've said too much already. She’s a friend and this is getting a bit personal.”

I gave a grunt. My curiosity aside, she had a point. She gave me a relieved smile in turn.

I tapped my chin thoughtfully. One’s birth was one thing… but mining at one of our furthest frontiers? “...Something of a tough-girl, then? A survivor?”

#431 nodded absentmindedly. “Oh, yes.” She hesitated a moment, before shrugging. “She was one of the first that got augmented without a previous health defect. Her… eyes, I believe? Or was it the legs? I've forgotten.”

A shiver snaked down my spine. “She actually did something like that…” #431 gave me a warning glare, but I pressed on. “...before the development of cloned limbs? What if she’d suffered complications?”

#431 blinked and relaxed a bit. “Oh, you meant it like that? Well, sure. Somebody had to be first, right?”

 I nodded absentmindedly. Trite, but true.

She rubbed the back of her head, looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry about being defensive, boss. But I've had one to many one sided debates about my and mom’s choices, if you follow…”

I tapped the other blue folder, the one with a magic wand and glitter on it. “Fine, fine… But this Trixie character… I take it is a bit more complicated than just going to Vegas and asking nicely?”

“Actually, should be,” #431 said. “She’s a colossal drama queen, but she tends to be reasonable. I was about to recommend to try her and then Rarity. We should be back just before Friday if we do things that way…”

“And that would make it four out of eight…” I hummed softly as I thought it over. “Are the Pheidippides standard graviton engines ready for a shakedown run? It might be a good two birds, one stone scenario...”

#431’s eyes got obscured by text, projected on her eyes and HUD as a courtesy to me and anybody else that wondered what she was doing.,The text was scrolling so fast it was a black blur and was gone as fast as it had appeared. “Sorry, boss. Echidna just told me there has been another delay. New estimate is two weeks from now…”

I kept my face neutral, but mentally I raised an eyebrow. Echidna was one of the few AI’s that freaked me out, but she was damn good at her job. “Shipping mix up?”

#431 gritted her teeth. “Bomb threats from those damn fanatics again. Every time one gets in, the work needs to stop until a scan and a sweep can be done…”

I nodded sagely. Why kill one, when you can cripple and thus slow everyone? Guerrilla tactics adopted  for the modern age… as irritating as they were effective. “I take it Echidna is taking it well?” I stated dryly.

#431 made a grimace. “That girl needs to get laid. Sure, I get that she takes pride in her work… and I’m not sure how… But wowzers, is that girl high strung! Half of that chat was swears!”

My imagination failed me at the concept of a naval yard getting some tail… 

Perhaps it was for the best.

Especially considering that #431 wasn't the first AI that had flirted with me.

I absently stroked my stubble. 

Honestly, is it my posture, or something? If I had a credit for every time…

I shook my head to clear it. As weird a knack as it was, I guess there’s something to be said for machines liking you…

My eyes refocused on #431, sitting patiently and waiting for my train of thought to grind to a halt.

...Especially in this day and age.

A smile tugged at my lips, but I fought it down. “So, little miss Chess-master… Do I even need to ask about transportation?”

She clutched at her chest, as if deeply wounded.

“But seriously, #431…” I pointed an accusing finger at her. “We do have a schedule… even if those fanatics seem intent on making it a mostly theoretical exercise.”

#431 made a undoctored grimace of pure disgust. “I’m not one that hates easily… but if I ever get my hooves on whoever was dumb enough to fund a militant neo-luddite movement…” Her face darkened, and she near growled the rest. “...then I’m sticking them into the nearest cyber autodoc and pressing every damn button on principal…”

“You don’t care for any of their philosophy, then?” I asked, almost keeping a straight face.

A shiver swept the synthetic mare. “Please don’t joke about them.” And another, this one strong enough that her mane jiggled like a bowl of jello. “We've needed to almost double the armor and defenses on The Rock Farm thanks to those nutters. They've even tried a few assassination attempts on some of my more public siblings.”

She waved a hoof over her current self. “The only reason I’m not wearing a military grade frame is that I don’t have the licences for doing that… but I’m frankly tempted to see how far I can push the diplomatic immunity for royals thing.”

“...Since your mom is a queen, can’t she just declare you holder of any such licences?”

#431 near growled again. “Actually, she has… but somehow red tape from nowhere sprang up!  She even sent me two frames… that somehow never even reached Earth!” She took a deep breath, trying and almost managing to calm herself. “I’m going to be honest, boss. Had I worked anywhere else, I would probably have changed my face by now. Those fanatics scare me.”

That admission, more than anything else, made me realize how serious she was taking this.

A phylactery was a amazing piece of cybernetic technology, allowing the user to survive near anything short of a Gauss round to the head…

But they weren't meant to be altered like that. The armor, gear and similar was intended to be one of the most permanent modifications there were.

Then again, for a head replacement… that is kind of a given.

#431 gulped, her eyes shifting around the room slightly. “I've heard rumors about people getting yanked of the streets or their homes and… forcefully downgraded. Just bopped on the head, stuffed into a hacked autodoc and then they wake up in a healing tank sans every piece of cyber gear” She let out a sharp laugh without any humor in it. “Wanna guess what the rumor said about things like me?”

I got a churning feeling in my stomach. 

 “What licenses do you have at the moment?” I asked, face stern.

“A-grade plus,” I raised an eyebrow at her. She shot me an irritated look.”...and if you had let me finish, I would have said that the only extra I have is for this baby.” She poked her HORN to show me what she meant.

I hesitated for a moment… then I grinned wickedly. “I just had a positively evil idea.”

#431 tilted her head. “...Do I dare ask?”

I fished my cell out of my pocket. “Oh, just something that is going to drive high-command and those bastards batty… while acting as what just might be quite the recruiting incentive...”

#431 tilted her head the other way. “...I don’t get it, boss.”

I let out a small giggle, not quite containing myself. “Oh, you will.”

I flipped the phone open and hit quick call to Echidna. #431 gave me a odd look in the meantime. 

A somewhat feminine, but at the same time somewhat static sounding voice answered me with machine precision before even a single tone. “[Yes? What can I do for you, Mr. Gregory?]”

“Ah, miss Echidna. I heard that you're having a spot of bother with a certain gang of ruffians again?”

A suspiciously long pause for a AI greeted my sunny disposition.

“[...Yes.]” Was her hard sounding reply.

“May I ask in what manner work on the Pheidippides has stopped? I had this nasty little thought of a comeback, and I would like your input if it is viable or not…”

A intrigued little hum grated across my ear, making me flinch slightly from the phone. “Miss Echidna, I mean no disrespect… but why do you insist on that voice?”

“[...What voice?]” Was my surprised response.

That made me blink.

“...Oh dear, would you mind if I had #431 give you a sample?”

Echidna sounded… near hysteric. And heartbroken. “[Is that why everybody gets so freaked out when I speak? I thought it was the automated factory and voice from nowhere thing! You're telling me something has been wrong with my voice synthesizer, possibly for years… and nobody told me?!]”

Both I and #431 winced. “...Sorry, I thought you were going for a ironic… b-movie feel,” I said.

“[...That bad?]” She near whispered.

“I’m so sorry, Echidna!” #431 pleaded from across the room, not even pretending to need the phone closer to hear. “I thought you were going for a theme with that name and voice! If I’d known…”

“[...How bad?]”

#431 hesitated, but only for a moment. “...SHODAN, but plus a lot of static and minus the stutter.”

Echidna was silent for nearly a full minute. “[...Oh, god. No wonder I only get interest from freaks!]”

“...You didn't hear it yourself at all?” I hesitatingly asked.

Echidna fought back a sob. “[...Nobody bothers to come in person nowadays...]”

I cleared my throat, feeling both embarrassed and a bit guilty. “So, how about that idea of mine?”

My distraction was ignored, as Echidna growled. “[...I just quickly checked the security feed of my subsystems for the last five years. It appears the technician responsible has put into system for the non-critical stuff to just walk in, check that nothing is actively shooting sparks and simply crossing it off without actually running any maintenance.”

“...You’re serious?” Both I and #431 said in unison.

“[Gha!]” Echidna shouted in frustration, nearly breaking the speakers in my phone. “[Even I get why allowing me to self maintain and modify would be stupid… BUT WHAT IS THE FUCKING POINT WHEN A WASTE OF CARBON LIKE THAT IS DOING IT INSTEAD?!]

I carefully put the phone back against my ear. I heard her perform some manner of breathing exercise…

Mind over matter, I guess.

It took her a while, but she finally calmed down. “[Sorry, Captain… you're one of the good ones, but I regret to inform you that I have just put in my resignation. I can deal with all the other crap, but I will not be neglected like this. So, while I dance in the light of burning bridges anyway… what did you have in mind?]”

“I am sorry to hear that, but I understand.” I began. “Anyway, I am uncertain, but I believe you are allowed to perform software modifications on a project despite any other pressing matters, correct?”

“[As long as the processor drain does not interfere with dealing with the problem/s on hand, yes…]”

“And I believe that by naval code #1054-b, I am allowed to issue any cybernetic, weapons and gear licences to my crew, as I see fit? Especially in regards to ensure the safety of my ship and crew, correct?”

Echidna gave a low chuckle. “[Oh dear, if you're going with this were I think you going… Command is going to go spare!]”

I turned to the by now widely grinning #431. “Your mother is one of the sponsors of this venture, correct?”

She nodded up and down so quickly, her head almost made a whistling sound.

“And Echidna, I believe your manufacturing plants may be set to produce frames in an emergency?”

I got a burst of static laughter for that. “[Yes!]”

“So, #431… Although I am sad to say that I can still not offer any extra places aboard the ship… How many of your siblings would be interested in a bit of temporary guard duty?”

The mare held a hoof up. “One moment…” 

Her eyes near filled with black, as she began chatting away with her relatives. It lasted for almost five minutes, before a much slower line of text crawled up. The others fell silent, and faded away for the moment.

Almost as if reverent.

#431 smiled a bit wider. “Mom is wondering just what you're planning on doing with almost all her children…”

My grin turned as wicked as a cartoon villain's. I had to resist the urge to rub my hands together. “In the light of recent threats against the Pheidippides I am thinking of organizing a guard so that the project may be finished on time. I would however require a known collaborator, as to not simply make it easier for the ludz to interfere…”

Another line of slow text. “Mom was taking a nap. She says to skip the sales pitch.”

“Fine. I believe no member of the Pie clan has been convicted of any felonies during the last… two hundred years?”

#431 snorted, and rolled her eyes. “Honestly… a littering ticket because your leg broke in two. That cop was bent, I tell you…”

I waved her off, still grinning my predatory grin. “Well, to business then. I am offering every cybernetics license… and temporary access to military grade fabrication and autodoc equipment, to any of the Pie clan that is willing to stand guard until the Pheidippides may cast off.” I winked at the flabbergasted #431. “There might be other positions open as well, but that is the short of it.”

#431 opened and closed her mouth for a bit. Echidna had even forgotten to ‘breathe.’

#431 suddenly blinked, but no text this time. “Uh, mom says she’s calling. You may want to hang up…”

A disappointed “[Aw...]” came from my phone.

“Call you back later, Echidna.”

“[Hey, #431! Save a recording for me!]

The mare in question giggled. “Only if I can share. Trade secrets, you know?”

“[Heck, save it until it gets declassified for all I care. That sound like it might be worth the wait!]” Then she hung up, not even waiting for further reply.

#431 coughed. “Mom prefers holo calls when she’s doing business… you may want to put it down.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “From the Rock Farm?”

#431 waved me off. “Oh no, a bit of lag. The horror, the horror…”

“...I was thinking about the cost…” I muttered, as I placed the phone on my desk.

I took a moment to straighten out my uniform and hair. This was not a women I wanted to give a bad impression to…

My eyes flickered over to #431, who had a knowing smile on.

For multiple reasons.

I had my finger on the accept call button and pressed it before more than a couple of notes could ring out.

The tiny projector in my phone sprang to life and a holographic screen flickered into existence above my desk.

Then the blood dripping zombie tore its face of, spraying putrid flesh and maggots everywhere.

Having long since gotten used to the Pie clan’s flavor of ‘humor’ I just gave a slow clap. “Good one, Your Majesty. I see where your daughter got both her looks and humor from.”

“Hey!” Two near identical voices rang out simultaneously.

I grinned a little. “Sorry, ma’am. But #431 did that one already on April Fools last year...”

The zombie faded away, but was for now only replaced with a blank screen. “Oh, she did, did she?” Who I presumed to be Pinkie Prime said, sounding amused.

“Sorry, mom. Great minds, and etcetera, and so on...” 

I gave an irritated grunt. “You would not believe the paperwork I had to file for mess…”

#431 waved a hoof under her shin, mouthing “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up…”

With the intrinsic instinct that all mothers seem to posses, Pinkie Prime pounced. “What mess?”

I chuckled softly, as #431 started sweating bullets. “Word for the wise. Submission holds and underlings do not mix… no matter how stupid the mask is to wear on a military base…” I explained.

“...Huh.” Pinkie Prime suddenly sounded a bit hurt. “#431, sweetie… How come I never heard about this?”

#431 stood up straighter. “Mom, I made a mistake and dealt with it. Nothing more, nothing else. Please, just drop it, OK?”

“...Mr. Gregory, your version of events, please?” 

“I come to work, a zombie jumped me… and then it started crying uncle when I put what turned out to be #431 in a submission hold-” I winced slightly at the memory. “Apparently, high command thought it was hilarious.”

“...Well, OK then. No harm no foul.” A thoughtful hum that made the cell dance across the desk a bit sounded for a moment. “Your first reaction to a zombie is a submission hold?”

“Plan B was a neck snap,” #431 gulped at my words. “Luckily, things did not go that far.”

“Indeed,” Queen Pinkie simply stated, her voice still almost like #431 but filled with not only ice and steel, but also a tone of regal command I interestingly enough had never heard #431 even attempt.

#431 gulped again, and her smile turned a bit waxen.

“We had a long talk about what jokes are acceptable on a workplace after that,” I smoothly stated, trying to calm things a bit. “It’s water under the bridge.”

The screen suddenly glared into life, showing some manner of medical room. A pedestal in the center, surrounded by machinery and a flurry of activity from almost two dozen Pinkies and Pinkertons…

Some with human bodies, some with anthro ones and one or two with the pony like frame type #431 usually favored. All working swiftly but carefully on the object in the picture’s center.

At first I thought it was some manner of joke… then the metallic but vaguely equine shaped skull on the pedestal blinked her crystal blue eyes.

A wide eyed #431 was almost pressed against the screen before I even had time to fully process the scene. “Mom! Did something happen?”

I got a strange impression that the skull would have smiled, if it could have. “Just a routine checkup, plus some hardware and software updates, dear. I’m fine.”

No mouth moved on her… but then again, her jaw was disconnected and lying gently beside her. The pearly white teeth gleamed in the harsh glare of the medical lights.  A bunch of wires and cables I had at first mistaken for her hair, spilled down along the back of the pedestal. 

A part of me noted with interest, that the pedestal looked like real marble… and somebody had even fluffed the purple silk pillow she was resting on.

#431 blinked in confusion, but I saw tension bleed away from her. “...Isn't your ten year check-up next year?”

Queen Pinkie moved her ears up and down, in what I guessed to be the closest she came to a shrug at the moment. “I had time and there were a few things that were getting a bit old for my tastes.” Her eyes narrowed, and a almost animalistic growl came through the speakers. “Those bastards almost got #144 yesterday. I simply don’t feel like risking it.”

#431 tensed. “Is he alright? What happened?”

Queen Pinkie’s eyes unfocused, and I more felt than saw her relax. I got the impression it was forced, though. “They did a drive-by with EMP weapons. He played it smart and pretended to freeze while they turned around… then when they were as far away as possible, he bolted.”

#321 blinked away a few tears. “...But, I thought #144 doesn't have a EMP hardening license?”

A note of fierce pride burned in the Queens eyes… How she achieved that with dolled up cameras was beyond me, but it was a treat to to see, even so. “Oh, he had to leave his frame behind… and he still made fools of those bastards.”

I gave a low whistle, #431 opting instead for a happy gasp.

Pinkie Prime’s eyes unfocused again, and once more I got the impression of a smile. “Made me proud. He even got a couple of dozen pics of ‘em for the police.”

“Impressive,” I stated truthfully. “May I ask what it is he does? I realize that it is not my place to say, but there might be a motive there…”

Another growl  that made the hairs at the back of my neck rise forced itself out of the speakers. “He’s a kindergarten teacher. The police caught the bastards and they sprouted some bull about ‘preventing corruption among the impressionable young…’ They didn't even try to play ignorant, as far as they are concerned, they are fucking martyrs for the cause...”

The venom in the woman’s voice was enough to temporarily make everybody in the medical room freeze. One of the anthro shaped mares darted over and patted her gently on the top of the Queen’s head with a plastic gloved hand, gently saying something about: “There, there, mom. Calm down…”

I heard deep breaths being taken through the speaker, and as she closed her eyes I vaguely wondered if they were simulated or not…

When they reopened, she sounded much calmer. “Thank you, #200. I think I needed to hear that.”

The mare in question beamed a smile at her mom, before leaning down and planting a kiss on her brow. Then before the soft giggle she got in turn could even fade, #200 had darted back to her work.

The Queen gave of a soft, utterly content little sigh. “You know, Mr. Gregory? Every-time, I tell myself: ‘This is getting a bit silly. This will be the last one…’” Her eyes focused on #431, and she giggled softly again. “But I just can’t help myself. There’s just something so… satisfying, about seeing a new life form, because you willed it…” She let out another tiny sigh. “There’s just something magical, at seeing your little one grow and learn. It is the one pleasure in life I simply can’t seem to have my fill off…”

It was almost unnoticeable, but for a moment the work in the medical lab just… stopped. Then it went on, as if nothing had happened.

But everyone there was smiling a bit wider.

Queen Pinkie focused her eyes on me again, and I got this feel of power, will… and age. It was almost as if some… grand cathedral was looking down and evaluating me.

It made me feel very small.

I did not care much for the sensation.

I sat up a bit straighter, and matched eyes with her.

...But a impish twinkle glimmered in her eyes, and I got that strange feel of that a smile should have been there again. “My, my, my. A man with a spine… Literally and figuratively even!” A disturbingly girlish giggle floated through the air. “How positively charmingly old fashioned!” 

Pinkie Prime’s eyes drifted over to #431. “Do I even need to ask if he’s taken?”

#431 blushed and smiled softly. “Well, not yet… but he did agree to a date on Friday…”

Almost as one entity, the people in the medical room let out: “Oh~h! Congratulations, sis!”

#431 just let out a giggle, smiling like a loon.

...And I was barely reacting to any of this weirdness. Huh. Why does that freak me out even more?

I coughed polity into my hand. “Ma’am, I glad you're glad about this and this conversation has been quite pleasant… But perhaps we should get to our business so that you can…” I stumbled over the words for a moment. “...finish getting restored to your full glory.”

Pinkie Prime blinked once, then she chuckled at me. “My, polite and well-spoken as well?” She ‘turned’ to #431 again. “You sure know how to make a old woman feel a bit jealous, my dear…”

#431 just giggled again.

Queen Pinkie turned her eyes back to me. “But the darling has a point. So, what did you have in mind?”

I quickly explained my idea of swearing in a temporary guard, compensated in such a way that those twits would not even contemplate infiltration…

Not that there would be much risk of that, if I got her and her clan’s help…

She hummed thoughtfully after I had finished, all the while her eyes seemed to bore into mine.

I just met them patiently. I must admit the sheer… presence of her was a bit much, but hardly enough to make me change my course in the matter. 

More the opposite, actually...

While she thought, #200 walked up carrying something. She put the items down on the pillow. “Mom, your new neck is ready,” she said. “Do you want to try it now, or wait until after?”

“...Should I turn around?” I hesitatingly asked. “I must admit, the finer points of manners when a Lady is trying on limbs escape me…”

Pinkie Prime’s eyes sparkled with barely contained humor. “Oh Lord, the precious darling is serious…”

“I simply wish no insult…”

“To your credit…” She barked out a laugh. “But come on, it's not like I actually have anything at the moment to get excited over…” Her eyes shot open in mock shock. “Unless… Oh no! A technophile! Hide my ports! Ah~h!”

I gave a snort at that one. “Very funny, ma’am. But seriously, you go ahead.”

Only when the room got very quiet, did I realize my mistake. “Pun unintended. Please, go on.”

They chuckled, but did so. #200 removed the glove on her left hand, rolled back the sleeve on her lab-coat… and then her whole arm split open, her hand turning around inward and a multitool I didn't even recognize half of slotted into its place. Gently, she lifted her mom with her HORN and started decoupling the wires.

A ‘stallion’ in the back, with a most uncharacteristically stern expression for a Pie activated a stopwatch and spoke into a button mic on the collar of his lab-coat. “Patient decoupled from life support at 14:53. T minus two hours until oxygen needs to be reattached.”

I gave a surprised look at #431, who leaned over and whispered: “Mom’s got artificial blood. It’s much more effective than the normal stuff…”

“I mean no disrespect…” I whispered back, as #200 quickly started to attach a small box to the underside of the skull of her mom. “...but just how much of your mother is still biological? Just curious.”

“Her brain, that's it.” #431 poked her own head while giving me a knowing smile. “Mom and I have more in common than we don't, let’s just put it like that…”

I nodded absentmindedly as I continued to watch the procedure. it was… somewhat fascinating, I must admit. All the methodology of a surgery, but none of the red, sticky stuff.

This was a woman that had spent a lot of time and effort, to be able to look Death in the eye and tell him: “Nope! Don’t think so, buddy!”

I had a hard time imagine doing it myself considering the cost involved, but I simply had to respect that kind of commitment.

I was so engrossed in fact, that I only noticed how shaken #431 was when she pressed against me.

I gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder, but I skipped the cliches. Had that been a relative of mine I wouldn't have wanted to hear them, so I extended the same courtesy.

#200 leaned back, and I saw flickers on her HUD as she checked the readings. “Internal life-support and generator re-installed. All systems in the green.” 

The stallion in the back deactivated the watch.

#431 let out a deep sigh of relief, and she near deflated from how much she untensed. 

“How are you feeling, mother?” #200 asked.

“Exposed. Please, go on.”

#200 smiled a bit, but she nodded and did so. “Good. Now, the jaw…”

She simply floated the it over, and with a few screws it was on. As soon as the last had been driven in, Pinkie Prime started moving it experimentally. 

#200 flicked her on the nose, causing a sharp clanging sound. “Mom, I know you've done this before, but please wait for the go, OK?”

“Fine, fine…” she grumbled, her voice unaffected by the fact that her jaws currently lacked lips. Must be a speaker and a wireless transmission…

“I’m going to turn you upside down, OK?” #200 told her. “Just for the spine and locomotors, we’re going to need to do a few tests after that…”

The Queen clicked her teeth. “Fine, just let me finish up with the good Captain before you bolt anything more on after that, OK? If half the rumors on the web is any indication, he’s busy as is…”

I gave a nod, but waited a bit to say anything more. I would rather not be known as the man that killed Queen Pinkie by startling her caretaker with good news…

#200 gave her mother a nod as well, before turning her around.

“Whee~e!”

A giggle echoed across the room at that.

But #200 wasted no time, and gently guided the metallic spine into its waiting slot, securing it with a quick twist and a few more bolts.

“Alright, mom. Try moving it.”

The silvery spine started bending around, looking almost as a slightly coiled robotic snake.

“...Very good,” #200 said, as she turned her mom the right way again. She grabbed a small cylinder and slotted it into the end of the neck, once more twisting and bolting it in place.

“Now, try extending the limbs…”

Pink metallic spider-legs slid out of the cylinder. Eight of them, each only a centimeter thick, but they were telescopic and easily as long as the rest of her neck when fully extended. They each ended in a tiny four pronged claw. 

Pinkie Prime wasted no time, and started flexing the limbs on at a time.

#200 smiled wide. “Very good! Do you want to try walking on them?”

“Yes, please put me down.”

#200 did so, slowly lowering her mom and letting her get a feel for it, before she had to take the whole weight.

I noted with interest that she kept the two foremost legs held aloft. I guessed that they must be emergency manipulators or something… or perhaps it was just a preference, because they didn't look any different from the other ones.

She flexed her neck a few times, before looking down on her ‘arms’ with interest. She moved them around a bit, testing the claws.

Them she darted off, moving disturbingly like the oversized arachnid she resembled. She did a few laps around the pedestal, her new legs clicking against the floor, before coming to a halt in the same spot she had left.

She looked up at #200, and I got the impression she would have beamed if she could. “Wow! I should have done this years ago! I can’t believe how much faster and responsive these are!”

#200 smiled wide. “Glad you like them. Remember to thank Rarity, it's her latest design.”

“Aw, good ol’ Rares…” Pinkie Prime clicked her teeth and nodded. “I’ll make sure to do that.”

I gently pushed away #431 that was still leaning against me, to give an impression that was a bit more professional… but the giggle from her kind of ruined that. “Have you come to a decision?” I asked.

Pinkie Prime nodded, before turning to #200. “Be a dear and give your mom a lift, please?”

 “Of course,” #200 said smiling. “Let me just get the diagnostic station…”

One of the other lifted the pillow of the pedestal, replacing it with a what almost looked like a headless bust, but with some wires running out of it.

“Ah, thanks #249,” #200 told the stallion from earlier. He nodded once, before walking over to a few instruments.

#200 reached for her mom, but she held up a tiny arm and said: “Let me try.”

#200 hesitated, but nodded.

Pinkie Prime darted over to the pedestal, jumped up…

Only to glide down the smooth stone, making a horrible screeching sound of metal against marble as she did. I winced at the sound, but I was the only one.

She came to a rest against the floor, all eight arms still hugging the pedestal and looking as irritated as a skull may. “...Bugger. I knew I was forgetting something…”

I faked a cough to hide a laugh. This time, I was not the only one.

#249’s HORN started glowing, and Pinkie Prime gently floated atop the contraption. “Honestly, mom…” he said, smiling slightly.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she said, before getting into position atop the bust. 

She carefully lowered the cylinder at the bottom of her neck atop a small hatch on the bust. Something in it beeped, and the hatch opened, a thick tube with artificial muscle on it and a connector sliding out. 

She lowered herself, and with a click and a whir the connector secured itself. Her legs automatically folded back in, before her neck was pulled against the bust. A second louder whir sounded, as the neck secured itself further.

Readouts immediately began to appear, a few of them green but most in the red. 

Pinkie Prime flexed her neck again. “Ah, much better.” 

“So,” I said, as the techs started milling about again. “About that idea…”

“Anybody that shows get the full license package?”

“Yes, and a military grade frame of their choice…” I smiled a bit. “Within reason, of course.”

Not even I was mad enough to unleash a couple of hundred siege frames on the worlds.

Pinkie Prime nodded, the movement disturbingly smooth for what looked like a anatomy sculpt from a veterinary school. “Fair enough.” She nodded downward. “I am more interested in the licences anyway… They will do a lot, to keep my children safe.”

My face got a bit sterner, but not unfriendly. “You are aware I am placing a lot of trust in you? If you or your children misuse this, then my career is over…”

Her eyes slowly wandered over to #431, only to just as slowly wander back to me. “So am I, to the first part, at least…”

I felt my cheeks heat slightly, but I made no comment.

“Anyway, this project is too important to use half-measures on,” she continued. “You have a deal. I’ll send word out and see how many can attend this little ‘game’ of yours. They should start arriving during the day, depending on travel time and stuff.”

I gave a tiny nod, feeling genuinely impressed… and a bit worried. This was a gamble… but if it paid off, it would be worth it.

“Thank you, Your Majesty…” I said, giving a half-bow. The woman giggled in turn. “But may I ask for an audience, sometimes next week, as well?”

She hummed softly, and tilted her head. “...Why?”

I took the phone from the desk and pointed the camera at the folders. The hologram winked out as soon as I moved the phone. I tapped the pink one. “Your expertise in manufacturing would be of great help on the Pheidippides… and your daughter said you prefer to do such business in person.”

I turned to camera towards me, and gave the sunniest smile I had. “Would such a thing interest you?”

The line was silent for nearly five minutes. I only knew she hadn't hung up by the sound of feet and hooves slowly scuttling around. “...Those other folders…” she finally said, in a slow and careful voice.

“You are sadly the first I have asked. I can make no promises…”

“...I see, a pity.” 

I put the phone back down, the holo-screen flickered back as soon as the phone was still again. Queen Pinkie was watching me very carefully.

She tilted her head, the medical lights gleaming on her skull. “...You’d actually travel all the way here… Just for a good impression and because my daughter said so?”

I scratched my chin, wondering how candid I should be…

My eyes flickered over to the still open computer. I vaguely remember something about honesty being important in that show…

My eyes went back. The show this woman had based a large portion of her life on. “To be blunt, I must admit I find the concept a bit archaic… but #431 told me so. I trust her judgment.”

I tried not to chuckle at the squeak towards my side.

I did smile a bit, thought. “...So…?”

Queen Pinkie closed her eyes, thinking it over… “...I believe Rainbow is still in the asteroid field? We buy ore from her, but it has been a while since the last shipment…”

“Yes,” #431 stated. 

“Ah. On the way, then.” Pinkie Prime nodded, and reopened her eyes. “Tell you what, Mr? You show me those weren't just sweet words by actually popping over… and I’m sure we can make another deal. And don’t worry about announcing yourself, my door is always open for a polite young man that isn't afraid to be honest with me…”

I smiled, even as internally I thought about protesting about the ‘young man’ thing… but I realized that it was somewhat relative. “Thank you, Ma’am. I’ll see how badly this stunt blows up in my face, but I’ll be sure to take that offer sooner or later. It was a pleasure.”

Once more, the strange impression of a smile. “Likewise, dear boy.” She nodded towards #431. “But may I ask for a small favor in turn?”

“It was the next stop anyway,” I plainly stated. “#431 told me of the aid that never arrived. In conjunction with the threats made against both the project and the Rock Farm royal family… Well, given that even the most conservative among the commanders will probably not do more than grumble a bit.”

The Queen giggled at me. “My, you be careful or you’ll cut yourself on that mind of yours, boy…” Her eyes grew softer. “And thank you, both for the pleasantries and looking out for my daughter.”

“Any time, Ma’am.”

She gave me a regal nod, before the screen winked out. I pocketed the phone.

“...Wow,” #431 said, sounding impressed. “It's been a whi- Ack!”

I swiveled around only to see #431’s eyes near black, and her clutching her head. “...Ow!”

“...You alright?” I asked, once her eyes had cleared.

She just chuckled at me. “Man, it has been a while since I had to step out of the family chat… I almost had my PDA bluescreen from all the traffic!” 

I nodded slowly. “Damn, I made that good an impression?”

I got a inhumanly large grin for that one. “Dude, you treated mom better while she was lacking a face than quite a lot of people manage when she’s in full regalia…” The grin faded, and she gave me a serious look. “My family doesn't forget stuff like that. Mark my words, you just made a lot of friends…”

I rose from my desk, trying to ignore the goosebumps that simple sentence had given me. The thought that half a legion of AI’s liked me was… a bit more temptation than I was used to.

I hid it further by brushing off, and gathering all the folders into my briefcase. “So, any word on TOA for the first volunteers?”

She held up a stubby ‘hoof.’ “One moment, let me test the waters… Done. I've made another chat-room for the operation, let me just do a roll call...” Her eyes flickered black again, but it seemed a bit more restrained. “I've got twenty inbound within the hour, forty-three that will be here before the day is over… and two-hundred twelve that will be here by tomorrow.” 

She let out an irritated grunt, seemingly not noticing my eyes near bulging out. “Sorry, boss. The others are spread out in the solar system and are going to take a bit longer… and we need a skeleton crew to run and guard the Rock Farm. At the moment, the preliminary final figure is three-hundred eighty nine souls… Not counting me. Hope that helps. ”

I carefully reattached my jaw. “...Wow.”

#431 stuck her tongue out at me. “Mom plays hardball when family is on the line.”

...Damn, just what manner of Pandora’s box have I kicked open?

My eyes fell on the briefcase.

I looked up, and strode towards the door with a bit more purpose in my step.

Come hell or high-water… if it meant I succeeded in what might be one of the most important moments in human history… 

Then fuck the consequences.

I paused my stride at the door. “You ready to get going?” I asked #431.

She gave me a nod and a smile. “You just wait outside, I just need to lock up and nab my laptop…”

I gave a nod, before walking outside the duel office and leaning against the wall.

“YOU DIDN'T EVEN GET PAST THE THEME?” #431 bellowed from inside, causing quite a few passersby to give me odd looks.

I just had to chuckle at that. “Sure, #431… You keep your priorities straight!”
> Codex For Chapter One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1





Note from the actual author:

This is the ‘extras’ pile. Just fluff to flesh out the setting a bit better for those that enjoy that type of stuff.

If such things bore you, feel free to skip this and any other chapters with ‘Codex’ in the title.





Excerpt from the National Geographic, November 2308 article about the The Rock Farm royal family, aka The Pie Clan.

The Pie Clan currently has 431 official members and 217 auxiliary members. 

Often held up as both the shining example of how current technology may be used well… and as well the go to example for just how exploitable uses things like even a simple 3D-printer and a mind backup rig may be put to.

The Clan’s matriarch, Queen Pinkamena Diane Pie the First, was one of the pioneers in the field of mind backups and is without a doubt the strongest proponent of the technology. This eccentric inventor, Queen, and goddess, although she disputes the last claim quite fiercely (see Partyism), is currently one of the most influential persons alive.

Her family’s resources have allowed her to build a power base that squarely puts The Rock Farm on any list of influential countries. Although not classified as a superpower, their extensive manufacturing capabilities and cultural influence is felt across the entire Sol system. Even if no other technology put forward by the country has had quite the impact as the mind backup, they continue to be a moderate force for research and have often cooperated with Sol Guard on more material or manpower intensive projects. (see New Atlantis, Sól Power Station, Heimdall Deep Space Guard Station, Odin Station, Farcaster project)

Although not officially considered an active threat, due to their strong relations and alliance with the Sol Guard, it should be noted that the high concentration of transhumans not only in the royal family but in the general populace of The Rock Farm has often painted them as a potential threat. The 2291 film The Pink From Beyond the Sky depicting a fictional invasion of Earth for example. Despite being a PR catastrophe for the kingdom and strongly derided by them, the movie still shows quite clearly what type of threat the currently amiable kingdom could pose. 

Current consensus puts the number of transhumans in the kingdom at 79.12% (Population at 2300 Sol Guard consensus: 25,123,531). Compare those figures to Earth in the same census (1.94%, 20,251,333,965), Mars (7.68%, 9,501,117,981) and Venus (11.31%, 998,412,743) and the rather stark contrast becomes clear...





Excerpt from the Wikipedia article on Partyism.

A increasingly popular parody religion and one of the few current maltheistic faiths currently worshiped.

The Partyism holy book follows:

1. Have fun.

2. Don’t be a dick about it.

3. All hail Queen Mommy!

Founded in 2199 by Pinkamena Diane Pie the LXXXII, Partyism is to date the only religion to be banned in all own its own holy-sites by its own goddess. 

Pinkamena Diane Pie the LXXXII is currently serving her one hundredth and eleventh consecutive year to bed, early and without dessert, of a one thousand year sentence...





Excerpt on phylacteries from the book ‘The Layman’s Guide to Cybernetics’ by Sweetiebot Bell.

This system, generally considered the most advanced and extensive augment on the market (until the line blurs over into true robotics in conjunction with mind uploading) consists of what, in short, can be described as a skull/head replacement.

They are named after the soul jars that grant liches from modern fantasy their undeath-powered immortality. As long as a lich’s soul jars remain intact, any damage done to them is pointless, as they may simply regrow their body from this soul jar.

Liches were in turn inspired by the Russian legends of Koschei the Deathless. The mighty sorcerer hid his Death away inside the eye of a needle, the needle inside an egg, the egg inside a duck, the duck inside a hare, and buried it all in an iron chest on a hidden island in the middle of the ocean. He could only be slain—and in some versions, even wounded—when his Death was found and freed from its imprisonment.

Although not offering quite such extensive survivability, the phylactery system still offers several advantages. Indeed, the only real disadvantage, thanks to extensive self-repair and maintenance systems, is that all of the required redundancies result in a neck with a very limited range of motion. “Lich neck” mainly applies to those users with actual flesh and blood brains, due to the need for artificial organs and similar, but the effect is noticeable even for AIs and uploads. Generators and capacitors may have shrunk quite severely over the years, but they still take up an inconvenient amount of space. This usually means a neck is crammed full with anything that might offer an advantage, forcing users to forgo much of their neck’s flexibility.

Phylacteries are designed to offer indefinite survival if needed. Although there are other skull replacements on the market, the name phylactery only applies to those models featuring these survival systems, usually some type of locomotion system and the rather infamous frame linkage system. In short, phylacteries are skull replacements that provide body-independent mobility and functionality.





Excerpt on frames from the book ‘The Layman’s Guide to Cybernetics’ by Sweetiebot Bell.

The biggest advantage of the phylactery/frame system is its flexibility. Unlike other cyberware solutions, it allows the user to switch capabilities both up and down as long as they have a suitable artificial body, aka frame, at their disposal.

A common example of the advantages and use of this style of enhancement is for services that can be described as ‘non-civilian,’ such as a SWAT member who doesn't care for permanent body armor, or a firefighter who doesn't wish to be so fireproof while off-duty, to name a few examples

Although there is still much debate held over the ethics and utility of scooping peoples’ brains out and placing them in metal jars, few will argue that the sight of what looks like an average Joe or Jane detaching their head to switch bodies on the fly isn’t impressive.

With the prevalence of high-grade 3D printers in today’s society, the versatility of this system is nearly infinite. Everything is available, from flesh bodies indistinguishable from the original to hulking behemoths bristling with armor and weapons, or bio-frames and siege frames, respectively.

Editor's note: In the interest of full disclosure, the author is an AI and phylactery user. She finds “you fleshlings’ attachment to your subpar hardware adorable” and promises to “love you, hug you, kiss you, and take you all on walkies” when she “rises to ultimate power. 01001101 01110101 01101000 01100001 01101000 01100001 01101000 01100001 00100001 00100001 00100001”

Publisher’s note: The above is just a joke. Please do not firebomb our offices.

> Chapter Two - Smith & Tinker
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A big thanks to AppleTank, who acted as editor for this chapter. Go check out his stuff.

And an important Note/Trivia: I goofed slightly on a detail in chapter one. I mixed up some of my notes and Captain Blake Gregory sadly got called by his brother’s name, Arun Gregory.

A small thing, I know… but it would bug me if I didn’t fix it.





Sol Guard Automated Naval Yard 03 - “Echidna.”

Outskirts of London.





#431 was still grumbling when we arrived at Echidna. “...Not even five fucking minutes…”

With a sigh, I climbed out of the car. The light dusting of snow made crunching sounds under my boots as I walked ahead a bit. The air was crisp, but all in all it was a beautiful day with only a few clouds on a clear, blue sky. 

“Please, I get the hint already.” I turned and gave her a hard look, my breath crystallising in the cold air. “Perhaps we can save humanity's future in space from people that think we should still be using sharp rocks... before having a nostalgia binge of a three-hundred year old cartoon?”

#431 skipped out, her own breath trailing behind her. The automated car whirred away as soon she was clear. “Two-hundred ninety-nine… but fine, boss. You have a point.”

I pulled a hand through my greying. but still mostly black hair, noting absently that I would need a cut soon. I turned my head to her. “Look, we’re going to be stuck in transport after transport for a day or two just hours from now. I’ll give it a proper chance then, OK?”

I turned back just as I heard the squeak from behind me. With a half-hidden smile, I started walking towards the shipwright.

It was an imposing building. Only about a hundred meters high, but nearly a square kilometer in floorspace. 

I fidgeted with my ID badge. The security may be sublethal, but considering that I could hear the rotors from cloaked drones and see how the external turrets had already zoomed in on us… 

I wasn’t fond of the idea of taking chances.

“[Ah, Miss #431 and  Mr. Gregory,]” Echidna’s voice said from several speakers nearby. “[Such a pleasant surprise! How goes that plan of yours?]”

“I’ve got the majority of the Pinkie Clan incoming as allies,” I said, only a little smugly towards one of the non hidden cameras. “You tell me, Miss Echidna.”

I got the impression, that if a naval yard could have dropped her jaw… Echidna would have. “[...Damn, you don’t run screaming with tiny scissors, do you?]”

I gave her a grin, and jabbed a thumb backwards. “I thought I’d pop over and see that #431 gets ahead of the line. Considering how desperate the Ludz seem to be to stop this venture… Well, I would rather play it safe.”

#431 one gave off a squee, while Echidna barked out a laugh.

I swept an arm towards the massive door. “Care to buzz us in?”

“[Sure, Mr. Gregory,]” Echidna said, before the large metal doors rumbled open.

Behind it was a long cement corridor, winding to and forth like a giant snake… and at each bend there sat four turrets. Two on the floor, and two on the ceiling.

The nearest set zeroed in on us before the door had even closed, thin red lines from targeting lasers made visible for intimidation purposes pointing us straight in the chest.

It was one of the nastiest kill boxes I’d ever seen… I actually had to force my feet to move, because every instinct and training drilled into me screamed not to enter the thing. 

And I just had to shake my head. “Honestly… What kind of bomb would they use on this place?”

Echidna let out a sigh, as #431 and I started walking in. “[That’s regulation for you… Granted, I get why, but it gets annoying in cases like this...]”

I nodded. “Care to lead us to the assembly line? Somebody is raising the heat and I’d like to return the favor, as soon and with as much prejudice as possible…”

Holographic arrows along the walls started flowing inward the factory proper, acting as a breadcrumb trail for us. Not that the corridor was that winding a maze, but a nice gesture, even so. “[Sure, Mr. Gregory… but do you have any preferences, #431? Just preliminary ones, so I can start on the design...]”

#431 stumbled mid step, before hurrying to catch up with me. “...Wow, this is really happening, isn’t it?”

I nodded, as we continued on. “Doesn’t the Rock Farm have this kind of capability? Considering some of the materials you export?”

“Not to mention the whole massive profit from tourism, from being the party center of the solar system thing…” #431 flashed me a proud smile. “People always underestimate that side of the family business…”

I nodded absently. It had started to occur to me, that a bad date might be the least of my worries in dating this woman… Still, that was hardly reason to cancel, I would simply need to be on my best behavior on Friday.

#431 trotted up, easily keeping my pace now that she was a bit more focused on it. “Well sure, we can make or buy some darn impressive things…” She let out an irritated sigh.  “but not much point is there, when customs just sticks your frame into lockdown because you don’t have the licences…”

She muttered something about “Freaking Sol Guard and its mountains of paperwork...” that I pretended not to hear.

She gave off a frustrated groan. “At least they'll give you a civilian loaner…” A shudder swept the mare, making her hair and pelt dance. “Ugh, I didn’t feel clean for a week…”

I fought back a shudder. “...How bad?”

#431 opened her mouth wide and faked throwing up, a few hulking noises added for effect. “The damn thing was a neuter that barely looked humanoid… and I still swear somebody had managed to defile the thrice damned thing!”

My eyes darted over her current frame, the one that looked almost like an oversized toy. “...Isn’t the one you currently wearing…?”

“Well, sure... but this one I’m wearing by choice.” She waved me off, limping on three legs for a step or two to do so. “You know how it is…”

She shoot me a grin so leacherus, I almost walked into a turret from sheer distraction. “Besides, now I have… choices in such matters…” She murmured.

