After spending the remaining hours of the night thoroughly convincing Sable of his dedication to her, Gearing was able to meet up once again with Swift at the Stable 68 entrance. Once he’d managed to free himself from Sable’s loving cabley embrace that is.

This time, Gearing is the one left standing and waiting for Swift. When she approaches the door she stares at him with her lips pursed to the side for a moment before she asks, “So, you finally decided to actually go? Why didn’t you let me know when you got back?”

Gearing gives a sheepish smile and shrugs. “When I got back I realized it was too late for us to go round trip. You’re organic, you need sleep. Didn’t want us to run into trouble on the road and you be too busy fighting exhaustion to fight, or at least run.”

She frowns hard at him and grumbles, “I’m not that weak.” She waves a hoof as she dismisses it. “I could have made it there and back no problem. Missing a little sleep never hurt nopony…”

Gearing motions towards the door as he’s putting in the commands to open the stable. “Ready to go to Megamac?”

Swift nods and starts heading through the door as it’s still opening. “Sure, let’s go, I hope we can find some things the kids will like while we’re there.”

Gearing heads out behind her at a short distance then starts turning towards the outside controls to shut the door once passed the threshold.

“I’m coming too!” a colt’s voice echoes off the cavern walls.

Swift and Gearing turn to see a small red unicorn colt jump from a set of cabinets to the gangplank that leads out and trots out after them.

Swift walks towards him and waves her hooves. “No! No, No, No! Go back inside with your friends and help clean up. We’re not going out to play.”

Gearing’s eyes explore this colt, traveling from his hooves to his tail then back to the horn adorning his head. He walks up past Swift and taps her on the shoulder with his hoof before he gets in between the two and stares at the young colt. Swift steps off to the side and starts slowly walking around to their side so she can see Gearing’s eye movements.

She takes a few steps back, getting closer to the stable door after regarding Gearing for a moment. She’s seen Gearing around foals. Not just when he brought them into the stable, but when he regularly interacts with them in the hallways and in the medical bay. She’s also seen him around things he considers threats. Without him even saying anything she understands something very clearly: Gearing is looking at this child more like a threat than as a foal.

Gearing, acknowledges Swift’s action with a glance and a head nod before completely turning his attention to the colt. He sits down and offers his hoof towards the little red unicorn. “My name’s Gearing. We haven’t met before. What’re you up to?”

Swift’s eyes go wide in quick understanding. His phrasing was more for her benefit. Gearing had rescued the herd with Apple Armor. He’d taken off each and every one of their bomb collars. It’s hard to obtain a higher level of intimacy than being muzzle to muzzle with someone when both of your lives are on the line. Since then, he’s worked with and played with them repeatedly. Though they’ve still been more leery of him, and the other adults in general, than anything, and really the only one to regularly play with him was the little violet unicorn filly. There’s no way he wouldn’t have met this colt before. Not with all of that general exposure and being that close.

Unless the foal wasn’t part of that group at all.

The foal, which Swift estimates to look about six or seven years old, raises his hoof and taps it against Gearing’s in the cutest tiny brohoof she’s ever seen. He smiles up at Gearing and says cheerfully, “I’m going out.”

“Really?” Gearing asks as he muses over the situation. He looks over at Swift, then walks around to the other side of the colt, putting the colt between him and Swift and drawing his attention to focus on himself. “Why would you want to do that?” Gearing asks as he starts tapping out rapid commands into his PipBuck. He keeps glancing up at the horn on the child’s head while getting a queasy feeling. He recognizes the horn. Sort of. But, as a bit of a way of corroborating things one way or the other, he opens a channel on his PipBuck. “Cure… Please report. Where is the current location of the unicorn foal you were tasked with taking care of by Handy?”

Swift’s eyebrow raises quick enough that it threatens to leap off her forehead as she looks at Gearing dumbfounded.

Gearing raises his forehoof, pausing it just long enough to catch eye contact with Swift, before carrying on with casually running it through his metallic mane as he awaits the reply.

