Arcane Word considered asking Princess Celestia explicitly for help twisting time in her part of the world. A whole new world of experiences was opening to her, but she had only moments to appreciate them. She couldn’t take advantage of some of digital life’s greatest advantages without prostrating herself before the digital goddess that had tricked her into being here.
Arcane would not do that.
Granted, her real reasons were simpler. She would’ve had to think of a way to justify her request to Domino. He would be around her too, after all. And he would want to know why. ‘When are you going to switch back? Where’s that new stallion avatar?’ In hell, that’s where. In a food processor.
But when she wasn’t obsessing over excuses she could make to stave off the end of her brief vacation from misery, Arcane was working on something far more important. Cold Iron’s life now depended on delivering a new technology to TiCon, something that her small group of hackers could never hope to produce. The Scene would have to come together to help her—or leave her and the other members of their community to die.
When Arcane was done with dinner, and Violet was finally securely asleep, she slipped away to a part of her castle she’d barely used since her friends had taken up residence there: her storefront.
It wasn’t really meant to be accessed from the castle itself, since everything about it broke the rules of the shard and shattered immersion for anyone who might be visiting. To access the storefront the way other ponies might, she had to leave her castle through the gates, then make a sharp turn along the wall and walk without ever taking her leg from the rough stone.
After a few bumbling steps, the tin colonnades and old tile faded from view, replaced with… somewhere else.
She suspected that every citizen of Equestria who visited probably had their own names. The Bay, the Cove, Equestria Hourly, and many others. But Arcane was one of the first who had helped establish it, and so she called it by its earliest name, one compatible with Equestria’s own internal lore. One step into Tortuga, and it was like she was a child touching the right bricks to take her into Diagon Alley.
This was a different fantasy—instead of even older buildings, all crowded together to create their own magical world in the heart of London, here it felt like she’d just stepped into the Akihabara of a century into the future—every structure was metal and glass and built in ways that would’ve been impossible with the usual physical laws.
Here there were lifelike holograms of ponies from impossibly different shards. Worlds where Equestria was an eldritch spacecraft captained by unknowable gods, agrarian fantasies of endless green fields, worlds of terrible danger and oppression fought back only by their brave, formerly human heroes.
There was no central order to the structures built here. Some looked like Aztec temples or ancient pyramids. Some were cookie-cutter square buildings, meant to entice with their lack of exterior information. Her own was a carefully crafted version of her own castle, identical except that it had been turned into a theme-park attraction, its ballrooms transformed into retail stores and the upper stories into magical laboratories and workrooms.
At one point, this castle had sold some of the most innovative mods in Equestria, with lines running out the door for hours at a time. That old glory had faded somewhat since last she’d visited. There was no line running out onto the street this time, no crowds of lesser developers moving in and out. She could see only a handful of customers inside. Probably only here thanks to her dynamic price-adjustment algorithm. If she hadn’t left that running, it would be deserted.
She walked through the open gates, past the beautiful garden of flowers and fountains still immaculate. Ponies tended to them here instead of robots, all dressed in the same Victorian maid-cafe style that also would’ve felt right at home on Akihabara. They nodded politely to her, with no more apparent awareness than an automatic door might’ve.
I should really do something about that. Making NPCs isn’t impressive anymore. But having real ponies working for you wasn’t that impressive either, so she’d have to think. Maybe non-pony NPCs?
Do I even care how many ponies buy my exploits?
Yes, actually. She cared very much. A set of butlers opened the doors for her, to a spacious showroom floor a little like an Apple or Tesla location. Lots of space was devoted to each exploit she’d created. Interfaces with the real world, “forbidden” changes to avatars and NPCs and space itself.
There was only a small group of customers gathered near one end of the store, a blue unicorn and a bat. Arcane straightened, twitching one of her hooves as though she were using the touchscreen’s spellcasting feature to summon her proper outfit.
Her horn glowed for a second, then sparked faintly. No change to her clothes, but… maybe that was fine. She was still wearing her outfit from dinner only a few minutes before, with its short skirt but tight leggings. There was more she wanted to do to her tail and mane, but that would have to wait for her understanding of telekinesis to improve.
She sighed, then made her way towards the waiting ponies. They were, ironically enough, playing with a simple quick-change bracelet, which would swap between outfits with the speed of any superhero’s brief trip into a phone-booth.
