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// Chapter 25: Spodumene 
// Story: Anemoia 
// by Starscribe 
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Weeks passed in Zircon. The Secretary of Labor had not been exaggerating or overpromising—Bit received everything she wanted. Within the day, a secondary workshop began to rise at the foot of the tower, a thin metal building packed with old electric heaters. But the oncoming winter would be a benefit for the chemical factory within—slower reactions were far easier to control.

But before she could make use of the new facilities, she had to grow a crystal seed, and no addition of supplies or extra labor would make that process any faster. Still, she didn't have to rely on the limited stock of the vault when ordinary chemicals were required, nor was she without help for the process of simple observation or basic mechanical tasks.

The automatons were not chemists or crystalsmiths, nor were they capable of "learning" in the strictest sense. But they could follow precise instructions. They could maintain the temperature or pressure of a vessel by increasing or decreasing the heat. They could give her moments to go downstairs and check on the lab's progress while the seed proceeded through simple phases of its growth. Even better, there were no more interruptions at her gates to take her attention away from the delicate work. The secretary's own soldiers watched there, and turned away anypony who wasn't part of the assignment.

Indeed, it might be said that Bit went from a barely recognized wizard sheltering in the ruins to one of the most important ponies in all of Zircon, only a few steps below a secretary herself. She had everything she wanted—except one.

Sombra did not return Pathfinder to her, nor did he explain why he had acted so strange during his visit. Bit had considered trying to withhold her labor upon condition of Pathfinder's release, but quickly rejected that idea. Surely the best way to earn enough respect to get her way was by accomplishing something great for the city. The Secretary of Labor explained that he wanted to better understand the new generation of ponies who would soon be created in Zircon, and that claim seemed true enough.

"He is a valuable technical assistant," Bit had argued. "For the best chance of success, I need him."

"Then consider him your motivator," Sombra said. "I need subjects for magical analysis. Zircon has dozens of ponies waiting condemned in its prisons, who will gladly volunteer to be your first subjects and mine if only for a chance at freedom. Pathfinder will return to you, as soon as you deliver them to me."

The secretary reminded her more and more of Zircon's last king, but he was also funding the research. Would Crimson have cooperated with a pony acting with such hostility, if that cooperation also meant that many lives were saved? How many ponies wouldn't starve or freeze because they were no longer vulnerable? Sombra had such a frightening way of saying it, but in a way his choices made sense. Convert the most vulnerable first, then those who had less to fear from want or cold. It was probably the progression she would've chosen—but not couched in the language of disposability.

But however much Bit feared, she wasn't brave enough to resist. She worked, and after two weeks of labor, a single mother seed grew in her laboratory. She didn't even bother trying to split it—rather than giving it to a single subject, this one would be the foundation for thousands. She carried it downstairs in a platinum vessel, into a sheltered lab of many waiting chemicals. 

The lab surrounded a gigantic central vat, many meters across and filled with simmering crystal base. The empire had used it to make the towers and structures of their city—now it would also produce the citizens themselves.

"It is imperative the crystal cannot spread," Bit explained, to the half-dozen technicians. All were unicorns, wearing black military uniforms similar to the secretary's personal guard. Every one of them wore deeply mirrored glasses, their eyes always hidden from Bit. But at least so far, they hadn't failed to follow instructions precisely. So she continued to trust them. “If tendrils emerge from the tank, break them with stainless steel tools you aren't touching. It probably won't happen—with all the seed material in this building, we will only have a few kilograms of viable starter."

"Conversion should be the only outcome, correct?" asked Sand Arrow, one of the few members of the crew who ever spoke with her. She could almost hear something familiar in his voice—a relative of some other important pony, perhaps? But with goggles on his eyes and a mask on his face, she couldn't tell for sure. "That is undesirable, but not a critical error."

"No," Bit said. "That is why these instructions are so important. Once we begin feeding it, the crystal will switch into its reproductive mode. Everything reactive it touches will be drained of resources and used to replicate. If you are lucky, contact will dissolve your coat and the upper layer of flesh. If it gets into your blood, you will dissolve into organic waste-material, without leaving a crystal pony behind."

He shuddered, and a few other ponies took several large steps away from the vat. "Levitation only," Bit continued, as soon as she properly had their attention. “Do not get close enough for material to splash. For the next few weeks, we will be tending to this vat. I am depending on each of you to keep this sample contained."

She dumped it over the edge, and instantly the liquid within began to bubble and froth. A foul smoke spilled out from within, and black ichor began to collect on the surface of the tank. This was what happened as the seed burned away source material that it couldn't use, creating more of itself as it harvested.

"How long until we can begin treatment?" asked Sand Arrow, after a few hours of tending to the seed. As it grew, it also became less agitated, finally harvesting all their tank had to offer and beginning a slow replication cycle. "The secretary hopes this procedure will help overcome a nutritional shortfall in the city hothouses."

