//------------------------------//
// Chapter 17: Carnelian 
// Story: Anemoia 
// by Starscribe 
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It didn't matter that Bit's entire world had changed. It didn't matter that she was no longer the only member of her species, and that she'd confirmed beyond any doubt that she was alive. What mattered was that she had a report to file, and that was exactly what she did.

Bit gathered every observation she'd made over the course of Pathfinder's treatment. Most of them were about her own experience trying to follow the crystal production process, and the difficulties she'd encountered as a result. She wasn't so bold as to add corrections to the process, though there were a few reactions that could be simplified and a platinum catalyst she was fairly certain would work better with rodinium. At this stage, it was just about results.

She wasn't even surprised to find that Crimson had kept an active file devoted to the project, albeit with an empty "experimental results" section. That was exactly the kind of dedication she expected from such a skilled wizard.

"Preliminary results suggest the experiment was a success," she finally typed, after a few hours of cataloging videos and sorting them to the most relevant parts. Of course she made sure to use the terminal closest to the polishing machine, so she could hear if anything was going wrong inside. At least so far things seemed to be working out.

"Long-term viability metrics remain to be taken, but earlier research suggests we've already overcome the greatest hurdle. We have reduced the problem to maintenance. Scalability research should be investigated next, so we can deploy the treatment on a larger segment of the population at once." 

She attached that final note, then changed the status of the project from "in-progress" to "complete."

Only then did she sit back in the chair, letting the steady hum of the sandblaster lull her into a resting state. She almost didn't notice that something had changed on the screen. A notification had filled the entire screen, without the usual red security border. The white border indicated a systemwide memo, which only one pony in the tower had the authority to make.

For the first contact she'd had with the Wizard over centuries, Bit expected a little more than a letter. But that was all she got.

"Moss Flower,

If you are reading this, it means you have completed our research. I knew I would not survive to see this moment. I hope you can imagine the joy I feel to know that you've woken up at last, and achieved all our ambitions. 

I hope you will share your discoveries with Zircon—free us from the need for pointless wars. Help us achieve what our ancestors only dreamed of.

When you are ready, you will find everything I learned reviving you concealed underneath my bedchamber. Do not use thaumic excavation. The ponies still living in Zircon matter more. But when you have shared our research, remember me.

I will remember you,

Crimson"

Bit did not cry, of course she didn't. She wasn't even capable of tears, and besides the letter wasn't addressed to her. Of course, it was also painfully true—every statement was a confirmation of things she had always known, or at least believed. She was meant to be the first of her kind, not the last.

What does he mean? Bit took a screen-recording of the message, then dismissed it, searching back through the research database. It was all there, even more than the notes she'd digitized to clean the laboratory. Everything required to create a pony like her, from the expanded list of raw materials to the differing treatment procedures. 

If it's all here, what did he hide under the bed? Crimson Zircon wouldn't leave two errors in a message like this. He'd already mistakenly suggested that he wouldn't be alive when the research was complete. Could he also forget something so basic as the tower's central database computer?

Bit rose from the chair, marching straight up the stairs towards the Wizard's quarters. She didn't make it two floors before alarms started to blare. 

She hurried over to the security console in the hallway, and wasn't surprised by the image she found there. Keen Ardor, with his usual escort of a few revolutionary guards. If anything, his uniform was sharper than last time. The soldiers weren't even carrying practical weapons, but had silver sabers strapped to their sides. 

"Wizard Bit," said Keen, looking directly into the camera this time. "I hope we've waited long enough. Is your patient doing well?"

She activated the camera on her side, looking back. It was a good thing she didn't have a real mane, or it would probably be a mess. As it was, the white medical jacket was only stained in places the camera couldn't see. "Very well. Pathfinder will need some time in the..." If he'd reacted negatively, they probably would too. "Dermatological resurfacing machine. He should be ready to receive visitors in another two days, if you want to speak with him then."

"I know some ponies will want exactly that," Keen said. "But I'm not here to speak with him. You'll recall we discussed the matter of your help activating another relay station. You were going to take the tour with us today."

She sighed, glancing down at the floor. Did they really expect her to leave now, of all times? There was something hidden in the Wizard's chambers, something that had been waiting for her for lifetimes, and she couldn't find it?

Keen didn't wait for her reply. "I'm afraid there's been a change of plans. Our progress was noticed by the uh... Secretary of Labor." At her blank expression, he continued. "He's the most important pony in the party. Not our leader, that's so crass a term—but just as I am to heat, he is to all divisions of labor. It would not be wise, or frankly possible to decline this invitation."

Bit thought back to the letter. The Wizard had given her a mission, apparently more important than the one hidden in his bedroom. Now the new King of Zircon wanted to see her. Maybe Crimson saw all of this coming. He guessed the position I would be in.

"Give me a moment to get dressed," she said. "I'll be right down."





Bit couldn't quite bring herself to wear any of the formal wizard robes still hanging in the tower, though there were plenty from lesser positions that she could've used. But she couldn't just make the trip naked—this was her golden opportunity to reach a pony with the power to change things. Fancy ponies expected her to be at least a little fancy herself.