His PipBuck, now set to maximum speaker volume, squawks, “I apologize, Gearing. The foal has disappeared from my sensors. I have been unable to locate it.”

Swift’s focus jumps to Gearing’s PipBuck as her eyes widen.

Gearing lets out a low grunt of acknowledgment, “Mmmhmm… and… using average growth charts for a unicorn foal from the pediatric archive… how old would the foal have appeared the last time you saw it? Judging by size?”

“Before disappearing from my sensors, the colt in question had grown quickly and had a visual reading that falls into the range of a unicorn colt of roughly six years of age.”

“Mmmhmm,” Gearing says again as Swift’s jaw hits the floor. Gearing flops down in front of the colt, laying out and coming eye level with him. “So, what’s your name?”

The colt looks him in the eyes and says flatly, “Pharynx.”

Swift walks around Gearing and looks at the colt. “And who named you that?”

The colt tilts his head as he looks at her. “My parents... like anybody... Right? I guess?” The question actually seems to confuse him.

Swift looks around as she nervously fidgets with her powerhoof. “And… where are they now?”

“I don’t know.” The colt shrugs. More in a sense of continued confusion and not so much being distressed by the fact.

Gearing, having not taken his eyes off of him, asks, “You guess?”

The colt looks back at Gearing and shrugs again as he sits down. “I don’t know how I know. I just know.”

Gearing examines this young colt in front of him and runs through everything he knows about synths, which, admittedly, isn’t much. As far as he knows, they are made in a lab somewhere. That Scarlet impostor was teleported inside from outside, not magically created on site. So, this one isn’t a synth, he hopes, but that just begs more questions.

Gearing looks at Pharynx and asks with a smile, “Why do you want to go with us?”

The young colt shrugs lightly. “I don’t know, I just know I need to.”

Swift walks up near him and starts snuffing at him and staring at him as she gets closer. “It’s dangerous out there,” she says softly.

“Oh, I can take care of myself, don’t worry,” Pharynx replies.

Gearing looks at Swift as she has Pharynx’s attention, and quickly taps out a message as he says, “Well, I think we have everything we need to go. I’d rather pack light when I intend on carrying a lot back.”

Swift’s PipBuck chimes and she looks at the message Gearing just sent to her.

[Whether we can trust him or not is besides the point, this is one way to get him OUT of the stable, and we’ll figure out if we can trust him later.]

She sits down as she gives a quick glance towards Gearing before continuing to stare at Pharynx and half grunting, “Uh huh.” Whether this was in response to Pharynx or Gearing, Gearing can’t tell entirely.

“Yup!” Pharynx says with a nod. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!” He chants as he hops around in foalish fashion before bounding off towards the metal stairs leading upwards.

Gearing and Swift smirk as they exchange glances then turn back to watch Pharynx as he’s approaching the steps. Pharynx misjudges the ground in front of the steps and his forehooves slip out forward and away from him as he’s coming down to pounce up the steps. He slams head first into the stairs, with his head slipping between two of the metal steps, but the rest of his body continuing with the momentum up the stairs.

A moment later his neck unnaturally makes a u-bend as his head’s wedged between the steps and the rest of himself flops against the metal steps. Causing a loud cracking, grinding sound to echo out before his form goes still against the cold metal steps.

Gearing jumps from a lying position fully into the air in panic before scurrying over, withdrawing Pharynx from the framework, and checking the foal’s pulse. “He- he’s dead… He broke his fucking neck!”

Swift sits there wide-eyed, unmoving, as she tries to process what’s just happened.

Gearing starts manipulating the foal’s head, twisting it back into the correct direction, making grinding sounds that resonate in Gearing’s own teeth and sends a shiver down to his tail tip. He keeps trying to set the head correct upon his shoulders, and it keeps flopping over lifelessly. Over and over. If it wasn’t for the grisly reality it would be comical in his repeated failed attempts to get the foal to sit in a way that looks even remotely natural.

