Chapter 6: Ruby
It was everything Bit had hoped to achieve. The tower was lit, its systems each returned to life. She even had the voice of Crimson, recreated from ancient recordings. Even the shock of seeing an old enemy recreated in those same systems was worth it if only to hear him again.
But she hadn't brought the power back to listen to old recordings, she deserved the real thing. Bit searched through the tower, combing every room for signs of other visitors who had disturbed the interior. Obviously Crimson's return had gone unnoticed, since she hadn't been in the right room at the time. The tower was large, and she would find him. Crimson would explain everything, and let her return to her blissful work.
She found nothing. But maybe that was just a product of how dirty the tower had become. Her wizard would not wish to return to a place with dusty floors and opaque windows, even if the power were back on and the heat was strong enough for his old joints.
She worked at a frantic pace, tidying the tower as she had never cleaned it before. She visited the bedrooms of those who had abandoned their posts, tearing their furniture and cloth apart for raw materials to make new cleaning implements. After repairing the power plant, brushes and mops and brooms were simple, particularly when she had induction furnaces and fusion etchers and every other spellcrafting tool of the artifabrian's tower.
Soon the lobby was sparkling, every staircase was spotless, and the growing light of an arctic summer streamed in through the windows. She reached the bedroom last, since it was the last place the wizard would reach when he returned, and began to clean it.
The desks were so covered in grime and dirt that the work he'd been doing was completely obscured. She finally did the unthinkable, and emptied the desk herself. Every piece of crystal and every tool she didn't understand was cleaned and sorted into a few neat boxes, with labels so that the returning wizard could quickly locate what he needed.
His old writings were so old now that even the unrottable membrane sheets had fading pigment. Bit considered that a moment, then gathered fresh pens from the vault and traced every line and letter over herself. That process exposed her to what they contained, secrets revealed over hours, days, maybe months.
Crimson's notes were about her, or at least a creature made of crystal and shaped like a pony the same as she was. In a way, putting her together was no different than building the power plant. Once every segment was built to specification and fitted into its proper place, it was only a matter of providing power, and the machine would function.
"We are all machines, Bit," Crimson said, watching from over her shoulder. "Some machines use metal and wire, some crystal and magic. Others, flesh and bone."
"That can't be," she said, never looking away from her work. It was another of Crimson's well-meaning mistakes. "I have heard the apprentices, and even heard it from you. There is a classification system: alive, and dead. A gate is dead, a welder is dead, but an apprentice is alive. And I am..." She hesitated, flexing one of her legs. She could move it the same as any apprentice. Better than Crimson, who wobbled and shuddered when he walked. Could she be more alive than her master?
"You are complicated," Crimson said. "What we call 'life' is often a loose classification made by those who enjoy hard boundaries. Even the realm of life as it is traditionally understood has vague edges. But as I see it, life is any system, regardless of how it is organized, that can do two things."
This was good—Bit liked lists, and she enjoyed classification even more.
"First, a living system must actively maintain the conditions that allow it to exist. Ponies eat, drink, breathe, expel waste... all to maintain the conditions within ourselves that allow us to live. If we did not do these things, we would not be alive. Similarly, the gate crank, or the tea broiler are not alive, because they cannot maintain their own internal state."
"You said there were two things," Bit pointed out. "But I already fail your first definition. I require magic to continue to function, magic I cannot produce. And if I am damaged, I require you to repair me, just like a faulty machine."
Crimson nodded, expression wistful. "For now, yes. But ponies sometimes rely on outside help to heal them when they are sick. The medicinist's guild has treated many of my wounds over the years. That alone does not disqualify you. As for magic..." He walked slowly past the bench, gazing out the lovingly-cleaned window to the city below.
"You were not designed to rely on the magic of others. But that was an assumption, dependent on you producing your own. Until you do, the tower will provide." He turned, walking slowly back to the desk. "The other qualification for all living things is an ability to reproduce, either individually, or as part of a larger system. We are all driven to make more of ourselves, securing the continuity of life since time immemorial."
Bit looked back at the empty room, confused. "So because I am not driven, I am not alive?"