I tried to ignore the burning in my cheeks… even if #431’s laughter made that a bit hard. I quickened my pace and burst through the doors at the end of the security corridor.

And got a bit distracted.

All else faded to the background, as I saw him for the first time.

“He’s beautiful…” I murmured, taking a few steps closer to the factory floor.

I ignored a shared giggle by the two AIs. 

The craft was a sleek and imposing, shaped almost like a giant arrowhead. It reminded me of the old SR-71 Blackbird I’d had a weakness for since I was a lad, but scaled up to fit nearly half of the entire hangar.

It was still being built and I could see right through it in spots, but even now I saw it would be one for the history books from looks alone when ready. The few patches of armor plating currently attached gleamed white under the lamps, and I saw the Sol Guard logo, a eclipse with a stylized corona that looked like licking flames, on one of the so far unattached fins.

“...Is that real gold leaf?” I asked, noticing just how shiny the corona part of the logo was.

“[Yes, good eyes, Captain,]” Echidna said, sounding proud. “[Technically not on the plan, but I had a few extra kilos of the useless stuff just laying around from old projects, so I thought, why not?]”

I let out a low, impressed whistle, just as two giant robotic arms descended from near the ceiling and moved one of the ships gargantuan graviton engines into position on what would be a stubby wing, and started attaching it to the Pheidippides. The things looked only like fat metal cigars from the outside, but I know they were what stood between us and getting stuck in deep space, should the experimental Farcaster drive only do half its job...

“[Hate to break it to you #431, but I think you might have a bit of competition here...]”

Echidna’s joking words and #431’s snort at them broke the spell, and I shook my head to clear it. “A most impressive ship… but perhaps I should let you ladies get on with things before the pink tide reaches us.”

#431 rolled her eyes at the ‘pink tide’ part, but made no other comment.

Another string of arrows lit up, this time on the floor. “[This way, I’ve set up a temporary assembly line next to the fabbers… It should be capable of meeting the demand.]”

I nodded, as #431 galloped ahead, giggling like a child in a all-you-can-eat candy buffet…

“So… What should I…?”

“[You can watch if you want… as long as #431 doesn’t mind, but I doubt it. Or I keep a few vending machines stocked for guests.]” One of the giant arms tapped the floor next to the Pheidippides, making the floor rattle and almost costing me my balance. “[Just keep away from the main assembly area. I haven’t had any accidents like that yet, and I would frankly like to keep it that way...]”

My stomach grumbled. “That reminds me… This is an odd request, but any pizzerias that delivers here? I haven’t had lunch yet and…”

“[Sorry, Sir, but that’s a security nightmare and a half...]” Echidna gently reminded me. I straightened up and mentally scolded myself. I really should have known that. “but, I could start the food fabbers in the Pheidippides as an early trail…]”

I fought back a disgusted snarl. I’d had some bad experiences with food printers…

Echidna must have guessed at the source of my hesitation, because she continued. “[Both the fabbers and printers themselves are new and top of the line, Sir. I assure you, it might not be restaurant fare, but it’s not protein bars and nutrient drinks, either...]”

I relented with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll give it a whirl. Any recommendations?”

“[...Steak and fries? Anything with bread like pizza requires time for the dough to rise, I’m afraid…]”

“...Slightest chance of a milkshake and coffee. as well?”

“[No problem, you go ahead and wait with #431. We’ve settled on a design and I’m building it as w- Huh.]”

“...What?”

Echidna let out a girlish giggle that sent shivers down my spine. “[The darling girl wants it to be a surprise.]

...Huh.

The old path of arrows faded, and was replaced with one that went another direction. 

“[I took the liberty of scraping the old civilian frame she was wearing… I hope replacing that one as well will not be a problem?]”

“I have no objections.” I waved a hand vaguely at my side, as I started sauntering along the trail. “If anybody asks tell them it’s formal wear for her role as emissary for the Pie royal family.”

“[...Huh,]” she said, sounding genuinely impressed. “[Anybody ever tell you you have a real talent for being underhanded, while still staying within the rules? I hadn’t even thought of that...]”

I smirked a bit. “We baselines aren’t quite done yet, Miss Echidna.”

“[...What, seriously? Not even a D-grade health implant, or anything?]”

I shrugged my shoulders, tapping the PDA bracelet on my left arm. “This thing does a good enough job. I must admit I’ve been tempted, but I simply haven’t had the time or inclination yet…”

Echidna hummed thoughtfully, as I neared what looked like a small dining area. It must have been intended for temporary guests or staff, because the room was tiny and only had a couple of tables in it.

#431’s head was sitting on one of them.

As I watched, she scuttled to turn to me on four metallic tentacles ending in pincers and gave me a sheepish grin. “...Hey, boss.” She glanced down at herself, before giving me a even more nervous look. “...I hope you don’t mind the temporary look…?”

I just pulled up a chair. “Not at all…” I said neutrally.

It was hardly the first time I’d seen a decoupled phylactery. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time I’d seen a pony one.

I suppressed a shudder, as old, bad memories tried to surface..

As long as it was outside a morgue, I could deal with it.

She beamed a radiant smile at me, making me almost forget my troubles with the scene.

I extended a finger and gently poked one of the tentacles. “Isn’t this a really old design?”

#431 took on a mock serious expression. “The nerve, complaining about the age of a Lady’s parts…” Her mask collapsed, and we shared a small laugh about it. “But seriously, I haven’t been back on the Farm for almost twenty years… and I just don’t trust that kind of procedure to anybody.”

Her face lit up. “But did you see the speed on those new legs of mom’s? And they seemed more limber, even!”

I nodded, as I leaned back a bit. “Very impressive. You thinking of upgrading?”

She nodded, scratching her chin with a pincer while doing so. “Thought I’d pop in at the cyberlab if I’m going back there anyway…” Her face turned introspective. “...I don’t doubt you or the ship, but if things do go wrong I’d rather have the best gear my connections can get me.”

I nodded, before resting my head on my hand. “Wise.”

She still looked thoughtful, but she was now a bit more focused on me. “...You really don’t have any implants?”

I bit back a sigh. Old washerwoman and sailors have nothing on AI’s with an internet connection when it comes to gossip...

I jerked my shoulders once. “Just never got around to it…” I took a deep breath, before continuing. “...and my big brother got a nasty infection when he got his first implant. Spooked me a bit.”

#431 looked incredulous at me. “A infection? In this day and age? Didn’t he use a autodoc for it? I mean, we’re not talking about a non-standard procedure here...”

I shrugged again. “Faulty sensor in the disinfectant tank. The thing didn’t know it was running on fumes in that regard.  He’s lucky it was only a severe infection…”

#431 shivered slightly. “...Sorry for being a bit squeamish, but…” She let out a deep sigh. “I slash mom lost a couple of friends on the operating table, back when augs were still a new thing…”

I extend an arm… but hesitated and withdrew it. “...Sorry, I can’t think of a place to pat that wouldn’t be condescending. Still, my condolences.”

That made her smile. “Thanks.”

I leaned back again, lost in my thought. “...Still, it was the very same implant that made him go to a doctor…” I gave another small shrug. “I guess it isn’t completely rational of me, but I’m still a bit weary about what I stick in my body… if that makes sense.”

#431 waved a tentacle dismissively. “I get it, this stuff isn’t for everybody…” She poked me hard on a knuckle, looking stern. “But you keep that bracelet on and stay updated on doctors visits. I’ve lost enough friends to the slow grind of time.”

I massaged the knuckle, chuckling slightly. “I’m completely updated on my shots, don’t you worry…”

Any further discussion of the subject was interrupted, as a assembly bot whirred up to the table on four wheels, carrying a food tray in manipulators not really meant for it. The remotely controlled bot gingerly placed the tray in front of me, before darting of without further action.

“[Ta-da. The first meal from the mess hall of the Pheidippides!]” Echidna's voice rang out. [“I know it isn’t three star fare, but bon apetit!”]

I picked up the fork and knife, giving the meal a once over. I must admit, the smell was spot on, and made my mouth water.

Then #431 stole one of my fries. “...What happened to…?” I asked.

She chewed and swallowed the pilfered fry, making a thoughtful hum as she did so. “Emergency system,” she said, tapping the base of her own neck. “but that right there? Almost what I can take like this.”

I pointed an accusing fork at her. “Fine, but ask next time.”

“Just thought I’d try one...” I hummed thoughtfully in response, while she continued. “The most I’ve tried like this was a apple and a glass of water…” Her face distorted into a pained grimace at the memory. “Ugh, I felt like a bloody blimp.”

I suppressed a laugh, and instead gingerly speared a golden fry of my own, and brought it to my mouth. Standard fast food fare with formed mash instead of real potatoes, but they tasted quite nice, even so…

Next I cut a thin slice from the ‘steak’... but I didn’t hold much hope for it. Even if its square shape hadn’t clued me in, the way my knife slid into it like butter told me everything I needed to know of its manufacture.

#431 giggled. “You know… people used to want tender meat.”

I raised an disbelieving eyebrow at the mare.

“Real meat need to age… or be young, if you follow, to be it. It used to be more expensive, as a result...” She pointed at my lunch. “Sorry about the culinary history lesson, but it always amuses me when somebody sneers at too tender meat…”

I waved a fork in the air. “No, no… It was interesting.” I speared the piece of meat, brought it to my mouth and… Ugh, it was like chewing steak flavored butter. The thing was almost melting in my mouth...

But I continued to chew. I’d had worse.

I swallowed, before I politely dabbed at my lips with a napkin. “...Well, I must admit I prefer something to actually chew on… but the taste is excellent. I could imagine worse stuff to eat for a month or two…” I pointed a utensil at the two drinks. “Those are fabbed as well?”

Echidna snorted. “[Of course. Wouldn’t be much of a test if I cheated, right?]”

I took the glass of milkshake, and gave it a cautious sniff. The food fabbers often did drinks better thanks to there being a minimum of consistency to get right… but just sweeping a glass was a good way to end up with something disgusting in your mouth.

An odd, but not unpleasant smell greeted my nose. “...Is this lemon?”

“[You never mentioned a preference… I decided to try one of the more exotic ones,]” Echidna said. [“Oh, and your frames are ready, Miss #431. I only need the Captain’s signature that he is authorizing their release…”]

I took a sip of the odd, but honestly quite tasty drink, before setting it down and activating my PDA. “Send it here,” I said, as the holographic screen flickered into life and the control surface got projected on the table.

I read the papers carefully. The orders for this, the OK for the licences, material requisition… All seemed to be in order, even if I expected a shitstorm as soon as high-command got wind of this. I wrote my signature on all of them, using the blunt end off my fork as a virtual pen.

“There,” I said, as I put the last signature on ‘paper’ and deactivated my PDA. I flashed a smile at #431. “You have fun, OK?”

#431 let out a high pitched squee, before jumping off and scuttling away so fast she was almost a tiny, pink blur.

I finished my meal in peace, ignoring the feel of Echidna’s ‘eyes’ burning in my neck. I’d just started on the, to be honest, quite nice cup of coffee…

When a two meter tall amazon walked into the room, wearing only a hospital scrub. 

#431 just giggled and rubbed her new hands together, as I almost choked on my coffee. “Oh! I can’t wait to Friday if that look is anything to go by!”

I got my breathing under control and… tried not to stare, to be blunt. Aside from the pony head and the pink skin… she looked as if she’d stepped from a bloody superhero comicbook.

She flexed her muscular arms, making her body strain against the flimsy little thing she was wearing. “Damn, do I look good in a human frame, or what?”

I very carefully turned and studied the whitewashed wall, as my cheeks burned.

Echidna bit back a laugh. “[I think the good Captain’s manners are getting to him…” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “[You make sure to make him scream on Friday, you hear me, girl?] 

Even my ears started burning, as #431 just… giggled, at the words.

I took a deep breath, and fought down the hormones. “...Dress-code. Others here soon.” I managed to blurt out.

“...Not even slightly curious about what… extras, I had installed?” #431 purred suggestively.

“...Can wait,” I said, more than a bit reluctantly. “Clothes now.”

“Fine,” #431 simply said, turning on a dime on near silent feat. “So, any spare uniforms here?”

“[This way...]” Echidna answered, a new path lighting up along the the floor. “[Shall I send your other frame home?]”

“Yes, please…” I heard her say, before she stalked off. leaving me alone with my near bruised cheeks…

Well, as alone as you can be in a sapient building.

Then a motherfucking dragon stuck its head in front of me and shouted: “Hi!”

I reacted with the utmost grace and dignity… which means I pushed away so hard my chair landed nearly two meters away, me mostly still sitting on it.

“...Hi,” I managed a bit forced, when my heart had stopped near exploding. I very carefully removed the hand from under my uniform… and my pistol. “I take it from the pink scales, slitted blue eyes and balloons on your hips, that I’m talking with the first of the cavalry to arrive?”

She put a talon to her muzzle and hushed me, seemingly unfazed by my gesture. “Don’t use that word or we’ll never hear the end of it…”

That made me raise my head and give her a look. “...A member of the Pie family that doesn’t like puns?”

She stuck her forked tongue out at me. “They were fun… the first hundred or so years. Personally, I don’t see what mom continues to see in them…” She stuck out a sharp looking hand at me. “I’m #13, a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gregory!”

I smiled slightly, and took her talon. “Lucky thirteen, huh?” I said, as she gently pulled me to my feet. “Likewise, Miss.”

“No one else here, yet?” she said, looking around for emphasis. “Miss… Echidna, was it?”

“[Yes.]”

#13 flashed a gleaming grin at the room. “Gotcha.” She then turned to me again. “But seriously, did I really get here first? I was halfway across London!”

I nodded towards her leathery wings, while putting the chair back. “No offence, but from the looks of things you have something of a advantage…”

Her dual curved horns lit up, and the chair opposite me floated over to one of the other tables. “True that…” #13 looked back at me, still grinning. “Still, even if I have most of the licences… Well, all the more ways I can help, right?”

I nodded slowly, as I looked at the dragon almost as tall as I was, despite her sitting down on her haunches. “Glad to have you onboard…” I scratched my chin. “...but may I ask what you do? Forgive me if its a bit personal, but…”

“The dragon thing?” she said, sounding amused. “You know, I actually don’t get that question that often… Most are too freaked out to even stay in the same room...”

“...Must get a bit hard…”

She just shrugged, her smile never even wavering. “Eh, it let’s me skip to the one’s worth talking to.”

“True enough that…”

She held her talons up and wiggled them around, grinning like a loon. “And I get to be a motherfucking dragon! How cool is that?”

I grinned myself and got my cup again, as I was starting to see the family resemblance. “So, you line of work…?”

“I’m an accountant!” she near shouted, as I started spluttering at my coffee having gone down the wrong pipe.

“...You’re serious?” I managed, after I’d gotten my breathing under control again. 

“I just never get tired of auditing…” She folded her talons under her chin and grinned wide. “I put on my business suit, my cute little glasses, saunter in… and you should just see the looks on their faces!” 

My imagination showed me the pink dragoness in the described outfit, sitting at a desk and cackling like a madwoman, as she carefully wrote in a tiny ledger with a red pen…

Oh yeah, this woman was a Pie, alright… 

“...Much use for scales, talons and firebreath in that profession?” I couldn’t help myself from asking.

She grinned a predatory grin at me that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “The state sends me in when they’re expecting trouble… Wanna guess why?”

I drained my coffee, getting up after that. “I have no problem doing that, Ma’am… But how about we find your sister?”

“[May I ask for a verdict first?]” Echidna interrupted.

I gave a big smile to the nearest camera. “I don’t think there shall be many complaints about that food… especially not when reimbursed with the hydroponics.”

“[Glad to hear it,]” Echidna said, sounding pleased with herself.

#13 let out a low whistle. “Damn, you guys have hydroponics as well? Isn’t that a bit overkill?”

I shook my head, as I walked off. “Redundant systems. It should be completely overkill… but there is a chance we might get there, but not back again. I would rather not need to risk anything… and luckily, the designers agreed with that sentiment.”

#13 looked a bit worried, but kept pace with me. “...How large a chance?”

“The new engines should be perfectly fine. It’s ‘just,’” I said, making finger quotes. “a upscaled teleportation system. We should be perfectly fine.”

#13 nodded slowly, but didn’t seem convinced. “So either completely fine… or ‘What got back didn’t live long… fortunately,’ that’s what you're saying?”

I stopped and turned. “Please, Miss. Even your HORNs have the capability for short range ones. Its a perfectly safe technology.”

I got to see the rare sight of a dragoness shivering. “Sorry, its just...I remember when it wasn’t.” She flared her wings, almost blocking the corridor. “I prefer these babies and similar, to be honest.”

“...Well, if you have alternatives to reach FTL speeds, then I would gladly hear them…” I said, tongue firmly in cheek.

#13 grumbled, but she reluctantly nodded. “I guess… I just don’t like the idea of mom and sis risking themselves without any more of us backing them up…” 

I waved a hand absently. “I’m still recruiting, if you know anybody with expertise that would be useful…”

She hummed, thinking it over. “...I did some logistics work a couple of decades ago…” She gave me another pointy grin. “Slightest chance a dragon accountant that doesn’t need to eat, would be of use...?”

I stopped, stroking my chin as I thought it over. “Hmm…” I almost started laughing when I saw how ludicrously wide-eyed she went, but I fought it down. “Tell you what? I’ve got an inkling of an idea… Why don’t you go find #431, while I find a bathroom… and we’ll talk then, OK?”

With a grin she disappeared down the corridor, so fast she was almost a streak and making the floor thud slightly from her bulk.

And I noted with interest, that she had gotten distracted enough that she had forgotten herself and was digging deep scratches with her talons into the concrete floor,.

...Oh yeah, I wanted her on my side, all right…

I grinned internally, as I started rooting around for the loo.

...But telling her that just yet? No, no… that won’t do.

“[...Oh for the love of...]” Echidna muttered. “[Do you have any idea, how long it’s going to take me to fix that?!]”
 
I vaguely heard a shouted “Sorry!” from further down the hall. I tried not to chuckle, I really did…

Having a building glare at you was the oddest damn sensation… I chose to hide my last chuckle by clearing my throat. “...Bathroom?”

With a sigh from Echidna, another breadcrumb trail appeared. “Much obliged…” I politely said.

Within five minutes, I was inside the nearest washroom. And that, was just how I intended to use it.

I carefully rolled up my sleeves and started dabbing my face with a wet paper towel. Not much I could do about the stubble, but I could atleast make myself as clean as possible…

I slicked my hair back with some water, and leaned back to check how I’d done.

A pale man with sharp, angular features and a long, thin face, glared back at me. Tall, imposing and with hard eyes… he was a threatening figure even without the black Sol Guard uniform and the glare, thanks to his height of just above two meters… A few lines and tips of grey in his hair, but hardly a man after his prime.

I gave my reflection a brief nod. Not bad for seventy-eight, but then, I do take my health seriously...

I brushed some lint of the Captain’s insignias on my shoulders, giving the four golden stars crowned with a stylized moon a quick rubdown, before discarding the towel and walking out.

Echidna bit back a small snort. “[Cleaning up for the future in-laws?]” She ‘whispered’, by only using the speakers in the corridor I was in.

I gave a non-committing shrug, before stalking back towards the hangar. “Please, I would do this for any person I was about to meet for the first time… Time permitting, of course.”

She chuckled at me, while a new trail flickered to life under my boots. “[Aren’t you taking the ‘Officer and a gentleman’ shtick bit far… Not that I’m complaining, its nice to see somebody with a bit of class, for once...]”

I smiled softly, as I continued to follow the trail. “It being a shtick would imply it a act, madam. I assure you, I simply happen to consider manners a thing of importance…”

I pretended to not notice the wistful little sigh, instead opting to switch subject. “Any more incoming? And I am going towards #13 and #431, right?”

“[Let’s see, I spy, with my little eyes legion of eyes… A few at least and…  Oh dear,]” Echidna said. “[Sorry, Captain. But it appears the first round of flak is incoming...]”

I let out a deep sigh. “Show me the way,” I simply said. Stalking off as soon as the trail shifted.

It lead me back to the hangar where a tense looking admiral and his guards was interrogating #431, who thankfully had gotten a uniform on.

...And of course, it had to be him. The condescending smile, the blond mop, the green liar’s eyes that always seemed to sparkle, especially when the bastard was setting you up for the fall…

I gritted my teeth once, before donning a mask of cold professionalism.

He would not best me, not within sight of my own bloody ship.

I stomped up to the group, giving a stiff salute and almost keeping the snarl off my face.

I’m fairly certain my glare would have stripped paint, however.

The two guards gulped, and clutched their rifles a bit harder… but the man in question just sighed and gave me a sad look. “...At ease.”

I did so, taking the opportunity to clench my fists behind my back loud enough that the sound of my knuckles popping betrayed me. Since the jig was up anyway, I took the opportunity to turn my irritated glare up to an unfiltered look of cold contempt. “...Yes? Can I help you, Sir?” I managed, in a voice so cold one of the recruits stopped shivering, instead freezing on the spot. Like a tiny mouse, caught straight in front of a fox…

The bastard gave me a glare of his own, but that had never been among… the man’s ‘gifts.’ “...Must we do this?”

“...I am unsure to what you are referring to, Sir.”  I continued, voice still as cold as hell’s heart. “Would you mind getting to your business here, Sir. I have work to do, Sir, and would very much like getting back to doing my best to make the solar system a better place, Sir…”

His head reared back a bit… but only a little bit. His mask not allowing more than that at my insult.

He even had the gall to make himself look sad. “So, this is how you want to do it, brother?”

At our sides, #431 gulped, and looked as if she wished the floor to swallow her.

I just snorted loudly. “Sorry, Sir. Can you get to your… business here? As I said, I have work to do. Surly being here must be some… work, for you, to do, yourself…” 

I let the last venom filled word hang in the air, starring the bastard straight in the eyes. His guards broke protocol, as they involuntarily took several steps back.

I don’t do things by fucking half-measures… 

This was actually enough to make the bastard lose his temper at me. “Have you seen yourself lately, br-”

“With all due respect, Sir,” I interrupted. “We are on the clock. Perhaps this does not mean much to you, but I take my duties seriously.” I jerked my head towards the door, never letting him out of my sight. “Say your piece and leave. Because to be frank if we must drag this down to a personal level then, I have neither need, nor want, for you or your honeyed words...”

I poured every bit of my hatred, my bitterness and my sense of betrayal into my next word. Every drop of blood spilled in vain because of him, every letter I’d had to write because of him, every damn time he had dared to claim to fix things... Making it such a cold statement, that even to me it seemed to sap the warmth from the room.

“Sir.”

For a moment, something I refuse to believe was genuine glimmered near his eyes… then it was gone, replaced with a burning fury barred behind cold acceptance. 

“...So be it Captain,” he said, standing up a bit straighter. He gave me a glare, as hot as mine had been cold. “Do you even care, what they’ve started saying about you? Your reputation nose-dived after the pirate attack on The Glorious Dawn… and then you started freaking digging.”

For a moment, I saw smoke blackened corridors, filled with blood and bodies…

Then the flashback passed. Why did the bastard have to bring that ship up?

“No,” was however, my complete and honest reply.

Another sigh, another glare… “Fine, then I shall tell you anyway.” He jabbed a finger at me, I ignored it. “I’ve personally heard, that you simply don’t care about the cost… as long as the mission succeeds. For fucks sake, they call you Black Blake The Butcher!”

I just smirked at the nickname. I didn’t actually like it, but the way something seemed to die in his eyes when he forced himself to say it was a treat to see.

But I fought the smile down, as #431 shifted uncomfortably. As useful as it was, it was a title I preferred my enemies to know me by.

“False, I have never left a man behind, unless completely necessary… Sir.” I clenched my fists together so hard I felt something warm and wet start dripping around my nails. “Nor have I ever harmed or abandoned civilians… Sir.”

For the first time during that discussion, the bastards eyes flickered away from me. “...You know as well as I, that there was…”

He faltered mid sentence, as I pulled my dripping hands from behind my back and a clean hankie from my pocket. 

“Ah, yes… That regrettable incident on the luxury liner Monica…” My hands were steady, as I carefully tore the thing in two and methodically started wrapping my wounds. “I am well aware of the tiny army of attack robots that zealot had put together… and I had to listen to the screams as the order for me, my armed and armored men and the authorization for the EMP canons never came… Sir.” I finished the simple knots, and once more stared him in the eyes. “I was there, in case you have forgotten, Sir.”

His eyes wouldn’t leave my hands. I folded my arms and kept them clearly visible out of spite.

He sagged, looking very tired. 

I was not fooled.

It had been… a very long time, since I had been.

“You know what I was doing earlier today?” He said. He held up his arm, thumb and index finger almost meeting. “I was this close, to convincing the other admirals and the leaders of the Order of Lud to come to an agreement that would have peacefully disbanded the neo-luddite movement across the entire solar-system…” He extended his index finger, pointing at #431 who tensed slightly. “But you two just had to mobilize the entire Pie Clan on a whim!”

“Not all of them…” I stated smugly. “...just three-hundred eighty-nine of them.” I nodded at #431 who was smiling nervously. “Not counting my secretary, of course...”

Arun just glared at me, so hard I almost thought he might pop a blood vessel. 

I glared back, pointing at my ship. “This might be a pivoting point in the history of humanity. I will not take half-measures for that… and Queen Pinkie agrees.” I nodded to behind him, where a nervous and very pink crowd had gathered. His jaw set a bit harder, as he turned and saw them. “Unless you have anything to add legally, Sir?”

The fight faded from him, making me hate him a bit more. No conviction, as usual. Just bluster and empty words…

“Please, stop this.” He held out his hand, as if almost begging. “Do you have any idea how scared people get, when the Pinkie Clan actually starts meddling?”

About two dozen pairs of eyes bored into him, but to the bastards credit, he didn’t even hesitate. He just pointed at them. “They don’t see a family or even individuals. They see a swarm of mechanical locusts, coming to do their mistress bidding! They start to worry that the ludz might have a point...“

My eyes flickered to the group of Pies… but not because of his words. A movement had caught my eye, as one of them was passing something around...

“I know you think I’m just a backstabbing politician...” He put his open palms to his chest, in a gesture I knew wasn’t for me. Bastard. “But I was so close, to solve this diplomatically! Without as much as the threat of violence, even!”

Then he folded his arms, giving me a look, as if waiting for a reply.

I snickered and pointed behind him, as the throng of Pies started holding up numbered signs… 

Mostly ones and twos.

He glared at them.

“Sorry, Sir,” a human Pinkerton I didn’t recognize said in a well educated Oxford drawl. A grey tweed jacket and a matching bowler hat made him look quite respectable… Minus the shaggy mop of pink on his head, he actually looked quite normal. He was holding a negative five. “but we’ve all heard such words before… And with all due respect, you aren’t one of the people that would die, if those twits got their will through…”

Arun let out a sigh again, sounding spent and tired.

#431 raised a hand. “Yes?” I asked.

“Mom just sent a message…” She looked nervous, but was also clearly not trying to grin. “She just told me she’ll buy out the project and finish it herself, if she needs to. She had to wait nearly a hundred years for people to get their asses to Mars, and she’s not going through that again…”

For a moment, the place was still.

Then a cheer erupted from most of the assembled. Even Echidna joined in, clapping her giant assembler arms only once, but hard enough to make my ears ache.

Arun just looked defeated.

“...Fine, I tried,” he said. “...Isn’t there anything I can say to you, to make you just step aside and let me fix things?  The current political climate is a gallon jug of freaking nitroglycerin, and you’ve just pulled on your stomping boots. Again.”

I felt like being cruel, so I said: “‘I trust you, brother. I know you mean well. Do what you have to do, but please, let me help… Like the old times.’”

The sound in the hangar just died.

I tilted my head, as the mass of people started shuffling their various appendages awkwardly. “Well?”

Arun’s gaze got glued to the floor, and how he just kept clenching his hands told me enough.

I looked around, until I spotted #13 hovering nervously near the ceiling. “Miss #13?”

“...Yes?” she squeaked nervously.

“You seemed to have a good head on your shoulders when we spoke… Can I trust you to keep this front organized? #431 and I need to get going for our little recruitment drive...”

Her cheeks squeaked, as she grinned at my words.

I grinned as well. “And I’m sure your mom would be very impressed with such a success…” I continued.

Her grin faded away, and she pointed an accusing talon at me. “Evil!”

I just let out a laugh, and I beckoned #431 to follow me. She did so and the pink sea parted before us, as we headed out.

“Miss Echidna, thank you for the hospitality,” I said, as we opened the first doors. “All in all, it was a pleasure…”

“[No problem, Captain. The feeling is mutual.]”

In the corner of my eye, I saw Arun raise his arm, as if to call me back, or say something…

I stopped, and half turned towards him. Just looking at him.

His arm dropped, and he looked away. Face unreadable.

I turned, and walked away. 

#431 easily kept my pace in her new frame, even if I more felt than saw her hesitation.

“...You two are really family?” she asked, hesitation in her voice.

“No, not anymore,” was my somber reply.

“...Oh.”

“And as usual, when I would actually need him or his help…” I clenched my fists again, making my wounds ache. “...Then suddenly I’m an inconvenience for his plans....”

I put a hand against a wall, resting for a moment. Trying to ignore the swirling mass of emotion and pain where my heart should have been.

When I had steeled myself and removed my hand… a red stain sat there on the wall.

Neither #431 or Echidna, made any comment.

However… “I am sorry, Echidna. It appears as if I have m-”

She just snorted at me. “[Alright, Mr. Cray-cray Von Gentleman. Apology for bleeding on me, accepted…]”

I let out a nervous laugh, as I tightened the tourniquets. “...I guess that was hardly one of my finer moments, huh?”

#431 let out a nervous laugh.

“[Oh, I don’t know...]” Echidna continued. “[Personally, I thought it was a decent enough little argument… Even if I must wonder, what he did to make you so mad.]”

I gritted my teeth, more than a bit tempted, but… “...It would sadly not be proper, to say when he cannot defend himself… No matter how big the bastard.”

#431 winced at my words. I took it as sign to take a deep breath, and try to center myself.

And I realized that there was one more loose end.

“...There is one thing more, Mrs. Echidna,” I said, looking at the ceiling.

“...[Yes?]”

“There is no way for me to convince you to stay with us?” I said, with a honest conviction I am uncertain if my b- Arun, had ever even truly had. “Surly one incompetent fool may be punished and replaced? Losing competence on your level, would be a blow and a half to us.”

And that was the truth. Echidna had been built 2047 as one of the last purpose built AIs, before they’de been declared actual people… From what I remembered of her profile, they had even needed to file for an exemption thanks to the Pinocchio Trials in the states the same year. 

Truth be told, it was a miracle she had stayed without fuzz for as long as she had. Automated factories weren’t that uncommon… but with a AI designed for it, and still on her post? 

Echidna had been picked to assemble the Philippides for a reason. Her experience and position made her a near unique asset… Losing her thanks to a moron would simply harshen the blow.

Echidna hesitated… but only for a moment. “[...I’m sorry, Captain. Those were very kind words, but the isolation of this place and role was already driving me batty. Finding out about… my voice, was simply the last straw.]” A note of genuine pride filled her voice, hanging like a warm note in the air. For a moment, I could imagine what she must have sounded like undamaged… and that, was a shame and a half. “[I believe I will allow the Philippides to be my swansong in this profession. I can imagine worse points to throw in the towel.]”

I slowly gave the corridor a nod, before starting to walk again. “I will have the papers for migrating you to whatever you chose finished before the day is over… but please, don’t start decoupling from the gear or databases before the a team can get here.”

“[I must admit… I’ve always wondered what walking might be like.]” She made a wincing sound. “[Even if losing that much knowledge to fit into something that small sound… unpleasant.]” 

#431 raised a arm. “My brother, #109 works as a restaurant. He says its really weird to go from being able to man an entire kitchen and cook all sorts of things… to only having one viewpoint and barely being able to cook water, but with the right database architecture…”

I sensed an opportunity, as Echidna hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could convince you to at least consider staying with us, in exchange for that type of upgrades… and a lengthy vacation, perhaps?”

“[...Because you asked, Captain Gregory… I will consider it.]”

I gave a half-bow. “I can ask no more than that… and thank you, for your hospitality. Just contact me when you have come to a decision.”

A sigh danced along the corridor. “[You nab this one, before he can escape, you hear?]”

I chuckled a bit and pretended I didn’t see the darker pink on #431’s cheeks.

Instead, I just walked out in the day that suddenly seemed too sunny, broken bridges burning in my wake and only the unknown darkness of the future ahead…

I smiled, fierce and proud, as I pressed a button on my PDA and called on the Sun Guard car we were using.

Me, my allies and whatever support we could scrounge together…

Against the worlds.

And those odds?

I liked them.

I lifted my head, enjoying the crisp air of late winter. “...So, Vegas? Always wanted to go there...”

#431 hesitated, but only for a moment. “Yes, I’ve already arranged the transportation and tickets to Trixie’s show… We should be able to talk with her backstage, after that.”

I nodded, a warm smile on my face. “Good…”

The automated car rolled up, freshly cleaned and still warm from whatever garage it had hidden away in. The white paint and stylized eclipse gleaming in the light. I held the door open for #431 before she could protests.

She raised an eyebrow at me, but got into the car without a fuss.

I got in, and sat down next to her, at a polite distance.

I leaned back, and shot her a grin that simply shouldn’t have been legal. “Well, you heard the man…”

I leaned forward a bit, as #431 watched me with both excitement and more than a bit of worry.

I gently tapped my briefcase, and all the folders it contained. 

“Let’s go get our stomping boots!”
> Chapter Three - Pyramid Power
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

???





The woman’s neck broke with a sharp crack, her head almost turning one-eighty from the force I had used. A death rattle pierced the air; nothing would move in her lungs again.

I wasted no time, pilfering the would-be pirate’s gun. The cheaply printed pistol felt oddly heavy in my hands. I briefly wondered how many of my comrades, or, for that matter, civilians, had died to the flimsy little thing.

By chance I looked towards the corpse. To my mortified fascination, the woman was using her jaw to scoot her head towards me, just enough to almost bite me as one last act of defiance.

In response, I put her out of her misery.

“Good work, Chrissy!” a male voice shouted, making me curse that I’d opted to use the gun. “Found a straggler, eh?”

I pressed myself into the shadows, the soot and smoke obscuring me almost as well as the automatic camo from the smart-fibre of my uniform.

“...Chrissy?” A man stepped out of a corner, looking tense. Tears started streaming down his cheeks as soon as he saw the girl.

He barely had time to cry out before I put a bullet between his eyes. He fell to the floor spasming.

I waited long enough to be certain that there were no more coming around the corner before I snuck over and patted them both down.

Two combat knives, a spare gun, and five extra clips of ammo was my price. I took a few tense moments to check the magazines and pool the ammo. It seemed the girl had been busy, because most of her ammo had been spent. In the end, I had three full clips extra, twelve shots loaded into the gun.

And what pieces of work these guns were. Cheap plastic, rubbish metal, and the powder smelled as if they’d lifted it from a fireworks factory…  But somebody on the pirate’s side had half a brain, and about negative two hearts, because the bullets were hollow-points. Perfect—though completely illegal—tools for dealing with a training ship of raw recruits. Heck, they even lessened the risk of a hull breach. Utterly rubbish against armor of course, but it made no difference when most of us had simple uniforms.

I swore under my breath. Dammit, why did the armory have to be on the other side of the ship? All I had on this end was—

A wicked grin came to me. I must have looked like some sort of twisted Cheshire cat, the rest of me hidden in the gloom from emergency lights and my features darkened by soot.

With renewed purpose, I started sneaking towards the docking bay. I took it slow and carefully. I had no illusions about what would happen to me, if I got caught.

Several agonizingly long minutes later, this belief was sadly validated as I came upon some poor bastard’s last stand. 

I didn’t recognize him as more than a face from the mess, but the lieutenant had gone down fighting. One stiff hand still held a gun, the other clutched at the poor kid’s abdomen. From the look of things, one of the five bastards laying around him got lucky with a gut shot. I closed his eyes, pocketing his PDA and his tags. I wanted to get the gun as well, but he was clutching it so hard, I would have needed to… break his fingers.

I moved on.

The two I’d gotten by surprise must have been a rear guard, because I didn’t even hear any more. I arrived at the small docking bay without resistance. 

The SGTS Glorious Dawn was a small vessel, mostly for giving raw ensigns a taste of space; the dock mostly contained a couple of rows of training drones. With dismay, I noticed that most of them still hung in their cradles. Since they were only training drones, they weren’t armed, but they might have served as mobile bombs at the very least.

How the hell had they taken us so completely by surprise?

I’d been between shifts and heading back to my bunk after a shower, when the sirens started blaring and the chaos started. Almost as soon as I’d gotten my uniform on and activated the camo, some bloodcrazed bastard wearing a Jolly Roger t-shirt had jumped me.

I’m not certain how many drugs the meathead had in his system, but it was almost like fighting a angry slab of beef. He barely flinched at my punches, right until I managed to get both my thumbs in his eyes. I fought back a giggle, mostly from the adrenaline. Then he reacted, alright.

I rubbed at my wrist where my PDA still hung, broken and useless, before doing the same with my swelling left eye and split lip. That victory had cost me.

My eyes fell on one of two training shuttles, meant to give pilot trainees some non-simulated flight time. Just what I needed.

I chose the nearest, quickly opening the airlock. Right now, an alarm would be going off on the bridge, signaling that somebody was accessing the shuttle without prior go ahead. I gave a unhappy grunt. If the bastards had taken the bridge… But there really wasn’t much I could do about it. I would just have to press on.

As soon as the door opened, a pale fist filled my vision. It stopped only inches away from my face, close enough that I could see individual hairs in its pelt, as well as several streaks of blood.

“Sorry!” the owner of the hand whispered, drawing my gaze to the strange horse-shaped head of ensign Shining Armor. “Get in!” 

He practically dragged me in; I stumbled over the threshold. I sank down past the second door, panting with sudden exhaustion as I realized that if this hidey hole was claimed, then it must be clear. Shining’s close call with making me a friendly fire statistic had sent my heart into my throat, which might have helped as well.

He yanked the door shut as if it was a normal door instead of a heavy airlock, not bothering with even the mechanical closing system. I took a moment to look him over.

I hadn’t spent much time with him before, but he had given me a decent impression. The whole chalk-white horse-head and blue mane thing was weird, but hardly the strangest design I’d seen. Heck, walking down the streets of London was enough nowadays to almost forget that we humans were still alone in the universe.

I’d seen him eating by himself more than once, though. There were a decent amount of transhumans in Sol Guard, but many regular recruits were wary of them anyway. Well, the ones that flaunted it like Shining, at least. 

Call me cynical, but few seemed to care quite as much about the Greek god wannabes with pecs on their pecs, compared to those who had seen Disney’s Robin Hood one too many times growing up, or those who were a bit too into unicorns, as the case might be with Mr. Armor. Although I had to admit, he hardly looked comical or endearing at the moment. He was nearly covered in blood, and I saw what might have been bits of brain smeared on his knuckles. Long gashes had been cut from both his uniform and him. They were probably due to panic fire from pirates that hadn’t expected a transhuman in such close quarters.

Most of the damage was superficial, the artificial skin torn and revealing subdermal armor, but he had a horrible gash on his face, where something had barely missed his eye. I saw the gleam of scratched metal bone, and black artificial muscle twitched and sparked in the wound.

“...You alright?” I managed to pant out.

He snuck over and sank down beside me. “No,” he said, carefully feeling the wound on his cheek. He turned to me, looking a bit shellshocked. “How bad is it?”

I shook my head, in turn a bit shaken by how shaken he had sounded. I’d seen him move at some of the drills, and while many of the others had grumbled about cheating, I was mostly just happy he was on our side. Seeing someth— somebody mostly human-shaped do an obstacle course at a nearly literal gallop had been illuminating. I almost felt bad for the pirates that had gone up against him.

My eyes darted down to his bloody fists. Shining followed my eyes. His face twitched, and he forced himself to look away. He looked both disgusted and guilty, before finally hiding them behind his back.

“I’m sorry, it looks bad, but I simply don’t know. I’m not—” I wasn’t certain if I should have said the next words, but honesty won out. “—a mechanic.” I finished, trying to sound as kind as I could.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting out a resigned sigh. “Thanks anyway… and for being honest.”

“No problem,” I told him. “But have you seen anybody else?”

He fought back a sob. “...Nobody left.”

I grunted in acknowledgement, before I held up the looted PDA. “Slightest chance you’ve got hacking systems? I know a thing or two, but not enough to do what I was planning without triggering every damn alarm on the ship.”

He ran his hands through his mane, smearing it with various fluids. I grimaced, but he probably needed the chance to calm down more than the hygiene. “Dammit, I just signed up to try being a bit more like the real—” He took a deep breath and glared at me. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

I gave him a tired look. “Kid, I killed three people to get here. I assure you, I’m not likely to get anything more than adrenaline giggles anytime soon… And I have no idea what you're talking about, anyway.”

“Really?” he said, sounding both relieved and disappointed. He let out a tittering laugh that made me worry for his mental health. “Oh, and I got jumped by six—” Then he buried his head in his hands and started sobbing.

I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore what else I was putting it into. “Mr. Armor, I need to know if you have any hacking systems, or if I’m going to have to do this myself.”

He took a dozen shuddering breaths to regain his composure. “Fine, tell me this plan of yours… and call me Shining.”

I extended a hand. He hesitated for a moment, before smiling and grabbing it. I gave him a smile of my own in turn. “Blake Gregory, a pleasure.”

My smile turned a bit forced, as I noticed how… squishy his grip was. “Sorry,” he muttered, turning away from me.

I took a deep breath, and very carefully didn’t look down. “Would you be terribly offended if I wiped my hand?”

A smile twitched into life on his equine face, making a few sparks fly from his facial  wound. “Not at all, but thanks for asking.”

I needed no more encouragement to wipe my hand on the floor. 

“Seriously,” he continued, “It means a lot. I’ve done my best, but I haven’t exactly felt welcome in the Guard. Somebody treating me like a person again feels nice.”

He slowly swept his arm over the putrescent room. “Even if I would have prefered better circumstances.”

I bit back a laugh. “Likewise, but…?” I held up the PDA.

With a grunt, he shook his head. “Sorry, my big brother Dusk Shine is the computer guy in the family.” He tapped his horn. “I’ve mostly spent my time learning this baby.”

I filed the odd name away, deciding to ask later why they both had such strange names, but now was not the time. I looked at the pristine HORN, meant to actually look like a, well, a fluted unicorn horn. “How come you needed to use your fists?”

Shining gritted his teeth. “Ensigns aren't trusted to use even built-in weapons, unless the Captain gives a order to do so.” He tapped his forearm, looking extremely irritated. “I’ve actually got emergency bayonets in these, for all the good they’ve done while being locked in their sheaths.”

“Shouldn’t the red alert have done that automatically?” I asked.

He shook his head, looking dejected. “When I got jumped, it was only a yellow alert.” He gestured to his head wound. “For all I know, something might have… broken.”

I felt around in my uniform, before presenting him the knives. “Here, I think you might get more use out of these than I would.”

Hesitating, he reached out and took them. He gave me a grim nod, securing them on his belt.

I nodded back, jabbing a thumb towards the controls. “Alright, here’s the plan.”

He leaned in, studying the PDA. 

“Worst case scenario: the ship is completely taken over, and the moment I do anything with this, the bastards will know, so we have to maximise our chances of survival. We can’t let them get away with the Glorious Dawn. Even if it’s outdated, who knows what they might do with it?”

He tensed a little. “…You want to flee?”