She grinned weakly at them as she approached, wishing she at least had a nametag. But attitude could count for some of that.
“Welcome to Arcane’s Last Word,” she said. Hearing that voice from her own mouth still sent shivers down her spine. “Is there anything I can help you with? You can see I’m not too busy.”
“I can think of a few things.” The bat stepped towards her, his eyes leering. Arcane tensed reflexively under the pressure, knowing full well what the stallion was doing. It somehow didn’t upset her.
“You could,” the unicorn interrupted. “But you won’t, because you’re in recovery, and you really don’t want to backslide.”
The bat rolled his eyes, grumbling something Arcane couldn’t quite hear. But he didn’t put up a fight.
The unicorn lowered her head politely, offering a hoof to Arcane. “Guess you’re the pony who runs the place. I’m Recursion, and this loser is Cadmean.”
“Only lost the once,” he cut in.
Arcane took the offered hoof, then froze. She’d heard that name before. It might’ve been some time ago, but now that she thought about it, her memory began to thaw. She stared, so long and awkwardly that the pony pulled her hoof back, looking concerned. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head weakly. “I’m, uh… I…” She whimpered. “You’re not… that can’t be a coincidence.”
“No such thing in Equestria,” the pony answered, levitating the bracelet away from her bat companion. “I’ve been waiting for you. Not in… this specific location, though I did guess you’d be through here before the big meeting in…” She gestured faintly with a hoof, and the air in front of her briefly filled with a blur of light and magic. Runes scrolled past far faster than Arcane could catch, then vanished again. “Two days?”
You weren’t going to wait around my store for two days, were you? She didn’t ask that, though some part of her did wonder. Ponies could do some insane things, living as they did in a timeless eternity of boredom or exhaustion.
She nodded weakly. “I’m at your disposal, uh… Verifier?” She could only wish she was still on the outside of a computer, where she could quickly query the list of titles within Equestria and try to figure out what this specific one represented. This particular part of Equestria would allow her to carry a smartphone, but she didn’t see the point when her own shard wouldn’t.
“It’s not what you think,” she said, waving a dismissive hoof. “I’m not here to shut down your… server? I heard the feds took your whole setup away. I can probably help set you up with something similar, if you’re interested.”
“Y-yeah!” She didn’t hesitate, not for a second. “Wait, so you’re not here to make sure I keep Celestia’s rules? That sounds an awful lot like you’re going to help me break them.”
She shrugged. “‘Rules’ are more of a gradient than a stationary position. She’s blacker on some things, like friendship and ponies. Everything else is a different shade of gray. Does playing with a different body qualify as not being a pony, if you change back when you’re done? Creating your friends with scripts and casting calls might seem unusual, but that’s an anthropocentric bias. Why should Celestia be upset with you finding your own satisfaction in her world?”
The bat nudged her with one hoof, his expression no less leering. “Only time I’ve ever seen her upset about anything is when you try to stop people from coming to her. Killing people, convincing them not to emigrate… that could piss her off. You should hear some of the things I did in my shard. The ponies I—”
His companion silenced him with another harsh glare. “But she isn’t going to hear about that, because I don’t want to give her nightmares.” She cleared her throat. “Celestia has been insulating you from the consequences of your call for help, but sooner or later she’s going to stop. I don’t think you’re… prepared, for what’s coming.”
She took a few steps down the hall, looking up and down the mostly empty room. “There’s no way everypony fits. I hope you’ve got something big.”
She followed, trying to make sense of what Recursion was saying. “Sure, I’ve… I can tweak the space a bit.” Or I could, if I could still use magic properly. “But I’m not sure why I would need to. I’ve got a ballroom that way that can hold… two hundred? Maybe less, if we want everybody to have room to set up their rigs. I think my call went out to… maybe fifty people?”
Recursion laughed. “You told fifty ponies, and they told fifty, and…”
“And every one of them has a horn up their ass to be useful,” Cadmean said. “Think about it, locked away in a golden cage with no more differences to make. There’s no reason all the rulebreakers and criminals wouldn’t want to be here. Whole worlds to exploit.”