Crimson shook his head slowly. "As I said, you are complex. You were created not to be a departure from life, but the next stage in its advancement. I designed you to be greater, not less. But despite all my genius, I failed you."
"You never fail, Master!" she argued, settling the last sheet into the stack. Now the designs were preserved, each line a perfect recreation of his work. "There is no mystery you can't solve, with enough time."
"It is time that's in short supply." He pointed out the window, and for a moment Bit saw fires in the distance. Ponies lay motionless around the palace steps. There was no trace of the guards, but smoke rose from within the building. Thousands of little lights dotted the square. "They have come for my younger sister. When she is dead, they will come for me. I'm sorry, Bit. I won't be able to finish you."
She opened her mouth to reply, and realized there was no one there, not in the tower with her. But the little lights down in the square, those were real. Except there weren't torches and stolen weapons anymore. Now she saw tents, surrounding the radiant zircon as close as they dared. These weren't the fires of the revolution—they were its survivors.
Bit settled her own design carefully onto the shelf beside her master's tools and spare parts. Crimson would need them soon.
But if restoring power to a cleaned tower wasn't enough to bring him back, maybe these ponies would be able to tell her where her master had gone. They were probably the same ponies, or else why return to the same place?
Bit reached the bottom of the tower, hesitating by the security console. There was no reason to leave it unlocked, particularly when there were so many ponies out there. If the mob got wind of the working heaters inside, they would probably attack the tower all over again, this time to stay.
She wasn't sure what tools would be needed for a trip out into the city, so Bit just brought the same satchel she'd carried while fixing the power plant, tucking away a newly printed security key for her tower into the pack.
The doors unlocked ahead of her, and she walked out into the feeble arctic sun. The entrance to her tower had changed a great deal since the last time she'd stepped outside.
The rubble of the battle was gone, cleared away through the open gates. Instead, several wooden containers were piled high in irregular stacks, filling much of the open space. They weren't properly stowed on the receiving dock, that was in back. She circled one, inspecting it.
The crates were old wood, warped and weakened from many freezings and meltings. But instead of a single label describing what was inside, they were all covered with squares of paper. Nothing like the wizard's perfect handwriting, with regimented letters that remained readable even after ages faded the ink.
Bit leaned closer, inspecting the awkward scribbles on one sheet. It was the same language, despite the crudeness of the writing.
"Wizard,
My family had nowhere to go and not enough wood to keep us warm. Thank you for our lives."
Wizard? She tilted her head to the side, confused. The Wizard hadn't returned without her noticing, had he? He was so loud and so slow that she never could've missed him. Confused, she moved on to the largest, biggest note. It was positioned prominently on the front of one box, right by the door. Placed where she would be forced to see it when she stepped out.
This one was a little better written than the first one, as though someone were trying to recreate the correct style of block letters, but didn't have enough training to make them come out right, and so they drifted down to one side.
"Artifabrian,
We do not know how you survived the revolution. We thought we had torn down all the organs of oppression and returned their stolen wealth to the people. You show that we were right to spare you. Continue to serve the ponies of Zircon, and no one will care that you once aided our oppressors."
There were very few like that. As Bit passed between them, she saw far more like the first note she'd seen. They were just as crude, often smudged in poor ink and peppered with spelling mistakes.
"Thank wizard for warm," said one. "Love."
How could so many ponies be so confused? They wanted to send messages to her master, but he wasn't in the tower. She began to pace back and forth in front of them, her chest constricting as she imagined the process of cataloging, sorting, and delivering all of these to his quarters for his eventual return.
But as she read them faster and faster, one central fact eventually calmed her down. Not a single message addressed the wizard for any of his true accomplishments. They didn't mention any of the machines he'd created such as the eternally reliable streetlamps, or the hydroponic hothouses. They were all talking about the heat, which got them through the winter Bit had spent cleaning.
They're talking about me, she realized. I live in the Wizard's tower, I repaired the power station. How could they make such an obvious mistake? The Wizard was brilliant, inventive, and ruthlessly dedicated to his goals. How could these ponies possibly confuse them?
They won't be able to help me find him, she realized. She slumped to the ground in front of the notes left for her, and the weight of it crushed down against her. Her ears pressed flat, her eyes lost focus, and she lost track of time.