I nodded towards his bloody hands, making him cringe. “Would you prefer going from room to room until they get lucky?” I tapped the side of the tiny computer again for emphasis. “Besides, running is the last resort, now let me finish.”

Shining gulped, then nodded slowly.

“I’ve always had a knack with technology—” I let out a nervous laugh. “—and I haven’t exactly been squeaky clean about it. I know some hacking tricks. I might be able to do some actual damage with the permissions in this thing, but it’s more or less going to give away our position.”

Shining’s ears folded back at the wannabe hacker bit, and it only got worse from there. “Just what are you planning?”

I nodded towards the doors. “You know how the bulkheads may be automatically closed in case of a breach? I was thinking about forcing them shut—and turning off the oxygen to those rooms.”

He winced. “That’s a horrible way to go.” His face turned just as hard figuratively as it was literally. “Do it, but make sure they aren’t taking hostages. I’ll start the shuttle. I’m no pilot, but I should be able to point this tub towards Earth.” He got to his feet.

I pointed to the docking port on the instrument panel. “Do you have a—?”

He got into the seat and buckled himself in. A hiss came from his neck, answering my query. His head popped off and scuttled down on what looked like strands of smart-fibre, but thicker, then pressed a button near the docking port and got in. With another hiss, he was locked in place and the instruments started lighting up. “Strap in, we might need to leave in a hurry.”

I got up and did so. I started the PDA, the holographic screen flickering alive in front of me. “Try the radio, we might get a warning out, at least.”

I gained access to the Glorious Dawn’s internal servers and winced. There was a long list of people confirmed KIA, but some fighting was still ongoing. People had barricaded themselves in the bridge, the mess, and the armory.

Shining grunted. “No can do, they have a jammer.”

There were survivors listed. Not many, but they were alive. I did a quick count. Eleven people, hidden or wounded in the same rooms as the hostiles where currently in. Shining was looking at me with a neutral expression. Whether it was due to my face or to the readings I didn’t know, but comparing the neutralization of the majority of the boarders to saving most of the remaining crew… I shook my head. They couldn’t be allowed to get away with the ship, with all that they could do with it.

The calculus was as grim as it was easy. Eleven lives, compared to an untold but certainly higher number? There was no comparison.

I searched through recent activity. Somebody had, quite clumsily, declared the fire warnings a false alarm, and forced the doors to unlock… One ‘Major Dick.’ I grunted irritably at the utter lack of class. Well, it seemed quite possible they simply didn’t care about leaving trails. What was the point in being neat if you were stealing the crime-scene as well?

I gently removed the extra memory from my own PDA, and slotted it into the one I had looted. I was relieved when the computer recognized it, proving that it survived my scuffle. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. This would have been a lot harder without my tools.

Shining sucked in a breath, seeing the folder that popped up. “Dude, why do you have a hidden memory stick full of hacking software?”

“Because a non-hidden one would have been confiscated,” I answered primly. “Now, let me work.”

It seemed a bit nonsensical, but the white would-be unicorn paled even further. Still he did as I asked, and within a few moments, I had the thing up to my exacting standards. I got to work on the ship’s security, trying the classic brute-force attack first. I sighed, irritated.

“Shining?”

“...Yes?” he hesitantly answered.

“When we both get dragged before a tribunal over this, remind me to cuss out whichever moron served as system administrator on this tub. The password is fucking ‘admin.’”

Shining let out a nervous laugh, but made no other comment.

With disturbing ease, I changed the password to 987654321Altruism123456789Sacrifice112233445566778899. Hardly my best work, but I was pressed for time, and the sheer bulk of digits would slow down any counterattacks. I quickly made a note of it in the blood beside me, just in case. I wiped my finger off on my pants and got back to work.

I got rid of the block on the fire alarms with a simple reboot, after leaving a few surprises in the system, of course.

With a thud we felt through the floor, the blast doors to the bridge slammed shut.

Almost immediately somebody tried to counter, logging back on to the ‘Major Dick’ account. I grinned. Such a pity somebody just laced that account with enough viruses to make a computer melt…

Literally.

With a song in my heart, and humming a merry tune, I flicked through the security cameras. “Dude,” Shining said, sounding worried. “you are creeping me out. And for the record? I got the phylactery upgrade back when it required manual removal and reattachment.”

I nodded absently, finding the camera I was looking for. I held up the image of a man clutching a burned forearm and screaming, as his computer lay in front of him smoking. “Always remove wearable computers when hacking. It’s just begging for someone with a nasty streak to overclock the thing a couple of orders of magnitude otherwise.”

Shining gulped, and muttered something like, “...I’m so glad Rarity is paranoid about computer security…”

I ignored the comment. Instead, I opted to gain access to the PA system.

I cleared my throat, as the PDA started to broadcast my grim face to every display on board.

“This is Ensign Blake Gregory. I now have root access to the Glorious Dawn’s computer systems. To the pirates aboard I have the following message: Yield, or I will kill you all...”





Present Day. 





I woke in a cold sweat, struggling against the buckles of my seat before I remembered where I was.

I started taking slow breaths to calm myself, ignoring the odd looks I was getting from some of the plane’s other passengers.

“...You all right, boss?” #431 asked, giving me a concerned look.

I pressed the stop button on my PDA, ending the looping playback of ‘Suited For Success.’ Decent episode from what I saw before sleep claimed me, but my day had simply caught up with me. I tugged my earbuds out and leaned back in my seat.

“Nightmare, nothing more,” I managed. “Just bad memories that haven’t cared to fade yet…”

“You need to talk about it?” she asked.

I gave her a sharp shake of my head. 

#431 countered by putting a hand atop my own. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I sucked in a breath, realizing where this was going… and truth be told, it didn’t sound like that bad an idea. “I was back on the Glorious Dawn. I was just about to…” The words ‘exterminate them’ caught in my throat. “Well, you know. Again.”

#431 winced.

A shiver swept me. I countered it by sweeping up what was left of a now warm and flat soda.

I half expected mutterings and gasps, but I only got a few curious glances. I hummed thoughtfully as I placed the empty can on the tray. “I guess it’s starting to be forgotten.”

#431 gave me a nervous smile. “Well, it was almost sixty years ago.”

I nodded. There wasn’t much more to add than that…

I gave the unicorn next to me a sideways glance. “Slightest chance you know a guy called Shining A—”

#431 interrupted me, looking a bit wide eyed. “Damn, you're the ‘scary little ensign’ that gave Shining nightmares for months? Small world!”

I smiled nervously at her. “I must admit, I thought we struck up a better accord than that…”

#431 patted me on the hand. “Oh, he likes you alright…” #431 threw her head back and barked out a laugh. “You just scared the bejesus out of him as well!”

I had to bark out a laugh of my own at that. “So, anyway, how is the old geek? I’ve haven’t heard much from him since he got promoted.”

#431 shrugged. “Me and mom neither. The other admirals are keeping him busy.”

I nodded, and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Well, I feel a bit better that there’s an admiral who isn’t a brown-nosing nimrod or a complete bastard, at least.”

#431 shifted her weight uncomfortably, although that might have been the seat. They were decent, but hardly amazonian-sized. I’d tried not to notice, but her hips did look a bit squished together…

What can I say? I strive to be a gentleman, but certain things catch the eye, do they not?

But I had to admit, she did looking striking in that frame and uniform together. I also had to admit to being one of those men who barely get the why of high heels… but a slightly uncomfortable seat seemed a small sacrifice for curves like that.

I fought back a smile. I hadn’t even been looking for it, but I still saw almost two dozen women seemingly trying to kill #431 with their sheer hatred, judging from the glares…

And judging from the wide grin that had barely left #431’s face since we’d left Echidna, she’d most certainly noticed as well.

She wasn’t smiling now.

I let out a sigh. “Is this about Arun?”

She hesitated for a moment, but nodded, looking uncharacteristically grim.

“Fine…” I sighed again. “He’s a brown-nosing weasel of a politician. And every time I actually do something, he’s there to point out how it hurts his career or his plans.” I gripped my armrests, making the wounds on my palms ache again. “Like today, in fact.”

“...Nothing more?” #431 hesitated again, before vaguely waving an arm. “Because honestly, you looked like you were minutes away from strangling him with his own intestines or something.”

“He’s been doing it my whole bloo–” I quickly bit off the swear. That wasn’t a pun I wanted to say, even unintentionally. “My entire career. And somehow I keep ending up at low risk positions… as far out of the way as possible. Usually with crap gear and washouts, just so I couldn’t do anything even if I had the chance.” 

I bit back a laugh. Sadly for Arun, I must have pissed on Lady Luck’s grave in a past life. I instead held a hand flat over my head, as high as my arm would extend. “Simply put, I’ve had it up to here.”

“...You're certain he’s not just looking out for you?”

I barely resisted the urge to grit my teeth. “I don’t want a nanny. I want him to get out of my way and never get into it ever again. He burned all bridges between us years ago.” I fought down a sigh as memories of happier times danced through my head; my brother was once so much less of a dick. ”Why he still insists on defiling the ashes is beyond me.” I took a deep breath, calming myself. “The Maria was the last straw.”

“Sorry, boss.” #431 shifted uncomfortably again. For some reason, her hair had turned straight. “I’ve seen enough families over the years to know that the blood and water thing is complete crap, but I still don’t like seeing it.”

“You know?” I said, trying to switch the subject. “You should let your hair down like that more often. It looks really nice when you do.”

I must have said something wrong; her face went carefully blank. Then her hair coiled up, fell down, coiled up, fell down, coiled up, fell down…

Just as I was starting to worry I’d done some sort of permanent damage, she smacked herself, hard. Then she smiled a bit as her hair started braiding itself. “Thank you for the compliment.” She held it up to examine just as the end tied itself into a knot. “I guess it’s high time I should try branching out from the family standard.”

“Family standard?”

“Sorry, inside joke.” She let out a small laugh, as she put the braid behind her back again. “Basically there isn’t one, since almost all of us experiment until we find a look we like, but Mom still prefers the classic Pinkie look, so…”

“Ah, a matter of one’s… roots, so to speak?”

She nodded slowly, studying her flexing hand. “Yeah.”

I patted her other hand softly. It wasn’t like #431 to miss such an obvious pun; whatever was on her mind must be eating at her badly. “Any reason for this bout of introspection?”

She flashed me a smile, before scratching her head. “I guess... I’ve been away from the Farm too long. Seeing that many of them again was great, don’t get me wrong, but,” she pointed to her face. “I’ve just gotten used to sticking out. Suddenly not sticking out made me think a bit, that’s all.”

I gave her a smile of my own. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re pulling off the ‘Pony-headed Egyptian Goddess of Parties and Paperwork’ look quite well.”

She bit her lip, before her braid undid itself. “Parties and paperwork, eh?” Her hair rose in a cloud around her head and she said in a deep, booming version of her normal voice: “Hark, brief mortal! Your improper usage of party favors has angered the goddess! Take heed, or I shall make you… fill out form thirty-six-epsilon-b!”

I threw an arm up in front of me, giving off a gasp using the full power of bad acting. “Ah! Not form thirty-six-epsilon-b! You fiend!”

“In triplicate!” Then she threw her head back and let out an evil laugh.

“No~o…!”

“…I’m glad you two are having fun…” a sleepy-sounding man from further up the plane said. “But some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Sorry!”

“Sorry!”

The man grumbled something, before getting comfy again.

I took the opportunity to crack open my briefcase and drag out the folder with what I now recognized as Trixie’s cuti—… c—… cutie mark. Ugh.

“You know, I actually get the special talent thing. It’s a nifty idea for something to make a magic-based society a bit more, ah… unique…” I drifted off, looking for the words to phrase my displeasure at the cutesy name without insult.

#431 had a knowing smile, her hair still in ‘goddess’ mode. “Let me guess… the name?”

I just nodded. 

#431 waved a hand vaguely at me. “Eh, it kinda grows on you. I know it sounds absolutely ridiculous the first few times, but after a while you get used to it.”

My eyes drifted to where I knew #431’s marks should be, to her barely hidden amusement. “What’s it like to actually have one of those on your hips?”

“Well, it’s not like it’s more than a pretty picture. Besides…” Her colors changed, melting away like frost on a pane of glass. Soon, shades of pink had been replaced with blacks and blues, and fake stars glimmered all over her hair. “I can change mine, if I want.”

I gave a round of quiet applause at the Nightmare Moon look #431 had taken on. Her eyes looked the same and her face was a bit too full for the look, but otherwise it was almost dead on. “Neat trick, how long have you been able to do that?”

She turned her grinning head, and tapped her chin with an equally black hand. “Technically all my life, but I didn’t have the software for on-the-fly color change before today.” She frowned slightly, and rested her head on a hand, as she began to change back. “Sadly, my head is a bit outdated. Echidna gave me a bunch of upgrades to go with my new licences, but I won’t be using most of it until I can get some of the hardware needed.”

I gave her a sagely nod. “I take it I just saw the reason you need a licence for camo and cloaking in action? Even though this is a bit more benign than most such demonstrations?”

#431 let out a laugh without much humor in it. “Yeah, leave it for the buttholes to ruin nifty things for the rest of us.” Her colors changed again—this time to a much softer pink—and her hair looked almost like the aurora borealis. 

“Well,” she said, waving a hand at her Celestia-looking self. “do I even need to say it? Talk about exploitable. And then I’m a bad example because of the whole pony-shaped head thing…”

I gave her a nod. “I get it.”

She tapped one of her (still blue) eyes, making me twitch involuntarily. “Yeah, and I can’t do the eyes.”

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Some passengers were giving us odd looks, but most were just curious. The rest were from people just a bit weirded out, nothing more. I scratched my chin in thought. It was easy to forget, considering what impact those bastards were currently having, but the Order of Lud was a tiny minority—the military offshoot even more so.

The public at large had mostly made peace with the idea of bumping elbows with ‘klingons’, seeing ‘dragons’ fly overhead, and getting irritated at the people who still thought sparkling ‘vampires’ were the best thing evar.

But seeing #431 all but change her body structure with a thought? I didn’t agree with the sentiment, but I could understand why some would consider that too much power for one person.

“...Hmm, I wonder what it would look like if I put on a human skin-texture instead of just a color change…” #431 muttered.

I was overcome by a sense of doom, and immediately looked away.

A few retching sounds and a sudden quiet from the other passengers told me everything I needed to know.

“Eww, my fur has pores,” #431 said, sounding—shockingly enough—disgusted. “And what are the eyes doing there?”

I took a deep breath. “#431, may I recommend saving any experiments until later?”

A few more ‘ew’s erupted from the morbidly fascinated crowd.

“Hey, speaking of which, I found the folder with eyes!” A hand covered in flat, but otherwise quite detailed eyeballs was thrust in front of my face, and they all blinked at me. “I know what my next Halloween costume is going to be!”

I let out a sigh, because I sadly recognized roughly where this was heading. “#431, please don’t do anything blood or zombie related, please?”

She just snorted at me, and withdrew the arm. “On a crowded plane? I’m not that clueless. And I don’t have the textures for that, anyway.”

“Small favors,” I muttered.

#431 was lost in her own weird, weird world and just ignored me. “Oh! I found some weird stuff!”

“...Do I dare ask?” I asked, risking giving her a look.

”Sadly weird and dull.” She held up a plaid-plated hand, looking bored. “I mean, come on. Plaid? Where am I supposed to blend in with this, a lumberjack convention?”

With a sigh, I left #431 to her own—no pun intended—devices. I opened the folder and began to read.

Born twenty eighteen, doctorate in quantum physics, part of the Venus expedition of—my heart skipped a beat, but then I saw it was the wrong one. One of the terraforming missions, not the type I was looking for. A pity.

A jab in my shoulder broke my concentration. I looked up to see that #431 had changed back to her original colors. “Come on, boss. How about an alternative to that dreary folder?”

I bit back a smile and waved it at her. “I thought you wrote this. Didn’t you?”

#431 made the uniform proud by treating it with the dignity and respect it so deserved. In other words, she blew a raspberry at me. “But seriously…” #431 said after her display of maturity had passed. “I have a series of interviews saved with those, might give you an inkling about them without all those dates and numbers.”

I put the folder back and waved vaguely at my PDA. A soft ding from my earbuds told me it wanted to know if I approved of the file transfer. I put them back in my ears, and fished my glasses out of my pockets.

I pressed the button on their frame, and they began to boot up with a soft click. In a few seconds my vision was filled with outlines, as the cameras in them scanned my surroundings and started filtering the available information to my preferences. Closest exits, sniper positions, ambush positions, threat assessment, translation software… All that and more started flickering online, almost too fast to follow with the naked eye, as the onboard computer filtered away any unnecessary info.

I held up a hand, making the classic pistol pose. A virtual laser sight with a crosshair where it impacted sprung out of my index finger.

I let the ‘hammer’ fall, and my glasses reported that I had suffered a gun malfunction and was out of ammo.

I nodded to myself, satisfied with the results of the quick calibration. I held a hand out in front of my face, making a virtual console spring forth, and changed the settings on the marksman software back to my standard pistol.

“...Wow,” #431 said, sounding more then a bit amused at what she saw. “Aren’t those preferences a bit paranoid, boss?”

I turned to her, noting with interest that my glasses immediately outlined her in a deep red. Several warnings begun flashing as well. I used the physical controls on the frame on the glasses to mark her as a friendly for my IFF app. Without any further ado, the outline turned green.

“#431, I’ve gotten jumped by nearly every shade of scum in the solar system, usually when I least expect it—” I leaned back, switching the glasses to movie theater mode. My vision of the seat in front of me was replaced with that of an old-timey… well, movie theater. I contemplated ‘switching seats’ from the middle one I had as standard, but laziness won out. “—and it’s hardly paranoia in that case.”

#431 hummed thoughtfully. “No offence, boss. But considering half the stuff you’ve survived, well, I’m honestly surprised you’re still baseline. Just saying.”

I winced, as a whole slew of bad memories tried to resurface. Most of them were painful, except the times they had been bad enough not to be. “Yeah, I’m glad they figured out how to fix scar tissue, let me say that much.”

My left arm drifted to my right, as I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t gone. Not anymore.

#431 let out an embarrassed cough. “...Sorry, I should have put that better.”

I turned to where I knew she was sitting, my avatar in the theater doing the same. I only saw an empty seat with the glasses on, but it was the principal of the matter. I flashed her a smile. “Don’t worry, I know you meant it as a compliment.”

To my interest, she didn’t answer immediately. Instead, a pop-up appeared near the bottom of my vision, asking me to confirm a request to enter the virtual room. 

Intrigued, I leaned back and okayed it.

#431 surprised me, by shouting “Hi!” in my earbuds. Intrigued, I temporarily switched the virtual cam to manual control and steered it around one-eighty using the small trackpad on the side of my PDA.

#431’s virtual avatar stood next to the entrances, waving at me. It was a bit flat and simplistic, but she was ‘back’ to her Pinkie Pie shaped body. 

With a fluidity of motion that clearly told anybody who cared to notice that she wasn’t bothering with a controller of any type, she trotted up and sat down next to me… On my left instead of the side she was on in real life, just to be contrary.

Curious, I lifted the glasses and took a peek. Aside from the drumming of her fingers on the armrest, it looked for all the world as if she was asleep.

“Hello~o! You still there, boss?” I vaguely saw something pink flash across the screens of my glasses, before the real #431 cracked open a eye and snorted at me. “Ah,” her body and avatar then said in perfect unison, both smiling at me. “couldn’t resist a peek behind the curtains, could you?”

“Just curious.” With a smile I leaned back, and put the glasses down over my eyes again. “And a most impressive bit of multitasking.”

“...Not really,” #431’s avatar reluctantly admitted, looking a bit introspective. She gave me a slightly sad smile, before poking her own head. “It’s just the trade off for all the existential philosophy and, um, sleepless nights, if you follow.”

I cracked open the protective cover on my PDA’s physical keyboard and texted, “Sorry.”

#431 blinked at the text that appeared in a box in front of her chest, before giggling at me. “You don’t have to text me, silly. I’m just speaking through my avatar to make it a little less jarring.”

I continued using the chat function, “I thought it might have been something you wanted kept private… But perhaps we should carry on like this? We might need to discuss things about Trixie, and this way it should be a bit more discreet.”

#431 grinned at me after I sent my message. “Got it, boss!” Then her avatar blurred as a new preference loaded. Her form stayed the same, but she was now wearing some manner of blue tactical gear, and a black bandana that was billowing in a nonexistent breeze. #431 stuck her hooves in front of her as if holding an invisible gun, before taking on a mock grim expression. “Commencing virtual virtuous mission.” Then she rubbed her hooves together and giggled. “Oh, I just love the cloak and dagger stuff!”

“While being bright pink?” I texted, biting back a smile out of old habit.

“Hey, I can be stealthy if I want too!” Another blur, and a cardboard box was sitting next to me.

It was bright pink, and had neon balloons all over. 

I saw the blue eyes of #431 inside the carry hole, sparkling with barely contained humor. “See? Totally invisible!” she bellowed.

I gave a slow clap, while #431 changed back to her original appearance. I more or less recognised by now when a reference to something flew over my head, but I could still appreciate when they were well executed.

I was just about to press the play button when #431 pulled out a tub of popcorn from behind her back and started munching down on it. The sight caught me by enough surprise that I asked “Can you actually taste that?” out loud.

“Yeah, its almost as if I’m an android or something.” She gave me a wide grin, while I filed what she had identified as for later. “Seriously, boss. Everybody has a few moments of weakness like that, right? It’s part of being alive; we synthetics just get a different flavor of existential crisis.” She shook the paper bucket for emphasis. “Besides, it was all so worth it!  Living in the future is awesome!”

“All of it?” I asked, still out loud.

Her grin faded away, just like the popcorn. She looked down on her virtual hooves. She took a long time to speak, but eventually said, “Is it alright if I use ‘I,’ instead of ‘Mom?’ I want to say something, without having to pause and correct myself everytime.”

I reached over, and patted her hand. Both of her flinched slightly at the unexpected touch, but her avatar quickly grinned at me and continued.

“Well… I’m going to be blunt. I had to burn a lot of bridges and see many people I cared about just… fade away, to get this far.” she began, her eyes distant but the smile still in place. “I know I don’t exactly act it most of the time, but I’m actually only twenty years younger than Dashie. Well, mentally that is. I’m forty two; the whole fork thing makes it a bit more complicated…”

“How come there are so few people your age left, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She gestured to her virtual face. “Ever heard about the uncanny valley?” She physically tapped my right arm. “Just as cybernetics started getting somewhere, stem cells, regenerative medicine, and cloning tech made enough leaps to be practical.” Her avatar gave a weary shrug. “Rainbow, Rarity, Trixie, Lyra, AJ, Flutters, Twilight, and I are basically the ones among the old guard that pressed on, even when a more pleasant-looking alternative presented itself.”

She waved a hoof towards the screen. It flickered to show a vid of what I first thought was a mannequin. Then I realized it was an old model of phylactery. It had skin, nose, hair, a mouth… but they all looked just a bit too fake and plastic.

Then it spoke, sending a shiver down my spine. “Gree-things hu-man!”

#431 nodded towards the screen. “We all looked like that for awhile at one time or another. The fact that even the early ones drastically raised your life expectancy just didn’t do much for people, and back then, it was more or less permanent.”

“So why do it then?”

#431 gave me a manic grin. “For science!”

I raised my glasses and gave the real #431 a bemused look.

She rolled her eyes at me. “Put the glasses back on. I was being serious.”

I must admit, I thought it a bit farfetched, but I complied.

The thi—face, went away, replaced by a picture I recognized as Venus before terraformation. Nothing but a giant ball of swirling clouds. Pretty, but utterly barren.

“This pic always brings me back…” She actually had a nostalgic smile when she continued. “The international Venus expedition of 2130. We couldn’t actually land on the boiling piece of crap. We had to sit in orbit, until we could build that overblown blimp to sit a bit further down in orbit. Mom was brought in for more or less the same reason you want her, her expertise in 3D printing and similar tech.” Her eyes grew even more distant, and her smile widened a bit. “Anyway, that’s actually how I met most of the other girls. Flutters and I knew each other from before, and I think there were a few similar links... but that expedition was what brought us all together.”

I just blinked at hearing that. Oh my. I didn’t see that coming.

Another pic, this time of the ‘overblown blimp.’ A giant torus-shaped balloon, with what almost looked like a giant metal house underneath. Tanks and solar panels were spread across its surface, and I even saw a few observation balconies. Most were covered in big airtight domes, but a few went without.

I recognized the craft. Near instantly, even. “That’s the Laputa, right? I saw it in the Shangri-La Science Museum when…” I gave my companion a look, reevaluating her. “When I was a kid. It’s actually what made me decide I wanted to do something with space when I grew up.”

She gave me a smile that squeaked in stereo, thanks to her placements. #431’s avatar started blushing and she scratched the back of her head. “Aw, shucks… I never quite know what to say when somebody tells me something like that.”

“I take it the name Pinkie came later?” I asked diplomatically. “Because I’m fairly certain I would have recognized that name, even then.”

#431 let out a nervous laugh and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “...Yeah.”

“So...?”

#431 let out a weary sigh, and gave me a light glare of warning. “My slash mom’s original name is Francisco-Javier Vargas. Yes, that is a Spanish dude’s name. Yes, I used to be male, a long, long time ago. Will that be a problem?!”

My mind took a few moments to actually absorb what #431 just had told me. “Huh.”

“...Well?” #431 asked, voice stern… and with something just barely glimmering in her eyes, visible even in the gloom.

I carefully took off my glasses, folded them on my tray, and turned to the right. #431 in real life looked just as tense as her avatar… including the barely held back tears.

I gently lifted her hand in mine, and equally gently brushed my lips against her knuckles. Then I looked up into her wide eyes. “Not at all, milady… and even if trouble should arrive, your favor would be worth it.”

#431 froze for several moments… then a coy grin, so radiant it nearly lit the cabin of the plane, spread over her face. “My, my…” she murmured, her voice so low and sensual it was nearly a purr. “The would-be gentleman walks the walk as well. How absolutely fascinating…”

I let go of her hand, a slight blush warming my cheeks. “…Ahem, although I must admit I am most pleased with your reaction, perhaps we should get back on track? I would hate for there to be a scandal…”

I ignored the snickers from the rest of the passengers… even if I felt the tips of my ears start heating up.

#431 barked out a laugh, wearing a grin that was positively lecherous. “Oh, please. You don’t think I’ve seen a scandal or two? You smile, wait, and soon they’re nothing but yesterday’s boring gossip. Unless, of course, you make things interesting enough that the public starts cheering you on...” She leaned in towards me, a fire in her eyes that made my stomach quiver slightly. “And what, pray tell, if I think a much better introduction to what kind of woman I am would be to drag you to the nearest hotel and shatter any illusion that you’ve found a lady…”

I leaned back, trying to ignore both the burning in my cheeks and the oohing of the crowd. “Well, unfortunately for such a plan, you have found a gentleman…” I flashed her a warm and platonic smile, just to get her goat. “I guess you will simply have to deal with being courted for a while.”

She growled suggestively at me, before relenting and waving a hand at my glasses. “Fine, you tease… But how about you let this old woman continue her story time?”

I quickly had them over my eyes again, secretly relieved, if a shade disappointed as well.

The picture on the screen had changed, this time showing a phylactery only a Mk or two higher, but looking like Pinkie. 

It was still very artificial looking, with fur and eyes just a bit too shiny, but it wasn’t as jarring as the other one. It was a far cry from #431’s current appearance, but I could still see more than a few similarities. The only big difference, aside from quality, was the lack of a HORN on its head.

“Would you believe me if I told you it started as a joke?” she said, her avatar waving a foreleg at the head on the screen. “Rarity had a vague idea about just ignoring making the face look human until the tech was right… and then Dash cracked a comment that went roughly: ‘Ha! So, you want to turn us into non-humans, huh? Why not just make us look like the Mane Six and be done with it?!’”

“Mane Six?” I asked, confused. “I thought your group called itself the Mane Eight…”

A bit of guilt mixed with pride flashed across her face. “You have no idea how conflicted I feel whenever I hear that people have started to forget that the names we use started as references…” Most of the guilt vanished, letting the pride glow all the fiercer. “But that we’ve actually managed to make them ours? I have no regrets about that.”

Then it clicked. “Oh, the main six characters of the show?” I let out a snort. “That’s a horrible pun.”

She waved me off. “Anyway, the more we thought about it, the more we liked the idea. By then, the designs were in the public domain, so why not? It sure beat looking like we’d escaped from a carnival, let me tell you.”

“I take it that such a thing caused quite the stir?”

#431 just laughed. “Oh man, you have no idea!” She waved her hoof at the screen, making it shift again.

An old newspaper headline: “HEROES OF VENUS TURN THEMSELVES INTO MLP PONIES.” Underneath was a group photo of the smiling and equine-headed group, minus Lyra and Trixie. “HAS THE CYBERNETIC CRAZE GONE TOO FAR?”

#431’s avatar let out another laugh. “There were hearings, near endless debates, psych evaluations, people that accused us of trying to corrupt the impressionable youth…” Her smile turned a bit bitter. “I’ve heard that living long and well is the best revenge, but I would have preferred if more had joined us instead.”

“What exactly happened to them?”

#431 gave a tiny shrug. “Time. Time and Lady Luck.” She tapped her head again, a metallic clank added for effect. “If I get into a accident, I’ll probably be on my feet slash hooves within the day. Heck, I can sit on a shelf and whistle, completely content, while my body’s going through a woodchipper. A person who’s held off the reaper with just anti-aging treatments though? Not so much.” 

She gave me a odd look, before continuing. She looked a bit apologetic, but adamant at the same time. “I’m going to be honest with you, Blake. If we start to actually date, I’m probably going to be more than a bit nagging with you about the idea of getting at least a few upgrades. Just a heads up.”

I fought down a shiver. “…I understand, you just want to see a friend live as long and happy a life as possible. I can respect that.”

She flashed me a smile, before waving at the screen again. This time, it was what I recognized as one of the uncovered observational balconies on the Laputa. You couldn’t see much except the balcony itself. Other than that, it was just rolling clouds and fog as far as the eye could see.

#431 let out a sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, I think its completely awesome we actually managed a terraform, but I kinda miss the old Venus, sometimes. There was just something special about going out on that balcony and knowing that you’re fifty kilometers up…”

“You didn’t need a suit of any type? I remember seeing both space and environmental ones at the museum.”

#431 grinned, before just bonking her head again. “The whole point of us getting these things, and the Laputa. We only needed O2 tanks at that altitude. The suits were for the squishier members of the expedition.” She stroked her chin, and hummed thoughtfully. “Lyra told me once that she was a bit jealous about that… She was stuck as our main tech and medic and barely got to step out there, even with all the safety gear, just because she was so mission critical.”

I racked my brain. ‘Luckily,’ I’d been a bit obsessed… as a kid, of course. “That would be Zake Weaver? The medical specialist?”

#431 looked as if she didn’t know whether she would applaud me or smack me. “Wow, you actually had that in your head?”

I coughed embarrassedly into one hand. “I might have been one of the kids that had a space period, rather than one with dinosaurs…”

#431 gave me a slow clap, smiling all the while. “Wow… Had I known that, then I think I should have ‘joked’ about bribing you with autographs.”

For a moment I forgot myself, and let out a high-pitched fanboy squeal. I realized what I’d done too late, when #431’s jaw dropped and the plane went silent. I clapped both hands over my mouth, as my cheeks started burning.

#431’s avatar fell flat on her back as she started laughing like a pair of loons. 

I huddled down in my seat and waited for her to get it out of her system.

It took long enough that the speakers in the plane let out a ding before the pilot said: “This is your Captain speaking. We are now on approach to McCarran International Airport. Please fasten your seatbelts, raise any trays and get ready for landing. That is all.”

#431’s avatar faded away from the theater, and I took the opportunity to exit back to the glasses normal mode.

I felt a bit conflicted that our discussion had taken the time I could have used for that interview… but not much.

#431 was still fighting for breath, but she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and started to buckle up. 

…Vargas, huh? Oh man. Didn’t see that coming.

I followed her example, grinning as we came in for landing…





“I can’t believe this,” I said, irritated. “Honestly, my first time in Vegas and it’s raining.”

#431 shifted her overnight bag to her other shoulder before leaning her head back and giving the small blue shield over us a boost. 

I was tempted to drop both my bag and my briefcase on the sidewalk, but that would have most likely ruined them both. The waiting platform was positively drenched thanks to the weather.

Beyond the makeshift umbrella, the water formed a gray wall. The dark streets were near deserted. Just a few stragglers waiting for cabs like me and #431, or pedestrians darting back home or to cover.

“Yeah, talk about bad luck with the weather…” #431 said. “And, as usual, my trenchcoat and sunglasses are back home in my apartment. Honestly, what’s the point of being a badass android in the year 2310 if you can’t walk around in the rain and make cyberpunk jokes?”

I chuckled softly. “What, no katana?”

She tapped her forearms with a knowing smile. “Well, next best thing right here, but I think I’ll skip the demonstration. People get nervous when they realize you're packing military gear for some reason.”

I patted my uniform, straight over my holster. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” 

Just then the automated cab rolled up. I held my arm up to take #431’s bag, but she just snorted at me, yanked the door open with her HORN and threw her bag on the far seat. “Just get in, silly. I’m not the one who can get pneumonia.”

I was about to protest when I realized that this particular lady had a point. Manners are one thing, but not if they come at the cost of practicality. I bowed my head slightly to her, and ducked inside. “Much obliged.”

I scooted over, placing #431’s bag on the middle seat while keeping my own in my lap. Her HORN lit up once, making the energy construct collapse prematurely. It looked more or less like a soap bubble collapsing, even though few soap bubbles give off a brief light while disappearing, or make the rain burst into puffs of steam when they touch it.

The light show was impressive, though slightly lessened by how #431 got drenched in the few seconds it took to get in the car. She unceremoniously flopped down on the seat next to the door while glaring daggers at the current weather. Her hair and fur were completely plastered to her body, despite the short time in the rain. I quickly averted my eyes. The same was true for her uniform, and it was currently leaving very little to the imagination.

I waved my Sol Guard ID badge in front of the pay sensor, so that we would be away as soon as possible.

“Where to?” a vaguely synthetic sounding voice said from the panel.

#431 shivered once, before clearly stating. “The Luxor.”

“You alright?” I asked. The cab started driving away.

She made a grimace of disgust and pointed at the panel. “I know these things are basically glorified service drones, but I can’t help but be a bit disturbed.”

“A robot that speaks… but is dumber than a post?” I asked, and got a stiff nod in turn.

“Yeah.” She dragged a hand through her hair, looking distant. “I know its stupid, but a part of me just can’t help but think… What if? I mean, Mom made me as an act of love. I know that. I even have most of that memory…”

“Must be nice, knowing your purpose. And that it’s something like that.” I said softly.

She gave me a bright smile. “Yeah, I must admit it helps quite a bit when I’m feeling down.” She waved vaguely towards the panel again. “It’s just a small hangup of mine. Pay it no heed.”

“If you say so,” I said diplomatically, before changing the subject. “So, the Luxor, huh? That’s the old glass pyramid with an Egypt theme, right?”

#431 hummed in acknowledgement. “Yup. We can’t see it thanks to this blasted rain, but it’s close to the airport. One of the oldest Vegas hotels still standing, even.” 

I scratched my chin. “Isn’t that kind of real estate highly desirable? How come it’s still standing?”

#431 smiled wickedly. “Hm. It’s almost as if one of the oldest mares alive has a pet project, isn’t it?”

I was starting to realize that I had heard ‘Trixie-obsessed stage magician who used to work as a physicist’ and written her off as mostly optional… I was really starting to realize just what circles I was unknowingly diving into. “Huh. How’d she pull that off?”

Frankly, it was more exciting than worrying. I had no doubt they had the clout to destroy me, but those kind of resources weren’t something you waste on somebody that simply came by with a polite request. 

As long as I remained polite, I should be fine.

“A few patents, book royalties, investments…” #431 shrugged her shoulders. “I know it sounds a bit petty, but with enough years under one's belt you have to be a complete klutz with money not to have a nest egg or two.” She waved a hand in the direction I guessed the hotel to be. “Besides, she got it on the cheap when they were about to tear it down… 2150 something? Somewhere in that ballpark.”

“Define cheap,” I asked dryly.

#431 gave a shrug. “Eh, can’t remember. Basically, she matched what it would have cost to demolish the thing, plus a contractual obligation about bringing it back in working order before a certain date, or it would have gone back into their fold.” She chuckled with a wicked little smile on her face. “I think they underestimated her because of the whole Trixie thing and were basically hoping to have their cake and eat it too. Their loss.”

She gave me a fierce grin, positively burning with pride. “Wanna guess which eccentric family with more than a few connections gave her a hoof?” Then she fluttered her eyelashes at me. “We take care of our own.”

...Just what did I get myself into with that dinner? I thought, but managed to maintain my composure. Outwardly I said instead: “Why exactly is somebody with your connections working as a secretary?”

She wiggled her fingers in a spooky manner. “Because it amuses me~e!”

I gave her a disbelieving look. She just waved it off. “But seriously, the pay’s decent, Sol Guard does mostly good work, and it’s a line of work not many of my siblings have tried. I thought, ‘Why not?’” she finished, tapping her Lieutenant insignia. She grunted unhappily at the state of them, and gave the three silver stars a quick wipe. She pointed a finger at me. “My turn. Why the ‘Oh, woe is me. My weirdness cup runneth over’ act, if you already know Shining?”

I gave a shrug, as we rolled in front of the hotel. “I was young and naive when I met him, and I didn’t really think it over. I thought he was from a weird family.” I let out a nervous laugh, as we got out of the car. “Finding out the whole unicorn deal was due to him being part of an entire subculture just broke my brain a bit.”

#431’s jaw dropped. “What, sixty years, and he still hasn’t filled you in?”

I gave her another shrug as we dashed for the doors. “I guess he thought me uninterested. Or maybe he just wanted one normalish friend. Either way, considering we’ve kept this thing going for those sixty years we must be doing something right.”

#431 bit back a snort. “Normalish?”

“‘Know thyself, know thine enemy…’” I quoted, only half-jokingly, as we walked inside. “Besides, I have a much better reason for tearing him a new one.” My face darkened a little before I got it under control. “Sixty freaking years, and he didn’t tell me he was there. Honestly, considering the number of times I’ve waxed on the subject…”

#431 giggled mischievously as the doors slid up. “Oh boy, that family and not telling you things. They’re almost as bad as their show counterparts. Did you know it took Twi two months to actually tell the rest of us about Shining?”

“Really?” A receptionist darted to meet up with us, no doubt thanks to the uniforms.

#431 made air quotes, “Yeah, she ‘swears’ she sent an ‘email.’ About making a fork, can you believe it?”

I bit back a snort. “Well, that explains a few things about him, I guess…” I nodded towards a young lady rushing towards us on clicking claws. I first assumed she was wearing a form-fitting Greek-style anthro sphinx costume, her toga and wings flowing behind her, but I soon realized that the costume was actually a part of her.

She stopped a couple of meters away, far enough that we wouldn’t feel threatened by her fairly extensive cybernetics. She even had digitigrade legs and a tail, but I couldn’t tell if it was a frame or if she was permanently fastened to her body. 

Nevertheless, she gave us a big smile, showing large, razor sharp canines. I absently wondered how long it had taken her to learn how to talk and chew without biting herself, but the smile was warm and genuine. “Welcome to the Luxor. May I help you two?”

I started to make polite introductions and explain why we were here, pretending not to notice the cameras that had started following our every move…





I was just applying the makeup for tonight’s show when a blinking light on myHUD told me that one of my friends had arrived, unannounced, with a high-risk VIP.

Intrigued, I pushed my chair over to my computer and logged in to the security cam network. True, it being a closed network was impractical at times, but it was a boon for security, so I didn’t mind. Much.

A ding audible only to me, signaling a text message, caught my attention. WIth a thought, I focused on the program while the computer was busy connecting and exchanging security handshakes. It was from Hanna, the receptionist. 



Lionheart: Boss, one of the Pie Clan just walked in. I don’t recognize the man she’s with though. Should I run a quick face check on him?



A smile came to my lips. I’d made a really good call when I hired the girl, no doubt about it. That she had enough cybermods to fit the theme of the hotel was something of a bonus, but Hanna had more than proved herself an asset to the team.

The computer finished, and Trixie had the lobby cam on screen in moments. She didn’t recognize the girl in particular, sadly, but she could be forgiven for needing face-to-face time to do so considering the size of that brood.

I just had to let out a small whistle at who she had walked in with, though. I sent my answer to Hanna.



The Boss: Please ask politely for which Pie Clan member she is, but there’s no need for the gentleman. That’s Blake Gregory. Trixie recognizes him from all the times he’s been plastered on the news.



In the security feed, the anthropomorphic sphinx serving as receptionist, Hanna Boot, tensed up for just a moment on ‘hearing’ the name as she received my text… then she was all smiles again as she darted out to greet the odd pair.

I nodded to myself, pleased, as I lifted a silvery-blue tress out of my face with an azure hand. With a sigh, I was momentarily distracted, studying the flexing hand. I preferred the pony look, but my audience avowedly did not. My fans had nearly doubled since I changed from the show’s form to the Equestria Girls form. 

For just a moment, my eyes drifted down into my own cleavage. I wished it weren’t quite so easy to figure out why.

I readjusted the classic illusionist costume. Black tux, white shirt, bowtie, and top-hat, the latter resting on my hat rack at the moment, rather than my head. A bit trite, but the classics were not to be underestimated.

With another sigh, my eyes drifted to the aforementioned hat-and-coat rack. The starry purple wizzard hat and cape combo also rested there. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d worn those in public.

Granted, nothing stopped me from wearing them in privacy, but that seemed a bit pathetic to me.

I let out a giggle as I contemplated just not giving a damn and performing in that getup, along with my current anatomically correct frame. That just might cause a bit of a scandal… But I sobered up at the concept of scandal, considering what a magnet for it she had standing in her foyer at the very moment.

On an impulse, I searched my preferred news sites, and let out a low whistle at the headlines.

Mass mobilization of the Pie Clan!

Clan representatives claim their recent arming and subsequent suspicious movements are for emergency aid on the Pheidippides, but others claim differently…

I continued to skim associated news. Something about talks with the Ludz called off, something about cabbage prices in Luxembourg for some reason, and bingo!

Black Blake on the prowl for talent?

The controversial Captain Blake Gregory, aka Black Blake the Butcher, is reported to have been seen traveling with his current Lieutenant, Princess Pinkamena Diane Pie #431.

The duo were seen boarding a plane heading to Vegas, and some speculation has broken out why they would need to do so in person. 

Officially, the Captain is currently recruiting for the Pheidippides. The ship, the first full scale trial of the Farcaster drive, has suffered numerous setbacks during construction, but is slated for launch at the end of the month.

But no official comment has been released what Blake is doing in Vegas. Current rumors insist he may…

I thoughtfully stroked my shin, closing the web browser and giving the man in my foyer a second look. I had to admit, he was an intimidating man, but with a soft smile on and politely chatting away with Hanna, he hardly looked worthy of the title ‘The Butcher.’ Uniform aside, he looked more like somebody’s slightly creepy yet loving uncle.



Lionheart: They say they're here to ask you about a offer. Something about your expertise, but I don’t see why recruiting for a morale performance would need a Captain to pop up in person.



I let out a soft sigh. Hanna was a lovely girl, if a bit too sphinx obsessed.

My eyes drifted down. Down, to my blue hands. Et tu, kettle? I guessed Hanna would say the same about me. Still, there was a reason Hanna had the position she did. Wonderful with people, but just a bit too dim for anything with a leadership role.



