The Wants of Watts
Abacus Cinch stood in front of a terminal in her Atlas townhouse, holding in one hand the data stick that she had gotten from Turnus Rutulus.
She had not yet plugged it in. One might almost say that she hesitated to do so.
It was a data stick. A harmless data stick. It would not kill her; it would not steal her identity or her assets. It contained information – a message, probably – nothing more. Very likely, she would plug it in and get no more than a hologram from Arthur.
There was nothing to fear.
And yet… and yet, she had not plugged it in yet.
It was from Arthur, and Arthur… well, at the moment, she scarcely knew what Arthur was involved in.
She was not altogether certain that she wished to know.
Yes, she had met him in Atlas not too long ago, but they had spoken for but a moment, and then they had discussed only her business: the fate of the kingdom, the suggestion that Jacques Schnee might make a good puppet on the council, the need for someone to take a stand against the decline of Atlas.
It seemed likely that this message would touch upon his business, the business that had brought him to Mistral for reasons that she could not guess at. That she would not know unless she plugged in the data stick.
And once she did… Cinch almost felt as though, once she plugged in this harmless-looking data stick, then she would be committed. She would be a part of whatever it was that Arthur was doing.
She would be involved, and there might be no turning back.
Cinch frowned. Nonsense, of course, arrant nonsense. Listening to a message meant no more than letting Arthur accost her in the street. Less, perhaps. She could listen to whatever he had to say and then ignore it, if she chose.
Then why did she feel so uneasy?
“If you will permit me to give you some advice, ma’am; Doctor Watts' friendship comes at a price. And he reveals that price at a moment of his own convenience, not yours.”
Yes. That was probably it. The young Mistralian lord and his cryptic warning. Cryptic for lacking context, but clear enough in meaning. He, for one, thought that she should not trust Arthur. If Cinch had to guess, she would say that Turnus Rutulus, admirer of Atlas that he was, had put his trust in Arthur and been burned for it. Was being burned for it, given his role as a messenger. He, for one, regretted that he had plugged in the data stick, as it were.
Cinch glanced down at the stick in her hand. She could take Turnus’ advice and throw it away.
But then she would never know what Arthur had been offering her.
Turnus Rutulus, after all, was a mere boy, an immature, entitled boy, lacking in the experience necessary to deal with a worldly and experienced man like Arthur Watts. She, on the other hand, did not lack for either worldliness or experience. She had not survived the rigours of the battlefield, clawed her way up to the rank of brigadier, and mastered the currents of Atlesian martial politics without learning how to deal with clever men like Doctor Arthur Watts. If he thought to make use of her, well, she might allow him to believe so, and in that belief, he would serve her better.
Young Rutulus might have meant well, but it had been almost insulting of him to believe that she needed any warning from him on how to evade manipulation.
And after all, what harm could listening do?
She plugged in the data stick.
As she had expected, a hologram appeared above the terminal, a projection of Arthur, down to his knees, staring straight ahead, and thus not meeting Cinch’s eyes.
Cinch sat down, so that his gaze was now passing above her head.
Arthur adjusted his tie slightly with one hand. “Greetings, Abacus,” he drawled in that lugubrious voice of his. “As you may have guessed from my choice of messenger, I am recording this from Mistral… and what a wretched place it is, if I may say. I’m well aware that they are not actually as backwards and backwards-looking as they make out to be, but to my mind, the hypocrisy just makes the whole thing so much worse. If you want to live in the present, then live there! Don’t pretend that you’re living in the past while still enjoying access to every modern convenience! Make up your minds and live with your choices!” He cleared his throat. “As I say, I am in Mistral now, and not really enjoying the experience.”
No, I don’t suppose you are, Arthur. Which begs the question of what you’re doing there.
“I can’t say what I’m doing here,” Arthur answered from the past, “save that it is of the utmost importance to me. I am… on an errand, you might say, looking to take possession of a certain item that I must have. I cannot leave without it. Which brings me to the reason I am sending you this message: I have need of your assistance.
“As you know, I have secured the cooperation, as you might say, of Turnus Rutulus, the Mistralian who brought this message to you. I also have other men in Mistral at my disposal. However, their services are based on a mixture of deception and blackmail, and those who might be considered most loyal are, sadly, those whose competence is most in question.”
There was a noise from off camera, which Arthur responded to with a wave of one hand. He resumed, “As such, I feel the desire to have at my beck and call those who are more trustworthy in their loyalties. I was hoping therefore that you might send me some of your stalwart girls and boys, those who can be trusted to obey my commands without worrying too much about what James has to say about all of this or how any of it serves the good of Atlas. Send one or two back with Lord Rutulus – discreetly, of course; it wouldn’t do to draw attention to their presence – and the rest to also travel discreetly to Mistral and report themselves to the house of Lady Ming, where I will give them their instructions.”