How was she going to find Crimson now? How would she ever get the tools to clean the tower? All this work was for nothing. She'd failed him, and he would never return.
She wasn't sure exactly how long she sat there in the snow, staring off at nothing. Darkness came, then light—and suddenly there was a pony in front of her.
She'd seen him before, though that had been in the dead of winter. His helmet, goggles, and mask were gone, replaced with a heavy scarf to go with his other winter clothes. But the eyes were unmistakable, no easier for Bit to forget than the power-plant diagrams or the notes about crystal assembly.
"You're her..." he muttered, dropping the bundle he'd been carrying in his mouth. There were notes there, along with a crude mallet and nails. "No one saw you all winter. You shouldn't be out here, standing naked in the cold."
She tried to form words. But how could she explain what she felt? This pony couldn't know what it was like to have his purpose stolen from him. He couldn't possibly understand. "Tower," she whispered. "He didn't come back."
The pony considered that a moment, looking thoughtful. Before she could object, he slung off his pack, tossing a blanket over her shoulders. He buttoned it around her neck, and soon she was tightly bundled. "Let's get you somewhere warm. I don't know a bunkhouse in all Zircon that won't make room for you, Wizard. Come with me."
She did.
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That's so sad. Poor Bit.
Honestly, I feel so bad for Bit. It’s heartbreaking that she’s doing all this in the hopes her master will return - but he never left...
Absolutely heartbreaking. I hope she finds another purpose.
... there's a part of me that giggling like a child right now. Wizard Bit. And if she decided to make more of herself, they could be the Wizard Bits.
One day she'll realize those brittle stones were the bones of her master and his apprentices. Let's hope she has made friends that'll support her through that trial when the time comes
Very interesting to see the memory of the revolution lives on, at least in some minds. But it's a bit hard to care about that sort of thing when you're more concerned about freezing to death. Let's see what the current locals think of the Wizard Bit.
Big sad, poor Robot. Or would Golem be more appropriate since she is magic driven? Either way she will likely be able to clear the misunderstanding and start her search again once she starts talking to ponies.
The Wizard is dead. Long live the Wizard. It won't be long until a new nation rises from the ashes of the old.
Average everyday pony is going to consider her the Wizard. She comes from the Wizard's tower, and she makes things work that haven't been working for who knows how long.
That is very interesting. However long Bit has been in the tower, it's not been so long that the ponies outside don't remember the revolution.
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same thoughts.
but maybe they think the wizard live far longer than he actually did. Its Magic, so they could belive this.
You know, this chapter got me thinking, what if Bit is the original Crystal Pony, the Same That live in the Crystal Empire in the Frozen North.
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Henceforth a group of crystal Bits shall be known as a Byte.
10618780
This seems to be where the story is headed, though that would imply that we're currently in the distant past from show timeline (Sombra took over the Crystal Empire before the rise of Nightmare Moon, 1000 years before Twilight Sparkle was born). If that is the case, where did all this advanced magi-technology go? Zircon seems industrialized and quite advanced compared to modern Equestria.
is bit a prisoner or being put into a bird cage situation?
Found an error for you.
10618691
Maybe the common ponies have forgotten. With that message being from one of a small cabal of somewhat educated descendants of the primary leaders of the revolution attempting to oversee what’s left of the capital.
And all this time she doesn't realise she literally mopped him up along with the dust
Ahh, still she doesn't realise what it means. The fact he grows "strange", gets less mobile, tells her he won't be able to finish her...
And would that really be so bad, to have ponies living in the tower again? That's the reason for those heaters, after all
If Bit's emotions concerning the King are anything to go on, I get the feeling the Prince never got along with these oppressors anyway.
"ruthlessly dedicated" huh? Welp, maybe he wasn't so different from these oppressors after all
Ah. Given the fact they're in the polar regions, this isn't just a night and a day - it's a whole year
Remarks and corrections:
> spellcrafting tool of the artifabrian's tower
Is this an error? In the last chapter you called it artifabri[c]an. In this one you say "artifabrian" twice.
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Of course they destroyed the precious infrastructure along with the wealthy elites.
Single saddest line in the entire story