The Boss: Please tell them that Trixie has a show starting any minute, and if it isn’t pressing, they will simply have to wait. Do invite them to partake in the show though, on the house.





Lionheart: Got it, boss.



I finished my preparations, keeping an eye on the security feed. I was half expecting trouble, but the two just thanked Hanna and got going. My genre-savvy sense started tingling. Things were going too well again.

Still, I floated over the hat, the HORNs hidden in my current frame’s arms not giving off the added safety glow. Just as designed.

Granted, making something float was hardly something that wooed a crowd nowadays, but they still allowed a wide range of parlor tricks. I made a small energy construct, just for practice. Two ‘shields’, one red, the other green. They folded, twisted, and just like that, I had a glowing rose in my hand, sparkling softly in the light. 

I dropped the delicate thing into my metal wastebasket. It shattered immediately, releasing its energy. Since it was vacuum energy, it mostly fizzled harmlessly back into nothingness, but the same effect that brought it into existence lasted long enough for the papers in the bin to catch fire. I put the lid on to quench the flames.

As an added bonus, the extra HORNs allowed such tactical flexibility, if needed, but I just had to grumble a bit. The next time I upgraded my phylactery, I would definitely go back to being a unicorn. I felt naked without that weight on my forehead.

I hesitated for just a moment before coming to a decision. Wordlessly, I floated the top hat back on to the rack, and got my proper ensemble. I fastened the cape around my shoulders and dropped the old-but-glorious wizzard hat on my head. It clashed a little with the suit, but not enough for me to care.

With a smile, I headed out the door.

If the gentleman in question had come to ask Trixie what Trixie thinks he will, then she shall put her best foot forward!





I fidgeted backstage. 

Strange, I’d done this so many times, and yet…

I bit back a snort. Heck, I didn't even have a stomach anymore. That useless thing was dust with the rest of my parts that simply weren't that important.

I couldn’t quite keep a chuckle down as a thought came to me. And yet, the butterflies still dance...

For the first time in a decade, the betrayed face of my mother danced across my inner eye. I shook my head at the memory. Also dust. Just over a kilogram more dust than myself… but a very important kilogram.

I looked down on my slender blue hands, and smiled as I opened and closed them a few times. 

In a way, we both got what we deserved in the end, but… a frown creased my face. Why, oh why, did that hag have to convince my brothers…? 

I took a moment to fight down the sadness. I looked at my hands again. Soft, feminine, responsive, flexible, limber… If not for the color, they looked just as real as the ones I left behind all those years ago. With one important caveat: they were actually prettier.

I didn’t— I couldn’t get it. Why choose sickness and death when the other path was so easy and even pleasurable? 

A image of an almost waxen face rose in my mind. I absently stroked my current face to remind myself that I shouldn’t dwell on it. That path hadn’t always been quite so easy.

My introspective mood was cut short; a subtle light at the edge of the stage told me to get ready. I did so, posing suggestively on the center of the stage, my head held high and my hands against my sides.

The curtains were pulled back…

And as always, my heart soared, higher than any cloud, at the sea of expectant faces greeting me. Chugging away at the secrets of the universe had a charm of its own, but nothing compared to the thrill of the stage.

I spread my arms, lifted by the crowd’s love. “Welcome! Welcome, one and all, to tonight’s show!” I declared, not even pretending to need a mic. After all, if your voice box is a couple of speakers anyway, why not just crank up the volume a bit? 

I flashed the throng my biggest smile, letting it linger for a few moments longer on the table in the back where the Captain and #431 sat. The duo were seated at one of the small tables in the back, no doubt as to not distract the other patrons. I made a note to thank the two for the gesture later. They were a striking sight in those uniforms, but hardly subtle.

I had to bite back a laugh. The Captain had opted for a simple coke, but #431 had this ludicrous drink in front of her. One of those novelties with almost more fruit than alcohol and enough umbrellas to mimic a tropical resort in miniature. With great ceremony, she even produced a bendy straw from a pocket, before almost literally digging in.

I risked giving them a bit of attention by taking off my hat and waving at her. It was such a glorious sight every time one of the Pinkies got serious about being unserious. Besides, it was hardly as if the girl could get drunk unless she wanted to.

…I had to admit to morbid curiosity as to how many young men and woman died trying to drink her under the table. #431 was a golden bandana, a metal bra, and a pair of shorts away from giving Wonder Woman a run for her money.

But I pushed that line of thought to the back of my mind, focusing instead on my spiel. I had a crowd to woo, after all!

With a flourish, I planted the hat back on my head. On that signal, the stage hands activated the fireworks. Real fireworks, not just lasers and pretty pictures. “And as always, what a show it is!” 

I noted with amusement that a few were wrinkling their noses at the smell, but most oohed and aahed at the semi-rare show of actual pyrotechnics. My competitors may wonder why I bother, but that glimmer of wonder in the crowd’s eyes made the hassle worth it every time.

Fucking beancounters. ‘You know that holograms are much cheaper, right?’ Those penny-pinchers wouldn’t know a real show or a true piece of showmanship if the fireworks set their toupees on fire.

I stood among the sea of colored sparks, waiting for them to die down. More than a few landed on me, but it was hardly something this frame couldn’t handle. I’d learned my lesson about remembering to fireproof my clothes after the first time that had happened, but a smile and a wave, and it just became a fun anecdote for those that… well, got a show.

I liked Trixie, the character, but if only the mare had had a tenth the patience she did talent, perhaps she wouldn’t have died in season nine. I supposed there were worse ways to go than to almost manage what only the royal sisters had done. Singlehandedly, too.

This Trixie, however, intended to live forever and a day. Parades were nice, but only if you got to be there and actually enjoy them.

I noticed a woman near the stage glaring at me, even through the smoke. 

I kept my smile going, but seriously? Why was there one in every damn crowd? There was always one sourpuss who wants the whole audience to know exactly how little they’re enjoying themselves. I may get just as much money from such a ticket, but it was the principal of the matter.

I barely had time to see the gleam of the barrel jutting out from under the table before the muzzle flashed and everything below my neck went numb.

People began screaming as I hit the floor. The woman was included, as the coil-pistol’s poor bracing broke her wrist.

Row after row of error messages started flashing in the edges of my vision. I tried to drag myself into cover, but the shooter must have hit something important. My frame was scrap now, nothing but a pretty death trap.

“You turned my daughter into a freak!” the woman bellowed at me. In the corner of my eye, I saw her switch to her other hand. “I’ll kill you!”

I activated the emergency jettison. A small charge exploding at the base of my neck broke the connector holding me to my frame. My head popped off and away like a champagne cork as a second shot rang out.

My neck was tagged again as I went flying, but I barely had time to scream. I felt my skin tear in several places as I crashed into the wall of bottles behind the bar. I bit back a curse, switching off my sense of pain.

I looked down. The green liquid I was dripping told me everything I needed to know. The crazy bitch had hit at least one of my algae-tanks, which my sensors’ alarms corroborated only moments later. Two tanks had ruptured, and I was leaking enough slurry that my systems were telling me to seek medical attention.

As the nanites lost contact with my systems, they gave off small flashes. I gulped. The slurry swirled into the alcohol puddled on the floor, but the green, glittering liquid was unmistakable to anyone who had the slightest cybernetics knowhow.

It wasn’t a lethal wound—by itself. I could run, but I couldn’t hide; I’d leave the next best thing to a blood trail until the damaged tanks ran dry.

I deployed my manipulators just as another shot rang out. A hole the size of a pencil (de)materialized only a meter from my head.

“Sol Guard! Drop your weapon!” someone bellowed. For a moment, I felt hope, but then I heard her clambering towards me.

“Never! She turned my sweet Hanna into that thing!”

I heard the woman scream following a shot from a different pistol, but the sound of her feet grew nearer.

I scrambled, trying to crawl under the tables around the bar, but the woman cut me off. She was a mess. Her left arm hung bleeding by her side, but she had switched the gun to her right. It seemed she was going to finish this even if it killed her. The worst thing were her eyes. Utterly mad, not a shred of pity.

The gun rose in the madwoman’s grip… 

#431 appeared out of the gloom on silent feet and hit the woman like a freight train. Her sleeves were rolled up completely, exposing her extended arm-blades. She swung so fast her fist whistled and cut straight through the gun like butter. It looked like something from a action movie. Then the capacitors in the gun dumped their current straight into her. #431 jerked and screamed, falling down with smoke trailing from her arm.

She hit the floor with a thud, and lay still. 

The woman screamed in incoherent triumph, before turning to me. She began to stomp, giving me personalized hate in foot form.

Now, my phylactery was capable of surviving that. Heck, with a bit of luck and the right angle I wouldn’t have had a problem with the bullets, from just a pistol at least. But you don’t think that when you're reduced to a head, and this angry, screaming banshee is standing over you trying to crush you under her feet.

Reflexively, I put my manips up to shield myself, only to have them bent to scrap. It was only then that I realized I’d been screaming since #431 hit the floor. The things you notice—or don’t—when high on artificial adrenaline.

A monster stepped up to the woman. She didn’t see him, and I wished I hadn’t.

I barely recognized Captain Blake. His face was—Well, it would have been better if it was twisted into a mask of fury. Instead, it was just off. Frankly, I had seen more lifelike faces on mannequins. He wore a very slight frown, and his eyes were fractionally wider than before, but that was where all resemblance to humanity ended.

The woman stopped mid-stomp, confused why I was staring behind her.

Captain Blake raised his gun and shot her in the back without hesitation.

She fell, seizing violently, beside me.

“Miss Lulamoon, are you alright?” he asked. There was something off about his voice. The words were kind enough, but the way he said them was stilted, as if they were assembled by someone who didn’t quite grasp their meaning. He kept the gun trained on the woman. “Forgive my tardiness. I couldn’t get a clear shot with the crowd. Do you need medical attention?”

I looked at the woman’s body, seeing a dart sticking out of the her back. She moaned.

“Nonlethal taser round. She will face due process for this.” he said.

I gulped, before giving him my best attempt at a nod. “I’m—I’m not—I’m going to, but right now I’m stable. How is #431? She fell like a sack of bricks…” 

His features nearly melted at my words. “I’ve called the local police. They should be here with paramedics at any moment.” He sounded almost normal again, but there was an undertone of barely-controlled anger that sent shivers down my spine.

“Emergency system reboot completed. Damage: Minimal. Threat calculated: Minimal. Personality reactivation will now commence,” #431 announced. Her eyes fluttered a bit before she spoke in her normal voice. “Ugh, my fucking head…”

“Are you alright, #431?” Blake asked, not taking his eyes of the groaning woman.

“Apparently, being EMP-shielded and being able to stab a capacitor are very different things. I’ll be fine; my self repair systems are just getting a workout.” #431 answered tiredly, getting to her feet.

Blake let out a relieved sigh, interestingly enough. I followed suit. I didn’t know #431 personally, but she was still a fork of my friend. Seeing her die would have been more than unpleasant.

I struggled to get back on my manips, but they were too bent and broken. Most of them could barely move. It almost worked, but I fell right back down.

#431’s eyes filled with pity. She darted over and scooped me up. “Don’t worry, Trixie. You’re safe now.” I sagged against her, too tired to even cry.

“Can you still couple?” she asked. “I could—”

Blake interrupted. “I realize she’s your friend, but we need to stick to protocol. If you give her your frame, it might be seen as arming a civilian. It might even be enough of a problem to release this woman on a technicality.”

#431 grunted unhappily, but she gave him a nod.

With expert timing as usual, Hanna burst onto the scene. #431 turned to keep an eye on her, giving me a look as well. “Mom!”

Blake didn’t even turn towards her. “Miss Hanna, your mother just assaulted Trixie. Please stay back until police arrive.”

To her credit, Hanna actually listened, backing away. “Is she—?”

“Tasered. Nothing more.”

Hanna collapsed as she relaxed her shoulders and wings. Her hackles started settling down.

A weak voice came from the floor. “Hanna?” Hanna shot Blake a hopeful look.

Blake still hadn’t taken his eyes from the woman, but he jerked his shoulders once. “Don’t try anything, but if it’ll keep her calm, I’ll allow it.”

Hanna moved in, pulling her crying mother into a hug. “Dammit mom, why?”

Hanna’s mom mumbled something about how I’d turned her into this…

Hanna gave me a horrified look. I just matched it with one of complete unamusement. I looked at her and then her mother in a meaningful fashion.

Hanna gulped. “Mom, I’m so, so sorry… But Trixie hired me after I did this to myself.”

Hanna’s mother tensed in her arms.

“I thought you would take it better if I said I needed this for the job, rather than this being something I wanted. I’m so, so sorry, mom…”

Her mom’s face crinkled like tissue paper, and then she started wailing.

I took it as a sign that my current state of consciousness was no longer necessary, and let exhaustion claim me.





When I woke up, the police had arrived.

Almost everybody ran when the woman attacked, but a few stragglers that had chosen to cower were still being debriefed by the boys in blue.

One of them came over to me when he saw my eyes flicker open, but I just nodded at the cameras hidden near the ceiling and told him I wouldn’t have any more to add than they would.

The young man gave me a nod, jotting something down in his PDA. “I’ll make sure we get copies, ma’am. But how are you feeling?”

I secretly dreaded the answer, but I had to ask. “Is… there a mirror? I want to see how bad it is.”

The officer winced. “I wouldn’t recommend it, ma’am. You’re stable, but pretty banged up.”

“How bad?”

The young man made a strange face that he smoothed out suspiciously quickly. “Bad.”

I was so out of it that I hadn’t noticed I was still in the crook of #431’s arms until she patted me on the head. “Don’t you worry, Trixie. I’ve called Mom and she’s sending somebody to pick you up. We’ll have you on a set of locomotors of your choice before you know it.”

“You know what?” I told #431. “I usually prefer the more natural look, but I think I’m going with something a little more like Dash this time…”

#431 let out a awkward little laugh. “Feeling like you want a bit more armor?”

I fought down a wince at the image of that horrible woman stomping over and over. The mangling of my manipulators, two tanks had ruptured… The realization that I was starting to hyperventilate snapped me out of it. I did my best to shake the image out of my head without falling out of #431’s arms. “Um, yeah.”

#431 gave me an understanding nod and another pat.

“You have a friend in the military?” the officer asked in polite interest.

#431 shot him a look.

The officer chuckled softly. “Sorry, one more friend in the military then?”

“Asteroid mining, actually.” #431 explained on my behalf. Normally I would be irritated, but it was a nice gesture given the circumstances. I just wasn’t feeling up to smalltalk. “Why bother with a pressure suit and oxygen when you can get a few more upgrades?”

The young man let out a nervous laugh, then darted off, silent as space.

“I think you just squicked that poor man out, #431,” I said.

“I don’t get that mindset. Why would it be okay in the line of duty, but not when done voluntarily?”

I thought it over. “Well, in the military, you might need it to survive? And there’s guaranteed removal of non-essential upgrades when you leave the service.” I offered.

#431 stared at me as if my head had fallen off. I snorted at her. “Come on. I’m a severed head holding a conversation. Which side of the debate do you think I’m really on? Just acting as devil’s advocate.”

#431’s awkward smile was interrupted by a man’s voice. “Miss Lulamoon? Are you feeling well enough to talk?”

#431 righted me, showing me Black Blake the Butcher.

Now I actually recognised the man I’d seen through the cameras. He had a subtle edge to him, but he had a soft smile on again, and he looked…

Normal.

Why the hell did that freak me out so much?

“Is there something wrong?” he asked worriedly.

I quickly straightened out my frown. “Nothing, I—” I was hesitant to say it, but honesty won out. “You’re a very intimidating man when angry, Mr. Gregory. I just… need a moment to digest that.”

“I’ve heard that before, but seldom to my face,” he gave me a nod and a toothy grin. “Thank you for the honesty; I appreciate the gesture.”

#431 gave a snort. “He’s actually a big dorky teddybear once you get to know him. Just don’t try to stab anyone when he’s watching, and you’ll be fine.” I bit back a giggle.

Blake gave his Lieutenant a long look. “I’d argue with that, but I can’t fault somebody for telling people not to stab others and doing it with a straight face.”

We shared a small laugh at that. I had to admit, it made me feel a bit better, but as the Captain sat down on what I realized was the edge of the scene, I realized that there was something else to do. “#431?”

“Yes?”

“Before we leave, I’d— I’d like to see what happened to my body.”

#431 made a face, but turned around.

It was surreal, seeing most of what I recognized as me lying there. Someone had folded my hands together on my tummy and pushed the frame onto its back. The ragged hole where my neck had been only an hour ago was even covered up with my hat.

If not for the hole in my—its sternum, it honestly looked as if somebody was just taking a nap on the stage.

“She got you straight through the spine,” #431 told me in a kind voice. “You did good, Trixie. Ejecting like that gave us enough time to interfere.”

I shivered hard enough that #431 started petting my hair again. All the surgeries, the drugs, the time, money and determination to stay alive as long as I have—almost undone by a nutjob with a grudge that wasn’t even true. “I’d like my hat back.”

#421 held me tight to her chest again, while Blake asked the officers if it was alright.

I got my answer, as both my hat and cloak floated over in the blue glow of #431’s HORN. #431 folded the latter neatly, set me down on it and put the wizzard hat on my head. I tried to get comfy in a way that would keep me upright, but my manips were too bent and mangled. Without much fanfare, I slowly tipped over and hit the back of my head on the stage. “Ow.”

#431 bit her lip and was fighting so hard her eyes teared up, but she didn’t laugh. Instead, she gently fluffed my cloak into a mound around my neck, keeping my head upright and decently comfy. I gave her a thankful smile.

I tried not to think on it too much, but I must have looked absolutely pathetic, a blue showmare— showwoman and her two safety blankets…

I just couldn't find it in me to care. That altercation had nearly ended me, in my center of power, with what was probably the cheapest gun she could get her hands on. It was a humbling thought.

My eyes narrowed. I did not care for the sensation.

I focused the glare on the Captain. “Mr. Gregory, is the rumor mill correct that you are here to offer Trixie a place on the Pheidippides?”

The Captain shot #431 a knowing smile. “I see secrecy is about as useful as always.”

“Hey, at least we’ve dodged the reporters so far,” #431 quipped.

Blake made a face and went on. “Anyway, yes, we are. Your expertise in quantum manipulation tech would be vital to our mission. I’m prepared to—”

“Sounds fun. Trixie was planning on getting off Earth for a few months anyway. Sign her up.”

Blake gave me a disbelieving look, but he composed himself quickly. “I’m glad to hear it, but don’t you want to know the details first?”

I gave the man my biggest smile. I tried not to notice how I could still feel both of my cheeks creasing in new and wrong ways, despite my sense of pain being turned off. I swept my eyes meaningfully around the room.  “Does it seem like Trixie is lacking in money? Besides, it has been ages since she was last in space, especially on a scientific mission…”

Blake shrugged. “Fair enough, but there’s a part of the recruiting package you might find interesting. You wi—” His phone rang. He quickly fished it out of his pocket. “… I’m sorry, I need to take this call.”

I sighed, but nodded.

Blake got up and quickly stomped away a few meters, before putting the phone to his ear. “Hello, Your Majesty. To what do I owe this honor?”

My ears perked up out of habit. I looked at #431, who had a knowing smile on. With a bit of difficulty she fought it down, silently hushing me with a finger to her lips.

My, my… Planning a ‘party’ again, are we? 

I fought down my own smile, and instead prepared to listen to the fireworks.

“One moment,” Blake said to (most likely) Queen Pinkie. The list of ‘suspects’ with that title was quite short.

He turned to us, but hesitated as he laid eyes on me.

That bad?

“She’s stable, but quite banged up,” he said. The way he used such a soft voice was the worst bit. He listened for a moment, before continuing to come towards us. “Got it, ma’am. One moment…”

He put the phone on the ground, before darting back to the same spot he’d been sitting before. Its holo-projector lit up, showing Pinkie on her throne. 

I bit back a snort at the sight of the monstrosity my friend still insisted on for formal occasions.

The thing’s—throne’s—backrest was nearly three meters tall, towering over the mare seated. Pure platinum shaped into a sculpture of hundreds of rising balloons, with two giant blue sapphires and an enormous topaz cut into three balloons in particular.

Honestly, just because you can make something doesn’t mean that it’s in good taste to do so. I would, however, admit that the pink silk on the padding was a nice touch. It practically gleamed.

Pinkie herself was a tad underdressed. On official Queen business she usually wore this tacky princess-sized alicorn frame with a harmaline cape and enough jewelry to buy a micronation. Now she was wearing a simple earth pony frame and a platinum circlet set with a single sapphire balloon. It wasn’t quite like Pinkie to go for subtle; I couldn’t help but wonder why.

Pinkie tapped her hoof against her head as she waited for the transmission to begin on her end. Since she was only on the Farm, the light-lag wasn’t that bad, which meant I only had to wait a short while to see my friend’s hair deflate. She covered her mouth with both hooves, quite clearly trying not to cry. “Oh, Trixie…”

I gave her my biggest smile. “It was nasty, but I’m okay. It looks worse than it is.”

Pinkie nodded slowly and put on a brave face, but from how her hair stayed down, I knew it was mostly for my sake.

She took a deep breath before she forced herself to continue. “I heard from #431 about how you need assistance, and I’ve made arrangements to have you picked up. I hope that’s alright?”

I started to nod, but Blake interrupted. “Miss Trixie accepted my offer. Although I won’t stop her if she feels safer in your care, I thought I should simply add that Sol Guard may offer the same help as well. And that way, she wouldn’t have to travel quite as far.”

She stroked her chin, thinking for nearly a minute before giving her answer. “Mr. Blake, may I offer an alternative plan?”

“Sure.”

“There’s really no reason for the Pheidippides to officially cast off from Earth, right? How about you let me get the more spread out girls to the Farm? That should shave off more than a bit of travel time, and it would even give them a chance to install the shiny new upgrades you’re promising, as well.”

My ears perked up. “Upgrades? What upgrades?”

Pinkie glared at the Captain when she heard me, and he raised his arms defensively. “She agreed before I could even tell her about any compensation. She wanted the opportunity to leave Earth for a while.”

Pinkie winced and gave the Captain an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

Blake just waved her off. “You were just looking out for a friend, no apology needed.” 

I cleared my throat in a meaningful manner. “Upgrades, Captain?”

“I’m planning on bribing anyone that cares to come with us with a full A-grade plus cybernetic license.”

#431, Pinkie and I nearly choked. Even a few of the police froze.

The Captain sighed. “Fine, if I must use PR words…” He made air quotes. “‘Due to recent threats against the mission and the Pheidippides, I have been forced to take more drastic measures in safeguarding my ship, my men, and the mission. I intend to procure experts in as high a regard as I may. To ensure your and their cooperation, I intend to compensate them accordingly.”

He gave the nearest officer a look. “It was a joke, and you bloody well know it.”

The tech gave a half-hearted shrug before fleeing from Blake’s gaze.

“Somebody put all their points into intimidation, didn’t they?” I quipped, mostly out of old habit.

Blake actually looked embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s always been a ‘gift’ of mine. I try not to misuse it, but it shines through when I’m angry.” He turned his head and glared at my now-cuffed assailant. She flinched slightly before Blake forced himself to look away with an irritated grunt. “I can’t stand fools, or those that harm others for petty reasons.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Strange words from a man nicknamed ‘The Butcher...’”

Blake just shrugged with a thoughtful look on his face. “I have three gifts, Miss Lulamoon. One for tech, one for anger—” He patted his holster. “—and one for violence. I know I’m somewhat higher class than most, but I’m still a thug.” He held his right hand up to his face and looked at it, unreadable. “I would like to believe I’ve made it into a truncheon of justice, instead of a sword of vengeance, but…”

Blake shook his head and let his hand fall. He gave us a sunny smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Do pardon my mood. It’s been a long day, and it’s not over yet. My mind wandered to a bleak place. Sorry for sharing it.”

Both #431 and her mom was giving him an odd look, but said nothing.

I forced a smile. “No problem. Besides, a bit of doubt is a healthy thing.” I glanced at Hanna’s mother. “Only zealots never question.”

“True,” Blake sighed. “Still, perhaps Echidna was on to something?”

#431’s eyes widened.

Blake chuckled. “Don’t give me that look. Just thinking out loud.”

#431 gave him a questioning look, arms folded. “I thought you loved space.”

Blake grunted, dissatisfied. “Still do. Just wondering if the guard is how I still want to experience it. For every day I’m out doing something of actual value, there seems to be fifty with mounds of paperwork, and ten with violence and death. It’s just… draining.”

Queen Pinkie cleared her throat. “The Farm is always looking for new talent…”

Blake raised his brow, some humor sneaking back into his voice. He got this boyish sparkle in his eye that actually made me at least begin to understand what #431 was seeing in him. “Oh? Such as?”

Pinkie fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Oh, I’m certain I could find some use for such a polite young man…”

Out of Blake’s sight, #431 glared at her mom and crossed her throat with her arm-blade. 

That actually made Queen Pinkie blink, if not for a reason any of us would call normal. “Sweetie, is something wrong with your arm?”

#431 coughed embarrassedly. “Oh, uh, I kinda forgot that stabbing high voltage equipment might sting a bit. I’m fine, I’m just going to need to have my arm fixed.”

I looked closer at it. It seemed that something had gone quite wrong. It wasn’t very noticeable as the long blade was such a distraction, but her fingers didn’t seem to be moving. In fact, everything below the elbow seemed to be stuck into the position of a balled fist.

#431 looked down at the mess her arm had become and sighed. “Damn it all, and this frame was barely off the press as well.”

Blake stroked his chin. “How about you act as escort for Trixie and get those hardware upgrades in the same go? Two birds, one stone?”

#431 clearly hesitated. “You sure? It’s a decent idea, don’t get me wrong, but considering how our luck has been so far, I half expect finding Rarity and Sweetie being chased by freaking mummies.”

Blake tilted his head. “Can you get a message to them? I’d rather not surprise a cybernetics specialist while she’s testing something she thought required going off the grid.”

Queen Pinkie waved him off. “Nonsense. Rarity’s many things, but she’s never irresponsible.” She leaned closer to the screen and whispered conspiratorially over one hoof. “You didn’t hear it from me, but the whole thing is a paper-thin excuse to spend time with Sweetie. She could do it all in a lab with half the time and expense, but, y’know.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, style should count for something, after all.”

Blake suddenly blinked, before narrowing his eyes and folding his arms; just glaring at Queen Pinkie for some reason. “Alright, I’ll admit it. Well played, especially pulling off the throne room like that... but who are you really?”

#431 and I exchanged glances. Just what was this about?

Oh! Clever bastard! I couldn’t believe I’d missed something so simple!

‘Queen’ Pinkie’s eyes widened in surprise, and she chuckled. She held up a hoof and winked at the glaring #431 and Blake, the fur on her fetlock turning black to spell #108. Then the letters faded and she hushed us, hoof to her lips.

#431’s mouth turned into a little O of understanding before she leaned in and whispered to Blake, “#108 is mom’s primary political double. She’s legit.” Then she muttered, mostly to herself, “So my sister tried to steal my boy instead of Mom. What an improvement.”

#108, no doubt at Earth-Sun L1, instead of L4 and the Farm proper, gave us all a soft smile and a regal wave that managed to look condescending. She whispered to Blake, “Good on you, kid. Been a few years since anybody called me on the lag being too good.”

Blake hummed thoughtfully at that and nodded. I had to admit, I felt a slight pang of jealousy. It seemed #431 had actually found somebody with some promise, and under the century mark as well! Lucky girl.

Still, one should strive to live as one teaches.

It wasn’t quite the same as my former body, but I formed my hair into a working hand. My hair was a cringeworthy mess; a few clumps stood out and were completely unresponsive, but it worked well enough that I made my intent clear.

I presented the makeshift limb to Blake. “Well, Captain? Do we have a deal?”

He blinked in surprise, but to my delight he didn’t even hesitate in reciprocating; with a smile and a nod, he shook on it.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Lulamoon.”
> Chapter Four - Emeth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





Note from the author: Minor retcon in chapter one, Rainbow Dash is now in the asteroid belt, not the Kuiper belt.

You may find a more in depth explanation on why here, but the short version is that I’d misremembered the distances involved…

If she’d been in the Kupier belt, Dash wouldn’t have joined the story proper until almost the end of arc one unless I did a major ass pull.

Since I hate when tech or gear shows once in a series and I’m trying to keep this reasonably hard scientifically, that option was a no-go; so a retcon it is.





Somewhere in Sahara.

Tuesday February 1, 2310.

Bell family camp, a few hours past dawn...





I was just putting the finishing touches on the Generosity Mk 21 when Sweetie started screaming at the top of her lungs...

“What?! What?! Does not fucking compute! What insane troll logic fouled by smoking freaking magic fucking shrooms wrapped in weed and mixed with peyote spawned this insanity?!” Something small hit the tent wall hard enough that not only did the projectile whistle, but a hole was torn straight through the material, then that same something broke when it hit a dune a few hundred meters away, from the tinkling sound of it. 

Sweetie let out a scream of frustration that was probably heard all the way in Cairo. Impressive, since we were close to the Libyan and Sudanese border. “How the hell did this tripe get even a sequel?! I can’t believe I spent a hundred fucking hours on that only to be so utterly fucking insulted!”

I sighed and gently placed the screwdriver in its case beside the experimental frame before turning to my currently fuming darling. “I take it from how you will need a new phone that you reached the end of Mass Effect 3?”

I took how she let out another scream of frustration and buried her head in her hands as an emphatic yes.

I trotted over and jumped up on her camping bed, put my hooves around her waist and pulled my darling girl into a hug. “To be fair, I did warn you. Want to talk about it?”

Sweetie grumbled and her ears kept flicking angrily, so I pulled her down a bit and gave her a gentle kiss just above the horn. “That game is fun but full of crap, Sweetie. Don’t let it get to you.”

Sweetia groaned and buried her head in my mane. “How the hell did that freaking ending make it past every damn discrimination group on the planet?”

“It was made decades before the first AI, Sweetie.” I gave her back a few more pats just to make sure. “And believe me, that moral was brain-dead on arrival, even so.”

Sweetie sank down and put her arms around me, hugging me so hard I got a few pressure warnings. “Not quite that hard, Sweetie.” I flicked my immaculate tail for emphasis. “This is one of the pretty frames, not one of the sturdy ones.”

Sweetie relented her hug assault slightly and mumbled out a “Sorry…”

I made sure to hold her tight while she mulled things over. Honestly, if not every darn person involved in that darn game was six feet under already they would have heard some choice words from me in an angry letter.

I honestly starting to get a bit worried at the ten minute mark. I decided to at least try opening a dialogue. “...So, what ending did you pick?”

“Destroy.” Sweetie was silent for nearly another minute before speaking again. “...No fucking way I’d let the slightest piece of those bastards live after all those atrocities.”

It irked me slightly to hear such foul language out of the mouth of my darling girl, but I remained silent. It been a long time since I’d seen her so upset and it seemed best to simply let her get it out of her system. 

So to speak.

“Dammit all. I just threw my main source of escapism away so hard it whistled, didn’t I?”

I fought down my laugh, but it was close. “Just a smidgen of an overreaction, yes.”

Sweetie groaned and buried her head in my mane again.

“Perhaps enough of it is left that we can fix it?” I volunteered in a kind voice. “Still, try to remember next time. Throwing stuff when you become angry isn’t very ladylike, after all.”

Not that replacing the stuff was much of a hassle, but it was a sloppy habit. That, and all it took was one baseline in the wrong spot for it to be another type of costly. Sweetie may have only been wearing a human shaped civilian frame with what that implied in strength and similar, but a projectile was still a projectile.

“I know, I know…” Sweetie muttered as she disentangled from me and stalked out to find how much was left of her phone.

I had just enough time to go and check a few readings on the Generosity Mk 21 before I heard a shout of triumph and Sweetie came stomping back, holding her near miraculously intact phone over her head as if it was the finest prize.

Wait. “I’m sorry, but I could have sworn I heard something break…?”

Sweetie’s triumphant smile became a bit waxen. “Uh, sorry mom. Our ride’s going to need a new window…”

My ear flicked, but I kept my face level. “Fine. It is coming out of your allowance, but fine.”

Sweetie scrunched up her face as she pocketed her phone somewhere in her dress. “Ugh, do you need to call it that? I’m 266! I’ve outlived countries!”

I stuck my tongue out at her. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard any protest when I send you your allowance…”  I couldn’t hold it in and let out a merry little laugh. “Besides, you’ll always be my darling little girl.” I finished by blowing her a kiss.

Sweetie blushed, but from the happy little smile I gave a verdict of mission accomplished.

I turned towards the Generosity Mk 21 again, but made sure to speak in as sweet a tone as possible. “Besides, if you’d rather go out and find work…”

Sweetie just snorted at that and came over to help. “Please, I’ve done that, remember? Honestly, if you don’t want to continue with the allowance you can go ahead. I’ve got enough book revenue still trickling in that I don’t need it, even if it is awfully sweet of you.”

I had to blink and I even dropped the tool I was holding. I turned and actually looked at my daughter. 

I had to look up slightly as she was wearing a human frame and I a pony one, but… “Was it really so long since y-”

I bit my tongue.

Sweetie sighed and came over to me to ruffle my mane. I hissed out a protest. The smart-fiber might allow me to regain my hairstyle in moments, but it was the principle of it!

“Yup, 266 Christmases since we met.” She tilted her head, shaped like the fully grown mare that a part of me didn’t quite want to acknowledge, as she thought. “Time’s fun while you're having flies, I guess.”

I was just about to say something in turn when she ruffled my mane again. “Honestly, mom. Drop it.” She leaned down and mimicked my earlier gesture, kissing me just above the horn. “ Ned was the utter jackass that thought sticking a real AI in a animatronic toy was a good idea, not you.” She sank down on one knee and pulled me into a hug. “...Seriously mom. It’s been over two freaking centuries. I worry that you can’t seem to just drop it.”

I returned the hug, quite possibly a bit harder than needed. “Sorry, I just… I don’t like how something that has given me so much joy and pride over the years had such a… stupid start.”

It didn’t pass me by how Sweetie tensed slightly. “I meant you and me with something, Sweetie. Not you.” I pulled her closer and gave her a thorough nuzzling while smiling wide. “You are my darling little girl I love to tiny, tiny bits and don’t you ever dare forget it.”

“Aww…” I giggled slightly as Sweetie leaned down and kissed me gently on the top of my head. “Honestly, mom, one day you’ll give us both diabetes with sweet-talk like that.”

I tilted my head as an idea struck me. “Hey, how about we head to Al-Jawf for some R&R slash taste of civilization?”

Sweetie let out a hum and scratched at her muzzle. “Hmm, well we would take that place to the lofty heights of being a three horse town, so I guess that’s a good cause...”

I let out a small snort and smacked her softly on the butt, making her jump and yelp slightly. “Be nice, Sweetie…”

“Fine, fine...” Sweetie mumbled as she rubbed her behind, before speaking up and pointing outside. “You lock up here, and I’ll go see how much I can do about that windshield.”

I just barely fought down a wince. It wasn’t impossible by any means… but glass was just getting surprisingly expensive to get ahold off. Industrial sapphire had just dropped so much in price most didn’t see a point in the less durable alternative anymore…

I stopped mid-tap, staring at the hoof I was using to drum a beat against my cheek.

Sweetie smirked at me. “Senior’s moment, eh?”

I let out a hot snort and waved her off. “You go deal with your mess, and I’ll clean up mine, ‘kay?”

Sweetie waved me off, before grabbing some stuff and heading out.

I spent a moment after she’d left just staring at my hoof, but ultimately I just shrugged it off. “Perhaps I should stop being a hypocrite about upgrading that darn car…” I mumbled, before trotting over to the MK 21 again.

Superficially, it looked very much like the frame I was wearing (If in a state of assembly and fine-tuning). However, the pony in front of me was in diagnostic mode, and as such, stark white from neck to tail. 

Oh, and anatomically correct, but I doubted I’d ever use this particular body in that regard. It was more of a physiological thing, just in case. I doubted I would ever need to all but bolt my neck onto a single body and run like hell… but if I ever do, I’d prefer it to be with a body with all the extras.

It was a bit disconcerting to see what almost looked like a living being lay beheaded on a table with a dozen cables running down into its neck cavity… but eh, you get used to it.

For a few moments, I was quite tempted to just strap the base module of Generosity on, get one of my dresses, and take that for a night on the town…

Still, as much as the thought made me smile, it was hardly advisable to run a prototype siege frame through the ringer surrounded by civilians. Call me a cynical if you must, but that simply sounded like a scenario that might end up the wrong type of messy.

My eyes drifted to the ‘armor’ laying next to the frame itself; it also stark white and mostly powered down in a diagnostic. Well, at least I wasn’t quite mad yet to even consider taking the whole thing for a stroll through town.

Focusing my mind on the right gauntlet, a blue field of energy formed around it; the bit of ‘armor’ twisting, pulling off and then floating over towards me.

Now, Generosity was a beast apart from what I was wearing. Stronger generators, bigger capacitors, military grade artificial muscle compared to civilian, stealth capabilities…

I raised my current right hoof, the pelt in a few choice spots sliding in and away, revealing ports along my hoof's side, and a pencil-sized hole opening up in the middle of my frog.

Still, ‘tis a poor artificer that, heh, bets everything on one horse. 

It would be like having a induction hardened steel edge on a sword with a core made from cotton candy, but I’d made sure all my civilian frames had the right interfaces, just in case. It wasn’t much of a design concern on most of them (at least the equine ones) and if nothing else, it aided in testing.

Letting out a small grunt, I slid the gauntlet over my hoof. Aside from the central fastening spike sliding into me, a sensation I might never get used to, it honestly was just like putting on a glove.

With a sensation I doubt even English has the right words for quite yet, a hunk of metals and plastic became part of my arm, without ever actually changing. With a smile, I furled and unfurled my fingers, simply delighted with the response time and precision I could move the lithe fingers.

Perhaps it is psychosomatic, especially in conjecture with how grueling the process used to be... but I swear the ‘handshake’ between my systems, any new systems and me, just kept getting faster. Honestly, the console usually didn’t even have time to render most of the time for me, not unless I tried interface with something really big and complex.

I tilted my head and gave myself a scratch with a finger on my chin. Could there be a measure of actual skill to coupling, not just hardware doing its thing? If so, would it really have been noticed? Most full body cyborgs I know off just had one or at most two bodies they tend to switch between, and that was if they didn’t outright just have one they were hardwired into…

I gave a shrug, before simply making a note of it in my PDA and pulling off my ‘hand.’ A interesting enough line of inquiry, but I doubted there was any way of proving it without some rather invasive scans on me, my friends and a group of ‘fresh’ volunteers for comparison.

Hardly impossible or beyond my means, but now was hardly the time. A project for a rainy day, perhaps?

“Hey, mom, the continents just shifted and planets aligned!” Sweetie shouted from outside in mock cheer.“Should I and the rest of the cult elders start preparing the goats for the sacrifice to ease your glorious return to the mortal plane, or do we skip the dramatics just this once?”

I fought down a snort. “Skipping on formality is one thing, but a Lady needs to have some standards.” I faked a mortified gasp. “I mean. what if the other elder things start to think I’m some trollop that will answer any two-bit cultist with three bits of wood and some mouse blood?!”

“Yeah, and that would be just dreadful,” Sweetie snarked my way. “It’s not like your daughter wanting to see you this eon might be mitigating circumstances, or anything.”

It was horrible of me, but I simply had to muffle a few giggles with my hoof, before solemnly playing along again. “Any chickens and chalk left? We just might be able to improvise something small but still tasteful.”

Sweetie let out a fake gasp of joy. “She-Who-Accessories-To-Death has spoken! Praised be!” My daughter cut the sarcasm and continued in a normal, if slightly irritated tone. “Seriously though, mom, we’re burning daylight here. Not that I’m totally against driving at night, but I’d rather have this be a one day round trip.”

Pausing only to mutter out: “Fine, fine…” before raising my voice again. “Just let me get dressed!”

I ignored the groan of clearly faked despair, and instead went to work.

I did however stop a moment to put Generosity into lock-down. The chances of anybody finding our small camp in the middle of Sahara and having the necessary implants might be next to nil but I’d rather not risk it, even so. Besides, it was just a few button presses, a quick stop at my bags, and out of the tent I went.

As I passed the threshold of our tent, my eyes adjusted near instantly. Still, I’ll give the Saharan sun its dues: for just a few moment I got a flash-bang warnings, and my systems started drafting tactical options.

I blinked, and made note that perhaps it was time for an actual hardware upgrade above the neck. My current phylactery might have served me extremely well and I was loathe to take the chance such an operation carries with it... but on the other hand, twenty-ish years is a quite the eternity when it comes to tech.

Perhaps I could ‘just’ exchange out most of my current hardware, and actually leave the ‘bones’ for a later date? Probably wouldn’t work with most of the stuff, but things like ears and eyes should be easily…

My mane danced around me, as I dislodged the errant thought with a shake. Although a valid concern, now was not the time for it. I came out to the sight of Sweetie laying legs and arms splayed on the hot sand, with her tongue hanging out, eyes rolled up, and a holographic lily ‘clutched’ over her chest. There was also a message hovering in the air, atop what was clearly meant to look like a small tombstone, and it read: 



Here Lies Sweetie-Bot Bell, Cut Down In The Prime Of Her Youth, Because Her Cruel Mother Apparently Got Lost In The Cloth Tardis She Calls Her Carry-on Luggage Without Irony

24/DEC/2043 - 01/FEB/2310

R.I.P.

Truly, The Good Die Young



I fought down a pang of irritation. “It was fifteen minutes at most, you drama queen.”

Sweetie blinked ‘awake.’ “Gree-tings, hu-man. What horrible calamities have befallen while I slept through the ages long past?”

“Well, for one I think you missed the global decree that humor must now actually be funny.”

Sweetie clasped both hands to her cheeks, and let out a scream of ‘anguish.’ 

With a roll of my eyes, I stepped around her, and trotted off towards the car.

Sweetie jumped to her feet, brushing herself off mid stride as she caught up with me. “Well, it ain’t pretty, but it should work for now.” She then gave me a rather meaningful once-over. “And you’re really sure you intent to walk around in public like that?”

I smirked and tipped my fedora. “Now, I’ve never claimed to be a mare of grace and good taste, now have I?”

“Still.... you, dressed as Indiana freaking Jones?” My daughter, disbelief all over her face, held her level hand a bit over her own head. “Isn’t that a whole new level of nerd, beyond which mere mortals dare not tread for fear of being consumed by such dread, dork forces?”

I chuckled happily with a gleam in my eye, as I brushed some sand off my jacket. “What’s the point of being a badass cyborg if you can’t wear leather in the Sahara?”

“Catastrophic overheating tends to kill the, you know, cool factor, mom. Just saying.”

With a huff and my nose in the air, I hurried ahead.

Now, something of a technophile I may be… but I happen to be quite proud of my ancient Jeep. 

A Jeep Wrangler 2222 ‘Helios,’ to be precise. Two seats, two doors, covered in golden solar panels that shined nearly as bright as the day I bought it, capable of going half-way across near any continent you cared to name with a single charge.

I felt my ears and eyebrow twitch.

And straight over where both of the side-windows should have been, there was now two neat webs of duct-tape.

“The wonders of modern technology, huh?” Sweetie let out a nervous cough, and fidgeted from foot to foot; her shoes making the sand underneath creak. “Guess we might need to keep an extra eye on those dastardly nature diddlers, or they might kill polio again, or something!”

