“Aw, c’mon, just let me take a look at ‘em.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re too dangerous, Void.” Kid Win stood there with his hands on his hips. “Or did you forget that they exploded and nearly blew your spine out your belly button?”

  It was an unusual situation, Kid Win reflected to himself. To say the least. After months of working with or rather under the thumb of both the anal retentive Armsmaster and the paranoid PRT, he never imagined he would be put in the role of the obstructing authority figure. But here he was, trying to be the reasonable one and keep a rookie teammate from doing something rash with tinkertech. The fact that he was a small fourlegged pony dressed like a disco cowboy was almost gilding the lily. Armsmaster had insisted, though; he wanted someone to give the pony a tour of a running tinker workshop, see if Void Cowboy showed any actual signs of Tinker ability.

  “No, I have not forgotten, duh,” Void Cowboy said, scowling up at him. “I wanna see what went wrong and maybe FIX it.” He pawed a hoof in agitation. “I’ve been going over the math and the internal layouts in my head, and I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure I know how to fix it.”

  Kid Win felt a chill run down his spine when he heard that. Glibly talking about going over mechanical layouts in one’s head was a pretty early red flag for someone being a Tinker. That and being obsessed with, well, tinkering with things-- and Void Cowboy had been whining to get in this room and get his hooves on his stuff (he’d refused to relinquish ownership the gunbelt to the PRT, much to the aggravation and frustration of Director Piggot and others).

  Well, he decided. Armsmaster did want to evaluate him for Tinker abilities… no idea why they didn’t do this in powers testing… “Fine,” he said. “Wait here. And don’t touch anything.”

  “Fine, fine...”

  Kid Win left the workshop and retrieved the ruined gunbelt from one of the security lockers (they hadn’t been able to talk Void Cowboy into giving the tinkertech up, but they had been able to insist it be kept under lock and key “until such time as it had been repaired, evaluated and approved.”) As he walked back he reflected on the newest member of the Wards. He had to admit that they were giving the cowboy colt a little bit of a harder time than they had Ladybird. But the new guy could be so… abrasive. Not mean or deliberately, he was just… so…

  He mulled over the thought as he carried the guns back to the workshop. He set the open box down in front of the eager pony and stepped back. “It’s all yours,” he said. “-- I took out the power source for safety...”

  Void Cowboy had already hopped up on a workstool and was nosing through the parts. “Yeah, you did,” he said. He flinched back as something sparked. “Yee! But you forgot to bleed the tertiary capacitors...”

  “The what?”

  Void had dumped the box out on the table and was looking about. “Yeah, to get a monopole energy node to launch as a projectile you need a dual-phased cascade array-- sort of like a railgun but with certain harmonics that-- um, do you have an electric screwdriver? It’s kind of hard to turn a regular one in your hooves...”

  Kid Win felt his brain go numb. As the next hour crawled by and Void Cowboy prattled on, and Kid found himself serving as an extra pair of hands (or at least opposable thumbs), the pony nerd proceeded to rebuild… and vastly improve… the gunbelt…

  “Improved it?” Armsmaster interrupted the retelling.

  Kid Win mussed his own hair. “Yeah. He solved the overheating problem--- threw a real fit over that; he said there were wiring mistakes, they caused the power conduits to push feedback through the circuity somehow every time the trigger was pulled. He said it almost looked like someone sabotaged the thing to do just that...” He shook his head. “Then he proceeded to loot every box of spare parts I had, upgrading the thing. Added controls for variable power, rate of fire, shock effect verses kinetic kickback-- he increased the life of the power supply, rearranged the forcefield array so that it remained partially up when firing, added thermal exchangers...” He shrugged. “The testing guys are freaking out over it. But that’s not all.” He paused meaningfully.

  “… Continue,” Armsmaster said.

  “I could see he was on a real Tinkering tear, maybe even halfway into a fugue. So I just stuck whatever I had handy under his hooves to keep him busy.” Armsmaster nodded in understanding. “Well, it kept him busy all right. All that stuff he did to his gunbelt? He did the same thing for my own lightpistols,” Kid Win said sourly. “’Hey, no problem,’ He says. Even though my guns operate on entirely different principles than his. Or I thought they did--” He slouched in his seat. “Then he fixed up my hoverboard. Then he added a partial forcefield belt to my uniform. Then he upgraded the multi-phasic--”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Armsmaster motioned for him to stop. “You mean he repaired… and improved… another person’s tinkertech, namely yours?”

  Kid Win nodded. “And it looks like it’s all replicable,” he added. Armsmaster actually started. “The testers looked at the work, and the notes he wrote out… it’s all standard physics and electronics, no ‘black box’ components, nothing exotic or physics-bending at all. They said they could start mass-producing the pistol-and-shield combo tomorrow if some of the components weren’t so darned expensive.”

  Armsmaster paused. “How did he write the notes?” he wondered aloud.

  “Pencil in his teeth,” Kid Win said, distracted. “I downloaded a circuit-drawing app to his tablet, should make it easier for him next time.” He didn’t notice the look Armsmaster gave him. He was too busy contemplating the oddly disgruntled feeling he was nursing...

  “Subsequent testing with various tinkertech, ah, liberated from the evidence bins showed this was more than a fluke,” Armsmaster said. “Regardless of its origin or maker, Void Cowboy was able to repair, refit, and in several cases improve on the original in some fashion. Moreover the repairs and upgrades were understandable to non-cape technicians and engineers, and could be replicated with, for lack of a better phrase, mundane technology.”