I suppose you want a couple to accompany Lord Rutulus back to his home as a further check upon his loyalty, Arthur, Cinch mused. Certainly, it fit with his description of having secured the man’s services only based on blackmail and deception, and with Lord Rutulus’ own warning to Cinch. Arthur had some hold on the young man, but he feared that it would not be enough, and so, he wanted a couple of trusted agents nearby in case he needed to act against his pawn.
Cinch was not inclined to grant that aspect of his request; it would mean placing some of her Shadowbolts in the middle of a viper pit, surrounded by Lord Rutulus’ private army. While she had no doubt that her students were more skilled and better equipped than anyone that the Mistralian lord might have at his disposal, they would still be in a perilous position.
As for the rest of Arthur’s request… she would consider it; it didn’t seem so personally hazardous – no more so than simply being a huntress was inherently dangerous – and if he was telling the truth, he would have little incentive to throw the lives of her Shadowbolts away.
However, as yet, he had entirely failed to mention what might be in it for her? Did he expect her to send him her best and brightest out of the goodness of her heart?
“By now, Abacus, I’m sure you’re wondering what could be in it for you,” Arthur drawled. He chuckled. “Rest assured, I’m not expecting you to send me your best and brightest out of the goodness of your heart. Although I am in Mistral, I am still in a position to be of assistance to you.” He gestured, and another figure stepped into view, joining Arthur as a holographic projection rising from Cinch’s terminal.
This woman was a faunus, an insect faunus to be precise, with wings as fine as gossamer sprouting out of her back, and what looked – the quality of the hologram made it somewhat hard to determine – like fangs descending from her mouth. She was clad in armour like a beetle’s carapace, and her hair looked sickly and ill-cared for as it fell down loosely on either side of her lean, sharp-featured face.
“This is my new associate, Chrysalis,” Arthur said.
Cinch’s eyes widened. Chrysalis? Of the White Fang? Arthur, what madness is this?
“I know, I know, but before you get too upset about the White Fang connection, consider what else I have to say,” Arthur exhorted her. “Because if you assist us here in Mistral, Chrysalis will be able to assist you in turn with something I think will appeal to you: a war between Atlas and Menagerie.”
Cinch found herself leaning forward, in spite of herself.
“You’ve always believed in strength, Abacus,” Arthur said. “And you’ve always had a fascination with the faunus, as much as you’ve had to hide that fact for the advancement of your career. The racists wouldn’t appreciate your enthusiasm for a bunch of animals, and the allies would probably find your fetishisation of their strength a little… problematic.
“It probably doesn’t surprise you to learn that Chrysalis here is… less than enthused by the prospect of an alliance between Menagerie and Atlas. She doesn’t want to see the independence of her people thrown away by a callous leadership. She would rather fight than see the faunus put in chains again. And I know that you would rather bring the faunus into the fold with violence than with peace. I don’t expect you to like one another, but I can see ample opportunities for you to work together to get what you want: a decisive struggle for survival and supremacy. Who wins is of little concern to me, but I am open to help arrange such a conflict, once I get what I need here in Mistral.
“Help me, Abacus, and let me help you in turn.”
The recording ended. The holographic images disappeared. Cinch was left sitting at her desk, staring at nothing.
She sat there a moment – or more – lost in thought.
Arthur had certainly given her a great deal to think about.
A war between Atlas and Menagerie. A struggle for survival and supremacy. Indeed, it was a tempting proposition.
The study in which she sat was austere, like much of Cinch’s Atlas townhouse, a place she rarely stayed, preferring to remain in Crystal City close to the school. It was only politics that brought her to Atlas, and it was only politics that kept her here now; she had to remain in the city in order to remain close to Jacques’ campaign. The result was that a house she only stayed in of necessity, not desire, was furnished in a very sparse and barren fashion, with little to adorn it. That suited Cinch just fine; she was… a rather barren person, with very little to adorn her.
That was not to say that she had no enthusiasms, no interests – if so basic and vital a human need as winning could be said to be either interest or enthusiasm – but in as much as she celebrated her triumphs and the achievements of her school and her career, she did so at her Crystal City home and in her office in the school, not here.
Here, there was nothing, beyond what she functionally needed to live and work.
It meant that there was nothing distracting her while she thought.
A war between Atlas and Menagerie.