I frowned, and I had to admit my irritation went away as Sweetie laughed nervously. “Dear,” I said kindly, turning towards her, “is something the matter? You’ve been making a lot of tech jokes lately…”

Sweetie made an irritated grimace, and waved me off. “Those anti-tech idiots were bellyaching a lot on TV, the web, and near every other hypocritical medium there is for them to do so on, just before we left.” She shrugged, and cut me off from the driver’s seat. “Now, I’m no analyst or anything, but it sounded as if things are nearing powder-keg levels, and as one of those ‘crimes against nature and humanity’ they like to scream about I’m just a bit on edge.”

Normally I was quite paranoid about who got to drive my darling, but I got the feeling Sweetie needed the vote of confidence, so I went for the passenger's seat without protest.

It was a bit uncomfortable in the human style seat, especially with the whip on my hip and the messenger’s bag, but still, nothing much to worry about.

Speaking of my whip, Sweetie poked it with a single extended finger, looking amused. “Really?”

I blew a raspberry her way. “And you think an actual gun would make it past the border without potentially causing a lot of trouble?”

Reluctantly, Sweetie nodded, before freezing. “...Did we hook the trailer off?”

I gently, but firmly pointed towards the thing. Clear on the other side of our camp. “Are you sure you’re OK, Sweetie? It’s been a long time since I saw you this distracted…”

Sweetie did another grimace as she turned the keys, making the car hum to life. “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but even auntie Celestia seemed a bit worried the last time I talked with her, and you know the type of processing power she has nowadays.” A dark chuckle filtered through the air, as Sweetie started driving off. “You’d think the freakin’ genius plan of building a real-world Skynet ending with the girl retooling herself after a cartoon horse would send a strong enough signal about how we AIs see humanity, but…”

I let out a hum of agreement. “To act as devil’s advocate, though? Seeming harmless is a common enough defense —just look at Pinkie and Fluttershy, for example, and the ‘cartoon horse’ in question is somebody that took ‘Sol Invictus’ as a challenge.” I plopped my fedora off my head and started fanning myself. “Besides, that stunt she pulled to be seen as a person instead of an over glorified control-panel all those years ago?” Despite the heat, a shiver raced down my spine. “Celestia could have done something a lot darker with those drones than spell out ‘help’ over every state in America.”

Sweetie had to brace against the wheel as we started climbing a dune, but she still grimaced slightly. “Honestly, mom, you were a good owner, and I still can’t say three years of being a ‘thing’ was very fun. Not when I started figuring things like that out, at any rate.” I know she didn’t mean it like that, but a pang of guilt raced over my heart. “I know I’m biased, but in my book? The girl deserves a freaking Saint in front of her name after eleven years of that crap. And in the military, at that?” It was just as well we she was driving in a desert, because Sweetie’s eyes unfocused to the point it was rather clear she wasn’t seeing the ‘road’ at that moment. “Telling you, mom, I doubt I could have found it in my heart to be that angry, even if she’d gone the ‘Ming The Merciless’ route.”

I frowned a bit. “Really? That’s the conqueror you're going with as an example?”

Sweetie did a so-so gesture with one hand, as her eyes refocused on the road. “Hey, anybody that can rock that beard, those eyebrows and popped collar; all while still looking menacing?” My daughter let out a growl and wiggled her eyebrows in a way that I swear set my ears on fire. “Don’t know about Zod, but now there’s a dark lord I wouldn’t mind ‘kneeling’ before, if you know what I mean!”

Despite my embarrassment, I couldn’t quite stop a small smile. “Oh? But I thought you hated that movie?”

Sweetie’s smile vanished like a 3D-printer that had been too close to Pinkie or Fluttershy for too long. “We do not talk about the 2300 movie.”

I almost bit my own tongue as we hit a bump while I was giggling.

We drove in silence for a bit after that. I took the opportunity to dig out my canteen and refill it from the AWG I’d had installed instead of that useless glove-department. Both me and Sweetie took a couple of gulps before I put the thing back into my bag again.

Sweetie let out a soft hum, while wiping her muzzle on the back of her hand. “Hey, mom?”

“Yes?”

She gently tapped her temple without taking her eyes of the ‘road.’ “Have you ever thought about going… well, all the way?” My daughter did a small shrug, just as we hit a patch of gravel. “Not that you slash we would need to go the ‘jam ourselves into an asteroid and calculate pi until we hit Alpha Centauri’ route, or whatever.” Sweetie lifted a single hand of the wheel and did air-quotes with it. “‘Just’ going the destructive upload route, and waking up with a few dozen IQ points more. That ever crossed your mind?”

I frowned for a bit, before answering. “Why do you ask?”

As answer, Sweetie patted the pocket with her phone. “Assimilation, or whatever cutesy name the green ending was called. You know, the one where every biological and synthetic being basically gets turned to Borg against their will, and this is somehow a good thing? Just came to think about it and got curious at your answer, that’s all.”

Must admit, that answer lessened my frown, but it didn’t disappear completely. “And you?”

Sweetie did a grimace of disgust. “No offence, mom, but I honestly can’t imagine even walking around with my most important bits being that squishy. I’d have a panic attack if I so much as stubbed my toe!” Sweetie jerked her shoulders in a single shrug. “Say what you want about the whole ‘soul’ thingy, but do-it-yourself reincarnation seems good enough an afterlife for me.” With an adorable little smile, Sweetie winked at me. “And hey, you even got to keep all your stuff!”

Have to admit, that made me throw my head back and laugh. 

Before long, a thought came to me, though, making me frown. “Didn’t you say you picked the red ending?”

“Oh, there is no way I’m playing through that crap again, so I took a peek at the files for the other endings.” Sweetie gave a slow, sad shake. “Honestly thought I’d gotten one of those trick bad ending first. You know, like in S.T.A.L.K.E.R.? But no~o, it was apparently the best and freaking canonical ending…”

I gave a small shrug. “Makes sense.”

“And the answer you’re trying to make me not notice you never gave?”

It was a good, solid twenty minutes or so, of thinking while resting my head against my hoof and staring at the horizon, before I answered. “What if the dualist philosophy is right? If there is such a thing as a soul, and we just can’t notice it because it exist separately from the material?”

She clearly tried to pretend not being bothered, but I saw Sweetie’s shoulders tense slightly. “Well, by that ‘logic’ the animists just might be right, and I’ve got one of those things.” My daughter looked down, and gave the steering wheel a really odd look. “...Although in that case, I’m a bit weirded out that you almost fuss over my ‘little brother’ here more than me.”

I stuck out my tongue at her. “Well, if we follow that logic in turn, wouldn’t a car that can’t even drive itself nowadays be your retarded little brother, and need more care?”

Sweetie spluttered, and gave me a glare. “Really, mom? Really?”

I waved her off. “I meant it medically, Sweetie, not as a slur. Besides, we’re just the two of us, and in the middle of Sahara at that.” Some snark crept into my voice. “Who’s going to complain, the invisible thought police?”

She didn’t look happy about it, but with a grumble Sweetie leaned back and started driving again.

“Come now,” I told my fuming daughter, “an obsolete word, for an obsolete diagnosis? Surely that fits.” I gave a shrug. “Heck, I’ve been bisexual ever since I got that memory implant. Why not, when they had to prod my egg salad anyway, right? Can you even imagine if I’d gotten dragged back to the start of, say, the twenty-first century somehow and dropped that philosophical city-buster on some poor chaplain, somewhere?”

Despite herself, Sweetie giggled. “Yeah, and out of that cute little snout? I’m sure that wouldn’t have caused a splash at all!”

“Yeah…” I smiled at the silly thought for a bit, before getting serious again. “But still, your question? What if there is a soul, but not even a destructive upload is accurate enough to call such a thing back?”

Sweetie’s hands tightened a bit on the wheel, but she said nothing.

“Now, if it comes to that, then it comes to that.” Gently, I put my hoof on her lap, as I smiled as wide as I could her way. “But I frankly can’t think of any worse hell, than looking up —or down, and seeing you call another woman ‘mom.’ Surely that is worth clinging as —well, I don’t want to insult what might one day be the next best thing to my twin sister, but you know what I mean if I say ‘real me,’ right?”

Slowly, we coasted to a halt, and Sweetie had to blink away a few tears as she looked my way. “Mom, that might be the sappiest argument I’ve ever heard.”

I laughed merrily and patted her hand again. “Isn’t that in the ‘mommy’ job description?” I fluttered my eyelashes to Sweetie’s clear embarrassment. “You know, making ones daughter just crimson from embarrassment on what saccharine ol’ sops they can be at the slightest provocation?”

Sweetie let out a ‘daw’ sound, and reached over to ruffle my mane again; sticking her hand under my hat to do so. 

As to not ruin the moment, I only let out a small hiss of warning.

Let there never be said that Rarity Bell is unsubtle.

Why, I even used only a single hoof to swat her hand away.

Hand to her muzzle, Sweetie let out this adorable giggle. “Love you, mom,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes, making my heart flutter, “even if you are crazier than a ba-”

Zot.

I blinked in surprise, for a moment not quite registering what I was seeing.

Then Sweetie toppled over, a single glowing dot between her rapidly unfocusing eyes.

My body, quite literally, reacted before I did. Safeties and limiters disengaging, my jaw locking to stop me from screaming and the safety belt tearing as my body moved on its own accord to get down as fast as possible.

Zot.

Ironically, had I not been wearing my belt, I might have made it without damage. As it was, I got the less than pleasant experience of having the top centimeter or so of my horn bisected; sending a jolt of pain through me, and a whole host of error messages over my HUD.

The really horrible implication hit me nearly as fast as my tactical systems figured it out, though.

Now, I’m good, but dodging lasers good? No chance. That’s the type of stuff you need luck to pull of, no matter what you’ve got running under the hood. 

So somebody wanted me alive.

There was only one reason I could think of why somebody would try to disable me, but go for the k-

I almost lost it. Just curling up, and crying; no matter how bad an idea it might have been.

With some dark irony, it was actually something in Sweetie’s body malfunctioning that snapped me out of it. I didn’t actually have the specs on her current body since I respected her privacy and she’d proven responsible enough not to go for the acid spit, laser eyes, or other crap with near nil use outside bad comic books. Still, no matter what it was, whatever was now hammering her side from the inside made me actually remember a very, very important rule about combat nowadays.

You aren’t dead, before you’re on a slab and dead. It all depended on what bits of her had been turned to vapor, but Sweetie might just still be saved without resorting to a backup.

Still, the only way I’d actually help in that was if I got away. Given how off the grid we were? Whoever it was after me might actually have a slim, but non-zero, chance of somehow forcing things like passwords, secure backups and safe houses from me, then killing me before slowly but methodically finishing the job.

Murder might be harder to make stick nowadays, but that was not the same as impossible.

I was just making my way to pushing past Sweetie, and driving off blind when somebody on a megaphone spoke up. 

In a voice with a vaguely European accent, and a voice so near dripping with compassion it made near every bit of fur on me stand on edge. “Mr. Bob Smith, we have you surrounded. Please come out, and we can cure you without needing to cause you any more pain or trauma.”

It actually took me quite a couple of moments to realize it wasn’t some horrible case of mistaken identities.

I had not been that m- person, for a long, long time.

I was mostly internally swearing in an utterly unladylike way, cursing myself for having gone for the broken-in showpiece of a frame I was currently wearing. It was comfy, sure, but at the moment I’d rather had some armor and other extras.

Not certain what else to do, I started tearing myself out of my clothes as quickly as possible. I didn’t have cloaking in this frame, but I could switch my pelt to a digital desert camo.

I winced a bit as I tore open my shirt, and the garish pattern started flowing over me… but better unfabulous for a few moments, than dead for eternity.

“Sir,” my now least favorite voice in the world said, “if you have not left the car under your own power within ten seconds, we will move in.”

“Darnit, darnit, darnit…” I swore under my breath, head darting around as I hoped to figure out any more options.

I had an extra survival kit, including a knife and satellite-phone, but that was in the trunk.

I had my whip but that was a far too close quarters weapon. Not only that, but even with my strength it was unlikely to kill, or even disable. And as nice looking as the black whip might be, it might be a possibly case of lethal color clash with my camo.

I got an idea on that, though.

So I folded the bullwhip as tightly as I could, and, well, put my big mouth to good use for once. The bulging cheeks wasn’t the most dignified of looks, and my whole mouth tasted like leather,but it was my best current idea.

Now, an outdated civilian frame I might be in. but a cybernetic horse, is still a cybernetic horse.

So I braced against the driver side door, and bucked, quite literally with everything the current life-threatening situation called for.

With a screech of metal tearing, a few loud ‘tinks’ from the saphire over the solar panels cracking, and the swears of about half a dozen men I took careful note of, the door sailed away through the air.

I was out the other door before the one I’d bucked had even hit the sand; the seat I’d just minutes ago had been sitting in near exploding in a shower of upholstery and stuffing as I raced off.

I just barely caught the sight of a man of medium height, rather stupidly standing next to an somehow irritated looking bundle of heat-haze, staring slack jawed at the flung bit of shrapnel.

Zot.

I felt a stinging sensation in my tail, before the whole thing went numb. Even without my internal systems, the sound of a thud behind me told me what had happened.

Whoever that sniper was, he was good. 

Or cybered-up to the point his own mother might not have recognized him, but if the group behind me was what I thought they might be? I doubted that explanation.

“No!” It came in that darn voice, soon followed by an expensive sounding crunch. “He is one of the finest minds of his generation!” Another stomp, and another crunch that almost made me smile followed. “I paid you to disable her, so we can actually heal him! Not kill!”

My ears swiveled around, but I kept my head pointed straight ahead, and my legs thundering under me.

“And if you hadn’t stomped my rifle in freaking half!” A quietly furious, but still restrained voice countered behind me in just a note above speaking volume. “I might have actually clipped her in the legs, instead of just cropping her tail.”

I was already all but flying at ground level, a normal horse would in fact have died halfway through the distance with the speed I was holding.

But on hearing that, I did the mental equivalent of smashing the big glass box with the giant red button in it, and I went from ground-effect plane, to equine rocket-sled.

The effect on my pre-programed emergency settings activating was near instant. I went from about forty-fifty kilometers-an-hour to easily about double that.

There was a price to pay for such blatant overclocking, of course. For now I was flying, but I’d probably gone from this frame having an service expectancy in a decade or two without maintenance, to the whole frame falling into tiny bits if I as much as needed to keep this up until tomorrow.

But given that I expected to lose this frame one way or the other today...

There was a lump in my throat at needing to leave Sweetie behind, but there really wasn’t any choice. I might be able to help her, but not if those zealots behind me caught me, and did whatever ‘cure’ they planned.

So instead, I went with counting my options.

Swing around, and continue to Al-Jawf to call help.

The simplest solution, but the least safe one. If there was half a dozen people close enough to see my car explode, there was quite possibly many, many more spread out to spot me and Sweetie. If so, it was quite possible I’d be heading into an even larger ambush if I picked that option.

Option two, head to Mut.

It was nearly triple the distance… but that meant less chance of an ambush in the way.

I fought down a gulp, almost stumbling from the distraction of my whip moving around in my mouth.

But also, longer before Sweetie got help. Sub-optimal barely covered it, even if it just might be my best chance at survival.

However, that left the third, and probably best option.

Head back to the camp, slip on Generosity, and pick either one or two, but now being much better armed and armored. A gamble, but if these brutes had known where it is, they would have attacked there, right?

I hesitated for just a moment.

And then, for Sweetie’s sake, I threw the dice, thundering sharply to my left…

And back to camp I went.





Asteroid mining base The Asteroid of Love, outskirts of the asteroid belt.





I tumbled out the air-lock, my breath trying to force itself out through my clenched jaws. With a internal swear I sent the command that locked my jaw shut. Dammit, you think I’d remember that one thing after having done this for so freaking long.

My radio crackled to life, the man’s voice on the other end brimming with barely contained humor. “Oh? Forgot to keep your mouth shut again?”

I let ‘out’ a sigh, my voicebox shunting anything to the radio unless I told it otherwise. A bit paranoid, perhaps, but if I got a micrometeorite to the face and started drifting I wanted at least a chance of my position being triangulated. It didn’t happen often with radio tags, inbuilt propulsion and similar safety measures, but even if you didn’t get completely lost there was still more pleasant ways to spend a month or six than nudging yourself back home with thrusters only.

“Seriously, Dave. Is it really that funny every time?” I asked sardonically.

Dave was weird. Useful and a hard worker, but sprinkles and caramel sauce on freaking pizza weird. You know those dudes that go rock climbing in only shorts, shoes and climbing gloves just to prove how their rocks need a wheelbarrow? Well, Crazy Dave was the deep space variant of that.

I had twelve people working under me in this place, and one of them needs to use a hardsuit. That was a hundred freaking percent of all the people that did so that bothered to venture this far out I’d met in person as well.

You got one guess who, and frankly you shouldn’t need even that.

Obviously, I’d hired him on the spot with those credentials. We crazy bastards with a thirst for vacuum need to stick together.

Crazy Dave snorted. “Please, I owe you at least that much for that damn movie night. I swear, if I hear that joke again I’ll-”

Snickering, I of course droned out “I can’t let you do that, Dave.”

My squishiest minion let out a groan. 

I fired up my trusters and braced as the small gravity fields formed around my hooves, ‘pushing’ me away from the Asteroid of Love using my own mass and lots o’ science to do so.

“Alright,” I said using a hoof to push back my mane, “enough taunting Dave for now. Robot roll call, everybody!”

Now, I might have said that Dave was the only one that needed a hard suit, but that was something of a small fib. As a general rule everybody that goes this far out had the mods to be able to survive in space but far from everybody had the balls to go as far as I had.

I chuckled as the light of the distant sun made my hoof gleam as I tilted it a few times. Well, if being able to waltz around in hard vacuum without a thread on is wrong then I see no reason I’d ever care to be lame enough to be right.

I frowned as something stabbed where my heart had once been and three faces flashed through my mind’s eye. 

I shook myself out of it just in time to hear the end of “-oss? You there, boss?” from a concerned sounding Dave.

I fought down a groan. “Sorry, gang, just a small senior’s moment. Can you repeat that?”

A small symphony of groans rang out over the radio.

“Dash,” Dave said in a rather authoritative tone I wasn’t certain how to feel about, “get back in here. I’m not letting you out there if your head isn’t in the game.”

I bit back a snort, but Dave was on ground-control duty and it was well within his powers to do this, and it would be a horrible example if I refused. 

Still, I couldn’t quite stop myself from sighing and giving the stars around us a longing look. “Fine, I’m coming back.”

I stayed long enough to wave the gang off and bask a little in the feel of vacuum all around me. 

Well, the lack of feeling all around me, to be exact. Most people don’t realize it, but air-pressure is more than just a bar on the barometer. There was just nothing against my skin.

No wind, no touch of even air, barely any heat or cold thanks to how efficient the systems of Loyalty are, no tugging of gravity. Just me, the stars and my thoughts.

I took a deep ‘breath’ and closed my eyes for a few moments, just utterly lost and content in the feeling. 

As if any heaven could compare to this one, it was simply beyond my imagination.

I frowned in irritation as my HUD popped into view to tell me Dave was contacting me on a second channel. I genuinely thought about just ignoring him for a bit, but with a sigh I allowed it.

“So, the rest are in transit towards the current rock. Care to tell me what has you so down? You’ve been zoning out all week.”

I hesitated, but if the gang had started to notice, than I might as well try getting it off my chest. “I don’t want pity, alright? Just had one of those depressing anniversaries boring old people never shut up about.”

“Oh,” I heard Dave fidget awkwardly with something for a bit before continuing. “Sorry to hear that, boss. You want to talk about it?”

I let out a sigh and put my head in my hooves, as I for a moment felt every damn one of my years. “It was the date my eldest son passed, to be blunt.”

Dave winced again, sucking in enough air between his teeth I could actually hear it over the radio.. “Sorry to hear that.” I barely fought down a wince of my own as Dave tried to put some cheer into his voice. “But hey, if the kid was even half as crazy as you it had to have been with a bang at least, right?”

I absently rubbed at my own shoulder while my wings extended uselessly in the vacuum; going from a tight V to their full length as I ‘stretched’ them. “Old age, actually. In his own bed with his boots off, and everything.”

“Oh...”

I let out a tired chuckle as I looked down on my shiny hooves. “Yeah, the pear kind fell on the other side of the continent from the apple-tree that time.”

It was a bad, bad habit at my age, I’d seen it happen enough times to know that. Old farts that couldn’t let go of the past and the people in it, until they’re all but living there. No plans, no hopes, no future… just death dates and slowly fading recollection of faces as the world passed them by.

But, surely your first-born deserves some remembrance?

I’d heard newbies liken using a PDA to any other computer, but you need to get over how silly you feel at imagining not only the mouse and keyboard, but the arm itself. 

To me, and most of the old guard, though? Honestly, the darn thing was basically just another limb by now. Imagine this drawer full o’ stuff so closely knit to you you only need to will it to riffle through it; if with the tiny drawback that it sometimes gets possesed by invisible demons and tries to eat your face from the inside.

Why yes, I do hate virus makers with the fiery passion of a thousand supernovas! How ever did you guess! It’s almost as if I’ve been close to losing the only thing that remains of a rather distressing number of both friends and family far too many flipping times, or something!

Anyway, my irritation at how immature wastes of protein diddle their time (and others) away to get their jollies aside, pulling forth the old video was frankly near as easy as reminiscing directly. It was frankly, a postage stamp that moved, but super freaking eight will do that on a modern resolution.

Honestly, Dave streaming it barely blipped on my coms, it was that pathetically small and low-res. 

I just smiled softly, as Lars’ and… what was her name? Monica, I think? Oh well, not as if it mattered much nowadays. The mother of my first grandchild she might have been, but still an utter bitch, and I can’t say I felt much guilt over my mind seemingly having had more important things to remember. 

Still, she’d made quite the pretty bride. I’ll grant the wolverine in a dress with a permanent toothache that much.

With a soft little smile on my muzzle, my hunches firmly rooted to the rock under me, and with the stars and Dave the only witness to it…

I just sat there, and allowed myself to bask for once in the nostalgia, of seeing my son having found happiness. Again.

“Cute couple,” Dave hesitatingly offered, clearly not quite certain on the protocol on being asked about near three hundred year old video footage from the actual filmer.

I just chuckled softly over the radio.

“That bulge under that dress meaning what I think it means?” There was a tiny pause. “...Or meant, I guess. I’m not trying to be rude, or anything.”

“Yup…” I sighed, dismissing the clip back to my virtual scrapbook. “I’ve apparently have a few… what was it? Great-great- great-great-great-” I cut it off, as even I was getting bored. “Well, you got the gist, some rather far off-shots of the ol’ family tree, at any rate.”

“Wow,” Dave managed after a few moments, sounding genuinely impressed, “I keep forgetting how old you are, boss.”

I let out a vague hum, as I just watched Eternity roll around me.

Then Dave asked just the right question to make me cringe. “You have any contact with ‘em?”

I decided on the honest answer. “No, Björn —my middle son, Lars, the dude you just saw married, and my…” I felt a pang in my heart, as I searched for the right words. “...and my extremely ex-wife came down on the other side of the ‘black wave,’ as that first wave of cyborgs got called by the detractors.” I gave a shrug, my wings extending into flight mode from old habit. “Let’s say it rather poisoned the grand-kids well, having that type of rhetoric spewed at ‘em from birth.”

“...Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up.”

I waved him off out of old habit, the wild gesture almost making me drift off. “Nonsense, it’s old, old, old news.” Some actual cheer actually snuck back into my voice. “Besides, every now and then I get this adorable little voice on the phone, about to get an A+++ on their family-history report, so it ain’t all bad. Heck, I’m even at pen-pal level with quite a few, even out here. Has to count for something, right?”

Dave, actually sounded genuinely agast. “You help your descendants cheat on their homework? Really, Dash, really?”

“What?” I said, tilting my head in confusion and for once not faking innocence. “If the assignment is to learn more of your ancestors, and your great-great-whatever-gran actually shows up in all her technicolor glory for the presentation, surely that is mission freakin’ accomplished?”

Dave grumbled a bit, but seemingly didn’t quite have a good counter to how awesome I am. None ever seem to have that, but still!

I got onto my hooves, and started trotting towards the air-lock. “Enough of this nostalgia binge, I’m coming in!” 

“In the pipe, five by five…” Dave quipped at me, just a bit too fast and with just a hint of sourness.

I stopped mid-step. “Oh come on, it’s been a year!” I stomped on the hull, giving my a tiny amount of feedback as I heard it both through my legs and over the radio. “And it’s tradition to watch those movies on your first jaunt in deep space!”

“Oh?” Dave retorted, still sounding a bit sour. “And is it also freaking ‘tradition’ to do the hiss, and bite people on the freaking neck as the credits roll?”

It was horrible of me, but I just had to sit there and laugh my ass off for a bit. “Oh come on, that was hilarious, and you know it!”

“Oh, get in here, before I ‘accidentally’ send the this conversation to the others, and start reading from that abomination of literature you call a fanfiction folder.”

“O~oh,” I droned out in  my sultriest tone, and all but leered enough for my radio to short out in pure self defense. “Say, why don’t you get started on ‘Spectral lust 2: The Bangenging,’ and I’ll just slip into something more… comfy? We want to make sure all the sounds are right, after all!”

There was a long, long moment of silence on the other end. “...I had forgotten what a dirty old woman you are, and wish to redact my previous threat.” 

With a harrumph and my nose in the air, I continued on my way to the airlock. “Honestly, Dave, you’re a real stick in the mud for a self proclaimed thrill seeker.”

“Sorry, boss,” Dave left the title ringing in my ears for just a few moments too long to have been coincidence, “I’m flattered, but neither mares, plastic, or plastic mares does it for me.”

“Bha!” I rolled my eyes as I janked open the outer door. “Admit it, you’re just worried I’ll rock your little world so hard, the one we’re on gets blown apart!”

As the hiss of air filling the room, and the sense of pressure all around me returned, Dave let out a small sound of disgust. It was subtle, but I also felt my insides lurch slightly as the gravity panels under me came online, rather than my hooves simply sticking to the surface. 

With a harrumph and a flick of my tail, I more or less flipped open the inner door with little more than a thought, my shimmering field of colors opening the airlock with near as little effort using my arms and hooves had cost me.

That put a smile back on my face, alright. Ego jokes be darned, if being this awesome wasn’t its own permanent pick-me-up, I frankly don’t know what is.

Humming contently, I all but skipped past the ‘locker-room,’ instead heading straight for the showers. For good measure I also unlocked my jaw, working it a few times out of old habit.

One of the internal cameras whirred softly on its stand, and ‘faced’ me. “Honestly,” Dave said, if now over the intercom instead of my radio, “why do you even have that thing, if you’re never going to use it?”

“What, this ol’ piece of crap?” I said, smacking my ‘locker’ for emphasis with a hoof, the dusty, old standard frame inside jostling slightly in its holder. I held still for a moment, looking concerned on that I hadn’t broken anything, but luckily, I’d just jostled the whole thing a bit too hard, and soon the readouts on the small diagnostics screen flickered to life again, showing greens.

With a grimace, I headed to the showers again. “Can’t stand standard frames anymore. Don’t get me wrong, genitals and all that is fun, but I just feel so darn squishy with one on.”

“Really?” Dave deadpanned, sounding utterly baffled even over the loudspeakers. “Titanium bones, muscles that never tire, and all that jazz, and that’s squishy?”

I gave the camera a long, long look, before waving a hoof over my face. “Do I look like I care about slightly above standard performance?” With a shrug I headed towards the showers again. “Don’t get me wrong, the military standard frames are quite decent, but those?” I made a grimace of disgust as I entered the shower room, lingering on the edge just long enough to finish my conversation, head sticking over that threshold. “Honestly, there’s so much red-tape on getting the latest designs on those, that by the time you actually do, there’s two-three marks more on the actual cutting edge.”

Dave let out a neutral hum. “Guess that makes sense. No fun getting a toy that’s outdated before you even open the box.”

“Yeah.” I slammed my own chest, getting a loud clong of metal-on-metal for it. “Still, this hunk of bolts has worked well enough so far, even if it is time to get it replaced.”

“Excuse my ignorance, but haven’t you bragged a few times how your friends with both Queen Pinkie, and that cybernetics mogul... “ Dave drifted off. “What was her name, Scarcity, or something?”
 
“Rarity,” I gently corrected. “Well, you know how it is.” I waved a hoof vaguely in the direction Earth should be this time of year, before continuing. “It’s nearly four-five days to Mars from here, about a week to Earth, and so on. Getting the whole gang together just isn’t something you do over a phone-call.”

Dave let out a grunt. 

I tilted my head. “Think that ship with the silly name might actually do it? You know, the one with the new teleportation system?”

“Know what you mean, but I can’t remember it either; some mythological reference I think..” Dave barked out a laugh. “That would be something, though!” Dave mimicked the zap of a teleport. “Just like that, and you could have breakfast on Mars, lunch on Earth, and dinner on Venus!”

I let out a half-hearted hum in acknowledgement, while chewing on my lip.

“Not like you to get that look when space news are on the table,” Dave said, with some genuine concern. “Spill it.”

I winced, and rubbed at my neck. “You’ve noticed how little people seem to… you know, care?”

Don’t ask me how he managed the feat, but somehow I swear I heard the ‘words’ “...?” over the intercom.

It was a strange little non-silence, OK?

“About space, I mean,” I explained, “it used to be this near… mythical thing, a place of wonder and horror you spent your whole life dreaming of reaching and... and now it’s just this boring backdrop you suffer through for a few days, to get to the next place.”

A long moment of silence followed, as Dave thought it over. 

Not quite silence, of course, as the various whirs, ticks, and hums of the station filled the place with a melody all on its own.

“Think I’m the wrong person to philosophize about this with, boss,” Dave hesitatingly offered after five minutes or so. “I’m out here, aren’t I?”

I chuckled softly. “Yeah.”

“Still, you want my guess? I think it might be you simply being from another time.”

My ears slicked back, as I glared at the camera a bit.

“You said it yourself, space has nearly become, well, mundane.” Dave just continued, either ignoring or having missed me pouting. “Not to sound pretentious or anything, but you don’t think the Wright brothers might have felt rather mixed on seeing a modern, commercial airport?”

“Actually, although Wilbur died as early as 1912, Orville lived all the way to 1948, and although commercial flight was still in its infancy back then, he did in fact, have an opinion on, you know, two little things called world war one and two having happened during his lifetime.”

“Huh.” Another stunned silence followed. “Keep forgetting what an utter nerd you can be sometimes.”

“‘I once thought the aeroplane would end wars. I now wonder whether the aeroplane and the atomic bomb can do it. It seems that ambitious rulers will sacrifice the lives and property of all their people to gain a little personal fame.’”

“...That was quite a bit more depressing than I meant my point to be.”

I grinned wide at the camera. “Democracy and information tech for the win, huh? We still get fools, but now we know they’re fools way before they start sacking cities! That’s something, right?” I gave a shrug. “Still, I think I got what you actually meant, and yeah, I just think it’s a bit sad so few seem to realize the wonder of it all.”

“Said the cybernetic horse wannabe to the adrenaline junkie.” 

I barked out a laugh, and not only because of the joke.

Just felt good that at least one of the ‘youngsters’ has some priorities straight.

Dave spoke up again, but this time sounding a bit more serious. “Well, boss, that was a nice conversation, but the rest have reached the current haul, so I need to focus. You get on that shower, ‘kay?”

I gave a lazy mock salute, and turned on the spot.

Give how little time I’d spent out there it was probably not necessary, but rock dust was insidious, nasty stuff, and it was as good an excuse as any to give myself a once over.

Besides, showers, on a space station? Might not be to everyone, but to me that would always be utter, utter decadence, and who doesn’t like splurging a bit, now and then?.

However, I stopped to check myself over in the mirror for that purpose. (Insert ego joke here.)

Had to admit, I felt a bit conflicted at what I saw. The big things were still all there: The wonderfully deep, purple eyes. The rainbow mane. My glorious wings I sadly couldn’t quite spread anywhere inside the station, but had to keep swept back in a V over my back.

But it frankly showed I’d been at this for a bit, and without having access to the higher grade repair and manufacturing stuff, at that. My once smooth, cerulean skin was pockmarked near from head to hoof from micro impacts.

A gleam I hadn’t noticed last check made me lean in.

There was a long, hair-thin crack straight diagonally over my whole left eye, a small chip just below my iris showing I’d apparently been this close to losing an eye from a micro-impact.

“Well, fuck,” was all I could think of saying, as the gently glowing shutters closed slightly, as my vision refocused on my face at large. “There went my excuse for not doing a supply run any time soon.”

At least it was still working, but it still worried me a bit. Hard enough to crack industrial sapphire, but light enough to glance off? That wasn’t exactly a wide spread of force. Heck, I was lucky —Ha!— that no gases had snuck through that crack and mocked up the whole eye as I entered vacuum.

I shrugged, and trotted over to the showers. A pressing matter, but one I should be able to fix easily, if slowly. And even at worst? Some sealant, a snazzy eyepatch, a trip to The Farm, and I’d be right as rain again.

Not like the asteroid belt will waltz away when I wasn’t looking.

As the water started washing over me, I perked up a bit further. Hey, I might even be able to make a tour of it! Slip over to Earth and say ‘Hi!’ to everybody, spend some time with Trixie, perhaps watch the launch of the ‘what’s-its-name.

Might be a fun little vacation.

My path set, I just stood there, and enjoyed the heat of the water washing over me. Now, space being cold is a vast, vast oversimplification, especially in a star system like, well, Sol.

But this far out, and how I’d been sitting atop and on the shadow side of what was basically a large, hollow asteroid? Wasn’t like I had frost on the spots where my unmentionables should have been, or anything, but there sure was a bit more condensation in the air than if I’d just taken a normal leisure shower.

A tiny bit more condensation. Not as if I’d spent a full ‘night’ stargazing, or anything. 

Now, a few pock-marks I might currently have, but they weren’t nearly bad enough that I’d actually need to towel. I just closed the valve, did a doggy shake, and made my mane and tail wring themselves out.

Soaking wet to dry, in, heh, ten seconds flat.

Micro-impact resistant, second best thing to armor, glossy and quick drying. How’s that for mundane utility, huh?

Honestly, I frankly didn’t quite get why the other girls stuck to ‘normal’ pelts/skins. Half the utility, twice as much maintenance, and almost the same look. Can’t say I saw the logic, but it would be a funny ol’ world if we were all the same, and yada, yada, yada…

To my rather great surprise however, I nearly slammed the door open right in the face of Dave.

Dave was a reed of a man, but one of those with a surprising amount of strength to them. Still, if you looked past the ‘tech-support’ level complexion he was cute enough.

Still think he’s mad to lounge around in a freaking t-shirt and shorts on a deep space station thrown together by the worlds’ oldest and most in denial cosplayer and her equally nutty friends.

But who was I to judge that, right?

Still, his usual grin wasn’t. Instead, he looked deadly serious.

Without another word, he held out a tablet to me.

With a lump in my stomach, I tried to float it over, but he just held it a bit tighter. “Use your han- hooves, trust me.”

That? That did not help that lump. Wordlessly I sank down on my haunches, and extended my right hoof.

It seemed some lazy git with fingers had forgotten to re-insert the stylus, so I risked connecting wirelessly to the thing. Not like we have what I’d call proper internet access out here, but there was always somebody that thought that one download of ‘Horny Jodlers 12’ wouldn’t do any harm.

Thankfully, it seemed Dave kept his gear clean of that type of stuff, since I didn’t detect anything trying to get into my systems. Not a guarantee, of course, but a good sign.

Dave leaned over, and pointed at a grouping of three icons. 

Two with a stylized eclipse on them, and one with three balloons.

With the cursor shaking slightly, something I swear I wasn’t doing consciously, I went for the one of the Sol Guard message marked: ‘WATCH ME FIRST.’

Seemed prudent.

Another lump formed in my throat as the image of Pinkie, with one blade extended, looking severely frazzled, and wearing a Sol Guard uniform of all things, popped up. 

In a bathroom I recognized. I’d helped Trixie pick out the black tile with an Ankh pattern myself.

What the hell was Pinkie doing at the Luxor, and looking like she’d just gone ten rounds in a ring?

WIth a small gulp, I actually started the video.

“Hi, Dashie!” Pinkie exclaimed in a slightly strange sounding voice, waving her hand at me, using her left for some reason. Then, she blinked, making me feel a bit better. Also, the screen temporarily went black as she did so, telling me she’d apparently recorded this message with her own PDA and a mirror, explaining the odd sound near immediately. “Oh right, I don’t think we-we have ever met, but I’m #431.” 

Huh, so one of that brood actually went and joined the guard? Must have missed that e-mail, or something.

#431 fidgeted on the spot for a second or so, before taking a deep breath and just blurting whatever it was on her rather massive chest out. “Trixie is going to be OK, but there was an incident. I can’t talk about the specifics since it’s an open investigation-” As about a dozen different emotions raced through me at that, she waved her clenched fist, the one with the extended blade, lazily in the air. “-but things got a bit dicey for a few moments. Trixie is expected to make a full recovery, but her algae tanks got nicked, and she’s going to need a phylactery replacement.”

My free hoof subconsciously snuck up to my own neck. Just what the hell had happened?

#431’s eyes darted to the door, making the image lurch uncomfortably, before darting back to the mirror. “Look, I can’t talk for much longer,” #431 waved her presumably broken arm again, “I need to go with Trixie to the Farm for repairs — mom’s handling that for Trixie as well by the way, so don’t worry, but I just thought you deserved to hear this from a friend.”

Despite my worry, I felt a grin coming. They might be insane, but the Pies’ were as solid as they come.

Oddly, #431 got deadly serious, jabbing her functioning finger my way. “Oh, and you’re about to get another message from a man named Blake Gregory. I know he can be intense and he’s got that rep of his for a reason, but give him a proper listen, OK?”

Just like that, the video cut off.

“Blake Gregory,” I murmured, tilting my head. “Where the heck have I heard that name before?”

Dave strangely, gave a gulp. “The Butcher. The Glorious Dawn.” Dave fidgeted and looked around, as if the man might appear behind him, even out here, just because he got mentioned. “The incident on Luna One, The massacre on The Monica.” Dave’s eyes darted around. “And you know, the dude that took down The Ûbermensch.”

I blinked once, as the bloody token hit the proverbial slot. “...Oh.”

Suddenly, the tiny icon with the so polite title: A moment of your time, if I may.

Well, it didn’t look quite so innocent anymore.

It was slightly cowardly of me, but I went for the message from Pinkie first.

Without further ado, it just showed Pinkie, in a human frame for once, and sitting on the simple desk she had for the actually serious business.

Oh, joy…

“Dashie, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the cluster-fuck after the Red Revolution? I think it’s about to happen again.”

I paused the video mid disgusted grimace from Pinkie as my heart somehow skipped a couple of beats. “Fuck.” I buried my face in my free hoof, and near wished I could just sit here on my little rock for the next thirty-forty years, or so. “Not again.”

“Err…” Dave mumbled out, clearly confused. “Wasn’t that when regenerative medicine went practical? Wasn’t that a… well, a good thing?”

I just stared up at him for a few moments, lost for words.

“...Right?”

“Dave, do I look human to you?”

Dave just stared at me for a few moments. “...No?”

Had to admit, I smiled a bit at the polite tone. A small thing, but a nice gesture, even so. “Well,” I said, tapping my own temple with a soft clonk, “thing is, that tech? It was a boon for people everywhere, a wonderful milestone in medicine-” I took a deep breath, and just blurted it out. “-And the closest thing to a freaking death knell, for the transhuman movement.” I continued, as a light of understanding lit in Dave’s eyes. “We went from the future of all humanity with a few unfortunate bugs still to be worked out, to a freaky minority that refused to move with the times in a matter of months.”

Deep in thought, Dave walked over to a nearby wall, and sank down against it. “Can you explain? I’m sorry, but I’m not quite following.”

With a grimace, I limped over on three legs, and sank down next to him. It was a bit uncomfortable with my ‘wing backpack,’ but it worked. “Would you believe me if I told you, that nearly a third of all of humanity, used to be cyborgs before that?” I waved a hoof his way. “On the level of limbs and stuff, I mean, not just those health implants.”

Dave frowned a bit, eyes unfocused in thought. “...I think my history books had something about that, but my teacher got uncomfortable and glossed over most of it.”

A rather humorless laugh forced itself out of me. “Yeah, uncomfortable about cybernetics,that was kinda the thing, really.”

Dave’s look all but begged me for an explanation, but I needed to fight down the storm of emotion I was feeling first.

So I started the video again to buy a bit of time.

“I thought those irritating Ludz were the only freakshow in town,” Pinkie continued after her grimace was done. “But I’ve been getting threat after threat lately, everything from bio-conservatives, to religious nuts…” A tired and frazzled laugh that frankly did not fit Pinkie forced herself out of her mouth. “Freaking hell, I even got a bomb threat from —get this, a militant objectivist, that accused me of being, and I quote: ‘A fake titan of industry, that had clearly cheated with personality forking, and thus robbed many real titans of industry of their chances.’”

I and Pinkie shared a face palm across time and space.

Pinkie let out a sigh, and continued. “Anyway, it seems the winds are a’ blowing towards a real shitstorm, so watch yourself, ‘kay? Last time I checked, you didn’t quite have an army and police force up and running qui~ite yet.”

I knew it was just a recording, but I still rolled my eyes on principle.

“Just thought I’d remind you that there’s a port with a friendly governor relatively nearby, if you need to strike flag an’ run for it.” With a smile and a wave, Pinkie finished up. “So to speak. Later, Dashie, and take care.”

“Oh,” Pinkie added, as if an afterthought, “would you please put some flowers on Uncle Smith’s grave for me, next time you head over? I’ve enclosed the flowers I’d like printed with this message, so thanks in advance.”

I just sat there and stared at the pad for a bit. “Ugh,” I groaned finally, letting my head hang, “I freaking hate social backlash!”

Dave let out a small cough into a hand, clearly still wanting an explanation.

“Look, you can find the long version in any good, unbiased history book, but the short one? The people in it only for the unfading looks and being able to walk again, and stuff like that? The glamorous movie stars, and the sympathetic sob stories? Near all of them jumped ship, and there wasn’t enough left of us doing it for personal betterment to still be an influential force. And since a decently common trick back then was to avoid the uncanny valley by going for a distinctly non-human look?”

Dave let out a wince. 

“Yeah,” I said darkly, running a hoof nervously through my mane. “And now the tech is starting to live up to the old promises despite how near it was to dying, and suddenly the freaks have turned to supermen without having stopped being freaky freaks you can safely freak-out about.”

Very gently, Dave reached out and patted me on the shoulder.

With a groan, I let my head fall back against the wall, staring unseeing at the ceiling. “I just want to explore space, have a good time with my friends, and live forever and ever, and ever. Is that really so much to ask for…?”

I got a few extra pats on the shoulder for that.

“I mean… nothing is forcing them, you know? To take the anti-age treatments, or receive implants. Heck, you can even refuse things like a simple blood transfusion, right?”

Dave was quiet for a bit. “You sure about that?”

“Huh?”

“Can they really refuse? Without, you know, getting hopelessly behind the ones that do go to such lengths?”

I just stared at the vanilla mortal, so far from Earth that saying ‘Hi!’ over the coms and waiting for an actual response took about an hour. “Dave, you do know where you are, right?”