Bit shrugged. "A week should be long enough. Once the crystal inside branches into multiple segments, we should be able to remove one and shatter it, while we maintain the mother sample for further growth. But that's just based on seeds used in automation and construction—nopony has ever tried to mass-produce this treatment before. It needs the widest possible margin of safety."

"Single patient at a time, got it," Sand Arrow said. "One week should be soon enough."

Bit didn't have to tend to the growth tank at all times, or even assign her automatons to the task. She visited only once each day, checking to see the tank hadn't suffered some critical failure. Or worse, that the seed was growing out of control. But nothing like that happened.

The rapid reproduction of treatments should've filled her with a growing joy at the Wizard's work fulfilled. It probably would have, if Pathfinder weren’t missing.

"I don't understand what the Secretary of Labor could possibly want with him," Bit told her favorite portrait, about a week after growth began. Her external window was almost entirely covered with snow, which poured down over all of Zircon and smothered all it touched. Winter had begun in earnest, with the city hunkering down as far as it could from the horrific cold. From the tower, Bit could only see the favela nearby, and she'd watched as the outer layers emptied and collapsed, with ponies either moving deeper or seeking refuge elsewhere. 

"Secretary Bolero is a spellcaster too, Crimson. He should've been able to learn everything he needed from a few questions, maybe a perception spell. Why won't he give Pathfinder back to me?"

She stared into the portrait, searching for any wisdom she could find. But her memories were no help—in the old days, only the Wizard himself was interested in exotic and experimental crystal creations. Once King Zircon learned they weren't useful for war, he barely even wanted the project funded anymore.

"I'm missing something," Bit said, starting to pace back and forth. "It should be obvious to me—it would be, if my attention weren't being splintered into a dozen directions. Help me see it."

Crimson adjusted the telescope with a little magic. They were huddled close together under the same blanket, on an oversized bench. This was the palace, so the glass balcony door was only a few feet away, steam drifting out from the heated interior. "Look there, Moss Flower. Near the hunter's belt, that little yellow star."

She did, careful not to bump the telescope this time. "Okay, I see it. A yellow dot. So what?"

"That dot is the origin of the Alicorns," he explained simply. "And everything that came after. It is their homeworld, but not ours. They created us here."

Bit's face wrinkled with frustration. "Who cares? I could point anywhere in the sky, it doesn't change the way ponies live now. It doesn't keep Equestria from invading, or keep machines working."

Crimson shrugged. "It's the part of something bigger, Flower. The origin of life, our reason for growing here. Why fight so hard against a planet determined to kill us?"

"That's your ancestors' question to answer, Crimson. The south doesn't want ponies dead. Some places don't even snow in winter." It was starting to snow now, white clouds rolling towards them. Soon there would be no visibility to see any little yellow stars, no matter where they looked.

"Still." Crimson shuffled in the blanket, rising from beside her. "It's a piece of the mystery. Just doesn't feel fair we have so little time to tease it apart."

"We'll fix that," Bit said.

Bit looked down at her desk, where the thaumic-crystal processor now sat submerged in a vat of nonreactive oil. Not that she expected it to remain unused for long, but she would take no chances. If toxic gas exploded through the lab, devouring every crystal it could, it wouldn't reach this precious cargo. 

"I should get a sample from downstairs. The seed should be separated by now." She rose, donning her robe on the way down. She didn't bother with a mask or goggles—the others might need them against the horrific cold, but they just got in her way. Both automatons rose as she passed out into the stairwell, but she waved them off with a hoof. "I won't need you today," she said. "Continue your usual patrols."

Bit knew something was wrong before she had even reached the bottom steps. Here in the perpetual night of Zircon winter, there should be little going on outside her tower. She shouldn't hear a crowd, or a magically amplified voice echoing off crystal buildings. 

Bit stepped out into the freezing wind. The lights were all on in the workshop, and the doors were flung open. A few dozen ponies packed inside—most of them wearing military uniforms.

Bit galloped towards the opening, or tried. Her hooves slipped into snow several inches deep, and instead it was more of an awkward shuffle, kicking up a powdery cloud behind her.

The growth tank was covered with a thin plastic membrane, barely enough to insulate it, with a crowd packing close on all sides. There was a platform built where crates of raw materials had been only yesterday. On it were several ponies in metal shackles. Despite the revolution, little had changed in that design.

"These ponies deserve to die," said Sombra, his voice echoing through the building. "Instead, they offer their lives just as our soldiers do, defending the city from invasion. If they wake, they will be heroes."

Sand Arrow appeared on the other end of the platform, levitating a set of tongs and a steaming sample case. 

Those ponies aren't even sedated, she thought. Sand Arrow didn't even ask how to do this. 

"Stop!" Bit yelled, pressing against the crowd. But her voice was lost in the cheering. Dozens of military ponies pressed closer, watching the stage so eagerly they didn't even seem to notice her attempts to reach the front. There was no chance she could stop this.

Sand Arrow lowered the forceps, and Bit's shouts were drowned in the patient's screams of agony.