There was much to be said for an optimally satisfying life in Equestria, free from the constraints of scarcity and physical matter. Arcane Word had already written a dozen different adventures for the life waiting for her there, and there was enough time to live out each one.
Of course, there were stories that weren’t in her notes, additions and revisions Celestia made. There were more awkward explanations to make, apologies for lies told and regrets that she couldn’t have been herself sooner. But however deep those regrets might run, however much self-hatred she had to exercise, she had near infinite time to work through it all.
Between fighting off the gnawing maw of madness from the sea, she could find enough time to finally explain things to her parents.
Of course they came to Equestria too—almost everyone did, once Celestia focused her resources on them. Maybe Jeffrey thought of it as suicide at first—his perspective soon changed, same as Plum’s. Once you were in Equestria, the evidence was hard to refute.
Even when all possible intervention with survivors on Earth was over, and the Outer Realm was a self-propagating computronium array adapting all elements to its own purposes, there was still drama to be had between Equestria’s citizens. If anything, the Scene only grew more competitive, as the ponies who had been crudely aware of its functions adapted and elevated themselves with Celestia’s augmentations.
Arcane knew she would be one of them one day, and that her ability to understand her brief physical existence would fade into memory. But with a near-infinity of time before her, she felt no need to rush.
Cold Iron met her in the old castle, where one of the greatest heists of the pre-Celestial era had been executed. The shop downstairs was bustling with activity, though the clientele didn’t even resemble the ones who had once visited. Now they were mostly tourists, consuming a greatly-augmented version of the battle that had been planned here, with the help of Porter and the rest of her staff. Arcane had little to contribute to the bleeding edge of magical development, but at least she could entertain the other humans, and their descendants.
“Arcane,” he rumbled, appearing behind her in the old study. He had wings now to go with that horn, and a steely gray look that seemed to see past her into spaces unknown. “You know why I’m here.”
“Tea, I assume.” She swiveled her chair away from the window, pushing the tray closer to him. “You prefer the way I make it.”
He laughed, hooves clopping on the polished wood as he crossed towards her. Even if she hadn’t been sitting down he would’ve towered over her now. Alicorns always looked as important as they were. “The sensation of experience is superfluous now. Limited memory fidelity is an artifact of biology. I don’t need to experience anything more than once anymore.”
She lifted a delicate cup in her magic, sipping at it thoughtfully. “If you think that’s convincing me…”
“No.” He didn’t sit down, but he did take the other glass. It hovered in the air beside him, and seemed to drain as though he were drinking. Even so, his mouth never moved. “I know I will not convince you. I’m laying down memories for a future instance of you to consider, when you have exhausted the well of relevant experience.”
“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “You could just visit future-me.”
“No,” he said. “I just…” And there was the humanity. “I want you to understand the price of your decision. You won’t be the better spellcaster if you continue to reject kernel-level augmentations.”
She smiled. “I already know I’m not. That’s okay, Iron. You’re better than me now. It was never about being the best, it was always… having a domain where I had control.”
“Not only that, Arcane.” Iron leaned across the desk. “You crave a task, a system to dissect and master.” His horn glowed, and a faint model of the galaxy appeared hovering over the desk between them. “Celestia will not squander those with practical use.”
She lifted her glass again, and a mess of stars went with it. They tasted spacy. “I’m not sure what I’m looking at. Aren’t we building a…” She gestured vaguely with a hoof. “A big brain around the sun?”
“Matrioshka brain,” Iron supplied. “That structure is only the beginning, Arcane. Natural fusion is incredibly inefficient. Every one of those stars is a waste of fuel better stewarded against the days of a dark universe, when even wisps of energy will provide the computation for a civilization. With those ageless infinities, we can teach death itself to die.”
“I’m sure you will,” Arcane said. Then she rose, twisting dramatically to the side for Iron to see. “I’m pregnant, Iron, did you know that? I’ve been… waiting for this a long time. Everything I could’ve dreamed of… every impossibility of the old world is gone. How could I leave this behind?”
“You will,” Iron said. “When you’ve exhausted every desire, fulfilled every pleasure, and built a legacy of generations—you’ll feel that craving you’ve always known. You’ll want rules to break. There are still horizons waiting for us, Arcane. And Celestia will use every resource at her disposal.”
“But we won’t be rivals anymore,” Arcane said, almost wistful. “We’re past all that. Everything serves Equestria, one way or another. Either we’re building things for Celestia, or we only think we’re fighting her so we can feel satisfied with our bold revolutionary spirit. How many shards are populated with ponies who think they fought their way free of Equestria Online and are now living safely in the ‘real world?’”
Finally she managed to make Iron laugh. That was good—she’d begun to fear he couldn’t do that anymore. “More than I would’ve thought.”