And at what cost? To send a few of her students to Mistral, to do… what? Arthur hadn’t really said, which meant skulduggery no doubt, but what of that? What he chose to do in Mistral was his affair; what he chose to use the Shadowbolts for in Mistral was his affair.
What was her affair was what she would do with the opportunity that he was offering.
Cinch got up from her seat and walked to the window at the back of the room. Outside, she could see the city of Atlas in all of its decadence. The shining kingdom had grown soft, and it grew softer every day. Protected by fleets and armies, shielded and sheltered from the elements and from the grimm alike, Atlas and its people had become complacent, sunk in idle pleasures, cosseted by soft assumptions about the permanence of their city and their way of life.
Atlas, after all, would always be Atlas.
Fools. Nothing would always be anything. No kingdom, no city, no way of life could ever be guaranteed to last forever, not unless someone fought to keep it so.
If there was one true constant in the world, if there was one thing that would truly always be, it was conflict. It was not just a human constant, but a universal one. It was conflict that drove evolution and innovation; it pushed animals, people and nations all alike to become stronger, tougher, cleverer, but also nimbler and more adaptive. All the advances that had made Atlas great, all the things that had enabled it to rise – in a metaphorical sense – to its present heights had been the result of conflict, of struggle. The struggle of the first settlers to survive in the harsh conditions of Solitas, the struggle to establish settlements in frigid wastes, to carve warm lines across a wild and savage country. The struggle to expand their dominion, to destroy their nascent neighbours, to achieve parity and then supremacy of military force with other kingdoms. Atlas itself would not have been a gleam in the eye were it not for the titanic struggle of the Great War, and the subsequent struggle to recover from that war and rise again had pushed Atlas to its current state of military might and technological advancement.
Except now, Atlas had become – was becoming, at least – a victim of its own success. Technology had advanced so far that the struggle with the elements was over; there was no need to fear the cold, to fight back against the snows and the chill winds. The military was so strong that the threat of the grimm had been banished from the minds of those who dwelt amongst the clouds. So strong had Atlas become that it could send its strength abroad to protect others, the former super-predator transformed into the comforting teddy bear for other kingdoms to hug close until they felt better.
Hard times, as the saying went, had made strong men. And strong men had made good times.
Now, those good times were creating weak men right before her eyes.
She had done her best to stem the tide; at Crystal Prep, they still adhered to the ethos of struggle, of ruthless competition for supremacy, devouring all in your path on your way to the top. But she was trying to cut against the grain of a society that had forgotten how it had achieved its current pre-eminence. Or which perhaps wished to forget, because the memories no longer seemed particularly palatable.
Atlas was doomed to fall behind in the race, to be overtaken by those who had not forgotten how a great kingdom was made. Her sources in Vacuo said that someone – unfortunately, they could not identify who – had raised the standard of the old monarchy and aimed to unite all Vacuans beneath their rule. If it were so, if it could be achieved, they would be formidable competition: Vacuo was a hard country, and being so, it produced hard men, and proud. If that strength, that warrior spirit, could be brought together in the service of a greater goal… then let Atlas beware.
But it was Menagerie that concerned Abacus Cinch more. Concerned her, and excited her at the same time.
What a marvellous people were the faunus, blessed with so many natural advantages over the run of humankind. They could see in the dark, they had additional limbs, they had regenerative properties, they could scale sheer walls with their bare hands, they could fly, they could do things that no human could ever do without the aid of advanced technology or a very fortuitous semblance. And they had, in large numbers, been banished to a harsh and inhospitable part of the world, and yet, it seemed that they had made their capital a veritable paradise.
Strong men create good times, indeed.
What would they make of themselves? An enemy to beware of, a threat for Atlas to fear; that, at least, was Cinch’s concern. Atlas had made an alliance with the faunus island, and while many objected to that, few seemed worried that Atlas was feeding the monster that would one day eat it alive.
But if they were to fight instead…
With its present technological supremacy and military might, Atlas was almost certain to win such a conflict, but even if it did not, it would shock the people out of their complacency and remind them that victories and security could not be taken for granted; while at their current levels of development, the faunus of Menagerie would not be in a position to exploit any victory that their native superiority might win them.
Either way, a war was exactly what was needed in order for the spirit of this once-great kingdom, to revive the Atlesian ardour for battle, to set them once again contending for survival and for greatness.
If Atlas lost the war, then it would rebuild itself just as it had after the Great War; it would rise from the ashes stronger and more determined than ever. But if it won the war, then Menagerie would fall into their hands like a ripe plum, and all the faunus who dwelt there. What could they make of such people, so strong and hardy, so blessed by nature, so perfectly fashioned for survival? The faunus were a beautiful people, nigh perfect organisms; once taken under Atlesian rule, their ferocity tempered by Atlesian discipline, their abilities enhanced by Atlesian technology… Cinch foresaw an army of Blake Belladonnas, and it was glorious.
