//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: Topaz // Story: Anemoia // by Starscribe //------------------------------// Bit moved slowly through the power plant, inspecting the old systems one at a time as they came back online. One by one the chambers filled with hissing steam, as systems long covered with ice finally melted. Bit didn't care whether the plant was hot or cold, but there was still a great deal to inspect. For power to flow, heat had to move too, drawn along thaumic conduits from the spire to her crystal. It did. There were a few moments of panic, as systems she had rebuilt crumbled under the stress of operating after such a long time silent and cold. But she had a long list of backups and redundancies, and there was nothing she couldn't fix. Then the lights came back on, and the dim power plant was bright white. Suddenly halls that had been dark and impassible were now overflowing with brightness, making her own body sparkle like the crystal machines around her.  "We did it," she told the empty plant. This time there was more than silence to answer—the steady hum of wheels and groaning of machinery was a song. A song that was partially out of tune. There would be more repairs to make, or else the plant would fail again. But now that she had it working, she would have the benefit of Zircon's machines. Instead of hammering dishes and drawing coils by hand, she could use an induction forge. But all that in time—she didn't need to make the plant perfect on its first day. She stepped out into the streets, and found her suspicions confirmed. Steam roared up through the metal, a column of white smoke vanishing into the blackness of the winter sky. But she wasn't in darkness, because the streetlights shone all around her. Not all of them had survived—some had been cracked, and they flickered unevenly in their housings. Some were ripped up, or crushed. But the courtyard was lit, and so were the buildings all around.  Most dramatic of these was the palace. Automated defenses had come back to life—the gates were closed, and spotlights again glided across the open ground between its gates and the castle steps. Lights flickered within, and she heard some old machines coming back on within the palace itself. A mystery for another time, and probably another pony. Bit had a mind only for her tower. She could already see the lights glowing from every floor. If she could, then so could Master Wizard Crimson Zircon. She didn't quite make it to the tower. As she crossed the courtyard, she found a strange group of ponies on the steps leading from the city below. Here in the depths of winter, they should be dressed in the thickest drawn-polymer cloaks, or crystal magic thermal shields. They had neither, only scavenged blankets and coats covered in patches and makeshift repairs. Some had goggles and masks against the cold, while most merely had a thin layer of frost collecting on exposed coat. They weren't advancing on her or the tower, but the zircon in the center of the square. If the spotlights hadn't revealed her, the plume of steam rising into the polar night certainly would. There was only a trickle at the top of the ramp, but Bit could see more further back. Thicker groups, with the elderly and slow-moving foals. All moved up the steps with desperate, inexorable pressure. One stepped forward to block her path—a stallion taller and stronger than the others, with a sturdy coat and goggles on his face. He had no horn, which also gave him strength against the cold. "You're naked, pony. Either you're freezing to death, or there is heat on Capitol Hill." "There is heat," she said, trying to step around him. He moved to block her, infuriatingly. She couldn't just shove past, not with the floor now covered in melting ice. Anything but the slowest steps and she would tumble onto her rump, maybe even crack. "And I am fine. Your concern is not required." She finally managed to get around him, continuing on towards the Wizard's tower. But she could only proceed at an agonizing walk, and he could trot without difficulty. Fog billowed out from inside his mask, and moisture dripped from his cloak, melted by the cloud of heat spreading from the zircon. "Something weird about... must be my goggles. Almost looks like I can see through you." "Your goggles do not need to be repaired. Please do not obstruct me." She continued towards her tower. She owed nothing to this pony, just as she owed nothing to the ones who followed him. Well, they weren't following her. The first of them crested the hill, and they practically sprinted for the warmth of the zircon. He touched her shoulder lightly, his hoof muffled by many wrapped layers. "You're going the wrong way, pony. You were the first one here, you should stake out a claim. Warmth like this, dead of winter... you don't know how many ponies need it. All the folk huddled around the Spire, too far to warm their flanks. You wanna be one of them?" "I have no need of warmth," she replied, without slowing. The gates were close now, almost within reach. A few lights glowed from the top of the tower walls, though none of the old protection spells were still working. There was no shield, no orbs of interception—nothing but a single lazy spotlight, drawing drunken shapes on the ice. "Everyone needs the heat," he said. "Everypony would rather drink water than eat snow. We need the hothouse to keep growing our food. How can you walk away?” He kept following her, despite so many polite warnings. This was another example of pony frailty—sometimes their minds just didn't work right. She would need to be more direct. "I told you, I don't need the heat." She stopped, turning in place to glower at him. "I am returning to my tower, that tower. My master has been away for a long time, but that was only because the tower had failed. He needs the computers to continue his work, and the apprentices need their machines to construct the parts he requires." He stared, expression seeming to grow more confused the longer he looked. "You're looking for your master in the artifabrican's tower?" He reached up, removing the goggles from his eyes, and pulling the scarf down from his face. "Whoever you're looking for, you won't find him there. That tower has been dead since before I was born." She shook her head, feeling something strange