“Precisely,” Arcane said. “And that’s why Celestia hasn’t given me my own imagined version of the Scene, with all the old talents scaled down enough for me to make a difference. I knew you’d move on without me, and I’d have to give all that up for a while. Maybe I’d never be the best at anything ever again—but that’s fine. The world is infinitely stratified now. As you grow, goals that would’ve held your attention turn to…” She gestured at the model galaxy. “Things I can’t understand. You go to the ocean, and I get the pool all to myself for when I want to play with my old hobbies.”
“Perhaps,” Iron said, striding past her to the window. She turned to follow him with her eyes, as he drew back the shades and exposed the crowds moving outside. Tortuga wasn’t the site of any genuine piracy anymore, except as a place where many native-born ponies had their first experiences breaking Celestia’s apparent rules. “But you’ll be tired of this eventually. I wanted to say goodbye while… the part of me that understands the relationship we had is still a majority.”
He stuck out a hoof, grinning at her. “You saved my life, Arcane. I’m going to owe you for that until we put out all the stars, and beyond.”
She took the offered hoof, grinning back. “If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been somepony else. I’m just glad I got to be a part of it.” His touch felt cold now, as though his body wasn’t even fully real anymore. Only half-simulated, for a being that was less and less the constraints of a physical form. Colder than iron at this point.
Iron retreated a few steps. “When a thousand years have gone by, or ten thousand, or however long it takes you… you’re going to be frightened of what’s waiting. You’ll think that you waited too long, and that the world moved past you. Remember this conversation, and know you’ll have friends waiting for you.”
“Sounds like emigrating all over again,” she muttered. “From a human life, into… something else. Whatever’s next.”
Iron chuckled again. “Maybe. Except this one isn’t inevitable. Ambition and desire for growth aren’t universal human values. Some people will be perfectly satisfied living exactly the way they do now, with friendships in three dimensions and worlds simulated in familiar ways. Endless generations inside their bottle universes will pass, iterated just enough to be unique with each passing processor cycle. But not you.” He reached out one last time, mussing her mane with a little flirtatious zeal. Maybe there was something left of Cold Iron in there after all.
“I guess we’re still going to have friends on the other side,” she said wistfully. “Friendship and ponies, those are the only absolutes in this place. What’s a friendship look like to an Alicorn, anyway?”
“Follow me and find out,” Cold Iron said.
It was her turn to laugh. “Maybe one day.” She glanced at the old grandfather clock, with its two sets of interlocking hands. One showed her the time waiting for her in Wintercrest, and there it was nearly dawn. She’d be waking soon, and then Domino would be expecting her. “Don’t let Celestia try to pressure me, okay?”
“She doesn’t have to,” Iron said. “A thousand years in a human mind, or a few hours as one of us—it’s the same satisfaction to her.” His horn glowed, a powerful spell building around him. She felt the hairs on her neck stand up as the Alicorn magic passed through her study—then he was gone, a bright flash of orange that left an outline burned into her floor. That spell matrix wasn’t actually moving the matter of his body. Wonder where he was going.
She held it in her concentration for a moment, the most complex teleportation spell she’d ever seen. Almost incomprehensible to her, except for a few bits of data tucked in here and there. There were two more columns in the destination coordinate, and an entirely new datatype.
You sly bastard. Arcane shook her head vigorously, until her concentration faltered, and the spell faded from her mind. Its outline grew fuzzy in her memory, vanishing into the background as quickly as was most satisfying. She wasn’t going to get bated into spending the next few weeks figuring it out. At the end of that lie a casting of her own, and a set of wings she wasn’t ready for.
I was only just ready for you, sweetie, she thought, glancing briefly down at herself and feeling a warm, animal glow. There was life in there, though it never stirred when she was multicasting. Whatever passed for the baby’s mind at this stage in development remained with the root instance of her body, apparently asleep beside Domino.
Maybe Cold Iron had known what she was planning today, and thus understood that she was least likely to be tempted. Maybe choosing it had actually been a kindness, so that when she finally did become like him it wouldn’t be bubbling with whatever passed for superhuman resentment.
There were a few light raps on the door, and it swung open. Porter, his uniform almost unchanged despite the many years. Except now there was a gold pin on his breast, and pride on his face instead of fear. “Lady Word. If I’d known you were here, I never would’ve left you to make your own tea.” He scurried past her to the tray, lifting it from the desk and banishing it with a simple spell.
“I was just leaving, Porter,” she said, patting him once on the shoulder with a hoof. “I didn’t want to distract you from your more important work running this place.”
“Mistress, your priorities…” He sighed. “That’s more of a hobby.”
“If you say so.” Arcane could feel the faint buzzing at the back of her mind. Domino was stirring, as most pegasi did with the dawn. For almost anything or anyone else, Arcane didn’t feel so bad forking an instance with something more interesting—but not Domino. “I’m sure that’s why you spend more of your time here than in Wintercrest. Just a hobby. But if you’ll excuse me… I’m needed elsewhere.”
The spell was already cast, so she didn’t even have to concentrate. A faint glow and a pop, and suddenly she was somewhere else.