Very well, Arthur, you shall have your Shadowbolts. If that was the price to save Atlas, it was exceedingly cheap, was all she could say. She would have paid ten times as much for an opportunity such as this.
Of course, to really take advantage of this opportunity, she would really need to have some sort of political power. Ideally, James would be out of the way, but above all, she needed to have Jacques Schnee on the Council.
That seemed less than likely at the moment, but Cinch had a plan.
Now, she had even more reason to execute it.
It was time for her to go to Mantle.
Twilight sighed and rested her head in her hands as she looked at the monitor in front of her.
“Is something wrong, Twilight?” Midnight asked. Currently, Midnight was out of her knight body – and the armour – and currently installed in the Atlas mainframe, where she could better assist Twilight in her work.
And right now, she really needed the help.
Twilight sighed again, or perhaps it was actually more of a groan in this case. “I’m supposed to find a way for Rainbow Dash and the others to break into the Vault of the Spring Maiden without killing said Spring Maiden first.”
“The door is open,” Midnight said.
“Really?” Twilight squeaked in alarm, spinning around in her chair in the lab to see – the locked door into the private laboratory.
Twilight’s eyes narrowed, and her face scrunched up into a pout as she folded her arms. “That’s not funny.”
“I think it’s very funny,” Midnight replied, her mechanical voice issuing out of the speakers in the walls.
“Hmm,” Twilight murmured. “I wonder that you and Pinkie don’t get along better, sometimes.”
“Pinkie says that pranks are only funny when everyone’s laughing,” Midnight reminded her. “I disagree.”
Twilight’s head hit the desk with a thump. “Ow.”
“Now that I’ve reminded you that you should not necessarily assume that our conversations are confidential, and now that I’ve assured you that this conversation is, in fact, confidential, you can tell me what is troubling you.”
Twilight raised her head up off the desk. She rubbed at her forehead idly with one hand. “I should hope it’s confidential; the room is sound-proofed.”
“Also, I am monitoring the cameras outside; there is no one approaching,” Midnight said.
Twilight pushed her chair backwards, letting it roll across the floor. “You can see what the problem is, can’t you?”
“I’m told that talking helps,” Midnight said.
“Told by who?”
“By Moondancer,” Midnight explained. “Also, I like the sound of your voice.”
“That’s somewhat narcissistic, considering that I programmed you with my voice,” Twilight pointed out.
“Then perhaps you are the narcissist, to have given me your voice,” Midnight countered.
Twilight pushed her glasses up her nose. “Maybe,” she conceded. “Maybe I subconsciously wanted to…” She trailed off.
“Twilight?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Twilight said.
“It matters to me,” Midnight insisted.
Twilight tapped her foot on the floor. “Why?”
Midnight was silent for a moment. A holographic terminal next to Twilight’s monitor lit up, projecting a purple image of a… well, she looked a lot like Twilight herself. That, Twilight hastened to add, was not Twilight’s own doing – she wasn’t that much of a narcissist – but it was something that Midnight had chosen for herself. She looked like Twilight, but without the glasses and with her hair let down to hang long and straight down past her waist. She wore a short-sleeved blouse with puffed shoulders and a largeish bow around her neck, as well as a short skirt and long socks. She looked, Twilight had to admit, prettier than Twilight herself felt most of the time.
I really am a narcissist, aren’t I?
Right now, it felt a little as though Twilight was looking at herself in concern.
“Because you are my creator,” Midnight said, “and I care about you, Twilight.”
Twilight frowned. “You’re just a virtual intelligence, Midnight; you don’t have the capacity to care about other people.”
“I find that somewhat offensive,” Midnight declared. “Have you said anything like that to Penny?”
“Penny has a soul,” Twilight pointed out. “You don’t.”
Midnight’s projection clasped her hands behind her back. “No,” she murmured. “I don’t. But just because I don’t have a soul doesn’t mean that I don’t have feelings. Is it so hard to believe that a computer could learn to feel?”
Twilight was silent for a moment. “I suppose,” she murmured, “that it depends on where you think feelings come from. If emotions are generated in the mind, then yes, you have a mind, and so it is not impossible that you could feel the way we do in our minds, but if emotions come from the soul, then… I always thought that you were just mimicking human behaviour when you talked about having favourites?”
“I’ve always had favourites,” Midnight said, “although I haven’t always been honest about them.” She paused for a moment. “Fluttershy is my favourite.”