Gearing sits there and holds the colt’s head in place as he says nervously, “I know it might be a bit too late, and there’s likely nothing that can be done... But should we call Cure over here and see if she can do anything? I mean… I know some first aid but this is way beyond me.”

Pharynx’s body jerks and jumps and he grins widely as he pulls back out of Gearing’s grasp. “See! I’m pretty durable!” He winces and rubs a hoof over the side of his neck as he says with a groan, “I’m not running up the stairs any more… That hurt… Stupid stairs.”

Gearing’s eyes jump to their widest and he grimaces as he looks Pharynx over. “I don’t know if I’d phrase it like that… And if that were the case, how’d you end up a skeleton tangled in the cabling of the entryway access panels?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t keep me down though,” the foal says flatly.

Gearing looks at Swift, who’s looking unmistakably disturbed by these turn of circumstances, and says, “Well, let’s get going, we got a lot we need to get done.” And she quickly opens the trapdoor to leave.

Pharynx hops and bounds over after Swift happily as she’s climbing the stairs. Gearing brings up the rear after closing the vault door behind them. They gather up at the top of the stairs and Gearing shuts the trapdoors to the lower area before nodding towards Swift to go ahead and exit.

Gearing takes the lead with the small bouncy colt not far away. As they are getting outside, Gearing asks, “So, anything you’re looking for out here? We’re looking for supplies we need… You need anything?” He ends up having to step and move out of the way for the hyperactive foal as he bounces around to keep from crashing into each other.

Pharynx looks at Gearing and grins widely as he says, “Nah… I don’t think so anyway.” He pauses what he’s doing and his smile starts disappearing as he’s looking in the direction they are going. As he looks like he’s about to finish his thought, his head explodes and throws gore in a conical pattern behind him.

Gearing watches this and his eyes go wide in absolute horror as it seems to happen to him in slow motion. Before the young foal’s body, and previously attached chunks, land on the ground, Swift is already diving for cover. Just before Pharynx falls over with a soft plop, the sound of the large caliber rifle’s report greets Gearing.

Gearing, hearing the sound, is yanked back to reality and jumps to the ground, rolling around and down an impression as another round zips harmlessly through the airspace he had just been occupying.

Swift peeks out of her hiding spot and looks around for Gearing’s body. Her eyes settle on the foal’s corpse for a moment, and is stricken by the kind of grief that only a mother can know. True, it’s not her foal, but it was still a foal’s life cut short. She whips her head in the general direction she thinks the shot came from with a look of unhindered malice etched on it. Her ears twitch as she hears rifle fire form somewhere behind her and to her right.

The general direction that Gearing was standing last she’d seen him.

She hopes beyond hope that the sound is not a new enemy arriving on the battlefield, but an ally enacting justice on the foal’s behalf. She sees a quick glint of light, along with some dust and debris being kicked up a distance away. She runs as fast as her hooves can take her as she charges the position in a curve, keeping as much between her and the apparent attacker as she can.

An earth pony in combat armor and a sniper rifle brings his gun back up as he swears and favors the one bleeding shoulder. He pops up, using the debris in front of him as support as he takes aim through his scope at where he’d seen a flash of a muzzle a moment ago. The clattering of rubble brings his attention to his left and up, as Swift pounces down on him with a widely swung powerhoof. He hops back and away from her, bringing up his rifle to block and deflect her blows. After a few moments of working to get the barrel around for a point blank hip fire shot at her, while barely dodging the hoofs whizzing by him, he starts spinning around like a morbid water sprinkler as a large hole appears on one side of his neck, and an even larger one appears on the other side of it.

The report of the fatal shot reaches Swift as the stallion collapses in a heap at her hooves. She hops over to where he’d been standing and sees Gearing step into the light and pick up the brass from his shot after loading his next round. She breathes a sigh of relief, then flops down into a sitting position out of pure shock as what has just transpired catches up to her.

Gearing, after picking up the last of his spent brass, turns to direct his attention to Pharynx, already well on his way into a depressive funk at the thought of having to bury yet another foal in less than a week. He brings his head up, and stops half way as he stares eye to eye with Pharynx.