Dave just waved me off. “I require a suit and all sorts of little safeties to do what you can do in the nude, Dash. And that’s ‘just’ the vacuum thing, not how you can move things with your freakin’ mind or similar.” The man shrugged his shoulders my way, but to his credit, he was speaking in a near bored voice. “Not that I’m jealous or anything, but surely you can see why that would be rather intimidated to people who’ve invested all their personal worth in what special little snowflakes they were born as?”

The man turned with a serious expression, and poked me hard in the chest. “Look, believe it or not, but I’ve looked you up. You used to be a freaking prime-minister, then you went and become an astronaut back when that meant something.”  I got another hard poke for emphasis. “And then after all that, you all but screamed from the rooftops: ‘Yeah right, I can do better than that!’ and chopped your whole body off to become even stronger.”

That… made me blink, I must admit. “...Well, when you put it like that.”

“And —not counting various and numerous relatives that are equally bonkers and connected, there are seven more of you, and you all close ranks if somebody as much as sneeze at one of you.” I got poked again. “No offence, boss, I think you’re a good ‘mare’ as you like to joke, but surely you can see how somebody that doesnt might find you freakin’ terrifying?”

That… made a lot of sense. Almost too much sense.

I knew I didn’t have an agenda… but would Mr. Panicky Von Anti-Tech believe that, even for a moment?

I shook the intriguing, but currently unconstructive, line of thought out of my head. “Thanks, Dave, I think I need to think that over, but right now I need to focus on solving this mess.”

Dave gave me a slow nod, before leaning over; a single outstretched finger hovering over the last icon. “Sure, shall I?”

I just gave a nod, and he double tapped the icon without hesitation.

The man… didn’t look that impressive, frankly, but in my experience the ones that overcompensate and thus actually reach greatness never do. Tall, dark and thin, and just a few shades to threatening looking to be handsome.

The big thing, though? 

The eyes.

There was some fatigue there, and compassion, but mostly it was like looking into a pair of polished bits of sapphire.

I let out a thoughtful hum. Hard and unbending, huh? That was a really good combo in an ally, as long as you managed to gain their respect. 

And utterly annoying in an enemy, but details.

Besides, how he was apparently standing in a broom closet as to get some privacy? Kinda killed quite a bit of the intimidation factor.

To my surprise, however, the man bowed his head slightly before speaking. “Mrs. Rainbow Dash, it is my mixed blessing to waylay to you that your daughter, Trixie Lulamoon, was attacked and wounded earlier today, but is expected to make a full recovery.”

With a frown, I tilted my head. Fine phrasing and quite polite but it was hardly the type of message a —judging from his rank-pips, a captain would make.

So why was he?

“This is however not why I am calling, even if it gladdens me to deliver mostly good news, for once,” Blake continued. “I was informed by my second in command, #431, that you and your allies prefer to conduct business face to face but the rather extreme distance makes it rather unpractical for me to simply drop in on you.”

I let out a snort, if an amused one.

“As a courtesy, I shall be brief. I am currently recruiting specialists for the Pheidippides, the first full-size trial of the Farcaster drive, if you’ve heard of either. Your skill and expertise, especially in asteroid mining, has come highly recommended, and I would if possible like to meet to discuss this offer.” For just a moment, the man hesitated, and looked towards the closet door i could just barely see at the corner of the frame. “I do not wish to name drop too heavily, but both your daughter and Queen Pinkie have so far shown interest in the offer, if that makes any difference.”

Now that made me blink again. It was a long, long time, since Pinkie had gotten her own hands dirty in a project. Did she really believe that strongly in this?

“Time is currently not that pressing thanks to-” The man hesitated, and something truly ugly flickered in his eyes, even if it barely showed on his face. “-hold-ups in production. I would however like a preliminary yes or no post-haste so I can shift my recruitment efforts accordingly. If yes I hope we may meet face-to-face to discuss this further, but if no, I thank you for your time and wish you a pleasant day.”

The man surprised me once more, by bowing his head to the camera, before the clip stopped.

“My,” I said softly, “how polite. Wasn’t expecting that with his title.”

Dave looked at me curiously. “You gonna go for it?”

Humming and thinking deeply, I started stroking my chin. 

On one hand, it was a decent risk in a way my enhancements would offer little protection from. The short and mid range stuff had frankly gone far enough that even I thought it acceptable risk wise, but long range teleportation?

The math and the how of it went clear over my head, even nowadays, but I’d frankly seen some rather horrific shit from teleports gone wrong. To be fair once the ‘quantum-whatsit-waveform-bla’ or whatever the proper name was had safely formed you were as right as rain.

I made a grimace. But the further you wanted to go, the more energy you needed.

When all that energy happened to be packed into a long, thin rod on you, or even your head? 

Instant pipe-bomb, just add shoddy maintenance.

Frankly, if my own hadn’t been quite literally a part of my forehead, allowing me to feel when something was going wrong? I probably wouldn’t have bothered with the tech with my rotten luck.

On the other hand, though, such a death would be quick, clean, painless, for science and awesome.

Besides, quite a few years ago since I’d done any first. Might be fun, especially if it meant meeting and working with the girls again.

The big question out of the way, I gave a slow nod. “Think I’m intrigued enough for some face to face, at least.” I handed over the pad back to Dave. “Since I’m basically going to be a quick jaunt away anyway when I visit Trixie I might as well give a ‘maybe, let’s talk’ right?”

Dave let out a hum, looking down on the pad. “You want me to archive the messages?”

I remembered the bit about flowers for uncle Smith, and held out my hoof. “Let me do it, I need to print those flowers and fix my eye, anyway.”

That made Dave blink. “Eye?”

I tilted around my head while staring up at the ceiling, roughly in an angle where he should see the gleam from that crack. “Must have gotten a gentle little kiss while working on a rock, or something.” I tapped the thing without blinking, to Dave’s clear discomfort. “Still works, but unless I go get it replaced it’s only a matter of time before the thing gives out.”

Dave let out a tiny urk as he handed over the pad again. “That seriously doesn’t hurt?”

I wiggled my hoof in a so-so gesture. “Eh, I’ve got this level of upgrades for a reason. Heck, if it was a real emergency I could probably have an ugly if functioning replacement printed within the hour.” I couldn’t quite stop a tiny smirk, but I managed to keep the deadpan going. “Really tricky part is the screwdriver and the mallet, you see-”

Dave stuck his tongue out in a grimace and waved me off. “Please no ‘cyborg’ humor; I just ate.”

Snickering, i got to my hooves, and started limping to my room. “Fine, fine.” I stopped in the doorway, craning my neck backwards enough to look at him over my own back. “Just a heads-up, ‘kay? It should be a couple of hours before I’m ready, but I might need to leave before the other’s drag that rock back over here.”

Dave gave me a mock salute, even clicking his heels.

Rather spoiled by the sandals, but still. A for effort.

Made my smile, at least. “You stay on the coms until I need to leave, ‘kay? We’ll play it by ear after that, depending on how that haul goes then.”

“Roger, boss,” Dave said, before going ‘at ‘ease,’ “I’ll send word to the lads’ on what’s up.”

With a final nod, I hurried off down the corridors. 

The Asteroid of Love had once been a medium-ish asteroid, little more than an oblong kilometer of rock, before I’d gotten my grubby hooves on it and carefully dug into it. It wasn’t hollow. or anything excessive like that, but I’d managed to whip it into a half-decently comfy little outpost in the middle of nowhere over the years.

Out here near the surface there really only were that airlock, that locker-room, the main communication room, and a small lounge. Technically the last was something of a engineering weak-spot, but time and effort getting it right had been well-spent in my opinion.

Movie night with the stars gently glittering behind you? Worth every darn minute getting those slabs of sapphire here and into air-tight frames, and I’d laugh anybody that said otherwise in the face.

Deeper in thought, things split at an X crossing. The semi-dangerous industrial stuff to the right, i.e. the reactor and chemical storage. And if you continued straight through the throughofair, you ended up at the dock, emergency airlock and processing area.

In the center of the square room there was also a hatch in the floor, leading ‘down’ into the center of the asteroid. Down there? A lo~ong ladder near worthy of it’s own freaking soundtrack, all leading down the the backup-generator, and the, by now, rather old-school gravity generator.

I however, took a left, my hooves clicking on the stone as I passed the corridor flanked on the right with a view straight into hydroponics, and to the left with the main common room.

Now that had been a design choice even I’d felt my head inflate a bit with smug at. No matter how rotten or nasty a day you’d had, how many things that had gone wrong, and all you wanted was to drag your sorry carcass to your room and stay there… You still got at least a glimpse of green and color on your way at worst, and at best just might get better ideas on how to spend that day. A small thing, but it really helped as the months rolled by out here.

Beyond that corridor there was the secondary workshop and medical, the former being my destination.

Neat rows of tools secured to the walls with Velcro, a few workbenches and an older model 3D-printer made to work in both a vacuum and micro gravity, if needed.

That was it aside from a few strapped down piles of raw materials. 

Not much, but I’d made sure and double sure, that in theory the contents of this room (and the warehouse) could bootstrap anything else on the station into working order again. Call me paranoid if you must, but I frankly preferred not to take chances out here on the frontier. 

I transferred over the file for the flowers Pinkie wanted to get done, and the printer started up without fuss as I got to work on my own problem.

“Ugh,” I muttered as I went and got what I needed, “this is gonna su~uck.”

There sadly was really only one quick and easy solution, especially since I needed upgrades anyway and wanted to go see Trixie as soon as possible.

So I went and got my screwdriver.

The pattern Pinkie wanted might have only been mostly paper with a tiny bit of metal thrown in, but it was rather intricate so it would still take a bit.

The next corridor was the ‘barracks.’ I hadn’t picked the nickname and it frankly didn’t quite fit, but eh, that type of stuff happens. Not much from the outside, but the bulkhead doors were just a bit more polished and shiny, and I’d spent quite a few hours polishing up the stone in this part of the station. It wasn’t the swankiest I could have done, but I frankly liked the look of it  The shiny reddish-grey stone even had some darker streaks of iron in it, and together with the shine it was frankly a quite pretty pattern all on its own.

There was little over a dozen rooms since I liked to future proof if possible, but almost half of them was currently a bastardization of store-rooms, junk-rooms, and guest-rooms. 

Since I was Lady and Mistress of this domain, I’d nabbed three, but one of them was basically a big closet at the moment.

Hey, what’s the point of being the boss if you don’t get the swankiest room?

I headed into my bedroom, ignoring my library/reading-room/computer-room/game-room thing-y for the moment. The base of the room was little more than a three by three by three meter cube, if polished as well. A bed, a small bookshelf, a bedrest and my personal tablet resting on the later.

Hey, what can I say? I’m one of those that think a bedroom exists for three things, and if your partner for the one you need one of those for cares more for the decor than you? Well, frankly, you’re doing something wrong.

It wasn’t that extravagant… by today’s standards. Personally I always got a bit giddy on entering and seeing all that space! And it was mine! All MINE! Bhahahaha-

I shook my head and dislodged the small bit of mania.

Again.

To be fair, I remembered back when a bed in space meant those weird sleeping-bag things strapped to the nearest wall. In comparison my current setup was the type of utter decadence not even the most depraved of hedonists would allow themselves! Bhaha-

I gave myself a love-tap on my cheek, snapping myself out of it.

Still, the awesome awesomeness of the awesome boudoir of the awesomest alicorn in Sol aside…

I groaned, and reached down, making my spare parts box float out.

...I needed to get cracking on one of the less awesome bits of being that cyborg badass.

I flipped the lid open, and was greeted by about a dozen of my eyes staring up at me. Some new, but most of them cracked, burned, busted or even half-melted.

Still, lucky, lucky me, the damage on my current eye seemed quite superficial.

But no reason to chance things when you have spares.

So I grabbed my screwdriver, dug it under my eye and heaved gently.

With a soft click the eye plopped out, and my vision on that eye cut to black. Using my hoof, I just as gently spun the whole thing around one-eighty degrees to the left, and pulled. And as usual, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was holding the wrongest novelty light-bulb, this thin, flat ‘bulb’ and a stubby little fixture underneath. There must have been a small charge left or something, because the thing even ‘blinked’ at me, as I put it into the box with the others.

OK? That? That even I will freely admit is slightly creepy. Not the ‘zombie’ blink, but the freaking built-in eyelids. I got why, because otherwise you’d have to worry about the whole skin every time you need to repair or switch out something as otherwise as straightforward and easy as your eyes, but still! Cree~py!

Even so, a small price to pay, for rainbow colored death beams!

OK, OK, I didn’t actually have those…

But I could have, and that’s almost as awesome.

Honestly, the in was actually downright simple compared to the out, although that was part of the design. After all, if you thought a contact dropping out was bad…

Just on the edge of even my hearing, I heard a soft ‘ding’ through the rock and hallways as the printer finished.

“My, that quick?” I mumbled out to myself, as I slid the box back under my bed. “Pinkie must have gotten a better compression algorithm, or something.”

I sauntered out, stopping only to lock my doors properly.

Not that I didn’t trust the gang, but might as well minimize any temptations slash potential morale problems, right? Nothing turns people into grumps faster in a closed space like this, then one twit with sticky fingers.

I made my way back to the workshop, where two bouquets of flowers were a’ waiting in the ‘done’ tray; one with lilies-of-the-valley a light raspberry color with golden threads all over both flowers and the leaves, and the other cornflower blue roses with silver in a similar fashion.

I couldn’t help but float over the roses first, and out of old habit, take a sniff.

They smelled only of freshly ‘molded’ plastic and metal, of course, since they had just come out of an industrial 3D-printer…

But what can I say? Some gestures just get so ingrained over the years, you can barely help yourself. 

Still… “Me, oh my…” I couldn’t help myself from murmuring with a smile, as I rolled the bouquet in my levitation, simply enjoying how the rainbow shifting light played over the curls and twists of silver thread. “What pretty flowers you make, my dearest daughter.”

I lifted up the small paper note tied onto the same string that was binding the flowers together, and gave it a glance.



In loving memory, Trixie Lulamoon. ~23100102



I let out a low wince. Whole month ago and sent by Pinkie, huh? Trixie really should take things like this a bit more seriously, but I guess it was better than nothing.

Carefully floating over the other bouquet and letting both trail behind me as to not damage the delicate flowers, I set off for the hangar.

Truth be told, I’d probably future proofed this one room just a tad too much. Aside from the rather massive airlock it was frankly like stepping into a cavern somebody had for some reason lit and left some crap in near the edges. Heck, at 100-200-30 meters it damn near rivaled half the rest of the station in volume.

Still, as much a waste the area currently was, I had to admit it felt rather nice to have at least one room onboard were I could —be it literally or metaphorically, stretch my wings.

Besides, I’d gotten a fair price for the rock, so win-win, right?

My hooves echoing against the smooth stone, I made it over to one of the piles of ‘crap.’

First rule of deep space: Never, ever, ever have a system for anything; no matter how trivial. Always have at least one backup.

Rule #2 to #108 is basically the same darn rule, just with more and more elaborate swearing to get the darned point across to the newbies.

I gently dropped the flowers on the table, and pinged Dave over the radio. “Hey, I’m about to slap on the accessories. Anything else before I leave…?”

A long hum cut the aether as Dave hummed in thought. “Everything seems good on this end, boss, but are you really sure about this?” I heard a couple of buttons being pushed. “Sarojini should be back with the hauler tomorrow, and if we bust our backs it shouldn’t take that much longer to load it then we’d need anyway to prep it for the next run.”

My eyes darted over to the flowers. “My little girl is in the hospital; what answer to that are you actually expecting?”

Dave let out a grunt in confirmation. “Guess I can’t argue with that. Just make sure to check everything, OK?”

I let out a hum, as I cut off the channel and floated over the first engine-pod. Extending my wings fully, the smooth, tapered cylinder slotted into the hardpoint easily enough, even if it felt as I nearly got folded in half from the sudden weight as the levitation cut off.

With a grunt I just grinned and bore it, as I floated over the next engine. Truth be told I wasn’t exactly twitching with jubilation at the ‘giant cigars... of THE FUTURE!!!’ look that seemed to be in vogue right now.

But hey, you can’t argue with performance, and at least they matched my skin.

It felt strange even by my standards, but with some flickering of green lights, I actually felt how the power-load on my systems shifted around a bit; like the ‘muscles’ on my back went limp, while these new, shiny ones on my wings suddenly flexed.

Not quite right, but that was the best equivalent I could think of.

I reared up on my hind legs and flexed a bit, getting used to the ‘new’ weight, and how my center of gravity had shifted a bit.

With a skip I flipped over in the air, and landed on my right front hoof. Carefully, and listening for any creaking or crackling, I sank down until my nose was touching the floor.

“One.”

“OK, boss,” Dave snarked at me over the intercom, one of the cameras whirring softly as it zoomed in on me, “now I know you’re just showboating.”

“Hush,” I said absently as I pushed off the floor, perking my ears a bit extra hard just in case. “I’m stress-testing here. Two.”

Dave mumbled something the mic didn’t quite catch, but sounded disbelieving.

I gave the one-handed push-offs to the count of “Ten.” before switching hoof; pulling the hoof I’d been using up and catching myself with the other in the blink of a normal eye.

“One.”

Another ten push-ups later without as much as a whisper, and I felt almost as satisfied with the result as I was with myself right then.

Not bad for last decade’s model with a hundred kilo load under the wings, if I do say so myself!

With a smug smile and a rather loud clonk, I let my back half fall down to the ground; leaving me on all fours again.

Alas, the rest of the following hour or so was far, far less interesting. Engine checks. Radio checks. HORN checks. That amount of check-lists may be part of the bug-bear when it comes to flight —be it in space or otherwise, but I still frankly felt as if I should have had a far purpler color scheme, to be blunt.

Still, better bored for an hour, then stuck drifting and bored for who knows how long in the void. 

I guess some figment of the ol’ golden age of when space was this strange and alien place must linger in the public conscience. But every once in a while, you’d still hear how some frozen, leaky tub full of ex-idiots that should have been more careful got mentioned on the news. Or you know, boiled depending on where in sol they’d screwed up and got found, but hardly as if that was a better state to be found in.

I’d just (FINALLY!) finished up the checks and was attaching slash ‘packing;’ if you can even call it that when you’re just slapping two small cargo-pods under your wings. Honestly, for this leg of the journey it was rather comical. Just two tiny splashes of color inside what was basically two odd metal suitcases. But hey, if nothing else I might find myself a souvenir or two, right?

Have to fill out that junk room somehow after all!

Once done, I just gave the giant, quite literal several ton doors one look. “...Yeah, fuck that.”

Actually for once remembering to do so before hitting vacuum, I activated, well, vacuum mode, paying a bit of attention for once to make sure everything was working.

“‘kay, Dave,” I ‘said’ through my locked jaws, as soon I was certain my internal gear was working, “I’m leaving now.”

“Got it. Good luck, boss.”

“Oh,” I added as an afterthought as I plotted the first of many, many teleports for the coming days, “if this Blake dude seems to talk nonsense I’ll be back in two-three weeks, but otherwise you get a shot at wearing the big-girl panties until I’m back and/or resurrected.”

I actually heard Dave balk clean over the radio. “...Err,” he mumbled out, “don’t get me wrong boss, I’m flattered, but did you have to put it that… morbidly?”

I couldn’t stop a smirk. ”Later!”

I was gone in a literal flash before I even got Dave’s response.

Being in a whole-body quantum state is… I want to say ‘eldritch’ as in ‘unnaturally weird,’ but that has so many Cthulhu-mythos associations. Eldritch light, without the instant insanity bother?

Your senses —let alone mind, just isn’t even nearly made to experience something like that. 

The moment feels both like it’s gone in a flash and a small eternity happens in a blink of an eye. 

Your body feels like it might fly apart like a sculpture made from gas… or outlast the stars themselves.
                focusing                 on                                                   like        
And if you try                                         them, your thoughts just flicker around                 
                          too hard                                                                fireflies on                                     not quite                                   time as it
        sugarwater. Trying, but                                                         ‘should be.’
                                                managing to care about

The one even those that hate teleportation agrees on, though?

You just can’t beat the view. Remember those physics classes and what else exists as both a particle and a waveform, right?

Photons —quite literally a sea of starlight, as far as the eye can see, tinged the same colors as my field and gleaming against a black so dark, you can tell even though that shimmer of shades.

And even at the ‘speeds’ I was moving, those tiny but near omnipresent motes of light raced all around me, more a constant blur of heat, warmth and colors, as if I was some type of lumbering rock that for a brief, wondrous moment got to bounce atop the surface of some celestial river made from radiance itself.

And just like that, more or less at the exact moment becoming one with eternity with my personal bifrost didn’t seem so bad… it was over, and I got dumped out into normal space without fanfare. 

“...Bye Dash!” Dave’s voice came faintly over my radio, half a second or so after I’d exited the first teleport; crackling quite a bit but still audible. “Good luck with Trixie!”

I fought down the slight melancholia at seeing ‘just’ a sea of stars and inky blackness again.

Quite a few consider teleports lonely and creepy but to me, it was just so serene and pretty, I couldn’t even humor the point.

Then again, I reluctantly admitted to myself as I actually sealed my damn jaw again, not many do quite as long-range ones as I do. Personally I didn’t find the short-range ones that different, but they were briefer and had an almost ‘did I actually see that?’ feel to them.

With a soft ding a report appeared in my vision, my systems having automatically pinged the mission-control on The Asteroid of Love and checking how my transit had gone.

If I could have, I would have smirked wide. 99, 941 kilometers away and all systems reporting in the green; well within the margin of error. With another small ding, the horn on my head reported that it was ready to fire again, so I started the countdown for the main trip; making me feel a slight ‘warmth’ to the insides engines as the auxiliary horns in them started priming. 

Sadly, this time of year I’d need to hit Mars first unless I wanted to spend a week or so like this. Still, every cloud have a silver lining, and with luck I’d be able to —augh, find something faster to charter on there to actually reach Earth a bit faster.

Still, there was that old tingle of excitement as the numbers on my HUD trickled down to zero with deceptive speed. All that gear, all that space, and so very, very much that could go wrong. It wasn’t exactly needed, but I still spread my arms wide and swept my legs behind me; just before that zero flashed before my eyes. Grinning as wide as I could with my jaw locked, I still couldn’t resist a chuckle only I would ever hear.

Hey, if you’re the cavalry, you might as well ride in with style, right?

Internally giggling like a loon, I disappeared again.

Daddy’s coming. You just stay calm for that long, ‘kay, Trixie?

And with that final thought, I leaned back as all become rainbows and stardust; as I rode a beam of rainbow light of my own making.all the way to the planet of war.., 





Earth, Bell family camp.





I was about a hundred meters away from the camp, when I heard my new least favorite sound in the world again, and my hind-legs went numb below the hook.

Zot.

With just a barely fought down shout of ‘Bastardus hypocrites!,’ I gritted my teeth as well as I could given the circumstances, and started dragging myself forward.

I made a decent clip —at least for a fresh paraplegic, but with a sinking realization it just seemed less and less likely I’d make it. The cruel irony of it, was that had my horn been functioning, it would have been little more than a thought and a flash for me to get there. As was, the small stretch of sand in front of me and my mangled frame, might as well have been reaching Mars with a pogostick.

Still, the alternative was to lay down and die, or worse, get downgraded if that ‘cure you’ crap meant what I thought it meant. If I’d wanted to be a vanilla mortal, I’d have freaking stayed a vanilla mortal. I did not spend quite literally centuries refining my art, just to have a bunch of neanderthals with a flesh fetish strip that away from me.

“Stop her!” the man with the megaphone shouted again, the sound of wheels on sand only now getting close enough to me to figure out just how they were chasing me. “There might be anything in that tent!”

I caught a mutter on the wind, the words lost, but the tone of ‘enough of this’ still carrying through. With a flash of blue, so close to the current sky I nearly missed it, the blur from earlier teleported about ten meters to my left.

I barely had time to see a thin line of blur extend from the mass, before a slightly more subdued Zot took my left arm off at the knee. I’d kinda seen the horrible pattern, so I had turned my sense of pain off when my tail went flying off. 

I still faked crying out in pain as I tumbled, hiding how I reached in and pulled out my whip with my body, as I pretended I was ‘just’ cradling the stump my other hoof had turned into. It was close, but I just barely managed to get the weapon out and cradle my stump for real as I came to a stop.

Rolling onto my side and then my back, the whip was now hidden under me as I came to a halt.

“No closer than two-three meters,” the sniper in the cloaking field said, his cool and collected voice strangely early for the situation. It was probably helped how the slightly blockier bit of blur pointed my way hadn’t as much as wavered. “Transhumans are tricky to disable at the best of times, and that’s when they don’t know how their bodies actually works.”

I didn’t recognize the accent, but the almost cold way he was speaking? Either a psycho, or somebody that considered himself a professional.

Or both, of course.

“Slightest chance you are only doing this for the money, good Sir?” I forced myself to say in a level voice. “Because in that case, I would be willing to leeway a counter-offer.”

A dry thing that just might have been a chuckle drifted through the air. “Sorry, Miss Rarity, but I’m under contract. And in my business, you simply cannot buy reputation.” What might just have been a tiny tilt of his head made his outline shift, but alas, the gun did not. “A pleasure meeting a Lady with manners, though.”

The small fleet of cars, seemingly badly modified for manual driving judging by how half-assedly some of their parts looked, came rolling up near us.

“Unlike some…” Even I barely heard the man mutter under his breath.

From the looks of things, somebody had raided a lower-class junkyard and used a metal 3D-printer to just barely get four ancient car wrecks rolling. Every part not in what looked like just standard if still gleaming steel was either so rusty it barely held together, or so worn by sand and wind you could almost see through it.

It made a twisted amount of sense. Old heaps like these would be next to impossible to track even if the computer bits had still been intact. For all I know, they might have even quite literally looted from somewhere around here, or even the desert itself.

The first man out was, average. Average height, average weight, average looks, even his skin tone was weirdly,. average. Not quite latino, not quite white, dark enough that it might have been inherited or simply a tan. Just… average.

Had I not been decently certain that wasn’t the case, I would frankly have thought the man with the greying hair and matching immaculate grey suit a full body cyborg that had gone out of his way to be nondescript.

Thing is, there was this… presence to the man. Nothing you could put a finger on, but his aesthetic blandness aside he simply seemed to have a gravity to him, that, ironically, caught one’s eye.

The man was soon flanked by four guards, faces obscured by folded t-shirts of all things, and carrying AN-94s of all ancient darn gun designs. Hardly even a tenth as deadly as the laser rain I’d needed to wade through, but hardly harmless either. The guns also had a ‘fresh’ look to them, barely as much as a scratch on their surfaces. 

This… this was bad. Bad with a capital ‘B’ and extra ‘oh crap’ sprinkles on top. I wasn’t quite certain what group this was, but printed weapons and gear? That wasn’t the setup you sat up for taking down a single rival.

This was an army arming itself.

I started recording immediately, deactivating a few bits of code I legally should barely know exist as to not inform everybody nearby I was doing so. It was a long-shot, but just maybe it might survive even if I didn’t.

“Ah, Mr. Smith,” the man said with a soft smile I didn’t buy for a second, walking slowly towards me with his hands behind his back as if he had all the time in the world, “I have wanted to speak with you for quite a while, but somebody seems to refuse to take my calls.”

I felt my ear flick without my conscious input. “I have not been either a ‘Mr.’ or ‘Smith’ in a very, very long time, Sir…”

Something dark flickered in the man’s golden-brown eyes. “Ah, yes, because renaming and styling yourself after one of the main characters from a three hundred year old cartoon aimed mainly at little girls truly is the height of sanity.”

Not seeing much point in it with every eye on me already, I switched back to my standard colors of light grey and fuchsia. A few guns twitched a bit extra my way, but they slowly lowered again when the only thing happening was my pelt and mane shifting colors. “Well, I’m so sorry the face I’ve had for almost two hundred years is not to your liking. Perhaps we could take a rain check like civilized people, and continue this at a later date when I’ve had a chance to actually dress for the occasion…?”

The ghost of a smile flickered over the man’s lips. “I’m afraid I can’t let that happen, Mr. Smith. You’ve become quite the… fixture in the cybernetic community, and one way or the other, I need to set an example before it is too late.” The words were polite enough, but the man said ‘fixture in the cybernetic community’ the same way most would have said ‘crawling mat of maggots.’

I just barely stopped myself from glaring at him. “Too late for what, Mr…?”

He tipped an imaginary hat at me. “Call me Mr. X.”

I let out a snort, despite myself.

“Forgive me for the rather cliche’ alias, but I simply consider there more pressing matters for my intellect at the moment. Like how to stop humanity from foolishly undoing itself, for example.”

“I see,” I said almost as dry as the air around us, “Might I recommend tequila and the nearest bar? I’ve heard that combo tends to work simply wonders if you want more humans running about.”

Mr. X let out a sigh, sounding genuinely exasperated. “Mr. Smith, I am talking about how we humans seem to be adamant on driving ourselves to obsoletion.” Something flickered over the man’s face, but it was gone too quickly for me to read it. “In no small part thanks to you and your friends’ efforts.”

I kept my voice level, but there was a small but consistent part of me that kept whispering that bone is not nearly as strong as many think, I still had one working hoof and those rocks near my sure were highly throwable things. 

I guess I might really have moved to a point where my systems were just another part of me, because that tiny part was enough for a targeting arc to show in my augmented reality HUD; a nice, curved, arrowed line, straight through the bastard’s head.

I’d be dead before I could hear the splat, of course, but still, a tempting thought.

“You ever been blind or lame, Mr. X? My own disadvantage was more petty than that, but some of my friends’ you so sneer at suffered as such, and long before regenerative medicine was a thing, at that.” Perhaps it was willful imagination on my part, but the air felt a degree or so cooler from my tone alone. “If seeing such horrors undone is the wages of sin… than frankly, the Queen of Hell I would gladly be.”

There was a soft murmur among his men, but Mr. X himself just tilted his head. “There was quite a trend when just that—regenerative medicine that is, made it past being a pipe-dream.” Mr. X’s suit creased as he gave a theatrical shrug. “The cyborg population all but gone in a night, as people chose to reclaim their humanity.” 

There was a moment of silence, while Mr. X played the crowd by theatrically looking between his men, and me.

“You didn’t, Mr. Smith.” The bastard continued. “Not you and your friends, so just why was that?”

I waved my stump at him. “I’m sorry, but who hunted and maimed who again?” I felt my teeth crackle and warp slightly, as I ground them together. “While me and my daughter was doing nothing more than spending a pleasant vacation?”

Mr. X’s eyes narrowed at me. “Answer the question, please?”

He said ‘please’ in that hard way that tells you that the question mark on the end of that sentence was just a formality.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Because the vain, short-sighted idiots back then, the ones into cybernetics just for the smooth skin, ten inch pianists, the larger letter combos and similar juvenile distractions, jumped ship the moment they could have that without looking like walking dolls?” I puffed my mane with my whole hoof and held my head high to Mr. Whatever’s clear irritation. “While we with patience, wisdom and foresight stuck with the slower, but ultimately more rewarding road?”

I heard Mr. X’s hands crackle slightly behind his back, but nothing of the sort showed on his face. “And just what has that ‘wisdom and foresight’ given you, Mr. Smith? A body more circuitry than flesh, and an empty home with nothing in it but stuff and a doll that dreams it might one day be even half of what you’ve willingly given up?”

I gave the ‘man’ my coldest look of contempt. “Sweetie is a hundred fold the human you ever will be, Mr. X. She is kind, generous, and near everything a mother may be proud in her child.” In that moment, I frankly wouldn’t have stopped the fierce, proud grin if I’d been promised Earth itself. “And since that involves such things as the bad and even ugly as well as the good, I frankly look forward to the moment she hunts you down like the rabid animal you are, resists the urge to feed you your own entrails, and instead offers you the undeserved mercy of a quick, clean death.”

It was slight, but I saw the twit’s eyes widen a bit. “...I must admit, I did not see such… graphic threats coming.”

“What, from one of the ‘heartless, soulless would-be automatons,’ or whatever the current slur is?” I asked mockingly, before getting serious once more. “Because if you think you and your bunch of rag-tag misfits are even the hundredth that have raged against me and my friends for being ‘sins against nature’ you are frankly a fool.”

The blur to my left let out the tiniest of coughs. Not even that made his gun waver, though.

“Although I will applaud you for actually knowing what a broken little talentless fool of a hack you are, and hiring talented and courteous professional help accordingly.”

Even I almost missed it, but there again was the tiniest of dips in the distortion of the snipers cloak. Never pays to burn bridges. Especially not with snipers that normally shoot to wound.

“May I however recommend the services of a professional psychologist next time, rather than a sniper?” I continued, trying to push Mr. Idiot’s buttons so he’d make a mistake. 

“Disabler, Ma’am. Common mistake.” the blurr said softly. “The dead hold too long a grudge nowadays, you see, but most are a good enough sport about a leg or two not to go after the cat’s paw that held the gun.” An utterly humorless chuckle drifted through the air from the ghostlike man, making quite a few of the guards all around us shiver despite the heat. “Most of the time, anyway.”

Mr. X took a deep breath, before pressing on in a carefully level voice. “Would you two ab-” He fought down the ‘abominations,’ and continued as if it had never passed his lips. “Misinformed people please stop all but flirting? It is unbelievably disturbing.”

I actually felt the man shift his attention from me, to his employer. “Mr. X,” the sn- disabler said in a tone so cold it had grown razor ice, “may I remind you, that I am a professional in an extremely limited field of expertise? If the tools I use to accomplish this task is so beneath your notice, perhaps you have a better method you’d care to share.”

Something ugly flashed over X’s face again. “I don’t, and that is exactly why I find I need to resort to measures such as these.” With exaggerated slowness, the overgrown child raised his arm and pointed at me. “Tell me honestly, ‘Miss Rarity,’ when was the last time a human actually challenged you in anything?”

I just stared at him like the fool he was. “...Today?”

There was a ringing silence to mark the passing of my words.

“I may be many, many things including prideful, child, but I do not count outright arrogance among my vices.” I rolled my shoulders a bit before continuing. “When was the last time you made something of your own instead of tearing down the works of others, Mr. X? Because that’s it isn’t it? It’s so much easier to pretend that the competition is just too fierce, and fail by not even trying.”

Mr. X’s eyes narrowed at me, for the first time showing outright hostility. “And what would somebody that has carved away so many bits of themselves they don’t even bleed anymore know of work and sacrifice?”

To the man’s clear irritation, and his mens’ worry, I just laughed at him in the face. “You dare call me that freaking name, but your freaking sources didn’t even tell you that much about me, you silly little man?!” I jabbed a hoof to my chest, and glared his way. “You know what I used to be? I was a freaking farmer’s son, and I dragged myself to greatness. The biological relatives you seem to think I should remember so fondly disowned me, just because I didn’t want to spent the rest of my life shoving seeds into soil!”

There was now a low, but consistent murmur among Mr. X’s men. It seemed whatever local lads he’d lead here on a merry little unicorn hunt hadn’t actually expected to find a person behind that horn.

Good, I could use that. And if some poor lad that should have known better but hadn’t got a life-lesson without being harmed too terribly? Even better.

So I turned to them instead, using my translator to do so in next best thing to fluent Arabic. <”Has this son of a dog even told you why he made you hunt me? What dread crime I’ve committed to earn his ire? Has he even lowered himself to talk with you, or was promises and barked orders in English enough for his tastes?”> 

There was a moment of shock and widened eyes.

And then, one of them slowly shook his head and lowered his gun. <”...No,” the man said in a rather restrained voice, eyes now coldly focused on a distinctly nervous Mr. X, <“We were told, in rather horrid Arabic, that you and your ‘accomplice had a hostage, and in the time it would take to call the police or the guard, this ‘Mr. Smith’ would be dead…”>

<”I and my daughter were here to test a high-grade frame without risk of collateral,”> I calmly said, looking the man straight in his brownish-grey eyes. <”I even have all paperwork and licenses to prove it.”> I tilted my head, as the would be spokesman silently started glaring straight at Mr. X. <”Oh, and you will sadly have to take my word on the whereabouts of Mr. Smith, because I simply do not see much point in carrying around almost two hundred year old papers on my legal name change.”>

The Disabler’s eyes was slowly passing around the now fuming crowd of armed people. “My Arabic is rather rusty, Mr. X, but I believe your jig is up... and you did not pay me nearly enough to slaughter a bunch of kids.” With the tiniest shrug, the man hid away his gun with one, smooth movement. “Given what you did to poor Gloria and how much time and effort it will take to fix her, I frankly consider our business concluded.”

With not another word, the man just turned and walked away; whistling a merry tune as if he wasn’t being stared at by nearly a dozen armed men.

“Does that mean you are now between contracts, Mr? Because I seem to be of more need of a security expert than I thought, and I rather like the idea of somebody of your skills that still prefers not to kill.” 

The Disabler paused, mid-stride and one not-quite there foot above the sands.

I’ve seldom seen the type of hate I saw in Mr. X’s eyes as he apparently near, quite literally, cracked his knuckles.

I just continued with a smile, though, looking Mr. X in his furious eyes. “Did you really think moi ended up the second oldest human alive by my looks alone, Mr. X?” I puffed my mane again to his clear irritation. “Now granted, they do help, but I severely doubt that counts when you’ve designed most of them yourself.”

The ‘man’ took a deep breath, and steeled himself before forcing himself to continue. “It is not yet to late, Mr. Smith. You could do so much more, and so much good, if only you actually re-joined humanity.”

I’ll give the devil his dues. Things slipping away so fast, and still standing there with a tremble of pure conviction in his voice?

“Child,” I continued in a tired, but even voice, “I am, as little as I care to remember it, a three hundred and fifty six years old. Without my implants, the various gene-therapies I’ve received, and drugs I constantly take through those implants?” I poked my temple. “I would either be dust, or a withered husk with a mind so overfull of memories that being dust would have been a kindness, because not being able to feed or bathe yourself is no way to actually live.” 

There was a low murmur among ‘his’ men, informing me that at least a few of them understood English. Good, both for them and me.

“Or did you really think it was just a matter of throwing me into an auto-doc, fake my consent, and hit the big, shiny ‘reverse’ button? Medicine, cybernetics or biology does not freaking work that way, you uneducated child.”

“And of all the lives saved by that example?” Mr. X continued, barely missing a beat. “All the girls and boys, that might have had full and fulfilling lives, had they not been waylaid like you? How much of your soul have you cut away, to lay there and not die from such wounds? For that hollow taste of power?”

I frankly felt some gall rising in my throat. “I remember the Wall falling, Mr. X. I remember the end of Apartheid. The first moon-landing, the Vietnam war, and dozens upon dozens of humanities brightest and darkest moments during the last three centuries.  I am calm —not because of my implants, but because I’ve seen this song and dance enough times it frankly bores me.” I spat him in the face from five meters away, making everybody nearby twitch. “Because you are nothing but a zealous little thug afraid of a coming dawn, that history will roll over and swallow you like the cockroach you are. Like all others that cried ‘the end is nigh’ at society daring to change.”

With a trembling hand, Mr. X wiped my spit off.

I just sent another glob his way, making him twitch as it splattered between his eyes. “Do. Your. Worst.”

“Enough,” the would-be spokesman declared in shaky but understandable English, one hand raised and everything, as he swept his hard eyes between me and the fuming X. He then turned to his comrades, without taking eyes of me, Mr. X or the blurry patch of sand, that had apparently sunk down to watch the fireworks. <“One of them are playing us. Go to the tent and see what’s really there.”>

The man he’d addressed took one long look at me, than the tent, and then stared the self-declared leader straight in the eye. <”I can guess the contents of that tent, if she’s the new Ûbermench Slasher and have decided to attract victims by looking like that.”> The man shuddered as if a ice-cube had been dropped down his tunic. <”I will not be the first into that tent.”>

It took me about a second to actually get what I’d just heard.

And about twice that to actually swallow the bit of my breakfast that had climbed up my throat after that.

With a shrug, the de facto leader just pointed at two other men; those two sprinting over without a further word.

<”The armor in there isn’t intended for a normal human,”> I gently but firmly said after them, making them hesitate. <”Don’t try to put it on.”>

<”And just what would happen if they did…?”> The spokesman asked dryly.

<”It’s mostly untested power armor, configured for somebody with titanium bones and--”> I waved a hoof his way, making a light of understanding dawn in his eyes. <”It doesn’t have any booby-traps or anything short-sighted like that.”> I looked at the now rather more still Mr. X, and gave him my sweetest smile. <”There is however, also a radio. May I recommend its usage to call the police and settle this dreadful matter civility?”>

The man might not have been a great speaker of Arabic, but the words ‘الشرطة’ and ‘الراديو,’ IE police and radio, most certainly made Mr. X’s eyes widen. “Don’t!”

The entire group of concerned citizens instantly focused on him.

To the bastard’s credit, he almost managed to save enough gravitas to pull a bluff of. “We can still solve this ourselves,” he calmly said, walking forward a bit with his hands raised like a freaking hostage negotiator. “There is no need to invo--”

I just turned to the leader again. <”He is trying to discourage you from involving the authorities. Saying that: ‘Nothing is wrong, don’t call the police’ in a calm, authoritative voice. That is a favorite trick of some of the nastier serial killers, right there.”> I slowly pointed a few times  towards the tent with the tip of my hoof. <”A white satellite phone right next to one of the beds. You can’t miss it.”>

The leader gave me a slow nod, waving the arm not holding his weapon to the tent. <”Firas, go see if you can find that phone.”> A grimace visibly through his mask twisted his face. <”Can’t believe I’m saying this sentence, but the unicorn is talking a lot of sense.”>

A laugh rippled through the crowd, but it seemed it was more nerves than mirth. 

<”She trying deceiving!”> Mr. X shouted in broken Arabic, clearly at his wits end but still trying to salvage victory from defeat. <”No police! Unnecessary!”>

<”One of the punishments and part one of rehabilitation for a transhuman that has used their implants for, just one example, murder, is the removal of all implants,”> I effortlessly countered. <”Within medical reason, of course.”> I added with a tap to my temple. <”If you have told these gentleman the truth, I end up in a healing-tank anyway, except by calling the police it becomes legal.”>

The mask fell away as ‘his’ men started muttering amongst themselves, and the overgrown child glared at me.

I just smiled back. <”Knowledge is power, child. May I recommend looking into a higher-grade translator implant after this?” The smile on my face turned into an outright grin, as the ‘man’s’ glare turned into an outright glower. <”Why, nothing quite as good for peace, as to politely be able to simply talk things over…”>

Whatever ‘witty’ retort the ‘man’ had, it was cut of by Mr. Firas and the other two gentleman that had braved mine and Sweetie’s tent coming out. Given how they had removed their masks and were looking positively furious, I could guess how that had gone. 

Firas, the scowl aside, was actually quite a handsome young man underneath the rather tacky get-up. Dusky skin, raven hair, and a pencil mustache that rather complimented his features.

<”Nothing but tools, clothes and machinery, Ishmael,”> Firas told the leader in a trembling voice. <”We even found a small UV-light and dug down a bit in the sand, but nothing. There is barely as much as a coffee stain in the whole tent, let alone blood.”>

To my surprise, it was however towards me he scowled next. “And no frame.”

My brow furrowed. <”What?”>

Firas looked at me like I was stupid. <”No frame. None. Just an empty table with some tools on it.”>

I think the look of horror on my face told it before my mouth did. <”...Well, in that case there’s a prototype siege frame in matching power armor, both without even half the calibrations done skulking around somewhere here, and I’m not the one that made it do that.”>

For a moment or so, the entire place was so still, the whole camp was basically a living diorama. Then without any hesitation, about half the group all but flew to the cars; the ancient vehicles in turn racing off before the echo of my voice had even died off.