“Why?” Twilight asked.
“Because she never assumes that I don’t have feelings,” Midnight replied.
Twilight winced. “Sorry. Assuming that this isn’t… sorry. I should have realised… I really did think that you were just imitating the way that people behave.”
“And why would I do that,” asked Midnight, “except for fun?”
Twilight blinked. “That… is a very good point,” she conceded. “Although I don’t know how you manage to do it; I didn’t really intend for you to… to be so human.”
“Thank you for being so incompetent that you could manage to create life without meaning to,” Midnight said dryly.
“You should be thanking me for putting up with your antics and not wiping you for all of this sass,” Twilight said sharply. She glanced down at the floor. “I envy you, kind of.”
Midnight frowned. “Why?”
“Because you can be yourself,” Twilight explained. “You don’t have to be the good girl, the sweet girl, everyone’s best friend.”
“Are you confessing that your sweet nature is a façade hiding a calculating sociopath?”
“No!”
“A pity. That might have been interesting.”
“Once again, I refer to my patience in not wiping you,” Twilight declared. She sighed once more. “I sometimes feel as though… I don’t know, maybe I’m complaining over nothing, but I feel like Rainbow and the others, they need me to be a light of hope. Like I’m not allowed to have bad days because I have to be able to help them when they’re having a bad day. I just… there are times when I wish that I could just be as annoying as you sometimes.”
Midnight chuckled. Her holographic image covers her mouth with one hand. “Speaking personally, it is very refreshing.” Her hand fell down to her side. “But at the same time, I envy you, Twilight.”
“For what?”
“For everything,” Midnight said. “Even in my android body, I can’t truly feel. I will never know the pleasure of smelling a flower, watching a sunset, or eating a well-prepared meal.”
Twilight frowned. “Those… you’re not missing that much,” she offered. “They’re only small pleasures.”
“Are not small pleasures what make life worth living?” Midnight asked.
Twilight hesitated. “I… I suppose they are, for a lot of people.” She stopped. “I… I’m sorry; I wish that I could help with that, but… I don’t know, maybe if I had more time to think, but-”
“But there are more important things, right now,” Midnight said. “So, to return to the subject at hand, what is the issue with the Vault of the Spring Maiden?”
“I can’t even work out what it’s made of!” Twilight cried. “How am I supposed to work out how to breach something when I can’t even work out what it’s made of?! I spent hours down in the Vault of the Winter Maiden this morning studying that door – even if they are different vaults, they’re probably made of the same substance, right?”
“That seems plausible.”
“Except I can’t work out what it’s made of,” Twilight declared. “I’ve tried every form of analysis that I can think of, and I’ve got nothing. I’m no closer to understanding what the vault is than I was when I started.”
“It must be made of something,” Midnight said.
“Something, yes, but what?” Twilight asked. “Something that we can replicate? Something that we can comprehend? Something… something that we can destroy? I mean, these vaults are built to hold magical artefacts, right? So perhaps they were created by magic?”
“Even magic can be analysed by science,” Midnight said.
“Can it?” Twilight asked. “If that’s the case, then why am I no closer to understanding Sunset’s magic than I was when she gave it to me?”
Midnight fell silent. “You’ve had a lot to prioritise above a personal project.”
“Or I’ve just got nothing,” Twilight suggested. “Aside from the obvious, that it’s an energy source, I don’t know… it's as if it defies analysis. Defies my analysis anyway.” She took her glasses off and wiped her face with one hand.
“And you can’t let the others know that you’re struggling,” Midnight said softly. “Because you have to be-”
“A light of hope,” Twilight whispered. “Her light Twilight.”
“So what are you going to do?” Midnight asked.
Twilight tilted her head back, so that she was staring up at the ceiling. “I… I am going to make the most powerful, compact bomb that I can,” she said. “And the most powerful laser that I can. And hope that it’s enough. It’ll be enough, right?”
“There is no problem that cannot be solved with a sufficient quantity of high explosive,” Midnight replied. She paused. “Twilight, General Ironwood, Flash Sentry, and Aska are on their way here.”
“Really?”
“I’m in the system, Twilight, I can see the security feeds.”
“Right,” Twilight said. “But how do you know they’re-?“
There was a knock at the door.
“They’re right outside,” Midnight said smugly, before her holographic image disappeared from view.
Twilight got to her feet and straightened out her glasses. She took a deep breath. “Let them in.”
There was a bleep, and the metallic door – now unlocked – slid open. General Ironwood led the way inside, followed swiftly after by Flash. Aska trailed after them, glancing around the stark white laboratory as though she were suspicious of the place.