The dark blue pegasus in Gearing’s head sits grumpily with his forehooves crossed as it mutters, If this kid starts haunting me too, I swear I’m killing somepony.

The two stare at each other for a few moments before Gearing blinks a few times and shakes his head. He gives Pharynx a once over with his eyes and asks, “You alright, kid?”

Pharynx sits down and grabs his head with his forehooves as he tilts side to side. “Mostly, suddenly got a bit of a headache for some reason.”

Gearing looks towards where the foal had fallen literally just moments before, and sees nothing. Not a spot of blood. Not even a fragment of a piece of gore that had been there just moments before. He looks at Pharynx and says solemnly, “Well, I guess you weren’t kidding when you said you were durable… but could you try to not have that happen anymore? My heart can’t take it.”

Pharynx hops and skips then trots off towards Swift as he says nonchalantly, “Hey, I didn’t do it this time, talk with that jerk.”

The pair join Swift at the corpse of their attacker, and Gearing is genuinely surprised to find out this individual was actually alone in the attack. He expected it to be the precursor or signal for a larger ambush. Possibly even intentionally done so they would go after him, and get suckered into an even worse ambush. But, no, there’s no trace of any other individual with this would be assassin.

Gearing stands there, surveying the scene as he reattaches the silencer to his rifle. He catches eye contact with Swift enough to see her raised eyebrow. “As long as he could see and hear my gun shooting at him, he’d be focused on me and not the silly filly running around the block after him.” He gives a wide grin as she gives him a light snort in response.

Swift looks at Pharynx as he’s busy sniffing at the body at her hooves. She reaches over with her forehooves, grabs him with one, and yanks him into an oppressive hug, grateful to see him alive. She doesn’t care that it’s not one of hers. Seeing foals die is something a mother never wants to experience. Theirs or not.

Gearing starts sorting through the stallion’s gear, stripping them of absolutely everything, as he asks, “You okay over there?”

Swift nods and looks at him while still holding Pharynx to her. “Yes. Thanks… Nice shot by the way… You’re sure you’re ‘just a technician’?”

Gearing grins at her and only partially answers, “I do know what I’m good at, and I’m good at what I do know.” He roots around in the pile he’s accumulated as he asks, “Any idea who this clown is? Can’t be a raider by himself.”

Swift rummages through the stallion’s ratty saddle bag and finds some notes. Her eyes shoot to their max size as she huffs, “Gunners… he’s a damn Gunner!”

Gearing raises an eyebrow and asks, “Like the guys that I gassed? Great… Who’s he after? Couldn’t be the kid he’s been stuck in a maintenance hatch too long for that to be the case.”

Swift holds up the note and reads it again as she gets a sour expression on her face. “Kill the target as quickly as possible… We won’t stand for one of our kind dishonoring the rest of us by sleeping with ghoul creatures…” She stows it in her bag as she comments, “It’s in Suncat… they’re after Nahlah.” She looks at Gearing and stares daggers. “There’s someone else out here that needs to be killed, it seems.”

“Just add them to the list.” Gearing shrugs. “Seems like everyone’s after us for one reason or another… Find anything useful? What about that rifle he was using, it any good?”

Swift shakes her head and passes over the rifle that the Gunner had been using. “Well, I don’t need it; see what you think of it.”

Gearing takes it and starts going over it carefully like only a skilled technician can. “This is a very nice weapon… A G11 sniper variant… custom job… Large ammo capacity… but… he didn’t have a lot of ammo with him.” He gathers up the brass that was fired and realizes the Gunner only had about a dozen rounds to work with once he got here. He looks over everything this Gunner has, the condition of his equipment, and the Gunner himself.

Tick. Tick. CLICK.