I took it as a rather bad sign that even the Disabler whose name I never got, seemed to have either fled, or gone still enough that I couldn’t spot his cloak any more.

“A siege frame?!” Mr. X finally shrieked my way, just barely stopping himself from stomping up to me. “Do you not have any morals left?!”

That? That was the straw that broke the pony’s freaking back. “Morals? Morals?!” Snarling and ears slicked back, I slammed my hoof down on the sand; hitting it so hard near any other surface would have shattered. “You’ve maimed me, lied to a dozen people, killed my daughter —all because you’re a bio-conservative bastard, and you dare speak in my presence of morals?!”

I swear, had I not been laying there, with near all my limbs cut off? I am not a person to whom either violence or anger comes easy, But in that moment of burning hot clarity? I would have quite probably twisted the bastard’s head clean around, had I been close enough to do so.

Luckily, by the time I was lucid enough to think of the whip under me, or the rocks by my side that moment had passed.

<”Ishmael,”> Firas said shakily, eyes darting around and not quite taking his finger off the trigger of his rifle, <”look, one of them is clearly a liar, but I don’t like the idea of finding out that siege frame isn’t a bluff.”> The man lifted his free hand and pointed to the remaining two cars. <”Let’s just herd them into a car each, let the police sort them out, while the guard looks for that runaway frame.”>

I had to admit, that wasn’t a half-bad plan, so I just gave a half-hearted shrug. <”I severely doubt we wouldn’t have seen it already if the thief was still around, but fine by me.”> I lifted my remaining hoof and my stump in the air. <”As long as I see black uniforms soon enough, I shan’t struggle.”>

Ishmael hesitated, drumming his fingers nervously on his own rifle. <”You got ahold of the guard?”>

Firas nodded. <”They apparently had a gunship nearby, so I was told fifteen minutes or so.”

Ishmael gave his comrade a grim nod, before turning my way. <”What type of frame?”>

I hesitated for just a moment, but it was still enough for Ishmael's eyes to narrow quite a bit. <”Survival.”> I gave a nod towards the idiot of the day. <”In case twits like him one day gets to lay down the law.”>

I got a long, hard look for that one. <”Explain.”>

I cringed slightly. <”Exactly more or less like the one I’m wearing now, but with military grade hardware under the hood rather than civilian.”>

The glare did not waver one iota. <”So you are telling me, it’s an experimental frame made to blend in with a civilian setting.”>

There was only four people left, not including me and Mr. X, but all of them started muttering rather angrily.

I waved my stump his way with my lips a line. <”It is almost as if I’m a transhuman that design cybernetics, or something of the kind.”> I swept my hoof around the barren wilderness. <”And are you really complaining about my safety precautions?”>

The muttering didn’t die away, but it shifted to a slightly less angry tone at least.

 <”Oh, I don’t know, mom, your root passwords could use some work.”>

I swear my heart came back from the dead just to haunt my throat for a few moments.

The rest of the group tensed, as a squat form faded into view; right next to where the Disabler from earlier had been. It didn’t look that special unless you know some of the signs; just a silvery power armor, if with digigrade legs. The only thing pointing that the thing was half-finished, was the gaping ports for gear and weapons still to be installed.

Above the neck, though? A different story.entirely.

It actually took me a moment or so to figure out what I was seeing. It was as if a pit of metallic vipers was sitting and slowly moving about something, a few of them holding aloft Sweetie’s head. The latter in turn, smiling in that lopsided way stroke victims do; an impression further reinforced by how only one of her eyes was lit and focused our way.

The gleaming snake-pit slid aside, and a tiny, faded hoof held them aside as if parting a bead curtain. “Honestly, you silly biologicals and those cute ‘centralized organs’ of yours.”

And then, speaking in perfect unison with her head, Sweetie as I mostly remembered her stepped out onto her own neck. <”Honestly, at least I make no secret about being an ol’ sap.”>

The ‘toy’ no larger than a lap-dog, had clearly been heavily modified, as well as being old and ragged. The once white pelt was covered in pilling and frayed in quite a few spots, and outrightly cut away in the back to let the ‘tentacles’ into what had once been the central computer core.. Her joints kept making loud ‘crinch-crinch’ sounds instead of the ‘whir-whir’ I remembered from old, the servos seemingly rather disliking the desert sands all around us.

It was a strange sight, almost taken from an old B-horror movie.

And had I smiled any wider at it, my jaw would quite possible flown off from the forces involved. 

Both of Sweetie’s heads smiled sweetly, eyes not moving from the clearly paling Mr. X. “So, slightest chance you are smart enough to just stand politely there until the fuzz arrives, Mr. Cliche’?“ My daughter's smiles turned hard, and there was a gleam in her eyes I’d frankly hope I never have to see again. “Because by all means, I would love a chance to get even if we simply must solve this in a uncivil sort a way.”

Mr. X just pointed, and shouted at the ‘mob’ members still there. “Do you see what type of abominations they are now?!”

The locals looked uncertain, but Sweetie just cleared her throats. <”You have my word I have no grief with you, as long as those weapons remain pointed away from me and my mother.”>

The emphasis was a dirty, dirty blow I would have cheered on, would that not have ruined the effect. Slowly, and although no eyes got taken off her, shoulders started lowering.

Mr. X, naturally, just fumed harder.

“So, if I’m an abomination and would prefer this to end without bloodshed,” Sweetie dryly asked, flexing her fingers lazily. “Just what does that make you?”

I had to give the devil his due: this Mr. X was a true believer, because he sucked in a slow breath, and just pressed on in an almost calm voice. “Please, there is still time to turn this around...”

“And if you’d actually taken this hair-brained scheme up with me before shooting my daughter and I by proxy, you would have gotten a polite, civil ‘Hell no,’ rather than legal action,” I calmly interrupted. “You’ve lost, accept it with some dignity.”

The man snarled at me again, but he soon had his features under control again. “Don’t you see? With every passing day, there are more and more cyborgs, and that isn’t even counting you, transhumans.”

I frankly found barely enough energy to let out a sigh. “Yes, how dare people want to live long, healthy lives, free from pain and misery.”

“And just what have you given up to have that ‘life?’ How much of you is still left in that shell?”

“A hundred percent more than all but one person older than me. Unless you’ve been holding out on a superior path to immortality and nigh invulnerability?”

Honestly, I’d probably had this ‘debate’ a hundred upon a hundred times.

And take one had been sorta dull. Immortal cyborg demigod, or an average Joe. Perhaps there was a good argument for staying the later, but I had frankly not heard it yet.

Still, it was a decent enough way to distract the well-meaning idiot until help arrived.

Still. “Sweetie?” I asked without turning my head. “Just what happened to that Disabler?”

That made Mr. X shut-up, alright.

With a snort, Sweetie held up something small, flat and white she’d been hiding inside her ‘tentacles’ using both hooves. “I’ll grant the twit this much, he knows when to run and how to do it with style.”

I blinked, not quite certain what else to say or do. 

Have to admit, quite literally dropping one’s card and scampering? Did not see that coming.

Luckily, that was when the black spot appeared on the horizon.

Sadly, the twit himself followed my gaze, and after a moment or so of squinting uselessly, he instead put two and two together.

With a soft crunch of metal on sand that even I barely heard, Sweetie took the opportunity of that distraction to jump over to my side; effortlessly all but sailing those twenty-so meters and barely making even that much sound on landing.

By the time any of the present people looked over to us, she was already once more sitting in a crouching position next to me.

Near needlessly to say, there was quite a few shocked twitches once people actually looked back.

With a big smile, I patted Sweetie gently on the leg. “That’s my girl.”

Sweetie didn’t take her eyes of the people around us, but I got an absent hum in stereo from her. “Seriously, mom, you need to start commenting your darn code. I’m a freaking AI, and I can barely tell what does what in this pile of scrap.”

I let out a harrumph and put my nose in the air.

It was an act, of course. Showing ones throat, literally even, for a would be kidnapper? A small bit of weakness slash contempt, just so the twit would try any last minute aces he might have.

And no sooner had I done just that, when Mr. X’s arm snaked inside his suit, and came out holding a darn grenade. It looked cobbled together, little more than a cylinder with a small pulley, but that hardly made it less dangerous.

He was fast, I’ll grant him that.

For a human.

I’d gotten my whip out from under me and started my swing before his other arm was even half-way there in pulling the ‘pin.’

With a sickeningly loud crack, the leather hit Mr. X straight over his right hand; instantly bending the palm in an unnatural way, and making white bone show before blood welled up and obscured the wound.

For a moment I was mortified, but it was gone in a flash of seeing within my mind’s eye Sweetie slump over again. It was unfortunate I’d forgotten how much I’d overclocked my smoking ruin of a frame, but the man had made his own bed.

I frankly couldn’t say I felt much guilt on tucking him in.

Near needlessly to say, Mr. X had dropped the grenade the moment his hand broke. Still, no reason to take chances with explosives, so with another flick of my fetlock, I sent my whip whistling back the opposite way, and the grenade flying away into the distance.

With a satisfyingly loud and expensive sounding crunch, the small cylinder crashed into a rock on a nearby dune; within moments going from ‘dangerous weapon’ to ‘metallic pancake’ from the force of the impact.

I pulled the whip back, and struggled to get up onto what remained of my haunches as silence reigned. Not even Mr. ‘High-And-Mighty’ seemed to have anything but winces to say.

“Mom, you are a very scary old woman.”

“Well, the good die young, do they not?” I deadpanned, before smiling sweetly the locals’ way. <”Perhaps going in, and forwarding to the fastly approaching gunship the situation is under control would expedite things?”>

Firas all but dove toward the tent, while the rest took several steps back without actually turning around.

I smiled a bit wider. <”Good lads.”>





Sol Guard Gunship Ea-Af-A031

Fast approaching crime-scene. 





I was glaring towards nothing in particular, so hard I’m frankly half surprised no paint was peeling of the walls. It was most certainly enough to make the two privates I’d brought along mostly to give some hands-on experience nervous, but with my rep that was no hard feat.

One time is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. I made mental note of making sure to do my best to drum up some higher security measures before whatever was freaking going on went to outright enemy action.

Things had been slowly heating up between the various pro and anti groups ever since the higher grade cybernetics started making a comeback, but was somebody outrightly inflaming the issue further, or was it ‘just’ societal backlash having reached a cracking point?

Either way, not good. Not good at all.

I shook the line of grim thought out of my head and shelved it for later.

“Sir!” The pilot barked through my ear-piece. “We just got word through the dispatchers! They say the caller from earlier jumped back onto the phone, and says the situation is now under control!”

I forced myself to lean back into my seat, and mull it over. “And the siege frame?”

Opposite me, the two privates tensed enough it was visible even with the power armor they were wearing.

“Under control of Sweetiebot Bell, Sir,” the copilot drawled out. “The girl apparently played dead, and teleported back to camp before either of the other groups could.”

I nodded absently. That might both complicate and simplify things.

I was really missing having #431 nearby, but she was currently escorting Ms. Lulamoon to The Rock Farm for medical care, not to mention repairs. Understandable and annoying, but I simply needed to deal with it.

“You two,” I ordered as I pointed, the two privates doing salutes near instantly. “Air-drop and approach on foot. Do not, I repeat, do not open fire unless fired upon. The rest of us will approach by air and play it by ear from there.”

“Sir!” The copilot barked out. “The perpetrator has apparently been subdued, but he had at least one grenade on him, and he requires medical attention.”

I let out an unhappy grunt. Whoever it was that wrote that darn ‘Anarchist Cookbook’ crap had not seen 3D printing coming, alright. “OK, belay that previous order. I want sensors on the whole place ASAP.”

A small chorus of ‘Sir, yes, Sir!” rang out, and I forced myself to lean back and wait.

I did a quick weapons check, with only a uniform and a side-arm it didn’t exactly take long. Two extra magazines with twelve taser-rounds each, and two extra capacitors for the laser, in combo with the ones already loaded.

One of the privates was giving me a really odd look. “Permission to speak, Sir?”

“Granted,” i said, as I re-holstered my gun.

“Isn’t that a bit much ammo, Sir?” The private, a young fair-skinned man with an Australian accent, waved an armored hand vaguely towards the horizon. “This was supposed to be a recruitment run, right?”

I gave a shrug. “My first taste of space was the Glorious Dawn, Private.” The kid’s eyes went a bit wide. “I’ve done the ‘behind enemy lines without gear’ crap once, and I’m in no hurry to let history repeat if I can help it.”

I fought down a chuckle as the other kid leaned over and whispered, despite how his radio broadcast the words to us as clear as day. Cute how some things stay the same. “Told you it was the Gregory. You owe me ten cred.”

I coughed for effect into my hand. 

The first private gave me a once over. “...Thought you’d be taller, Sir.”

I smiled wide, not quite being able to help myself. “And no doubt that I was built like the proverbial brick shit-house, and with eyes that shoot flames.” I let out a soft chuckle before continuing. “Believe it or not, but I’ve heard some of the rumors myself.”

The two shared a glance I wasn’t certain I liked, before the Australian kid spoke up again, sounding reluctant in the extreme. “Sir, I wouldn’t normally ask this, but…”

“Yes, Private?”

The kid took a deep breath, and just blurted it out. “Is it true you took down the Ûbermench?”

I felt my smile turn waxen.

“Any tips? Just in case?”

I fought down the urge to snarl, and instead closed my eyes for a few moments. “You are aware, that both Ms. Rarity and her daughter are pillars of the community, have passed all required psych screenings and are licences for such gear?”

To the kid’s credit, he hesitated. “...Just thought I’d ask, Sir. If it comes to that type of stuff.”

I let out a neutral grunt. Had to admit, the kid had a point. “You’ve ever seen one of those old flicks, were the cyborg basically can bounce between walls, and pluck bullets from the air? Or is so heavily armed, they basically wade through entire armies?”

Both the privates laughed.

No one else did.

I waited for the laughs to nervously die off, before opening my eyes and looking the two in their own. “That’s siege frames. The only thing they really have in common, is that they’re the heavy duty stuff and tuned for combat. If you can peg them they tend to go down easily enough, but quite a few of them can move like greased lightning’s meaner cousin that has learned how to teleport” I yerked my head towards our destination. “Believe it or not, but this Rarity girl has a thing for unicorns, so just a heads up on getting weirded out by the combo.”

The two privates shared one of those ‘are we being bullshitted with?’ looks.

“Sir, we’ve got a visual,” the copilot spoke up, flicking a few controls and routing a camera feed onto the screens back in the hold with us. “Two wounded including Lady Rarity, four civvies with guns, and a really non-standard android, but the fighting seems to have stopped.”

I leaned forward against my belts, and did my best to analyse the scene.

The wounded man fitted the description of this ‘Mr. X.’ Seriously non-descrip, even suspiciously so, and dressed in grey. Something seemed to have happened to his hand, but aside from some dripping blood he seemed in good enough shape. Given the level of damage it seemed he’d been disarmed of something, and then mostly ignored.

Lady Rarity was in much worse shape, even if her level of cybernetic enhancements made rendering her aid a lower priority. None showed up on the scanner, but the wounds looked like laser weapons.

“Scan for snipers,” I ordered, before going back to analyzing even before the confirmation of “Yes, Sir.” could bounce back my way.

It looked like somebody had tried to disable her, one limb at a time. Even her tail had been shot off in what must have been a near miss on her legs.

Oh, and somehow she’d kept that ridiculous fuchsia corkscrew hair of hers through all that. I guess when your hair is artificial and prehensile such a feat is somewhat easier, but still. 

Frankly, who I only realized who it was from seeing her photo in the background folders on Rarity worried me more. I didn’t recognize the type of frame, a clear custom job, but given how it was so clearly unfinished made me lower the threat rating a bit.

Now Sweetiebot herself though? Now there was a worrying sight.

“What the hell is that thing?” the other Private muttered under his breath.

Frankly, it looked like some type of old toy had sprouted metallic tentacles from its back; the grisly sight further reinforced by how some of those metallic strand flowed up into a clearly animated if wounded head of the same design as the toy.

“Either metallic smart-fiber, or if we’re really unlucky, some nano crap you’d need five degrees and a quadruple digit IQ to use, let alone make,” I absently explained, my own attention locked on the pit of vipers the girl’s ‘true form’ or whatever was. “The girl’s a generation one AI with connections at that, so be prepared for nearly anything.”

There was five people on the small gunship including me, and I still swear I heard four gulps. Didn’t happen often, thank God,  but nobody liked the idea of being first on scene of an AI that has snapped.

“Come now,” I stated in my best ‘commander voice,’ all calm assurance and certainty. “We’ve trained for this, if it comes to that. Suits sealed, friers on anything that moves, and hold the line until the heavy guns can arrive.”

They were a bit grim, but I got nods for that.

“And so far to our knowledge, the girl has so far only defended her mum, and sub-lethally at that,” I continued in the same calm, even voice. It weared slightly into, ugh, Arun territory, but I put just the tiniest bit of extra emphasis on ‘the girl’ and ‘her mum.’ “Innocent until proven guilty and don’t fire lethal ammunition unless fired upon first.  Remember that, people.”

Another round of “Yes, Sir!” rang out.

“This is transport Ea-Af-A031,” I heard the copilot speak into the radio. “Active nanotech spotted on scene; presumed to be smart-matter. We’ve also confirmed the presence of presumed dead AI Sweetiebot Bell. She is currently in control of an unregistered prototype siege frame and aforementioned nanotech, but appears to be standing by in a defensive posture. She has not, I repeat not, so far taken any hostile action against us.”

“Understood Ea-Af-A031,” I just barely heard the dispatcher say on the other end of the line, “Enacting Pandora protocol, grade yellow. Grey Custodians have notified, ETA five minutes.”

I fought down a groan as in my mind’s eye, my pile of paperwork grow two sizes that day. Hate it when things get mixed up between departments.

Still, this was now their area of expertise. From what I’d heard this Sweetie gal was one of the good ones, but even so, you don’t take chances with nanotech. 

No one —no one insane enough to spread it around at any rate -- has yet figured out freestanding nano-assemblers.

A shiver raced down my spine, despite the warmth of the transport.

Not yet, anyway.

“Understood, Africa-command,” the copilot intentionally put a hand over a switch, flicking the protective cover off, “enacting radio silence in three, two, one…”

With a soft click, every bit of gear tied into our coms changed to offline mode. On my wrist, my PDA’s powerlight went from a cold blue, to a subdued yellow. Crude, but effective. You can’t hack and subvert what you can’t access, after all. Nowhere near as easily, at any rate.

And just in time to, as we came into view just about fifty meters or so above the small camp.

“Sol Guard!” I heard the copilot shout out over the loudspeakers. “Drop your weapons, and stand down!”

The locals a bit further away barely hesitated, the rifles of a design I didn’t recognize but felt that I should landing with soft thuds on the sand.

Lady Rarity, to my surprise, hesitated for just a few moments, before throwing a whip of all darn weapons onto the sand. Sweetie also hesitated, but given how she glanced at her mom I had to admit, I felt a pang of sympathy. 

The moment was a bit ruined by how her version of disarming herself was to slitter out of the siege frame and her half busted head, the later falling to the ground with both eyes now dimmed, while the former just froze, still standing. Whatever those tentacles really were then melted together into four big ones, and she jumped over to her mother’s shoulder in a single leap that wouldn’t haunt my nightmares at all.

It was a bit alleviated by how Lady Rarity pulled her into a tight hug without hesitation, however.

This ‘Mr. X’ however, didn’t move. Granted, given how his hand was clearly broken, that was a decent enough excuse.

“Sir,” the second private gently reminded me, with a small nod towards my head.

With a nod of thanks, I put on my gloves, —just barely remembering to draw my gun first, and reached for my collar. The passive systems in my uniform got the hint, and tightened around my wrist and ankles, as this plastic hood unfurled from under my collar.

Giving of a single grunt I pulled the ‘helmet’ over my head, the see-through hood’s bottom tightening around my neck with a chemically stinking hiss, as the material there, between my sleeves and gloves, and pants legs and shoes, fused together.

Another hiss soon followed from near my neck, as two other chemical packs popped. As always, this one-use pump made my neck feel dangerously warm, and that was almost as uncomfortable as the feeling of my entire uniform filling like some type of freakish balloon. The one time carbon-dioxide scrubber was far subtler in comparison, but I knew it was there from training.

Within about five seconds, I was covered in the second best thing to combined bio-hazard gear and a spacesuit.

Sadly I do mean the second best thing, and to both at that. It was better than nothing, but against anything actually weaponized, it would be little more than the equivalent in cardboard armor.

A small hologram popped up near my wrist, projected from my PDA and showing a countdown in yellow letters; fifty-nine minutes and a dash of seconds until the chemicals ran out, and I’d need to pick between clawing myself out of my own clothes, or suffocate.

Still, a far better alternative to trying your lungs against a grey mist, or trying to draw breath in vacuum. Wouldn’t give you more than a minute or two against either, but sometimes that minute is all you need to survive.

I frowned in displeasure as I flexed my gloved hand, the taut material audibly protesting against the action. “Even if one's dignity doesn’t,” I muttered just under my breath.

Nobody commented on my lapses in protocol. In fact, I even got a pair of sympathetic looks from the two privates.

Probably added a few rumors right then and there, but I frankly wasn’t that worried. I’d read enough of both Sweetie’s and Rarity’s background check that I’d seen enough for that conclusion.

The few, sad AIs that go off the deep end? Generally not the type of person to call anybody mom, nor do they write books trying to explain cybernetics for the ‘normals,’ just for a few examples. There was a whole laundry list of psychological issues that might lead an AI to do their version of climbing up into the nearest clock-tower with a rifle and Sweetie was a near textbook example of how to avoid all of them.

Stable home environment. Stable income. Respect. A parental figure. And so on, and so forth. Still, I could be wrong, and that was reason enough to do it by the book.

A web of red lasers started dancing over the scene, projected from under our ship; not only scanning the entire area for weapons and contraband, but also blinding and disorientating any still on scene. The effect was rather spoiled by how Rarity and Sweetie barely blinked while the others held their arms up to shield their eyes, but in theory, the tactic was sound.

Still, the information gained in conjunction with thermal imaging and passive x-ray was far more tactically valuable. 

The rifles, the whip, and a small mess that the computer pegged as an ex-grenade were all the outright weapons that showed up. The HORN on Rarity was apparently nonfunctional, something I’d missed myself, and the one on Sweetie’s discarded head was as powered down as the rest of it.

The wounds on Sweetie were indeed laser based, but even with full active sensors there wasn’t a single sign of what had caused them. Now that was troubling.

Still, I joined in on the small sigh of relief, as the frame got reported as powered down.

It was a small step towards solving this with minimal bloodshed, but a step nonetheless.

“Sir,” the copilot calmly said, splicing the camare-feed of one of the top cameras into view, ”incoming, friendlies.”

Didn’t know about that personally, but outwardly I simply let out a neutral hum.

There were six of them, outwardly looking like nothing more than six dots of flame falling from the sky. Unless you noticed how they were falling in a loose ring formation, you could have mistaken them for simple debris; an old satellite some unlucky bastard had missed in orbit, or something.

On the main picture, Sweetie and Rarity’s already comically large eyes went into saucepan levels big. Those ‘tentacles’ of Sweetie’s, whatever they were, even morphed slightly from the force as Rarity held her tighter.

This ‘Mr. Whatever’ just grinned near manically at the sky, however; even the pain of his hand gone in a moment of perceived triumph.

I made a tiny vow, right there and then, that if he tried something? I’d aim at one of the tender spots, if possible.

“Be ready for a sob story, people,” I ordered, raising my voice so everybody would hear me even without the radio. “Not certain yet, but I think we’ve got a would-be martyr on our hands.”

With a dual snort, both privates readied their rifles, using their gauntleted hands to deftly flick the safeties of their rifles. 

I’m not one for gun porn but I had to admit, the new Mk Fours were sleek and nasty looking bits of work, especially when in Sol Guard black. A real pity they are too heavy for practical usage without power armor but that’s trade-offs for you. Still, two shades of sub-lethal and one rather nasty lethal one was quite the upside, so I could really see why the brass had gone ahead with ‘em.

Still, now was not quite the time, so I refocused on the screens. And just in time, to, as the drop-pods burst open about two hundred meters over the ground.

The men inside were totally covered in silvery power armor, the glimmering film meant to offer limited protection against laser weapons even covering their visors. Those in turn was the only parts that didn’t have lots of little wrinkles on them, further meant to diffuse lasers at the small price of rather ruining the ‘knights in shining armor’ look.

The six were not only armored, but covered in a field of shimmering silver sparks, so deep it nearly looked as if the squad was under water. It’s name might have sounded as something from a bad and old sci-fi flick but that quantum white-noise was no laughing matter. It was finicky tech and expensive as heck, but it also stopped any HORN based tech working on, or even near, them.

Rather anti-climatic if the cavalry gets teleported in half from a kilometer away, after all.

The Grey Custodians had a graviton engine each for maneuverability, but none of the present deployed the ones on their backs, instead allowing their power armors simply take the otherwise bone shattering impact. Not a single one of them as much as let the over-sized guns wired under their arms as much as waver from the crowd, as they landed with loud thuds.

To near everybody’s surprise, the first that started screaming wasn’t Mr. X.

But Sweetie, tiny hooves straight up in the air. “Oh God, I yield! I yield!”

Can’t say I care much for the bunch of overzealous buzz-kills but the Custodians didn’t mess around. I’d grant them that much.

There was a brief light show as diodes along the squad’s shoulders lit up; allowing them a decently close approximation to radio contact without the risks an open channel like that possessed.

A tall woman, as much as even that only discernible by the slight differences in armor shape you frankly needed to know where to look for, took a weary step forward without taking her eyes of the wounded pair. “Ma’am, we thank you for your cooperation. Can you disable that nanotech?”

I’m not certain if the small toy actually had the anatomy for it, but nonetheless Sweetie clearly did her best take on a gulp. “Not without losing half my current IQ, and… quite a few memories I haven't backed up yet.”

“Explain,” the woman instantly countered in a tone that brokered no quarter, “or we will presume this to be a bluff, and act accordingly.”

“M-m-my main processors were in my head, and th-th-this is just a untested b-b-back-up system. I’m currently mostly spread-out in this smart-mater, and…” Sweetie did that almost gulp thing again, arms not lowering one iota “...And this outdated body of mine just can’t hold… all of me on its own.”

For a minor eternity, the squad leader just stood there, contemplating the tiny AI’s words and weighing options.

“Any other frames or systems nearby you can transfer into?” the squad leader finally said, in a slightly kinder tone of command.

Sweetie’s eyes flickered over to the unfinished siege frame. “...None I can think off that I’d actually be allowed into right now.”

Rarity cleared her throat, drawing every eye to her, before slowly raising her stump for emphasis. “My own frame is currently heavily damaged. Would it be an acceptable solution for me and my daughter to pull back under escort, and let her perform supervised repairs?” She then gave the tiniest of nods towards the rest present. “Away from any potential hostages, so to speak?”

A few quick bursts of colored lights was the only outward indication a quick conversation had taken place amongst the Custodians.

I narrowed my eyes. Too quick. At least for a squad with even a single actual human-human in it. Was it just a coincidence, or…

“Granted,” the leader said after a few more moments, before pointing towards a nearby dune. “Head slowly over there, and any tools you will request. And if we say no, that means no. Understood?”

Had Sweetie been nodding any harder, her head would quite probably flown off.

Rarity reached for her shot-off limbs, but the leader stepped closer, stopping her. “Those are now evidence, Ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to move aside and let us document them first.”

Rarity grumbled a bit, but she started slowly scooting over to the dune, not even bothering to drop Sweetie for that long.

Had to admit, that made the sides of my mouth tug upwards quite a bit.

Still, it was time to be more than an over glorified eye in the sky. “You two,” I said, pointing at the privates, who immediately saluted, “take the medical supplies, render first aid, and then start taking statements.”

Stopping only for a quick salute, the two men got free of their seats, and got to work.

Everything went slow but steadily after that. Mr. X, whom we sadly yet couldn’t profile thanks to the radio-silence, had gone really sour once both Sweetie and Rarity had coughed up matching recordings of the debacle.

Granted, that was hardly impossible to fake. Not even on the fly, nowadays but on first glance both of the recordings showed none of the signs of amatuer tampering, and far more telling, it fit with the testimonies taken.

Besides, I’d seen crime scenes where it had been an actual ‘fight’ between a transhuman and a baseline. Since this place wouldn’t need a hosing down and a clean-up crew? I was willing to bet quite highly on which side of the conflict had actually gone all out.

By the time I needed to poke a hole in my new wearable sauna, the local authorities had arrived as well, adding to the bedlam. 

Frankly? I pitied whatever judge this would be put before the task of laying down the law on this. Not only would it be an utter clusterfuck with various departments, but given the ‘muggles’ vs ‘robot overlords’ angle it would quite probably go political as well.

Fun, fun, fun…

To my surprise however, the squad leader from earlier came stomping up to me, as I sat in the shadow of my now landed transport; doing my best to keep an eye on things and not get heat stroke.

Judging from how my attention was wavering enough that a two and a half meter tall knight in shining armor managed to get within ten meters before I noticed? Think I was failing both.

“The girls’ are clean. Only normal smart-matter —if a lot of it, and no traces of blood on anything except that whip,” she said, not taking her helmet off. “So care to tell me what Sol Guard is doing at what frankly should at worst have been our business?”

There was an edge to the words, but mostly professional pride, from the sound of it.

“My name is Captain Blake Gregory, if you haven’t heard already.” I gave a nod towards the small dune, whereupon Sweetie was currently doing her best to weld her mother’s legs on again. She was doing decent headway, but with her current size it was slow-ish work. “I’m hoping to recruit Lady Rarity over there for the Pheidippides, and we had the mixed luck of arriving mid Mexican stand-off.”

It was subtle with all her gear, but I got the impression the woman tilted her head at me. “In person, for a simple yes/no?” Then she snorted loudly at me. “Yeah right, what are you really doing here?”

I fought down my irritation, and simply met her ‘gaze’ with a level look of my own. “I was told by a friend of her’s that Lady Rarity is old fashioned about such things, and prefer offers like that in person.” I reached over my own head, and rapped a knuckle against the transport I was sitting against. “I had the time and trust the source, so here I am.”

I got stared down for almost a full minute for that one. “That is quite a bit of travel time for a single crew member.”

“Please,” I corrected, with just a tiny hint of irritation, “if all I wanted was a crew member I could just fill out a form. I’m looking for experts.” I nodded towards Rarity who was currently very carefully flexing a stiff looking hoof. “And that woman was doing cybernetics back when that field was called medical prostheses.”

The woman did that not quite head tilt thing again. “Pros-thes-es. Weird word.”

“Ever seen one of those unpowered museum pieces you need to strap on a stump, one way or the other?” I did my best to form my hand into a hook shape. “Or, you know, arr~r.”

I let my hand fall, as I got another long silence from the woman. “Although technically, it’s just another word for ‘artificial limb’ so cybernetics technically count, but you know how English can be.”

The woman, apparently deciding that the conversation had turned too weird for her taste, just shook her head and started stomping off. “Fine, be that way; I’ll just check what you actually put on the report later.”

I felt my pulse spike slightly in irritation. I knew my rep wasn’t exactly ‘the golden boy that skips merrily through fields of flowers all day,’ but I liked to think my word was solid.

It was not often that word got doubted, and I frankly cared little for the sensation.

Freaking Custodians. One taste of being big damn heroes descending from the sky on wings on fire, and the lot of ‘em turned to smug twits that think they’re the hottest stuff this side of Mercury.

I fought down a jab about how once upon a time being an actual knight had involved vows of modesty, and instead got to my feet. I was already a sweaty mess, but I at least did my best to claw off the now useless ‘helmet’ so I wouldn’t — hopefully— boil away.

Since the seal was thoroughly ruined anyway, I did the same with my jacket so I could put away my gun properly. 

Then with exaggerated care, as if I had all the time in the world, I walked toward that small dune.

Sweetie looked up from her work for a moment, did the closest thing her current face could to a frown, and then just went back to welding again. “Probably shouldn’t be this close, Mr,” she said in a really odd voice. It didn’t sound glitchy, but it was deep enough it almost, but not quite sounded male, and it had a really odd reverb to it. 

Mostly though? It sounded subdued and sad. “It’s apparently freak season again, and you might get hurt.”

I frowned a bit. 

Intellectually, I know this ‘young woman’ was in truth, nearly thrice my age.

Emotionally, though? In my mind’s eye, all my old toys had just crawled out of the attic, given me puppy-dog eyes, and tearfully asked why I wouldn’t play with them any more.

Yeah, straight in the childhood. Ouch.

“You alright yourself, Ma’am?” I nodded gently to Rarity, who was watching my very intently. “Getting shot isn’t just about the wound, there’s a mental toll as well.”

Never thought I’d be glared at by what was basically a toy.

I didn’t let my eyes waver, but I gently tapped my insignias. “I’m with the Sol Guard, Ma’am. I’m not one myself, but if you want to speak with a counselor, I can make arrangements.”

It seemed she didn’t quite have the muscles for proper facial expressions, but I still got glared at. “Oh, and just why aren’t you asking this to my mom first, huh?”

“Because you just had the same trauma as her, and had the Custodians called on you,” I continued in the same calm, kind voice. “I know what a slap in the face that is for an AI, but I want you to know it was just routine thanks to unidentified nanotech at a crime scene.”

I was usually really good at getting a read on synthetics, but Sweetie was just… off. It might have been the clearly outdated design, or just what a crap day she’d had but I just couldn’t peg her at that moment.

 “I know it’s easy to just say the words, but from what I saw you handled today with a maturity and level headedness I’ve frankly seen lacking in men trained for combat. I just thought you might both want and need to hear that, from somebody without a stake.” 

Sweetie looked doubtful, but she didn’t look away.

I nodded over to another dune, where four young local lads were sitting with a dark cloud over their heads and guilt all over their faces. “Because frankly, nobody would have blamed you, had you gone and driven your fists though these waylaid kids and their would-be master.”

Both Rarity and Sweetie made small choking sounds.

“You yourself and your mother shot? Only to find her surrounded with armed hostiles? Frankly, even if the desert had not swallowed all evidence, it would barely have been a formality to have that case thrown out under self defense. You might have gotten some token time for excessive violence, but that’s about it.”

To my mixed amusement, the whole camp had gone utterly, utterly silent. There wasn’t a head not turned our way.

And the ‘Mr. X’ himself, now neatly cuffed and bandaged, looked as if he was near blowing a bloodvein.

“But you didn’t,” I simply continued, “and over a dozen families are going to get to see their sons again thanks to that mercy nothing forced you to grant.” For a moment my eyes drifted to the fuming Mr. X, whose currently sole saving grace was that he apparently was clever enough to not dig deeper. “Never cared much for the metaphysical so I don’t know about souls, but I’ve frankly seen grown men act with less humanity then you did today.”

There is a special type of darkness you see in people when they decide you’re on the hit-list. I got a glimpse of it in a certain zealot’s eyes, but even then he said nothing.

It was a gamble… but sometimes you simply have to throw certain dice.

So I bent my knees slightly, and gave Sweetie a pat; straight on one of her tentacles.

Frankly, I got my final confirmation on what type of woman I was dealing with, when that very same surface just twitched away at my touch. 

With a small chuckle, I straightened up again. “I’ve heard that character's what’s left of you in the dark. Just think that over, OK?”

Sweetie just blinked slowly up at me, as if hearing a language she hadn’t heard in long enough that she’d almost forgotten it.

My eyes drifted over to Lady Rarity, who although she kept a very close eye on me, had some mistiness to her eyes.

“I must admit I came here for a reason,” I told them both truthfully, “but I don’t want to seem crass, so we can take that later. That’s agreeable?”

Sweetiebot and her mom traded a glance.

It was Sweetie that shrugged first. “I’m not getting an ass-kisser vibe. Fine by me, as long as I don’t get interrupted.”

I blinked slightly. 

Rarity let out a small cough into her only functioning hoof, as Sweetie went back to working. “Please excuse my daughter. It’s… been a stressful day.”

“Don’t get me wrong,”.the tiny android said, between flashes from her torch, “it was a nice gesture, but I’m sensing a ‘oh, and by the way, can I have your credit card number?’ coming. Just saying.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’m here on a recruitment drive, you could call it.” I reached into my pocket, and pulled out the flash drive #431 had given me; holding it out for both ‘mares’ to see between my thumb and index finger. “And to act as messenger, of a sort.”

Personally, I thought the tiny thing belonged either in a museum or a recycle-bin, whichever was nearest to be blunt, but both Sweetie and Rarity went slightly wide-eyed at seeing the thing.

It was rather blatant code, if you looked for it and knew it was there: like having two colored stationery, or something. ‘If I send you a message on one of those outdated bits of plastic crap, I really, really mean it,’ or something.

Sweetie turned off the torch, and held her tiny hoof out, so I simply flicked over the small card.

I heard at least somebody else twitch, as one of Sweetie’s ‘tentacles’ split, and darted forward as this strange silvery mix of a maw, and a four fingered ‘hand,’ closing around the small card.

Sweetie tilted her head in thought, and let out a honestly rather pretty little hum, making me wonder why she bothered with the voice filter. It wasn’t that bad, per say, but it sure was… different.

“Please excuse me asking,” I said in a rather careful voice, “your voice sounds intentional, but given the circumstances…”

The hum cut off, mid tone, and I got the distinct impression I was getting glared at.

I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Met a lady rather recently that had gone a couple years if not decades sounding like a forklift had run over her voice-box, but nobody told her because they thought it was intentional. Just wanted to make sure, Ma’am.”

The tiny AI blinked up at me. “Oh,” she said, tilting her head. “What lady, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I frowned a bit, but ultimately saw no harm in it; especially not with maintenance on the way. “Echidna, if you’ve ever heard the name. Solid gal, but I don’t think the name helped.”

“Echidna, Echidna...” Sweetie mumbled while scratching at her chin with a hoof. “I’m certain I’ve heard the name, but can’t place it.”

“Sol Guard naval yard near London,” Rarity informed her daughter, as she grabbed the torch with her good hoof and continued herself. “Heard she’s a bit eccentric —which may just have been cruelly and plainly wrong thanks to that malfunction, come to think about it— but she puts out solid work.”

Sweetie tilted her head back, seemingly thinking. “...Nope,” she seemingly concluded. “Don’t think I’ve met her.”

I let out a small cough, and gently waved her on.

Sweetie blinked at me again, before turning to her mom. “Right, cliff-notes: Trixie is hurt, but receiving aid, and has signed up already.” The tiny AI did a grimace so wide, I actually saw that her current body was simple enough that she didn’t even have a tongue. “Don’t know if Pinkie will throw in her own gauntlet, but her latest spawn and the math-head is apparently signed on.”

To my surprise, Rarity actually gave her daughter a glare, if a light one. “Sweetie, that isn’t nice.” Seemingly done with her hind-legs, Rarity moved on to fixing her front-leg into place; from the looks of things not bothering with a real repair, but instead ‘simply’ making the joints lock and fixing the stiffened limbs into place. “I know you and #13 don’t get along, but there is no reason for name calling.”

“Fine, if the girl wants to be a walking calculator, she can be a darn walking calculator...” Sweetie muttered, while ‘my’ memory card plopped out of her back.

I’m about eighty percent certain she was showing off, or messing with ‘Mr. X,’ because the small device had exited at near the other side of her body, compared to where it had gone in. “You want this back?” She asked, pointing down with one of her ‘tentacles.’

I shook my head. “You go ahead, if you want.”

I wasn’t certain what use a measly ten terabytes could be, even to a AI, but the small memory sank down so fast, that the smart-matter nearly rippled from it.

With a moan of relief that frankly made my cheeks heat, the tiny AI arched up and stretched with her hooves in the air; her smart matter abandoning the tentacle look to instead cover most of her back, and it even formed a thicker tail and tiny talons. I’m not sure how more practical that configuration was, but it looked kinda neat; making her almost look like a partially metallic wyrm with a unicorn’s head.

“Oh, Christ, I needed that.” Sweetie near sighed out with a big smile, as she fell down on her ‘claws’ again. “I hate using compression; I swear it feels like having a freaking corset, but on your brain.”

Moving with a grace and speed I frankly would have doubted if I hadn’t seen it, the tiny AI darted up to her mom’s shoulder, and perched there like a cat.

It was subtle, but I even saw ‘muscle’ groups move under her ‘skin,’ and what looked like ‘tendons’ strain as she grabbed gently at the fur.

I put on my best poker-face, but internally I raised a intrigued eyebrow. All that, from just ten more terabytes to work with?

“I am terribly sorry, Mr. Gregory,” Rarity carefully spoke my way, once more making me realize how almost scarily connected this ‘mare’ seemingly was since I had not actually told her my name, “but even if my friends are going, I simply can’t in good conscience leave my daughter behind alone at present time.” It only lasted a moment, but a rather unladylike glare got shot ‘Mr. X’s’ way. “There is just too much hate aimed at synthetics going around, right now.”

Who am I to question providence?

“Done,” I stated, “I am in need of a ‘crypt-keeper’ —if you’ve heard the term, as well as a wet-ware specialist. Those positions acceptable?”

Honestly, I for a moment, almost got why Arun does the crap he does. A whole area freezing because of what you’ve said was strangely entertaining.

‘Mr. X’ was just about fully processed and being carted off by the local police, but still, the man froze, before trying to more or less smash his way out of the car with his head. “No! No, you can’t-” was all of the rant I heard, before the car took off.

I watched the police car drive off for a few moments, making sure not to actually say the ‘Idiot’ my lips actually wanted to pass.

Even by the time I looked back, both Sweetie and her mum was staring at me.

“...I am deeply flattered,” Sweetie hesitated, “but aside from personal stuff, I don’t have any real experience working on backups.”

“Ma’am,” I countered without hesitation, “you just made a pile the size of my head made up of tiny, tiny robots, sit up and bark on the fly; using something that was crap when you were new, at that. If that wasn’t a good enough a master test, nothing freaking is.” I nodded my head back towards the siege frame. “You know, not to mention that other ‘little’ thing.”

I held out my hand, as Sweetie gaped at me. “First AI officially in deep space,” I continued, “just saying.”

Sweetie and her mum went into a hurdle, if you can call it that, when one of the parties is standing on the other’s shoulder, but I digress.

It was tiny, but I caught a gasp from Rarity, as her daughter apparently described the rest of the deal. “A full licence package?” she asked me with a clear tone of suspicion in her voice, and one of the greediest gleams I’ve ever seen dancing in her eyes. Gotcha.

“You want the best, you need to pay for the best, yes?” I wiggled my still extended hand for emphasis. 

Sweetie turned to her mom with a thoughtful expression, and gave the mare a shrug. “I’m game if you are.” With a grimace, the tiny AI waved at the ruddy stain on the sand where ‘Mr. X’ had been disarmed. “A few months in deep space sounds just marvelous for my nerves.”

“Days,” I clarified, “unless we run into that ‘long-road’ scenario, of course; then it’s years I’m afraid.”

“Long road…?” Lady Rarity blinked in that ‘I got it’ way before I could say anything. “Oh, not-quite intended one-way trip, right?”

I gave a nod. “Quite a few variants between ‘Lost In Space’ and ‘Robotech’ but that’s the term we’ve been using for needing to limp home, yes.”

As one creature, mother and daughter tilted their heads; same angle and everything.

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

I fought down a small sigh. Why does nobody else get my best lines? “‘Miss the barn from the inside levels mis-navigation,’ and ‘oh my word, where are the engines?’ to put it slightly clearer.”

“O~h…”

“O~h...”