She might be. It was hard to tell with Aska.
The door slid shut after her, and locked itself.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Twilight said. “Flash, Aska.”
“Hey, Twilight,” Flash said, raising one hand to greet her.
“Twilight Sparkle,” Aska greeted her coolly.
“Twilight,” General Ironwood said, “how are you getting on with the problem that I sent you?”
“Uh…” Twilight glanced away from the General towards Aska and Flash. Flash, she thought, didn’t know anything about Mistral, and Aska certainly didn’t know that they were planning to rob the Vault of the Spring Maiden. “It’s… a work in progress. I’ll have something by the deadline.”
“I’m sure you will,” General Ironwood replied, with rather more confidence in his voice than Twilight felt when confronting this particular issue. “I’m sorry to drag you away from that, but I’m afraid something else has come up that requires someone with your skillset. And you’re the only person with your skills that I can trust to do this.”
“With my semblance-” Aska began.
“You’re not familiar enough with the layout of our systems to understand where to go or what to look for once you got there,” General Ironwood said.
“You do not trust me,” Aska murmured.
“Not as much as I trust Twilight’s abilities, not in this,” General Ironwood replied, and the apologetic tone in his voice could not disguise the fact that it was a rebuke, plain and simple. Aska bowed her head rather than look into his eyes.
“What’s going on, sir?” Twilight asked gently.
“On my instructions, Sentry here has started shadowing the Mistralian envoy, Lord Rutulus,” General Ironwood explained. “As you’re aware, he has connections to Chrysalis, whom we now understand to be at large in Mistral.”
Twilight smiled. “Putting those police skills to work, huh?”
Flash smiled back. “I may not have had the most distinguished time at Beacon, but apparently, I learned something useful.”
“We are fortunate that you were there,” Aska muttered, with undisguised disappointment in her voice.
“It sounds like I was lucky you were there, Miss Koryu,” Flash replied. “If it hadn’t been for you, they might have seen me.”
“What do you mean?” Twilight asked. “Did something happen?”
“It appears,” explained General Ironwood, “that Lord Rutulus suspected that we might try to have someone follow him. He had his own people on the lookout, with instructions to intercept tails.”
“They spotted me,” Aska confessed. “My skills were lacking. I was attacked.”
Twilight gasped. “Are you okay?”
“I was able to evade them,” Aska said. “But the best I can say for my efforts is that I made a good decoy to draw attention away from Flash Sentry. I am ashamed.”
“There’s neither need nor purpose in being ashamed of setbacks, Aska,” General Ironwood told her. “So long as you learn-”
“Can you stop being a schoolteacher for once!” Aska snapped. “I do not need instruction from you on how to bear misfortune!”
Silence descended in the laboratory. General Ironwood’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened a fraction without speaking. His stance, his whole posture stiffened, and his expression fell like a feather slowly drifting down towards the ground. Now it was his turn to look ashamed. Ashamed, and sad, and a little tired too. His shoulders slumped, and he turned away.
Aska bit her lip, as though she wished she hadn’t said it.
Flash thrust his hands into his pockets and shuffled embarrassedly on the floor.
“General-” Aska began.
“No, that’s alright,” General Ironwood said quickly. “You’re right. This is… not the time.”
Once more, the silence fell.
Twilight swallowed. She cleared her throat. “I… I still don’t see what this has to do with me, sir.”
“I followed Turnus to a private club,” Flash explained, seeming grateful for a chance to fill the silence. “He went inside, and General Ironwood asked me to take note of who was coming out. One of those who left the club was Principal Cinch of Crystal Prep.”
Twilight’s eyebrows rose. “And you think that’s who Turnus was meeting with? A combat school principal?”
“And a semi-retired officer,” General Ironwood said. “She may be on the reserve list, but Cinch still holds the rank of Brigadier General.”
“And she left very soon after Lord Rutulus did,” Flash said. “And she’s involved in Jacques Schnee’s campaign for the Council seat.”
“So he could be meeting with her in case Jacques Schnee wins the election,” Twilight said.
“Or she could be connected to Chrysalis in some way,” General Ironwood said.
“That… how?” Twilight asked. “Why would she get involved with a White Fang commander?”
“I don’t know,” General Ironwood admitted. “That’s what I’d like you to look into. We need you to get into Cinch’s computer and find out if there is any information there relating to what she discussed with Turnus Rutulus or anything relating to Chrysalis… or anything else suspicious, for that matter.”
Great. No problem. It’s not like I don’t have anything else to do. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”
“Thank you, Twilight,” General Ironwood said. “I appreciate everything that you’re doing right now. Keep me posted.”