This Gunner’s been through a lot just to get here, Gearing realizes. Given what he does have, especially such a sad state of supplies, there’s a possibility that he wasn’t alone on this contract. Not originally anyway. The rest of his comrades must have fell victim to some karmedic act upon them along the way. There’s a possibility that the shots he’d taken were simply trying to get supplies from them to carry on his mission, and they don’t actually know Nahlah’s there, only that she was last seen in this general direction… So it’d be best if they thought all of the team was destroyed by the random violence apparently so common in the wastes of Equestria.

Swift packs up and stows the combat armor that did absolutely nothing to protect the Gunner from Gearing’s well placed shots as she thinks about giving it to Handy when they get back. It’s an exceptionally good suit in great repair and she can’t think of anypony else she’d rather have wearing this.

Between the two they do a proper job of vulturing the corpse of anything they deem usable and worth the pack space. But, before they leave, Gearing asks, “That all you want?” Swift gives a solid nod then watches as Gearing scoops everything else up into the ripped plaid clothes the Gunner had been wearing under the combat armor. He scoots the body over to the edge, then unceremoniously kicks the corpse down the rubble into a crevice below made by the collapsed concrete. “Let the radroaches have’em,” Gearing comments with a snort.

As they continue their journey, Gearing grabs the items they’d decided they didn’t want, carefully tied up in the plaid harness like a lunch box, and looks around at his surroundings as he goes.

Swift gives the body one final look, wondering what Gearing has planned and who he really is before trotting off with him. Gearing is a puzzle she has yet to figure out. His skills and interests seem to be as varied as his swift mood swings. Swinging from benevolent and caring, to passing out murder and death like they’re drinks at the Grand Galloping Gala. Admittedly with justifiable cause for each incidence of the later. The more she learns about him, the more she likes. Though, he’s still an unknown variable in her life and with that comes a good amount of hesitation.

After they’ve traveled a distance, Gearing trots over to another pile of rubble. He crams the plaid package of items to discard into a gap, stuffing it in as far as he can, before turning around and knocking over a bit of rubble and concrete on top of the hole with a well placed buck.

As he’s walking back to the group, he notices Swift’s raised eyebrow and offers, “This way, even if they find the body, they’ll just think some bandits got him… We don’t want to be carrying all of his gear, a bit too obvious.”

Swift bobs her head around then nods agreement. Logical enough for her.

They continue on in a route that Gearing notices will make them avoid the area of excitement the day prior. He remains notably silent on that tidbit of information as they continue on. He’s unsure if Swift is either unaware of that small collection of buildings, or she knows about it and knows enough to avoid it. Either way it’s an area he’d like to avoid for a little while, if possible, given the questions and concerns it may raise. Yet, due to whatever intervention of the fates, they don’t run into any more opposition along the way. Not even a wayward radroach or mantis. Though that is a mixed blessing given one of the primary goals of this excursion is gathering food while on this trip.

However, as they continue on their trek to Megamac, they spot an approaching caravan coming from the other direction with a pair of wagons and at least a few of them give the impression of being guards with their weapons easily within reach and wary eyes. They give it a wide berth and try to stay decidedly out of its way as both groups eye each other.

The blue pegasus in Gearing’s head bops him on the head repeatedly as it points at the mutated two headed cow creatures pulling the wagons. He’d learned from the children that the one they acquired from the Gunners was called a Brahmin. But he had a hard time believing it wasn’t some unique mutation. But here, before his very eyes, are two more identically mutated specimens.

After they’ve already passed Swift breathes a sigh of relief and says, “Just a trade caravan.”

Gearing looks back and forth between her and the caravan then asks softly, “Well… we are looking for things… think they might have what we need?”

Swift looks back and forth then raises a hoof high in the air as she yells, “Whoa! Hey! Caravanners!”

The lead caravanner walks around from the other side of the caravan and halts its progression. Her appearance around the front with her wide smile and friendly hoof wave also puts a halt to Gearing’s progress towards them. Ever so slightly.

