Author's note: mass production as we know it today relies on several technical innovations that are, by the standards of civilization, very new. The most important are interchangeable parts, and division of labor (put them together and you get the assembly line). What if you don't have them? Specialization goes away, meaning things are more expensive, and much harder. You return to a world where the difference between artisans and journeymen is enormous and maintenance is a nightmare.

This is one of the ironies are the great doctors of 200X. They had such a high level of artisanship that they were able to create a magnificent variety of one-off products. This didn't lend itself to mass production. The result: masters are almost exclusively one-of-ones, and there's a massive gap between Light/Wily Numbers and run-of-the-mill masters. (It took Wily intervention to make the Sixth and Eighth Numbers worthy opponents).

This pattern seems to continue in 21XX. We see mechaniloids being produced in factories in several places. Not reploids, though. Evidence of reploid mass production is rare—the only example that comes to mind is X4's cinematics, which show us some largely-identical rank-and-file reploids. Even then, the in-game reploids are all unique. Not until MMZ do we see large-scale mass production in evidence, and those reploids are of very low quality.

What I'm trying to get at with all of this is: it must be a hard life being a mechanic in 21XX.

"Maintenance checks are done, boss!"

"We're ready! C'mon, you promised!"

Douglas sighed and looked over the two junior armorers who were on-duty for his shift. They were still learning, so they didn't have full command of the things Hunter armorers needed to know. They could only work on some systems; they were several months away from being ready to stand on their own. That left the rest of the work, the hardest of the work, for Douglas.

He could train them on those things specifically, even if it was beyond them. That would extend how long it took to do this job and blow his time requirements. Or, he could train them in principles, not just on how to do this or that procedure but on how to be an armorer. He could get them doing other work that needed to be done, and get them out of his way while he did the hard stuff—so that when it was time to teach them the hard stuff, it wouldn't be hard anymore.

Simple choice.

They looked so eager! Douglas liked to affect grouchiness, but it couldn't stick, not in front of that. Ah, to be a newbuilt again… not really, Douglas knew the folly there. Still, they were invigorating. They had no idea what they were getting into. "Alright," he said, "you ready for your challenge?"

"Yeah!" they both replied.

Douglas rubbed his hands together. "Here we go. We've got three new Hunters joining us. Your jobs are to prepare their recharge tubes for them."

A pout of disappointment might have been their response, but the armorers knew better than that. That was part one of the problem description. Part two was coming. They could barely contain themselves.

"The first two are standard models," Douglas said, drawing it out. "No individualized qualities or after-market addons. Just a gee-are-twenty-two, no mods, and a you-are-aye-thirty with the enhanced self-repair package."

"That doesn't change anything," said one of the armorers, unable to help himself. "They can get standard… ouch!"

"Shut up!" said the other junior armorer, elbowing his comrade.

So they saw through his ruse. Douglas grinned. "But the third one… heh, the third is special." He leaned back. "The third one… is a custom, one-off feraloid."

Instantly the two junior armorers were taking notes—one was working on a sketchpad, the other had raced to a terminal and was banging away at the keyboard.

"One-point-seven meters tall!" Douglas rattled off. "Point nine meters in breadth! One-thirty-five kilos in weight! Exotic materials composition cee! Twenty percent increased power capacity! Cold weather preference! Amphibious! Hands two centimeters diameter larger than forearms!"

That caught them. "Are you sure?" asked one of the trainees. The great majority of reploids had bulging forearms and comparatively slim hands, in the mode of X—though almost no reploids had X's hand-replacing busters.

"I'm sure, I've got the specs right here! No, you can't see them," Douglas added before the armorers came running. "You have to go with what I've told you. Some of it's useful, some of it's not. I want your designs for tubes for all three of them, with whatever mods you think are appropriate, in one hour. I'll grade them based on appropriateness, space-weight-cooling considerations, and ease of build. The ones that score highest, we'll build together after I'm done with this overhaul. Your timer starts…" he smacked an antique alarm clock on his workbench, "…now!"

Immediately the junior armorers scurried off. Douglas grinned to himself. An hour would give him enough time to finish his current tasks and get them signed off before the equipment needed to be used. After that he could relax—relaxing, in this case, meaning putting the trainees through their paces.

The sooner they learned how to deal with the many, many unique models the Hunters sported, the better. Exercises like this forced them to innovate and adapt on the fly. It was the closest they'd get to wartime outside of, well, wartime.

Ah, wartime, Douglas thought idly as he continued his job. It was the activity that fully justified the work he put in, and also completely ruined the work he put in. It vindicated and thwarted him simultaneously. Really, that was just a fast-forwarding of the normal course of things. He could build any number of splendid artifacts. Then he had to hand them over to the field Hunters to actually use the blasted things, and before he knew it, they were ruined and needing replacement or mangled and needing overhaul. Again.

But what were tools and weapons and armor for if not to be used? A ship in port is safe, but that's not what a ship is for. No. Better to lean into it. Embrace it. Hello entropy my old friend…

Now that was a song he'd always liked. Humming absent-mindedly, he set about putting the finishing touches on his latest sacrifice.

"Douglas!"

"What?" he shouted, affecting grouchiness again without looking up.

"Does the electrical supply coming into the room count as part of the design?"

Douglas frowned. Why was he asking… oh. The increased power requirements. Douglas grinned. "Tell me, Bert—do you wanna rewire the whole Hunter Base?"

The marker slipped out of the junior armorer's hand. "No sir!"

"I didn't think so. My teacher always told me, Don't walk across the street to get your butt kicked—and you'd better remember that, too. Do everything you can in the areas you can control. Don't sweat what you can't. Got it?"

"Got it," said Bert dubiously. "But then… how am I gonna…"

"Figure it out!"

"Yes sir," he muttered.

"Newbuilts," Douglas muttered, and grinned. "Father of Mechanics help us."

"Who's that?"

"What?"

"Who's the Father of Mechanics?"

"Light, of course, who else?"

"Well… how's he gonna help us?"

Douglas glared at the junior armorer. "No one's gonna help you if you're not done with your design in forty-five minutes."

Bert yelped. "On it, sir!"

"You'd better be," said Douglas, his own gaze dropping once more. "Before I start thinking of what else I can use your armor for."

"You don't mean that."

"What?" His head snapped up.

The junior armorer looked like he was trying hard to wear a brave face. "One of the other armorers…"

"Jonesy, wasn't it?" Douglas grumped.

"Er…" Bert hesitated. (Yup, Douglas thought. Jonesy for sure.) "…whoever it was… they said you make that threat all the time… but you never mean it."

"Well, you found me out," said Douglas. "If I bashed you up, then I'd have to help fix you. It's more trouble than it's worth."

"J—he—said it wasn't that. He said you're just a hugger."

Douglas tried to glare. It didn't go well.

"Sir… what's a hugger?"

Douglas chuckled. Newbuilts. Too young, not enough human interactions yet, to know what a hug was, let alone a hugger. "Let's just say if this alarm goes off and you're not done with your design, you may never find out."

The newbuilt smiled slyly. "And if I go over a few minutes because I want to do a good job?"

Douglas could not maintain his veneer. "You'd better hope it's a very, very good job," he said, but there was no threat in his voice.

"Yes, sir," said the junior armorer, and he grinned before turning away.

Some people, Douglas decided, just weren't cut out to be hardasses. Especially those who weren't clear on the concept of 'ass'.

He returned to his work with a smile.