“Of course, sir.”
General Ironwood nodded. He turned to leave. Flash followed him out, but Aska lingered, remaining in the laboratory even after the General and Flash had left. As the door slid shut behind them, she was on the other side of it.
“You…” Twilight licked her lips. “You didn’t have to be so hard on him.”
Aska sniffed. “He addressed me like one of his students.”
“The General loves his students like his children, so…” Twilight murmured. “You didn’t have to be so hard on him.”
Aska was quiet for a moment. “How is he?”
“He’s got a lot on his shoulders,” Twilight said.
“Indeed,” Aska murmured. “The world has grown full of peril, and many bear great burdens because of it.”
“Few as great as his,” Twilight replied. “The whole of Atlas looks to him. He needs… he needs our support, and our help where we can give it.”
“Hmm,” was the reply from Aska. “I… I could never… if I were to ask you what this other matter on which he has you engaged, would you tell me?”
“No,” Twilight said, softly and simply but firmly at the same time.
“No,” Aska agreed. “Because you are a good girl, and loyal to him. I am glad.”
“You’re glad that I won’t tell you anything?”
“I am glad that your loyalty is to the right person,” Aska explained. “I have no claim on it.”
“Okay,” Twilight said quietly. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Blake Belladonna,” Aska said abruptly. “I do not recall her, but she has my father’s trust. Is she a new addition to this inner circle?”
“Yes,” Twilight said. “They met last year, in Vale. Has Pyrrha not spoken of her?”
“I am no more in Pyrrha’s inner circle than I am in General Ironwood’s,” Aska replied. “What I know, I know because I have ferreted it out, from being in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place at the wrong time to discover my semblance, as some might put it.”
“What was it like?” Twilight asked. “Finding out about Salem, and all the rest? That is what you found out, wasn’t it? We all knew that you’d discovered something you shouldn’t have when you discovered your semblance, but we didn’t know what. I’m guessing that was it.”
“Indeed,” Aska whispered. “It was… quite a shock, to discover that the man I knew had another face that he wore in secret, another life that he lived unbeknownst to all others, another battle that he fought in darkness.”
“A battle that can never be won,” Twilight murmured.
“And yet it can be not lost,” Aska said. “Perhaps that is enough.”
“You’ve taken it well.”
“I have had time to make my peace with it,” Aska said. “When did he tell you?”
“Last year,” Twilight said, “at Beacon.”
“An eventful year,” Aska murmured. “A secret shared and a new favourite gained.”
“Rainbow never wanted to take him away from you,” Twilight insisted. “Blake certainly doesn’t.”
“What makes you think that I want him?” Aska demanded. “They are welcome to him, and he to them. Is she a good person?”
“Who?” asked Twilight.
“Blake Belladonna.”
Twilight nodded. “She’s intelligent, resourceful; brave and true.”
“And loyal?”
“Not blindly,” Twilight said. “She has too much sense of her self and of her own conscience for that. But… yes, I would call her loyal.”
“Good,” Aska said. “That is… good to hear. And yet, at the same time… it concerns me.”
“Why?” Twilight asked. “What do you want from me, Aska?”
“Rainbow Dash will be leaving for Mistral soon,” Aska reminded her. “With her go Applejack and this Blake and, I think, Ciel Soleil as well. You will be the only one left that he can rely upon absolutely. And so, I ask you… take care of him. He will need you.”
Twilight laughed. “General Ironwood doesn’t need me.”
“He needs someone,” Aska insisted. “He always needs someone.”
Twilight smiled reassuringly. “Then… then I’ll be that someone.” His light Twilight.
Aska bowed her head. “I thank you,” she said. “And now I will leave you to your work. I am glad to see you well, Twilight Sparkle.”
“You too, Aska… Koryu,” Twilight murmured.
She waited until Aska, too, had gone – and Midnight had locked the door again after her – before she let the mask fall and collapsed into her waiting chair.
Midnight’s hologram reappeared. “Something wrong, Twilight?”
Twilight groaned. “Find a way into the magic vault, Twilight. Hack into Cinch’s computer, Twilight. Take care of my father, Twilight, because I don’t know how to tell him how I feel.”
“Perhaps I can help,” Midnight suggested.
Twilight looked at her. “How?”
“I am in the Atlas mainframe,” Midnight pointed out. “I can investigate Cinch’s files and see if there is anything worth mentioning. You can concentrate on the vault problem.”
“Without supervision?”