For a moment, he froze in place, completely locked up. The filly, he’s pretty sure it’s a filly, has patches of her pelt missing, okay all of the coat, the other missing parts seem to be sloughing off in red blots and necrotic grey fleshy bits. Her pink mane and tail had seen better days, and a much higher thread count before whatever form of dashed up mange struck her. She’s sporting a dark colored, and well worn, jacket that has a full pistol holder over it. Though, one of the things that strikes him the most, is what is folded at the sides of them. If he’s right, those are wings. Well, what’s left of them. He’s seen similar on a pegasus that had survived a fireblast before. All of the hair and feathers scorched off and what remained was a crackly red mess. But the damage to these wings, assuming they were wings, was caused by something else. They’re intact. Mostly. They just look like a sad bastardization of what a pegasus would glide around with. Like some story cruel parents might use to keep their kids in line. ‘Be good little foals or your wings will turn into this!’

Tick. Tick. CLICK.

The trotting dead. That’s how Handy had described ghouls. And as bad as that description had been, the reality of the matter was far worse. And if this wasn’t a ghoul, he’d hate to see what a ghoul was after seeing this.

The ghoul pegasus asks, with a rough voice that sounds to Gearing like somepony that’d been chain-smoking cheap unfiltered cigarettes for a few centuries, “Well hey there smooth coat. What can we do ya for?”

Swift sits down a little distance away and motions towards the wagons. “Are you just transporting, or are you willing to sell to individuals?”

The ghoul shrugs. “Caps are caps, smooth coat. What are ya looking for?”

Swift tilts her head and asks, “What do ya got?”

The ghoul grins a mostly toothy grin, though instead of pearly whites they look more like stained sadness. She looks back over at the others in her group, one of which rolls their eyes and shakes their head. The ghoul bucks the nearby wagon with a hind hoof, and the side springs open into a little stall as she breaks into an overly rehearsed sales pitchy song.

She hops up on her hind legs and spins around as she starts pointing out various items, “Got some of this, got some of that-” She leaps back towards the next wagon and waves her front hooves as she says, “even got a room in the back, if ya wanna tap that-” And motions with both hooves towards a gussied up light pink earth pony mare with a faux flower decoration in her mane who gives a wink and blows a kiss at them.

Before the ghoul can get any further Gearing waves his forehooves in the air and screams out, “Whoa now! Just needing supplies, none of that!”

The ghoul stops and half frowns as her forehooves droop down to the ground. She obviously enjoys the bit, though the other members of the caravan seem thankful that someone put an early stop to it. This time.

The ghoul walks over towards him, examining him closely as she approaches. “Well, like what?”

Gearing pulls out his charts and scraps of paper from his saddle bags. He sorts through them one at a time, consulting his PipBuck regularly, as he starts going through the entire list of everything he needs for the various projects he’s working on. After a while, and actually not finding as much as he’d like, the ghoul asks, “How you paying for all this, anyway?”

It’s at this unfortunate point that one of the caravan unicorn stallions decides to check his shotgun, whether out of boredom or trying to look intimidating none can tell, as he racks a new round.

Swift’s ears twitch at the sound of the shotgun cocking and glares right at him as she says, “You know… it is not necessary to try and intimidate paying customers. If that barrel starts moving in this direction… so help me…”

The stallion in question smiles crookedly, nervously, as Swift’s dagger stare suddenly becomes more frightening than the gun he’s holding aloft in front of himself with his own levitation glow. The barrel end droops until it’s pointed at the ground and he stands there looking like a foal getting scolded after getting caught with their hoof in the cookie jar.

The ghoul looks back and forth between the two then just rolls her eyes as she lets out a sigh. “Don’t worry none about him. He’s just an idjit.”

Gearing pulls some of the spare gear and items he’s accumulated and sets them out. He also pulls out one of the bomb collars he’d taken off the children. An idea strikes him, and he thinks it might be morally questionable, but, hey, business is business. And there’s nothing wrong with a little innocent flirting, as long as it ends there or he might end up hurting Sable. But, given her current appearance, she probably doesn’t get that kind of attention very often, and might appreciate it.