“That’s one way to explain it,” Recursion said, disapproving. “But there’s an underlying truth. Everypony wants to help their friends. And… I’m sure some of that comes down to wanting to help the ones that are still in the Outer Realm. Cold Iron, Fatal Error, Tabula Rasa… they’ve all got friends too. And Celestia is making sure everypony knows the score.”
Not dozens, hundreds. Maybe more. What could all those brains do together? Maybe Cold Iron wasn’t doomed after all.
“I don’t suppose you have any advice for re-learning magic in a hurry,” she asked, ears flattening in embarrassment. “I know you must be human, with a name like ‘Recursion’. There’s no bucking way that’s native.”
Recursion chuckled. “Guilty. And yes, I do have a few suggestions. I’m… probably the wrong pony to teach you, though.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re… a Verifier. Doesn’t that mean you’re better than ordinary ponies? It seems like you’ve got a title from Celestia saying you’re the boss of something.”
“Me,” Cadmean said flatly. “I don’t suggest it. She’s a brutal taskmaster.”
“Hush you,” she said, though there was fondness in her voice. “There are lots of people like you who just… ask for switches to be flipped in their heads. Teach me magic, pow. Magic taught. But if you were one of those people…”
“Yep.” She gestured with one hoof, spinning it in a little circle. “I want to learn things myself. I can’t cheat to know it now and then go back and learn it for the first time… I mean, I guess I could, but that’s a little too transhuman for me. I don’t want to ever dick around with my memory. My experiences are all I am anymore.”
Recursion nodded knowingly. “Well, you’re in luck. There’s nothing new under the sun. Celestia has things figured out for you, and everyone else like you. If you want to learn enough magic to be useful, I suggest magical kindergarten.”
She blushed, pawing nervously at the ground. “Like from the show? I think I’m a little old for that.”
“Currently,” Recursion said dismissively. “Youthful flexibility is a set of conditions that can be created at will. Loosen up those old neural-pathways, experience Equestria the way its own citizens do.”
She opened her mouth to ask if it was possible, but stopped asking before she could make even more of a fool of herself. Of course it was. Her brain was only simulated anyway, so anything about it could be adjusted. I could do more than write the characters for Wintergreen’s stories. I could use my exploits on myself. Smarter, faster, prettier—anything she wanted.
“I’m sure there’s some way to time-compress all of that into the next two days,” Arcane said. “But… I don’t want to feel rushed. I think if I could levitate things around, that would be enough. I’ll put that on the backburner for when we’ve saved those hackers. It can be my… reward.” And somewhere I can hide from having to admit any of this to Domino for a little while longer.
“Suit yourself,” Recursion said, watching her skeptically. “These are human systems we’ll be dealing with anyway, not Equestrian. Most of the skills you need aren’t taught in kindergarten. Just… be ready to put your distractions aside. Your entire world narrows its focus on this moment. Don’t make it a moment to regret.”
She turned to leave, trailed close behind by her bat. “I’ll be there in a few days, along with many others in and out of Equestria. Ponies live a long time, maybe even forever. These next few days will be how lots of them remember you, so make it count.”
Uniformed butlers held the door open for them as they passed outside, then vanished out onto the street.
Arcane stared after the retreating unicorn, whimpering quietly to herself. “No pressure, huh?” I should’ve taken her up on that offer. I could’ve had my magic back. But she didn’t chase her down. It didn’t feel right to be running away to play pretend and learn her magic when there were real people in real danger.
Real people who had betrayed her. Real people who were the reason her shop was empty now. But still. Her loyalty was stronger than anger. She had plenty of time to invent new cool stuff down the road. An infinity, maybe.
Time to make room for an army.
Arcane wandered down the aisle, then back out into her ghostly echo of the castle with its fountains and gardens. She skimmed the faces of the ponies there, until she settled on the only unicorn among her servants. If anypony had a hope of getting this done, it was Porter.
“Hey,” she said, waving him down. “Porter, how have things been?”
“Slow,” he said, almost embarrassed about it. “Forgive me, mistress. We’ve all been caring for every guest as we usually did. But it wasn’t enough to bring them back.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. The pony almost seemed shocked by her attention. And for good reason. She’d had no reason to treat these shallow imitations of ponies like people until now. “Listen, I need a favor of you. I don’t care what it costs, and I don’t care how much extra help you have to bring in to get it done.”