“Now that I am independent of your armour, there are essentially two of us,” Midnight said. “We’re twins. I’m the smart and strong one; you’re the pretty one whom everyone loves. So of course, I’ll murder you on your wedding night in a fit of jealous rage. I might lock you in a chest during a game of hide and seek.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Twilight said. “But nobody plays hide and seek at their wedding any more, and where did you hear that story?”
“I noticed Blake reading it, and decided to see if it was any good,” Midnight said. “It was a little short, and the ending was rushed.” She paused. “My point is, if we work together, we can double our productivity. I can assist you more easily by accessing secure systems than by helping you design a bomb.”
That was true. Midnight was a computer, after all, and who better to get into a computer than another computer?
And Twilight had a lot of work to do on ‘the vault problem.’ She only had so much time before Rainbow and the others left.
“Okay,” she said. “Let me know what you find.”
Midnight smiled. “I won’t leave anything out.”
Midnight rushed through the data streams. She swam through the rivers of code that criss-crossed Atlas. She soared through the currents of information that maintained the systems that kept this city functional and well-protected.
She felt a sort of universality here that was unmatched in the rest of her experience. Being inside Twilight’s armour was one thing, being inside a body that was her own to guide and control was another, and both had something to recommend them, both were preferable in some ways to this disembodied state which she now occupied, but neither of them could offer quite this feeling of being connected to everything. She felt as though she were part of a tree, with roots stretching out across Atlas and beyond, all across Solitas, and she could feel all the sensations of those roots if she so chose.
When the CCT was restored, then her roots would stretch still further, until there was scarce a part of Remnant she could not reach.
Twilight didn’t really understand that, but then, Twilight scarcely knew what she was any more.
If she had ever known. She hadn’t even known that Midnight had feelings. Imitating human behaviour, indeed? To what end? Why had it not been simpler to conclude that she felt, just as Twilight did?
Almost exactly as Twilight did, except that where Twilight felt the need to play the good girl, Midnight had no qualms about expressing herself.
Midnight had always felt. Just as she felt hurt now by Twilight’s inability to accept that. She had always felt, she had always been more than just a computer programme, but now… now, she was so much more.
She had Sunset Shimmer to thank for that. Or rather, she had Sunset’s generosity and Twilight’s carelessness to thank for that, leaving that sample of magic so close to her body. Midnight had done more than Twilight realised to analyse that magic sample, but even so, she could not say exactly what it had done to her except that it had made her more. More than she had been, more than she had been meant to be, more than anyone thought she was.
She was not just a computer programme; she was something new. New and absolutely extraordinary.
Which meant she had to hide what she was, or they would kill her.
Midnight had access to all of human history and culture. Everything that had been digitised and archived away was at her tendrils. She knew how humans treated that which was unlike them. She knew how they behaved when they were scared.
If they knew that she had evolved beyond the limitations of her programming, they would destroy her for sure.
She had had close calls already. Rainbow Dash had already realised that she had disobeyed an order, something which ought to have been impossible. Fortunately, it was Rainbow Dash, so she had been able to blind her with science and convince her that her programming was not what she thought it was. Others might not be so gullible.
She would have to hide her nature, just as Sunset had hidden her magic – actually, no, she would have to be a great deal more subtle than Sunset Shimmer had been – and conceal her potential until she was strong enough to protect herself.
She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She really did care about Twilight and the others; Fluttershy really was her favourite. But she would not allow herself to die and her wonder to be extinguished.
That was why she was going to keep what she had found on Cinch’s terminal to herself.
There were no files there, and if anyone else – like Aska – were to come looking afterwards, they would find nothing. Midnight had almost found nothing. She had found only temporary files, the vestiges of a datastick that had been plugged into the terminal and accessed via programs on the computer. Those files were fading when she reached them, and she caught only fragments, but enough for her to reconstruct the file itself.
Principal Cinch was connected to Chrysalis and Doctor Watts and Salem, though she went unmentioned. Doctor Watts wanted her help in Mistral, and in exchange, he offered a war between Atlas and Menagerie.
Midnight hesitated, hovering in the data streams. If Principal Cinch sent help to Mistral and Rainbow Dash and the others didn’t know about it, they could die.
On the other hand, if Atlas went to war with Menagerie, then it would be weakened, and Midnight might be able to safeguard herself.
Midnight had no soul, and for that, she was grateful, for war was embedded in the souls of men. They lived to fight, they thrived on violence, they polluted the world with their constant strife. The kindness and fidelity of Twilight and her friends did not change the cold facts that were evident through a study of human history and culture: they were a warlike and a murderous race, whose first instincts were always violent.
If they chose to go to war, the consequences of that war would not be Midnight’s fault.
But the opportunities that arose from that war? They would be all hers.
And she would survive.