So, Gearing turns on the charm, irresponsibly so. Fluffing up and out his wings, catching what light the dismal sky was willing to let through, and making sure to give her a good profile view of his smile as he asks, “Hey there… So, I’m not really a fan of these things, but I’m sure a…” he eyes her up and down, intentionally taking a while so she can ‘catch’ his leering eyes crawling their way over her, “resourceful, intelligent, young businessfilly like yourself can make a tidy profit off these.” He stretches his wings out casually, but catches the light as he makes himself shine just that bit much more. He gives her the once-over again, this time ending with a hard eye contact, that he uses to give a very suggestive wink.

The ghoul can’t help but notice the obvious flirting attempt, and, actually, plays along with it. She shimmies her shoulders and gives her flank a little shake. “Ouuu you got my filly bits all aquiver there, metal sides.”

Gearing grins again and gives a quick eyebrow wiggle, but before he can say anything Swift leans over and asks, not terribly quietly either, “Couldn’t you use those for some improvised mines or something? Sure you really wanna get rid of them?”

Gearing nods as he sets them down. “Of course I could. I already thought about that… but there’s things I need and these have a decently high value as they are… If I can get what I need with them, then good riddance.”

Gearing slides over to the ghoul and they sit face to face, talking as they go through the back and forth of haggling over the materials.

Swift is moderately impressed by the display, if not also mildly disturbed by it for a variety of reasons.

After they had come to a general agreement to the relative value of goods, Gearing does what Swift wasn’t quite expecting, and it draws the majority of her attention as he practically offers himself to sweeten the deal.

“…Ma’am, I can promise you that you haven’t seen anything like my talents-” He pauses then purses his lips as he thinks a moment before finishing his sentence. He remembers a bit he’d heard about ghouls not aging after being changed, and it’s pretty much impossible to tell their age afterwards. “Pardon, but, how old are you?”

She bats her eyes at him and demurely holds a hoof to her mouth as she turns her head and replies, “It’s not polite to ask a filly her age, you know.”

He folds a wing down in front of him and gives a deep bow before he rises again and gives her a grin. “Sorry. I only ask because you’re a ghoul, so I’d thought that there might be a good possibility that you were alive prewar, and thus you would completely understand my value as a certified Stable-Tec technician.” He reaches back and rubs a hoof through his mane as he says sheepishly, “Admittedly I’m rather prideful of the fact, but I assure you it’s well earned and deserved. You’re getting a bargain for not just getting A technician’s time, but my time.” He leans forward and winks as he says, “And oh yes, there’s a big difference in value.”

She looks him over and gives him a coy grin. “Oh, I agree entirely. I believe it, especially from Stable-Tec’s technician of the month.”

His eyes practically twinkle as he looks at her, and gives a strong affirmative nod. The comment only striking him on a cursory level as true, but not deep enough to ask the most important question this comment should have posed. Namely how was it possible that anypony in this current world could have known he’d made technician of the month from Stable-Tec, which was really saying something considering how big the company as a whole had been. If nothing else, he’d not even given his name.

They turn over their agreed on supplies, with Gearing managing to get rid of the slave collars, except for that faulty one he’d already used as part of a trap, among other things taking up space in his pack and getting a variety of scrap electronics that he has a decent idea of cannibalizing for what he truly needs, along with a sack of caps and few rounds of ammunition, even some for his new-to-him G11.

As Gearing is stowing these items into his saddle bags the ghoul wraps up a cloth package using the front seat of one of the wagons. She walks by and drops it in front of him, pausing long enough to catch eye contact with him and fluttering her eyes. “Here’s a bit of something extra for you.” She waves a hoof in the air signaling the conclusion of business and points away the way they’d been going and they all start to leave.

Gearing looks at the package at his hooves for a moment, tilting his head continuously ever so slowly as he looks at it. He calls out after her, “Hey, didn’t you say you needed me to fix something?”

She continues walking, but she looks over her shoulder at him and gives him a soft warm smile. “You already have.”