In the end, she settled for apprentice robes, with the silver and pink calligraphy of the crystalsmiths down the hem. The robe she found wasn't quite her size, and would hang a little short—but how many ponies alive today would even recognize that?

Bit hesitated beside the cleaning machine, scrawling something on a slip of paper. "I should be back soon enough that you never read this. But just in case something slows me down, please don't leave the tower yet. We have to apply a coat of varnish to make your exterior resistant to extreme cold. Otherwise, you could shatter in winter." She heard nothing from inside the polisher that she shouldn't—just more sand against glass. A glimpse at the status readout suggested things were moving along. Pathfinder's repair was about halfway done.

Finally she hurried down the steps, scooping a tablet off the desk as she went. She brought nothing else—if this pony wanted to destroy her, she wouldn't be able to stop them. They could send an army to the tower, just like the revolution had done during Crimson's time as wizard.

Finally she stepped outside, joining Keen and his two soldiers. She adjusted the robes over her shoulders, shifting so the tablet wouldn't jostle around inside the pocket. "Hopefully I didn't take too long," she said. "Sorry about the delay."

Keen didn't smile this time, only glanced briefly through the open door behind her. She dragged the door closed, and didn't move until she heard the electronic click of the lock. "The Secretary of Labor will probably be expecting it. You were not informed of this meeting before now. You've decided to fully embrace the identity, I see."

She glanced down at the robe, face flushing with color. "This is just an apprentice's robes. But I'm fairly certain that if the Wizard or any of his subordinates were still living in the tower, they would elevate me this far for what I have accomplished. Perhaps to Journeyman, but those didn't live at the tower, so there weren't any robes left behind."

Keen gestured to the soggy, half-frozen path leading to the tower. "That is probably for the best. Anything more ostentatious would have too much in common with the old world. It's dead for a reason, Wizard. There's nopony in the city who wishes to see it returned."

She followed him, and was relieved to see the guards fall into step behind them. Nopony was sticking behind to try and break into the tower. If they did, they wouldn't enjoy the experience. Its internal 

defenses were still there, still armed. I should tell somepony about that. "Do you know what the Secretary of Labor wants to talk to me about? It might be something I'm not prepared to answer. I should've asked over the intercom..."

Keen shrugged. "His questions are his prerogative. I can say only that it's likely more than the disciplines of any individual secretary beneath him, or he would have delegated the task. His time is extremely valuable—even with heat restored to the palace district, Zircon still faces the looming winter. The threat of Equestrian invasion always nears... he could ask about almost anything."

Bit fell silent as they descended the steps away from the palace and into Zircon proper. It had been many, many years since she'd been this way, and never during the reign of this new government. What kind of city had they built?

At first they passed obviously deserted buildings, crystal spires without light glowing from within, or pony shapes moving behind their walls. Many had empty, ominous doorways, though a few had dark red tape and official-looking warnings preventing entry. The air grew colder, and the ponies around her pulled their hoods and caps tighter about themselves. Keen's horn glowed faintly, producing a subtle light that surrounded him, making the little wisps of snow dissolve to mist as they got too close.

After passing fully from the “island” of heat produced by the waystation, they walked for twenty minutes through freezing wasteland. At the bottom of the palace hill was the factory district, with its relay station cold. They skirted the garden district next, its famous crystal glass gardens not glowing with steam, but covered in ice. Many of the thinnest crystal walls were purposefully shattered, the spun-glass topiary within broken into gravel.

But then the Zircon Spire itself appeared, towering over the city's other structures. The Zircon was many times larger than anything but the palace, and radiated so much heat that nopony could come within a hundred meters. Stepping into its auspices was obvious to Bit even if her sense of temperature was poorly developed. 

First the streets were changed, with a diffuse cloud of well-wrapped ponies pushing salvage carts or groups of soldiers moving in formation. Then the layer of ice and snow that covered everything sagged and melted. Finally, the gray winter sky was replaced with a blue haze, and the clouds themselves seemed transformed to fluffy white. That part was an illusion, one the other relays could not replicate. Bit couldn't really see the appeal, but it looked like other ponies could.

The buildings went from abandoned to packed, at least on the lower levels. Without power for their elevators, she could see moving shapes of occupants going up less than halfway through the towers. But when that wasn't enough, ponies clustered together in makeshift wooden shelters, clogging up alleys and side-streets as solid as the ramshackle little settlement around the relay.

But where that one was entirely organic, without a single clear path through the sprawl of homes and shops, the main streets here were kept clear by patrolling soldiers just like the ones following her. They passed in groups of two, and there was never a moment where Bit couldn't see at least a few pairs walking or lurking or chatting amicably with civilian ponies.

Then they reached the subway station. Or... it had been the subway station. Now the signs all called it “Revolution Square” and the face of a stern, gray pony was framed on a red background. There was no flow of traffic moving up those steps, as workers commuted all over the city. Only ponies in uniform went up and down, expressions as unfriendly as the one up on the roof.

"He'll be waiting for you," Keen said, nodding towards the steps. "Time to meet Secretary Bolero, hero of the revolution."