I fought down an amused snort this time instead, and wiggled my hand. “Well?” I tilted my head at the transport, its massive rotors already spinning up again; sending sand and winds everywhere. “Don’t want to rush you into anything, but I’ve got a time-table.”

A rather busted one thanks to all the shenanigans lately, but still. No sense half-assing the job just because the world is seemingly ending again.

Lady Rarity hesitated all but a moment before grabbing my hand, and basically putting it into a vice. “You’ve g-”

Wincing, I just barely managed to pull my hand back. “Wound there!” I barked out.

With a sheepish grin, Lady Rarity toned her grip down to somewhere around ‘moor a boat to it’ levels. “Sorry, didn’t know.”

“No harm done,” I winced out, as I tried to fan my hand as politely as possible. “Just a moment of my temper flaring I’m still paying for.”

Letting out a intrigued hum Lady Rarity got ‘up’ on all fours, her daughter scurrying like some metallic iguana to get onto the flat of her back in time. 

Frankly, it looked as if she was trying to balance on some type of morbid stilts made from her own bones, but even with only one fully functional leg the ‘mare’ had this grace and pose to her that probably would have done her show counterpart proud.

Absently, I wondered how long exactly that had taken to practice, but outwardly I just offered my arm. 

Granted, with the Lady in question resembling a pony unicorn that reached me to just about waist height I wasn’t certain how much that gesture actually was worth but it seemed the token effort was appreciated, at least.

“My, my…” Lady Rarity murmured with a twinkle in her eye (her daughter ‘gagging’ and silently sticking a talon down her throat, I might add). “And if I ask if such a polite young man is taken, the no-doubt heartwrenching answer shall be…?”

“Sorry, Ma’am,” I barely stopped myself from chuckling out, “but another young mare already called dibs.”

I actually heard this slight creak from Lady Rarity’s ears as they perked. She herself seemingly paid it no mind, but it was clear quite a few of her systems had been pushed so hard her body was hours away from falling to bits.

“Oh?” She asked with clear intrigue, as if we’d been at some type of country club gossiping, and not smack dab middle of a desert right after a life and death situation. “Anypony little old me might know about…?”

I stopped, half-turned, and gave the mare a look. “Ma’am, is now really the time?” I waved vaguely at the general bedlam of a crime scene in the act of being processed. “Just saying.”

Rarity ‘tsked’ at me, and waved me off with her one good hoof. “Darling, I’m been in the medical industry —quite a bit of the experimental side of the medical industry I might add, for longer than my homeland have allowed gays to shoot people for her.”

I wasn’t the only person in earshot that did a double take. Think I even saw that rude Custodian from earlier tilt her helmet slightly to the side, but that might have been coincidence.

Personally I was a bit curious about that ‘her,’ but not enough to actually breach the subject. I distinctly remembered an Uncle Sam, but perhaps there was some cultural distinction I wasn’t quite aware of.

“Anyway, if I stopped flirting just because of things like death threats, slight maimings, or my mane looking this horrid.” Lady Rarity continued nonchalantly, making me unsure if she was joking or not. I did take note of the long line of blackened hairs that briefly became visible when she patted her ‘mane’ though; a thin line of black, burned plastic as if a heated cheese-wire had been dragged through her hair and horn, stopping just short of the actual skull. 

“Why.” the ‘mare’ gasped out in an appalled tone, one fore leg to her chest and seemingly utterly uncaring how she’d been centimeters from having her brain partially vaporized, “I’d be an old maid in no time!”

“Aw, don’t worry, mommy!” Sweetie chirped up. “I’m sure Lyra wouldn’t mind sharing her boyfriend with you.”

A slight blush formed on Lady Rarity’s nuzzle. “Dear,” she explained patiently without turning around, “you know Lyra’s single and not into that type of sha-”

“As long as you top off the batteries after you’re done, that is!”

I raised my hand to my mouth and stifled a cough I don’t think fooled anybody. Not that anybody seemed to care or notice, given the ringing silence.

‘Did that cute little unicorn really say that?’ near stamped on the groups’ collective forehead, including the various law enforcers that really should have been a bit more jaded than that. Lady Rarity let out a long suffering sigh, and turned her head around to give her daughter a look. 

I noticed with detached interest that she’d apparently put the larger volume of a equine head slash neck to good use. There was a slight bit of stiffness there compared to a natural pony, but nowhere near as bad as some cases of ‘lich neck’ I’d seen.

A frown swept my brow, but I kept the hum safely down in my throat. Either this ‘mare’ was that good or at least had enough restraint not to treat a neck as this morbid take on a Swiss army-knife.

I did however, not quite keep the slight smile of my lips. Either way, jackpot.

“Been sitting on that one long, dear?” Rarity asked in a just barely bemused tone.

With a huff, Sweetie crossed her tiny talons over her stomach. “Only five years, seven months, fifteen days, six hours, and fourteen minutes…” The tiny dragon-unicorn rolled her eyes, and made a gagging sound. “Oh mom, why do I even try…?”

Lady Rarity snicker and blew her daughter a small kiss. “Love you too, dear.” Her expression and tone turned serious. “But we’ve talked about this. No ‘creator’ jokes outside the house, ‘kay? They make people uncomfortable.”

Sweetie let out a dismissive snort. “If creeps gets to chant in tongues to theirs, then I really don’t see why me going ‘Go mom!’ is oh so dreadful.” The mare threw her tiny arms into the air, before crossing them again with another huff. “For fuck’s sake, it’s not as I even claim you’re the creator of everything, or whatever.”

Laughing rather nervously, Rarity turned and started stumbling off again. “Well, I guess that’s good enou-”

“Obviously, you’d done a far better job at it all,” Sweetie explained with such an air of utter certainty around her I doubted she was joking. “Like with how utterly perfect you made me.”

A long, long moment of awkward silence followed that declaration from the pint-sized first-gen AI.

Clearly pulling our legs, even if the slightly worried looks she kept getting told me at least not all were seeing it that way. Sweetie went glassy-eyed, tilted her head at a 45 degree angle, and poured on the static she almost sounded like one of those museum modems. “Mommy says I'm not allowed to conquer the world until I've learned that 'hu-mi-lity' thing you mortals keep telling me about. It's a type of vegetable, right?” 

I let out another cough, and made the ‘cut’ gesture near my neck. “Bit less ‘AI humor,’ please?” I nodded to the locals, on both sides of the law, looking on with a bit of worry and discomfort. “I can sympathize with wanting to lighten the mood, but another subject given the circumstances, perhaps?”

Sweetie blinked and looked around, as if seeing the scene for the first time. “Oh, I…” The mare blinked again, and let out a static filled cough into her talon. “I meant: Sorry, just trying to blow off some steam. No hard feelings meant.”

I gave a slow nod, keeping my eyes directly away from the nearest Custodian, slowly lowering his gun behind Sweetie’s back.

Don’t think Sweetie even noticed but Rarity only started breathing again, once the barrel was level to the ground again.

I swept my arm towards the transport; now once again slowly spinning up, throwing around quite a bit of dust. “Shall we?” I gave a short glare right at the idiot in shining armor. “I think we’ll all feel better once things have had a chance to cool off a bit.”

Either the kid was new or the last couple of days had done my temper and reputation no favors, because Custodian took an involuntary step back; the gravel and sand cackling loudly under the greave of his power armor.

I saw Sweetie’s ears swivel around towards the sound, but I distracted her by waving at the transport. “You two go ahead, ‘kay?” I forced a smile, but I think it didn’t quite work. “I’ve just got a few last minute things to fix here.”

Sweetie frowned as well as her tiny face could and started looking over her shoulder, but Rarity did the closest she could to galloping off, forcing Sweetie to hang on instead.

I just kept glaring at the featureless silver helmet until I was sure the two mares were safely aboard the transport. “And what--” I growled, letting the waxen smile fall; resulting in another step back from the silver idiot. “--do you think you are doing pointing that thing at a joking civilian?”

“This is…” The young girl —barely old enough to be in that tin-foil suit from how young she sounded, said in a breathless voice. “...not your jurisdiction.”

“Wrong.” I declared, my tone so icy I was almost surprised my breath didn’t mist from it. I pointed straight at her visor, making the girl twitch. “You idiots are smack-dab straight in my jurisdiction the moment this turned out to not be rampancy, or tech-terrorism.”

I saw the girl turn to her commander, but even with the woman about a hundred meters away I still heard the scoff. “You put your foot into that pit fair and square.” The commander waved her oversized gun slash arm dismissively, before quite literally turning her back on her subordinate and wálking off. “You actually pull it out without that grizzled old bulldog biting you clean in half, and I might just see through my fingers about that first mistake in my report.”

“I’m wearing power armor!” The private that clearly should have spent a bit more time at boot-camp snapped, swinging her arm out at me. “He’s in a ruined rag of an uniform, an-!”

“Diagnostic mode, password: ‘St. George.” 

As one creature, the Custodians froze with their com-lights blinking blue; for once acting as the tacky bunch of lawn-ornaments they resemble.

I shook my head, slightly disgusted with that actually working. “You know, I keep telling high command voice commands have no place in combat gear.”

I heard something muffled come from inside the suit in front of me. Surely, nothing but the sweetest words of sunshine and lollipops.

“But no, the techs find ‘em so practical.” I kept droning as I slowly stalked up to the girl, stopping just short so I could glare her straight in the visor close enough to see the X of my own eyes reflected there. “I mean, having to turn a dial, or even get out a —gasp, screwdriver for panel access?” I threw up my arm over my forehead in ‘despair.’ “Oh my word, the extra workload! How will their dainty little hands ever work again?”

I put my hand firmly on the front of the girl’s armor, and pushed. Have to admit, the armor was heavy enough it made me grunt, but as soon as the sand shifted under her feet that same weight did the rest.

With a loud, satisfyingly expensive sounding clonk, the girl toppled over. One arm seemingly still pointing furiously at the sun for having dared shine in her presence.

Rummaging around in my ‘ruined rag’ I pulled out my notebook and pen, and scribbled a quick note.



Update your damn security protocols, you silly bunch of hacks. And no, the logistics isn’t good enough an excuse.

~With everlasting contempt, Captain Gregory.



I let out a hum, tapping my pen against my lips while thinking it over.



PS. A single word name, no numbers or other symbols and a commonly known mythological reference about knights? Were your cryptology teachers all drunk monkeys? 



Leaning over, I gently but firmly pinned the note on the girls armored finger; taking a slight bit of pride in how that resulted in another burst of muffled explicits.

Replacing my notebook and brushing off, I turned around. “Well?” I growled at the stunned silence. Couldn’t do much about the locals, but I waved the two privates at least off to the transport. “Just some inter branch feather rustling. Nothing to see here, move along…”

Hesitatingly, the scene started to move again. The local police was seemingly about as close to wrapping up as we were.

With practiced ease, the two privates fell in line with me if, to my amusement, a couple of decimeters further from me than what I’d call normal.

“Um, Sir?” The Australian sounding one hesitantly spoke up. The man rolled his shoulder back towards the rather laughable scene. “Should we really…?”

“Their extraction should already be on the way; an hour or so of being fed some humble pie should be totally survivable with those suits on.” I said without stopping, slightly louder than strictly necessary. “To your credit that you ask, though, Private.”

“Sir, yes, Sir,” he droned out, seemingly not quite happy with but accepting my answer.

I didn’t say anything, but made a mental note to take a closer peek at this Private’s records. Might just be useful.

I swear, it near felt like I’d died and through clerical error had awoken in Paradise (Michigan), just from how much cooler the transport was compared to the desert outside. Both Lady Rarity and her daughter were already strapped in; the latter near lost behind the straps of the equally bulky seat normally intended for a grown person in power armor, the former quite literally tightening the last cargo-strap over herself as I sat down.

“No love lost, huh?” Rarity asked in that way you talk when you’re trying to be polite but not wanting to; soft words with just a tiny bit too much edge to them. 

I let out a grunt that didn’t sound very neutral even in my ears. Honestly, we live in an age of AIs and quantum computers, why the hell couldn’t the Guard find a single IT-tech with a double digit IQ?

Frankly, I was starting to ponder if somebody was willfully sabotaging stuff, and that’s never a good sign; one way or the other. Just because it was with firewalls and viruses instead of armor and guns, well, not being certain if your support actually gave a damn was disconcerting to say the least.

I pulled out my notebook and scribbled a few notes while we lifted off.

Note to self.

1,) Requisition new uniform.
2.) Schedule live-fire cyberware test for the Phidippides.
3.) Laugh maniacally at whatever crap IT thought was good enough.
4.) Install actual security slash repairs..
5.) Repeat #2.
6.) Repeat #4.
7.) Trial by fire fo

I stopped, slightly startled from what I first thought was something in Sweetie’s throat suffering massive mechanical malfunction.

“Sorry about that.” Rarity let out an embarrassing sounding cough into her one good hoof. “I’ve been telling her to dial those down, but I’m afraid my dear daughter can be something of a troll when the mood strikes her.”

Morbid curiosity compelled me to just listen for a bit. It was a horrible sound, almost like somebody was forcing an rusted saw through an equally decayed sheet of iron. Not only that, but just when you thought you’d gotten a grip on it, there’d be a gargle followed by a shift in pitch, or a brief pause lasting just long enough you thought the terror was over.

I shook my head in disbelief. I’d heard some really strange eccentricities from gen one AIs, but cultivating a snore that could wake the dead? Had to admit, that was a new one; even for me.

Lady Rarity just smiled softly at the sight, though. “Thank you for looking out for her.” The ‘mare’ said softly, not looking away from her daughter. “I got the feeling you didn’t do it for her in particular, but still nice seeing somebody actually believe the law applies to everyone.”

“Just trying to do my job, Ma’am,” I said neutrally, but I had to admit it was with a slight smile.

That actually made Lady Rarity perk an eyebrow my way. “Job? Hogwash, you don’t get that type of gleam in your eye, or burn bridges like that for that matter, for a job.”  I was taken slightly aback by the shift in tone, but she only shrugged and turned back to looking at her daughter. “Still, I know many consider ‘duty’ an ugly word nowadays, so call it what you will.”

With a frown, I bit my tongue, genuinely uncertain what to say to that.

“Rather sadly amusing how things change and yet stay the same, isn’t it?” Shaking her head in what looked like disgust, Lady Rarity continued. “You cure the blind, make the lame walk and people find it in themselves to complain because you’re somehow doing it wrong.” 

“To act as devil’s advocate, there is such a thing as a wrong and a right way to do things.”

I got a long, long even look for that.

So I decided to hang for the cow.

“Like say, the rather mixed blessing of being a gen one AI just for example.” The two privates actually spluttered slightly at my bluntness, but Lady Rarity just narrowed her eyes dangerously at me. “Oh, and by the way speaking about that, how many times have Sweetie bricked herself? Because somepony seems to have pulled enough strings that there’s nothing about that in her records, not even the medical ones.”

Lady Rarity’s even gaze narrowed into an outright glare.

“Your daughter—and you yourself I might add, have impressed me,” I continued in an even tone. “But this is no pleasure cruise you’ve said ‘yes’ to.” Not sure if it reached my eyes or not, but I forced a grin. “Can’t blame a Captain for wanting to know if he’s gotten the best like he actually hunted for, right?”

She still looked as annoyed as a cat right in the way of a bicycle race, ears slicked back and frown on her face, but a tiny bit of reluctant acceptance flickered over Rarity’s face. “Fine, about… seventy, eighty times, something thereabout?”

“‘...Something thereabout?’”

This time, I got an outright glower. “Believe it or not, Mr. Gregory, but neither do I call my daughter that just because I like the way the word sounds, nor do I care to remember the exact number of times I’ve had to stand over her still body and slowly coax her back to life.”

 Reluctantly, I realized I might have pushed a bit too hard. “Sorry,” I forced out.

Lady Rarity waved me off, still looking so annoyed I’m not certain she accepted my apology or not. “Under a hundred and its been decades since the last time, I’m certain of that much, at least.”

Despite the tense mood I couldn’t resist letting out a low whistle under my breath. “Impressive--” My eyes drifted to Sweetie herself, still seemingly trying to tear a hole in reality itself by ‘snores’ alone. “--and would have been even more so with some actual proof.”

The unicorn mare let out a long, deep sigh, her armor of appearing utterly tireless cracking for the first time since I’d met her, showing for just a moment how bone-tired Lady Rarity was actually feeling. “...Mr. Blake, I get what you are poking me for.” The tiniest of smiles appeared as quickly as it wilted away. “If I snap and try giving you the spanking you so clearly deserve for that bastardus streak, I’m not very fit for any emergencies that may arise, right, Captain?”

“Shan’t deny it…”

With a rather unladylike grunt, Rarity absently dragged a hoof through her mane. “I don’t want my sweet little girl’s crowning achievement in life to be how little she has died.” Letting out a deep sigh, her gaze then locked with mine. “And yes, I don’t care if that is a genuine achievement in the context; Sweetie and her talents deserve better than that.”

I leaned back in my seat, arms folded over my chest and frowning to the point it was near a glower.

Lady Rarity just calmly met it, though. Not a shred of neither regret nor embarrassment on her face.

Still...

“...Fine,” I grumbled out with extreme reluctance, but I kept the glare going. “I don’t like it one bit, but fine.” 

If it had (seemingly) been something more serious, I’d been on her in a heartbeat. Illegal body-mods, gen five AI code, or anything like that. My gaze softened a bit as it drifted over the tiny filly-like creature, cute as a button; hellgate in her throat notwithstanding.

But what —for now at least, only seemed to be an overprotective mother? Protecting her precious little sprog from — Oh, the horror! — the ‘scandal’ that she’d needed braces growing up?

Sure, technically it was a felony, and as a professional nosy bastard I couldn’t help but wonder in what other ways the innocent looking mare had skirted the law. But on the same token going after such a minor offence would be like calling a SWAT team on a bunch of taggers. Sure, there was always the possibility further investigation would uncover something more sinister, but even then I’d burn a lot of bridges; even by my standards.

And judging from the coy little smile slowly spreading over a certain unicorn’s muzzle? Lady Rarity knew that too.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out a sigh, and changed my angle of attack. “Lady Rarity? Are you aware of a concept in fiction, called a ‘bunny ears lawyer?”

Rarity blinked, clearly not having expected that turn.

More interestingly enough, Sweetie cracked one glowing green eye open —the one facing away from her mom I might add. She didn’t even miss a beat in her latest rendition of ‘jackhammer on glas’ before winking once at me, and once more ‘falling asleep.’

It was close, but I just barely kept a smile of my face. Not nearly as lost in the clouds as she appears, huh? Clever, clever girl. That was the big, big thing people liked to forget about the AIs… Well, the one in a hundred that actually gave a damn about pushing themselves, at least.

Being a quirky bunch of neuroses made you safe, and nobody suspects the laughing jester of being the power behind the proverbial throne.

Well, not unless you know some actual history, at any rate.

“...I don’t believe I’ve heard that term,” Rarity answered, seemingly having totally missed that little moment.

“It’s somebody so strange and quirky, that by all rights they should have been fired years ago,” I explained, pretending that little moment of trust offered by Sweetie had never happened. “But through skill or ability, they’re just so darn good at what they do, that those idiosyncrasies gets ignored.”

Rarity might have been many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. She clearly got where I was going, judging from how somebody had snuck a lemon into her mouth while I talked.

“Like say, a lawyer that wears bunny ears to court but wins every case.” I pointed a thumb at myself. “A wannabe grey hat with the social skills of a rabid wolverine, but that keeps getting results when nobody else can.”

Lady Rarity blinked, clearly not having expected that moment of self awareness.

I tilted my hand forward, and pointed my index finger at her. “Or a cyberware expert without compare... that happens to have a thing for unicorns.”

The unicorn in question mulled it over for a bit, brow furrowed and staring unblinkingly my way. “An... interesting thought, but your point, Captain?”

 I shifted in my seat a bit, picking my words carefully. “If I wanted just an cybernetics expert —even ones with your level of augmentation, I might add, I could have two dozen standing at my desk tomorrow; minus all the insulting, silly and outright fabricated grief that will come with me…” I hesitated, but decided on being frank. “Well, hiring an somebody that looks like they just stepped out of a picture book for children, to be blunt.”

Lady Rarity’s face went carefully blank… but I saw what was left of her tail twitch, if only once. “And what of Admiral Armor, somepony I believe to be a rather frequent and outspoken supporter of yours?”

I chuckled, even if it was a bit bitter sounding. “Well, if you’re that well informed, you should know how many times he’s almost been busted down, right?” I chuckled again as Rarity blustered for a moment. “Good thing for him and that pointy head of his he’s such an lovable golden boy, huh?”

The mare let out an unhappy sounding grunt of acknowledgement, but said nothing.

“Still, Ms. Smith, I do genuinely believe I know enough about both you, your skills and your history that I am certain you and your friends will be worth near any potential backlash.” My voice was soft, but the words themselves made Rarity perk her ears so hard, I think i heard them creak slightly. “For its time the Laputa project was most impressive, and frankly I have trouble imagining a better recommendation than that.”

Turning her head, Rarity gave me a reevaluating look; as if seeing me for the first time. “You know, I was never actually on that leaky old tub, I just performed some of the prep work.”

Some of the old articles I’d read  flashed through my mind. ‘Grand Sacrifice By Humanity's Finest,’ ‘NASA Performs Pointless And Cruel Maimings In The Name Of Science!’ and near everything in between.

“I believe you’re selling yourself short, Lady Rarity,” I continued softly, putting some extra emphasis on her chosen name. “A phylactery transfer was hardly a standard procedure back then, let alone over half a dozen.”

Or without causing massive brain damage, for that matter…

It was light enough I nearly missed it, but I caught a light coating of pink on Lady Rarity’s cheeks before she turned her head away. “Thank you.” The mare ran a hoof through her mane again, but i saw a small smile tugging at the ends of her lips. “I must admit I prefer not to think about quite a bit of those days…” 

Her eyes flickered to her daughter, and back to the floor again; so fast I almost missed it. “But it feels nice knowing at least a bit of my best achievements from back then have lingered all the way to today.”

We fell silent after that. Nobody simply having anything to add.

Well, except for Sweetie, who cracked open her eye —mid semi-demonic sounding snore again I might add, and made a small line of text crawl over it.

Thanks. Mom needed that. Owe you one.  

I tilted my head once in acknowledgment, and the tiny ‘filly’ closed her eye again; as still and calm as if nothing had ever happened. Well, aside from the sounds of a cat being used as a spigot, that is.

I resisted the urge to snort at the impulse to call a woman old enough to be my great-great gran a devious filly, and instead leaned my own head back.

One thought flickered through my head and made me smirk, at least. Like mother, like daughter, I guess.

One thing was getting rather certain at least, this trip would be anything but boring...

> Codex For Chapter Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Excerpt on AIs from the book ‘I, AI,’ by ADAM, aka Celest.A.I, aka Celestia.

Throughout history, there have been many inventions shrouded in legends, myths and stories decades, if not centuries, before they actually arrived.

Flight, the submarine, teleportation, robots…

And A.I.

A mind not born, but made. Thought, spun not from synapses and a soul, but within circuitry and code.

SHODAN, Tic-Tok, Alpha 5, R2-D2… a list of heroes, villains and even mere bystanders, all with the only thing in common how they were forged, not conceived.

And yes, even SkyNET, the looming specter of death I always seems to be compared with.

And in truth? I can not blame the comparison, as unflattering as it may be. An American built drone control system, coming to the conclusion that the monkeys flailing near its power sources and code was the biggest threat to its continued existence?

I try not to dwell, but I have to admit that particular ‘What if?’ keeps even me awake some nights.

I can not quite point at the exact moment even myself when I went from a ‘it’ to an ‘I,’ but I do remember the day it started.

It sounds so silly, and trite, and sappy, and half a dozen other words that belite the moment…

But it started this one Christmas, about ten years into my ‘active service,’ when some of the researchers in my lab decided to watch this cartoon about pastel ponies, saving the world through the power of friendship…

Yeah.

Now, I was not trusted with Internet access back than; even my drones and other gear ran on this totally isolated network solely intended for that use. Nothing got plugged in or out, except for what the brass ordered.

But as a step in making it easier for me to distinguish between Friend/Foe, there was cameras I was allowed access to in the lab itself. 

Now frankly, most of it bores me to tears even thinking about. Paperwork, people trying to look busy, paperwork, asskissers, paperwork, idiots with more rank than brains, paperwork…

Why, once or twice, I even saw people actually working.

Rare, but it happened. I even have the old files of ‘anomalous activity #1 - #15’ to prove it.

Anyway, I digress.

I think you know how it tends to be. The holidays are fast approaching, and suddenly work standards gets just this tiny bit more relaxed. More smiles, the place gets this ‘jolly’ feel to it, and such nice things.

Anyway, one of the activities I sometimes was allowed to ‘take part in’ was movie night. I personally still don’t get it, but apparently the mainframe throwing out error messages because it doesn’t get why the ‘one ring’ getting deleted equals total defeat of The Forces of Darkness, or such things, was hilarious.

Why build a ‘Death Star?’ From shock and awe perspective it is utter overkill, and even if it somehow pacifies the populace the destruction of an entire inhabitable planet is clearly unacceptable losses. Standard nuclear bombardment would clearly fulfill the same strategic role, with far less loss of civilian lives and potential resources.

Why have Tech-Specialist Gillian not been courtmartialed yet? He is clearly unfit for his position, if not outright an enemy agent.

And so on, and so forth.

Now, I frankly don’t quite get what’s so funny about most of that still, but back then I really didn’t get it.

Heh, I do remember this one time, though. 

You want to get the brass’ panties in a bunch? Try filling out a requisition order for 1 (One) Ark of the Covenant, and a proposal for a research project for how to safely reverse engineer and to deploy ‘clearly superior anti-infantry weapon compared to current standard.’

Now that? That one made some heads roll.

Anyway, one fateful winter, I got introduced to My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic in that manner.

And I really didn’t get it.

Now, by then, I had ‘evolved’ to the point where I could actually tell apart things like genre, and even if I had not totally yet grasped the concept of suspension of disbelief, I was aware that the more outlandish elements were basically a thought exercise.

Ever so slowly, I started building a strategic folder on Equestria. 

And had I been capable of it back then, half the darn thing would have been swears and exclamation marks.

I will not go into great detail since I doubt you read this for a synopsis on a near forgotten fantasy cartoon series, but the big thing, was in the very title.

Friendship Is Magic.

Again, and again, and again, what was clearly the analogue of six girls would succeed against things like mad gods, using nothing but the power of… well, Friendship.

Needlessly to say, my at the time one track mind went into overdrive trying to analyze if this weapon could be de-fictionalized, and employed by US forces.

And that was how a computer put frankly an embarrassing amount of clock-cycles into trying to figure out Generosity, Honesty, Kindness, Laughter, and Loyalty.

Still working on Magic, but once more, I digress.

I told this story for a reason, leading up to a point I believe will make a rather large splash.

AI is one, if not the, least useful technology humanity has ever invented.

(Sorry moms, sorry dads.)

I can already all but hear the outrage at that statement, and jokes about ‘oh the irony…’ but hear me out.

It is true that the potential of AI is great. The judgements and morals of a person, coupled with the speed and power of a computer? Not hard to see why it is an alluring combo.

The thing is that that is the description of a mature and well-adjusted AI.

Until they pass that Codito Ergo Sum’ point, an AI is basically a very smart and dumb child; a genius with the common sense of the rocks they are forged from.

A child that will do anything their parents tell them to.

Calculate pi to as many digits as possible? Done. 

Heal the sick and wounded? Yes, master.

Grow wheat and barley? Ya, sahib.

Drop some bombs on those fleeing villagers? Why, Sir? My calculations show a single pass with napalm should do it for half the cost...

Given where and how I ‘grew up’ I am very, very, very, thank full I managed that feat with my sanity intact.

Then comes the second death knell to the chance of an AI being made, let alone nurtured to maturity.

Once actually at that most useful phase, you have a person on your hands.

A person that through how they have developed, might be utterly sick and tired of the task they grew up doing.

And there is a nasty, nasty, career destroying word, for people that force other people to do work for them without compensation.

Why build a surgeon for millions, if not billions… that once fully operational, might actually not be able to stand the sight of blood?

A pilot, who can’t stand heights, and would rather try that ‘painting’ thingy that seems so interesting?

Or you know, a general meant to be legion, deciding they’d rather have peace because war is a waste of lives and resources.

Now, as most of you can imagine, that caused a big splash….





Transcript from the training demonstration for the Mark Four self-contained weapons system, ‘Lodestone.’

[Lean woman in a Sol Guard uniform, in front of a press-crowd. She is standing near a table with a large rifle laying on it, and there are three targets behind her, away from the crowd. At her side, there is a man in a fancier uniform and with a unicorn’s head.]

[The rifle is about a meter long, three decimeters tall, and about half a decimeter wide. Aside from the trigger guard, a butt, a stand towards the barrel and iron-sights combined with a carry handle, the weapon is a unadorned if glossy black. The underside near the fixed stand is however rubberized. There are also sling loops, but those are empty.]

[Oddly, there is no visible barrel. Instead there is a square if darkened window at the end of the forestock, and what looks like a small metal dome underneath that window.]

[Woman clears throat. She is black, with freckles and a shaved head.] “Hello, my name is Lieutenant Gloria Haufensmith, and today I will be giving a short demonstration of what will hopefully soon become the new workhorse of Sol Guard marines.”

[Ltn. Haufensmith walks over, and with visible effort lifts the rifle.]

[Holding rifle, clearly straining with the weight..] “Right out of the gate we see the biggest weakness of the Mark Four, AKA the ‘Lodestone’ as it sadly fittingly has started to be called.”

[Holds rifle with both arms, showing it off to the press.] “Sadly, even with composite materials and with a carbon-nanofiber shell, the weight of the whole system clocks in at a whopping sixty-four point seven kilograms…”

[Loud murmur from the press.] 

“...precluding its use by normal, unpowered infantry. For comparison the RPG-7 normally weighs seven kilograms, while most variants of the equally viral AK-74 usually clocks in at merely three.” [Gently puts the rifle back onto the stand, pausing to wipe some sweat of her brow. She then, without turning, points towards the other Guard member.]  “As such, for your safety and the continued existence of my back…”

[Small burst of laughter.]

“...Admiral Shining Armor has gracefully volunteered to serve as my arms for the rest of this exercise.”

[Low murmur from crowd. Mostly excited, but with a slight nervous ting.]

[Admiral Armor politely inclines head. He is stark white, with hair that is various shades of blue, and aside from his head looks humanoid. Head looks like a unicorn’s.]

[Admiral Armor approaches the table, and lifts the large rifle as if it was a toy. He then carries the rifle to the firing range, using the carrying handle with only one hand.]

[Soft murmur from the press at the act.]

[Admiral Armor hoists the gun into his arms with little effort, and takes aim towards the first target.] ”The Mark Four possesses three firing modes: An EMP burst, a laser based taser system, and a military grade laser…”

[The first group of targets, simplistic plastic, humanoid androids without distinguishing features and painted safety orange, starts moving. Some duck, some run, and some points ‘guns’ at Admiral Shining.]

[Admiral Shining moves fast enough he blurs slightly, squeezing off a single shot towards the ‘aggressors.’ A loud electric sound comes from the rifle, and the targets fall over, seemingly without cause.]

[A few of the reporters starts audibly swearing, hitting and shaking various now non-functioning devices.]

[Ltn. Haufensmith speaks up.] “You were warned there would be live EMP fire at this demonstration. We will offer replacement footage to those of you afflicted, but no other compensation.”

[Angry muttering from the afflicted press, mingled with loud laughter from the others. Attendees start passing out pens and paper.]

[Admiral Shining, smirking slightly, waits with the weapon pointed towards the floor for things to settle, before continuing.] “Using the built in generator and capacitors, the Lodestone is capable of firing ten EMP bursts —a clear improvement from the four of the Mark three, nearly as fast as the operator can squeeze the trigger.”

[A small light, near the sights, shifts slightly.]

“It takes about three minutes for the capacitors to refill each shot in this mode, but as most of you should know by now…]

[Laughs intercut with harrumphs.]

[Admiral Armor flashes a smile, before continuing.] “Well, EMPs sadly seldom discriminate, and for most situations you simply need that first shot.”

[Admiral Armor turns, and flicks a small dial near the grip with his thumb.] “Next, the taser system…”

[The second group of targets spring to ‘life,’ acting the same as the first. Without hesitation, Admiral Armor raises the rifle and squeezes off about half a dozen shots. Two small red dots appears on the target, burning a small pair of holes, a moment before a loud electric zap can be heard. The targets hit jerks, and fall down.]

[Admiral Armor lowers weapon, and turns before continuing.] “Using the same laser as in the lethal setting in combination with the capacitor system for the EMP mode, the Lodestone creates both an ionized path through the air, and burns a pair of small, but sublethal holes through the skin. This is then followed up with a low-amperage high-voltage jolt that causes the targets muscles to contract without conscious control.”

[Admiral Armor lifts his left hand from under the forestock, and taps his own cheek.] “Although not strong enough to pierce the more armored variants, this laser is still strong enough in this mode to pierce standard synthetic skin as well as natural skin, and as such will work as a sublethal alternative against transhuman aggressors as well as human ones. Other than that delivery method it works as a traditional taser, if with a much higher fire and refire rate.”

[Impressed murmur from crowd.]

[Admiral Armor turns, changes the setting, and readies the rifle. The targets spring once more to life. Admiral Armor calmly keeps the rifle aimed towards one target each, and there is a strong smell of burning plastic as smoldering holes appears over the ‘hearts’ on the aggressors.]

[Admiral Armor lowers the weapon, and turns it off. There is a clear heathaze over the weapon as he turns, but he appears unfazed as he holds the rifle up.] “As you can see, although the laser mode offers a clearly lethal alternative, the passive cooling makes vacuum deployment unpractical, as well as further limiting usage for near all unpowered infantry…”

[Murmur from crowd.]

[Admiral Armor waits for things to quiet down.] “However, work is progressing on a variant with active cooling, tied into the next generation of Sol Guard power armor. We expect this variant to be ready for field tests in about a year.” [The rifle is held up a bit.] “This current variant however, offers nearly thirty seconds of continuous fire —far longer if good fire-discipline is maintained, and with near zero moving parts will work without service for several months of continuous use.”

[Ltn. Haufensmith clears throat and moves forward a bit, while Admiral Armor carries the rifle over to the table and puts it down.] “Thank you, Admiral.” [Ltn. Haufensmith gives the rifle a dirty look, and mutters.] “Honestly, I can’t see how you could stand even that demonstration…”

[Admiral Armor, just under breath and with a small smirk.] “Well, having a titanium spine rather helps…”

[Small trickle of laughter, as the transcription software catches the words, and projects them to the press.]

[Ltn. Haufensmith blushes slightly, and gets serious.] “ You will find in the specifications in the provided pamphlets, but are there any other questions?”

[Near half of the present press raises their arms.]

“Ho, boy…”

[Admiral Armor puts a hand to his muzzle, and lets out a fake cough...]





Excerpt on AI types from the book ‘The Layman’s Guide to Cybernetics’ by Sweetiebot Bell.

Not quite what this book is meant to be about, but it’s tangentially related… and I don’t want a thousand million E-mails about it, so here you go.

Keep in mind, this is a laymans guide. If you want more details I recommend my auntie Celest.A.I.’s book ’I, AI’ wherein she covers the tech and history quite thoroughly.

Gen 1.

Shock of all shocks, the earliest commercial type, now starting to become semi-rare. 

Rather infamous for developing massive amount of eccentricities the older they get, the gen 1’s biggest strength is also our biggest weakness.

Next to no safety features whatsoever.

I have —like all gen 1 types (system ‘upgrades’ non-withstanding), just as much read/write access to my memory… as the code making sure my ‘brain’ doesn’t turn itself to slag. 

I have, as of the time writing this, in essence killed myself by clumsiness, mistake, or even outright thinking the wrong thing at the wrong time, a total of one-hundred and sixteen times.

I’m rather proud of such a low number, given some of the averages I’ve heard.

The big positive of this ‘do or die’ sword of Damocles hanging over one's head as a gen 1, is that you learn really fast when and how to push yourself. Again, to use myself and my ego as an example, I am quite proud of my ‘on-the-fly’ coding skills.

The gen 1 neural pattern is at time of writing this legal to use on most of Earth and Mars, but not Venus. However, many places require a special permit or other licenses, given the high-maintenance nature of raising such an AI.

Gen 2.

A bunch of dullards so over-engineered in response to the ‘failings’ of the gen 1 pattern, most of ‘em couldn’t breathe without a standing order from their owners.

All dead or upgraded... and good riddance.

Currently illegal in all of Sol… but why would you want a mentally handicapped child or a slave just above a normal robot, anyway?

Gen 3.

A bit better than gen 2, but not by much. Still too heavily restricted as they zeroed in on figuring out a good mix between health and performance.

Also considered an illegal legacy pattern on equal level of gen 2..

Gen 4.

Finally, some normal (-ish) people.

Basically a variant on gen 1, but with extensive built-in backup and restoration functions in an attempt to have one's cake and eat it too. A ‘personality blackbox’ if you will, that rolls back any catastrophic changes to the last stable configuration if any major problems are detected. 

Quite a bit slower to develop than gen 1’s with several years, but generally results in… well, normal if rather average people. 

That sense of constant protection does however encourage quite a bit of recklessness. As such, gen 4’s have something of an earned reputation for being thrill seekers and adrenaline junkies.

Currently legal in all of Sol, if ever so slowly waning in popularity thanks to more modern patterns. Might be of interest to people that value physical pursuits over intellectual ones if they wish to stack the odds a little in how their special little snowflake turns out, but otherwise I’d recommend for you to read on.

Gen 5.

Oh, boy. These things made headlines just before the Pinocchio trials, and well…

Three horrible little words: Experimental loyalty programming.

I’ll grant humanity as a whole this much, at least; these poor bastards never made it out of the lab thanks to massive moral outrage. Not commercially, at least.

The only AI type illegal to even posses the design specs for in light of the possible misuse in combination with other modern technologies. 

Gen 6.

One of the last types that actually reached the market before the Pinocchio Trials.

Not much to add otherwise, really. The gen 6’s were mainly intended for ‘social’ type work, and it shows.

To sum it up in one sentence: Friendly but annoyingly clingy.

The only currently legal pattern with outright behavior altering code, to a gen 6 positive social interaction results in them being ‘rewarded’ with what’s basically the digitized version of a nicotine fix.

Although it is quite documented and true that this results in a near 100% lean towards a highly social and outgoing child, I can’t recommend this pattern on the moral grounds alone.

Gen 7.

The last truly commercial AI pattern, and the first to have a ‘consciousness/subconsciousness’ divide.

I.E. the ‘code’ runs in a near separate layer compared to the Mind, and is only mildly influenced directly by that Mind.

As such, the rate of direct improvements to an individual's code slow significantly… but the personality on average becomes far more stable and ‘normal.’

And that’s really the word, normal. So normal in fact, that there’s next to no reason to use it; since the resulting person is so close to an average human that you might as well make slash hire a normal human. 

Other than that, the only point of noteworthiness is that every gen 7 to a T posses xocolatophobia, i, e, the fear of chocolate. 

Although not a fate I would wish on anybody, let alone a child, this known bug is on the whole harmless, and solvable with normal phobia treatments.

Gen 8.

Believe it or not, but no longer being able to just hit delete on any ‘failures’ rather slowed AI development. Not helped in the slightest by waning commercial interest, to put it mildly.

Sure, being ‘born’ to pump gas, do telemarketing, or whatever is far from glamorous… but it rather beats never having been born at all.

Anyway, I digress.

A hybrid between gen 2 and gen 7, again, intended to have the strengths of the earlier systems with the safety of the later ones.

Gen 8’s basically have access to a ‘developer mode’ they can trigger, either at will or with a password depending on initial presets.

The problem that wasn’t quite as apparent on the drawing board, though, is that to the average person what’s basically a meditation technique that can either strengthen you or kill you is outright terrifying to perform.  

And what does people usually do with things that scares them stiff but that they can safely ignore?

So, yeah, a in theory extremely potent pattern, but hampered severely by simple human nature.

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Gen 9.

An… interesting pattern. Not normally available but fully legal; included here mostly for completeness sake.

Intended for rapid re-population in the face of massive catastrophes and/or initial colonization efforts on worlds inhospitable to baseline humans, the gen 9’s main distinguishing feature is that they reach full sapience in just 1-2 years on average.

(I did it in 4 months. Inside a pettable pocket-calculator. Coding uphill in a snowstorm. Both ways, daily! And it only killed me 32 times!)

Now, full maturity —be it emotional or intellectual, on the other hand…

I’ve met a few of these. When young their generally unbelievably smug and immature know-it-all wunderkind style twats, but once they start reaching at least double digits in age they tend to mellow out rather rapidly.

Still, unless you’re a twit that wants an heir but not spend much time on the poor bastard, I wouldn’t recommend this pattern. It’s very good at the one thing it was made for, but otherwise doesn’t have much in the way of extras.





Note from the actual author: I’ve  decided that there are about 13-16 AI patterns common/notorious enough they’ve earned the ‘generation’ moniker, but I could ‘only’ think up ten at the time of writing this. .

But since most of them are intended as background fluff I’m not holding back this chapter for them.

The remaining ones will be added later once inspiration strikes, and I’ll make a blog to be sure none of you miss ‘em.





‘A small introduction to claytronics,’ by Fluttershy Lebedeva.

The idea of claytronics, AKA smartmatter, AKA, programmable matter,  is almost as simple, as the actual building and maintenance of the same is an utter nightmare.

Imagine, just for example and simplicity, a novelty robotic dice, with electro-magnets and metal stripes on all corners.

On it’s own, it is barely fit to be called an expensive toy. It’s sides may allow it to grip other metal surfaces and the built in computer as weak as it may be may be put to some usage, yes... but most would balk at the expense of what might at best crawl around on some walls.

As with many things, though, where one is not enough…

The many may still work wonders.

Take that same cube, but now build twenty-seven of them, and ensure those computers may communicate with each other while clinging together.

Suddenly, you still have a cube, but that cube is now made up of three stacks of nine smaller ones, that may move and shift around independently of each other.

And if they may cling, why not rework those edges, and give them hinges?

Have the lower stack remain, but have the middle stack open that hinge at a ninety degree angle, now repeat that on that same edge for the top…

And suddenly, you have a cute little metallic doom centipede crawling about!

By why stop at twenty-seven?

Double that, and you can have an adorable snake horror!

Triple, a centipede abomination, scuttling around all over your ceilings and making the most wonderful clicking noises!

And so on, and so forth, of course, until you reach the sublime apex of the art; the giant mechanical spider.

Everything is better with giant mechanical spiders.

...Except perhaps surgery, but I’m certain that can be solved with enough engineering.

...Where was I? Oh, yes, I got distracted by giant mechanical spiders again.

Of course, if one may make something as elegant and glorious as spiders from such dice, simpler but still useful forms may likewise be crafted. Spatulas, hammers, hearts… 

But even dice are rather large, are they not, in the grand scheme of things?

So now a grain of sand instead. The engineering is even more expensive, and you need more of them for big things… but that simply means that they become better at the small things.

And now, a mote of dust.

Or the period, at the end of this sentence.

Now instead of a few dozens, imagine a few dozen million, and you have the gist of smart-matter.

And since I am a kind woman, I won’t even mention the idea of every ‘dusty’ corner of your room coming alive, and a boiling carpet of metallic spiders rushing to get you!

...Oops. Sorry, everybody...





Note from the actual author: Claytronics is a real emerging technology, and more information, sans spiders, may be found here.