He’s a bit confused as he looks at the package and, as they are leaving, he wraps his wings around himself and it as he sits down, like a raptor hiding it’s prey, as he unwraps and looks at the surprise. Inside he finds a Stealth Buck, and an attachment for his old model PipBuck. After a quick examination he realizes it’s an external broadcaster module, and will solve many of the problems he’s had brewing on his mind, and the reason he was asking for a lot of the components he was asking for. He quickly stows the gift in his saddle bag as he runs after them. He catches enough wind to take flight then lands next to the ghoul at a canter pace. She stops and turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow, or what was left of what used to be the area that had an eyebrow.

Gearing hands her a slip of paper and smiles. “If you ever need the services of someone like me… here’s how to get hold of me.”

The ghouls takes it and carefully stows it in her jacket. “Oh, I’ll be taking you up on that, don’t you worry.” She gives him another smile and a wink.

He flashes her his over the top grin again before turning to head back to Swift.

She giggles and shakes her head as she turns to leave and comments, “You are a glorious bastard.”

Gearing starts strutting a bit and exaggeratedly walking with each word as he replies, “Oh. Yes. I. Am.”

The trio regroups, with Swift having to foalsit the whole time they were bartering as Pharynx kept hopping around and wanting to wander off and look at practically everything. They continue on their way towards the town Swift had mentioned might have some salvage, with Swift slightly in the lead, as they remain wary of their surroundings.

As they’re going, and not really having any judgment on how far they may be traveling, Gearing comments, “If you guys need a break, make sure to let me know. I can literally go non stop, but I understand you’ll eventually need a pitstop. So don’t try and tough it out, just say something.”

Swift waves it away with a hoof. “Don’t worry, I will. I’m not going to march myself to death. But that’s not going to be for a long while.”

Gearing nods and says, “That goes for you too, little one.” A moment later his side and back plates tink with the sounds of small impacts. He turns his head to look at what he feels land on him and sees Pharynx riding between his saddle bags with a giant grin on his face. Gearing grins widely at him then turns back to look where he’s going as he says, “That works too!”

Swift snickers and shakes her head. “Well, that’s one way to keep up pace.”

Gearing waves a hoof then motions towards Pharynx. “If your hooves get to bothering you, you can ride on me if you want.”

Swift missteps a few times as her eyes go wide. Her walking goes out of rhythm for a moment as she looks at him. “What?! No way!”

He nods back towards Pharynx as he says, “Oh you’re not that heavy… I could take you, him, and all of our packs together, and it wouldn’t even slow me down.”

Swift’s mind flashes to the gossipy talk that Scarlet initiated in the Medical bay, and how it nearly broke Scarlet’s brain. She also remembers how more than eager Sable was to chime in and give all the juicy details. Though Swift has extreme doubts on if Gearing knew about all of that. But, letting her ride him? Phrasing!

The little pony’s voice in her head repeats, Could be fun.

“Oh hell no!” Swift blurts out as she picks up the pace and starts motoring away. “Nope. Nope. No. No, thank you. I can carry myself on my own four hooves.”

Gearing yells after her, “Hey, come on! I’m strong but I’m not exactly fast at anything, slow down would ya?”

Another conversation pops into her head regarding Gearing and Sable’s apparent marathon sessions. Swift shakes her head rapidly and flushes as she yells out, more to the pony in her own head as the context difference is horrible, and never to be explained, “Oh Gaaaawwwd! Just shut up!”

Gearing shakes his head before looking back at Pharynx, who’s lounging lazily sideways over Gearing’s back at this point. “The hell’s up with her?”

Pharynx raises his forehooves up and to the side before lazily letting them droop back down at Gearing’s side. “Beats me. You’ve known her longer than I have.”

Footnote: Internal component 01 not responding. . .

Internal component 02 not responding. . .

Internal component 03 not responding. . .

Progress continues with the over all story, with this chapter giving some clues that there's more to the little red foal than meets the eye. This posting schedule is rough! But, with help, I'm managing thus far.

-Quillsy