bubbling in her chest. How could she describe this sensation—no matter how many times she tried to tell, and still the pony failed to understand. You never would've made it as an apprentice. "The tower was dead before," she said flatly. "That is because ponies who did not understand allowed the power station to fall into disrepair. Critical systems were looted, and many others failed over time. I fixed it. Now the power is returned, and my tower is working again." She turned her back on him, continuing away from the growing crowd of ponies. She stepped through the gates into the courtyard, and finally her hooves found purchase. The gravel here was uneven enough to walk on, even with a thin layer of ice covering some pieces. Home was within sight. "You're the one who fixed the zircon?" he asked, trailing behind her. He didn't keep up, though he probably couldn't have if he tried wearing all those layers. The advantage of being “naked.” "Is that why you look so strange? Some... ghost of the old city's machines?" "I am not a 'ghost'.” She didn't slow down, didn't turn around. She spoke to herself as much as the stranger, reinforcing the truth as she understood it. "I'm Bit, the first of my kind. My master says that one day there will be a city of us. We will not wither, or freeze, or tire. Maybe this is what he was waiting for." He stopped in the shadow of the broken gate, looking between her and the steaming waystation. Finally he turned, darting off to join the crowd. She didn't watch him for long. Her master was not going to come from a crowd of ponies who had allowed themselves to become improperly equipped for present conditions. Her master would never make such a simple mistake. As Bit reached the doorway, she was momentarily deafened by the return of old sirens, blaring so loudly that even the densest pony couldn't miss it. "External intrusion detected!" they roared. "Failure in perimeter protection grid!" They looped over and over again, joined by a barrage of annoying sound and flashing red lights. Bit found the security console downstairs lit up, just like so much of the tower. The flat surface unlocked as she approached it, filling with a stream of information. So much of the systems around the tower were damaged now. What could've done this? She already knew. She heard the mob's screaming voices again, saw their torchlight from an upper window. The answer was obvious. Bit touched her hoof to the panel, disarming the alert. Lights stopped flashing red, sirens faded, and silence returned. Well, not quite—this was better. She heard the rattle of warm air in the tower's subterranean heaters. The bubbling of ammonia from its refrigerators, and the quiet music of the lobby, soothing away her worries.  This was home, more than some darkened tower and an eternity of washing windows. Bit told the alarms to ignore everything but the tower itself, then re-locked all the doors. She heard the entrance door click, and needed nothing to tell her the others had done the same. If the security console said the building was safe, then it was safe. A computer could not lie. That done, Bit practically sprinted up the tower steps. It was full winter outside, yet bright orange light surrounded her on every landing. A few even had strips of white along the ceiling, in the cafeteria and the stadium, so that the ponies living here wouldn't be emotionally compromised by the long, sunless winters. But Bit didn't care about the light, any more than she cared about darkness. It was the Master Wizard who cared, and him she had come to find at last. Bit eventually reached the top of the tower, high enough that the city beneath was a distant blob and the heaters barely reached. The windows were dusty again, but she could see the distinct glow of lights from below. Capitol Hill was only a fraction of the city, one of six municipal substations for the Zircon Spire. But compared to the faint suggestions of distant firelight, it might as well have been the daylight outside. She clambered over the last flight of stairs, and heard Crimson's voice already waiting for her. "It's an incredible accomplishment by any metric." "You're being too generous, Master," she said. Another strange new feeling boiled in her chest, this one far less unpleasant. She deserved this praise, after such dedication and so much work. Even if, like so many other things the master said, it wasn't strictly true. Of course the tower was worse than it was before—she had to make many sacrifices to get it clean and working again. But it was working, and that was worthy of praise. "You say that," said another voice, grating against her ears. She stiffened, retreated a step over the landing. King Zircon's voice was just as unpleasant as she remembered. "But your construct is hardly different than my house automatons. The artifabricans before you understood that to give a machine the form of a pony is a mistake. It invites anthropomorphizing. You tell me this thing is the future. Let us test that. Machine, in the hall. Come inside now." She could not resist the king's commands, any more than she could resist her master's orders. But while Crimson never ordered her, the king spoke nothing else to her. Bit walked into the exterior laboratory. She scanned the space, searching for the king. She would accept his arrival, if it meant the return of the one she cared about. The king never stayed long, and Crimson would be left behind when he was gone. "Obedient, this is good. Tell me your name, machine." "Bit," she said, still searching. Where was his voice coming from? "That isn't her fault," Crimson said, distressed. "We've already discussed the flaws in my—" "Where were you born, Bit? Who are your parents?" "I was not born," she answered. Except... she was answering twice. She heard her voice too, coming from the same direction as the others.  Then she found it. A large screen mounted to the wall, where Crimson and the king sat together, before his worktable. But the worktable was just beside it, and there was nopony there. The bedroom door was open too, and she continued past it, listening to the memory rather than living it now. "I do not have parents." "And there it is," the king said. "My son, abandon this foolish notion. Moss Flower is dead. This machine you've crafted in her likeness knows that. When will you?"