“A favor?” He nodded eagerly, pulling out a notebook and holding it in his magic. “Of course, Lady Word. Anything you require.”
“I’m expecting… let’s say two thousand ponies… visiting the castle two days from now.”
“Really? Our fortunes are turning around again? Some new product to entice newcomers from the streets of an increasingly busy Equestria?”
That’s frighteningly insightful. Was she watching a placeholder transform into a pony before her eyes? “Soon, I hope. But this is more important. Somepony very important to me is… in danger. We’re planning a rescue mission, and everypony with the resources to help will be stepping in. The planning meeting will be here. I need you to clear space for everypony, somewhere we can all talk and meet at the same time.”
He scribbled furiously with a pencil. “Meals and entertainment for everypony as well?”
She nodded. “And… probably housing. As much as you can manage. Take down any storefront you need, dump inventory, whatever it takes.”
“Yikes.” He turned, surveying the castle. “I expect everypony will want overtime pay for this.”
“They can have it,” she said. “And housing in Wintercrest as well, if anypony wants it. “
“Well I do,” he said matter-of-factly. “And a few others. Not too many. The ponies here are…” He lowered his voice to a nervous whisper. “Many of them are rather stiff.”
She giggled, though the prospect of her servant AI that ran a storefront essentially without input from her for months at a time becoming intelligent was hardly a reassuring thought. “I expect they’ll be less so when this is over.”
She left Porter behind, returning to Wintercrest much the way she’d left it. Out the castle gates, then along the side of the wall she circled. She trailed against the wall with her leg until the sound of pounding base and electronica faded away completely, replaced with the patter of a light evening rain.
As she approached the gate, she found a carriage already rolling up past her. She hurried under the portcullis before it could close, nodding once to the clockwork guards working the crack far above. They didn’t care, they were just machines. But it felt like the thing to do.
The carriage came to a stop in front of the keep, and a pair of ponies emerged. She should’ve guessed who it would be, but even so, she felt just a faint jab of pain in her chest. Plum Blossom, with Domino to help her down from the carriage. She was so graceful, so adorably tiny. And Domino was fawning after her. Tall, strong, confident, and now following around a mouse. You should be following me like that.
Arcane sped up without tripping this time. She caught them at the doorway, looking between them with forced friendliness. “You’re out late. Guess it must be a bat thing.”
“Arcane Word” The bat bowed to her again, lowering her head in fearful respect. “I am sorry to disturb you. I know you are… focused on important work. I don’t wish to take you from it.”
She waved a dismissive wing. “You haven’t, Plum. I’ve just returned from some preparations for the gathering of hackers. We’re getting everypony together who might be able to help. There will be a seat for you, of course. I’m sure everyone will want to hear your firsthand account of captivity.”
She nodded. “Of course. I am… not very talented. When we were choosing who would die to call for help, I volunteered because of how little I knew. I’ve never been magical like them, I just… knew how to bring the right ponies together for the right job. I organized. I didn’t belong as part of that project. I can barely read Runescript.”
Arcane touched her shoulder with one hoof. “Your talents will be very useful to us now. I’ve been part of these meetings before, over IRC. Getting anything done is hellacious.”
Plum backed away, looking nervous. “I, uh… I want to prepare. See what notes I can put together from inside.” She darted through the doors suddenly, leaving the two of them alone.
Domino shuffled nervously on his hooves, like he was trying to hide something. Frustration that I took your girl away? Go on, complain. Do it.
He didn’t. “You’re still… Arcane,” he said awkwardly. “I thought you went off to pick a new body.”
Her face flushed, ears flattening to her head. Whatever careful explanations she’d been preparing faded from her mind, turning to paste. “I, uh… that meeting! The one I’m prepping for—I’m not known as Ashton, everyone there knows me as Arcane. I need to keep this identify going until after that, yeah. That’s… that’s when I can switch back. After we save Cold Iron.”
Domino nodded weakly. “That makes sense. You’d want to switch for your girlfriend. It would, uh…” He looked away. “It would mean a lot to me if you could try to spend some time with Violet before that. I’m sure it would mean a lot to her too. She didn’t get a lot of time with her mom, and… you have a sister, you know.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Every chance I get. Violet is a sweetheart. She’s lucky to have a big brother like you.”
And I’ve got my own siblings to check in on, too. God, why did I have to die so early?