  “Like Dragon,” Piggot suggested. The reclusive Canadian tinker was, after all, best known for taking tinkertech and managing to extract actual replicable technology from it, even mass-marketing some of it.

  “Not exactly,” Armsmaster hedged. “While Dragon has had more luck in deriving replicable technology from tinkertech, there’s a rather high dross-to-gold ratio. Generally she’s lucky if she can extract something useful from some of the components, or extrapolate something from the device’s operating procedure. Void Cowboy can take any piece of tinkertech and make it not only work again but make it more functional and reliable-- with baseline technology.”

  “Thereby making it, at least partially, possible to reverse engineer,” Piggot concluded for him. She sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. “This is going to set the cat among the pigeons,” she groaned. “We’ve just basically had the golden goose dropped in our laps-- the ultimate Tinker. A tinker who can make all the mechanical wonders-- and horrors-- of all the other Tinkers in the world, in a mass-production ready form to boot--”

  “Not quite the case, Director,” Armsmaster interjected. “Not… exactly. He does seem to have a pretty constricting limitation.”

  Piggot looked at him through her fingers. “What? Let me guess-- everything he builds has to be gold-plated. Or has to be powered by peanut butter. Or eats human souls. Well. What is it?”

  Armsmaster gave her what she was sure was an aggrieved look, if she had any guess what was behind the visor of his helmet. “He can repair just about any tinkertech we put in front of him, but when he tries to create anything new, from scratch...” He gave something passing for a shrug. “I am uncertain whether it is a hard limit on his power or a simple case of creative block, but he simply can’t. His ideas are either innately unfeasible-- and for a Tinker, that’s saying something-- or his attempts at design spiral out of control; feature creep, over-engineering, under-engineering, ergodynamic failings-- as Dragon put it when she saw his attempts at ‘inventing something new,’ if he were to invent a countertop kitchen blender it would be eight feet tall, have a diesel engine, eighteen control levers, half of which were facing backwards, and an off switch on the inside.”

  Piggot couldn’t help but snort at that. “So he can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, but someone else has to provide the ear, first,” she summarized. “I’ll admit to feeling relieved at that.” She frowned. “Still, it’s yet another thing to add to the pile.” She didn’t have to belabor the point; it was well known how coveted tinkers were by gangs and other, were it possible, less savory organizations. It would make the colt a target-- and by proxy, Ladybird would be one as well. Not entirely logical, but criminal organizations weren’t noted for being long on reasoning. “I assume you’re keeping both Ladybird and Void Cowboy on rotation with the other Wards for the immediate future?”

  “And with the members of the Protectorate,” Armsmaster agreed. “At least until we have their presence as teammates solidly established in the public mind.” It was standard policy, especially with any Wards with a Tinker rating. The higher ups wanted it firmly established and continually reinforced that the younger Capes in the organization were under the aegis of both the Protectorate and the PRT, and that both organizations would come down hobnailed boots first on anyone who messed with a Ward.

  Armsmaster nodded. He looked up and to the side, presumably consulting something scrolling down the inside of his visor. “I’ve made it a general policy for all the Wards to ‘ride along’ with a member of the Protectorate from now on--”

  “Hopefully couched in terms that the Youth Guard can choke down,” Piggot murmured.

  “-- the rotation schedule should be printing up on your computer now,” Armsmaster said. True to his word, the printer on her desk hummed to life and spat out a few laser printed pages. She picked up the papers and skimmed down the chart. “Assault and Battery should be up this week to escort Ladybird, and Triumph...”

  Piggot held up a hand, then ran a finger down the paper. “Actually, I’d like you to move the rotation up about… two months ahead,” she said.

  Armsmaster almost, but didn’t quite, flinch. “Ah, that would be Miss Militia’s week--”

  “And yours,” Piggot said pointedly. “Something I can see by a quick scan you put off for quite some time.” She raised an eyebrow. “But Battery is scheduled for a PR event out-of-town this week and Triumph and Assault are going up to New York for some specialized training. Plus, I think we should start this whole thing off with our two most prominent heroes running up the flag, taking the role of mentor to our newest Wards.” She lay the paper down and smiled dryly. “That would be Miss Militia, and you. I have Miss Militia in mind for Ladybird. Guess who that leaves.”

  Armsmaster grimaced. “Director Piggot, this is after all an internal Protectorate issue--”

  “And the Wards are, woe betide us all, the responsibility of the PRT,” Piggot said. “ Even the fourlegged ones. Just do it, Armsmaster.” Armsmaster’s lips became such a thin line they disappeared into his beard, but he sighed through his nose and nodded. “You might want to talk to the motor pool. I’m sure they can procure side cars for both your motorcycles.” Armsmaster genuinely grimaced at this, obviously imagining what a slapped-on sidecar would do to the sleek futuristic lines of his custom-made motorbike. “Oh, and make sure all Void Cowboy’s gear and his costume is through approval and he’s fully kitted out. We can’t have our newest Ward going out half-armed and half-assed, now can we.”

  Nodding curtly, Armsmaster turned and marched out. Piggot watched the door close behind him. Well, that was another problem… well, crudely bandaged anyway. What little she’d heard and seen of Void Cowboy suggested he was, incredibly, almost as socially inept as Armsmaster. Better to have them stuck together on patrols than to have two roaming points of potential P.R. disaster floating about Brockton Bay. They were both Tinkers, hopefully that would give them some common ground. Maybe they would even manage to keep one another out of trouble.

  Either that or it would lend itself to creating some interesting black comedy to liven up her day, she mused.