Follows A Little Spark: Sc.01-03


                                            >”That’s quite the collection you have there, Anon.”

                                            >You look up to see Twilight enter, eyeing the massive spread on the huge square table that served as a workbench before you.

                                            “Don’t call it that, you sound like Celestia.”

                                            >The purple pony looks up at you. “What is it, then?”

                                            >You spread your arms to encompass the entirety of your chaotic work surface.

                                            “Components! Today we begin our great work.”

                                            >Twilight gives you a look somewhere between ‘oh really’ and ‘that’s cute’.

                                            “No, I’m serious. I’m tired of being a ‘royal adviser’ in title only. And I’ve had it with magic. Uh, no offense.”

                                            >She just rolls her eyes. “Alright, Anon, then why did you want me here?”

                                            >You look back down at the collection if knickknacks across your desk. Celestia was generous, and acquired just about any part you could ask for. She thought your requests were cute.

                                            “Well, I haven’t seen anything more complicated here than a steam engine. I feel like I need to start from scratch. I need to know what magic can and can’t do before I go about breaking it.”

                                            >An incredulous expression from the purple one, this time. “Break it?”

                                            “Yeah, you know. Cheat.”

                                            >”You can’t cheat magic, Anon.”

                                            “Where I come from, magic IS cheating.”

                                            >”But there are rules! Like-”

                                            “Alright fine, whatever. Rules are made to be broken. Physics has rules too and magic gets around them. Lets use physics to get around magic’s rules.”

                                            >This got her full attention. “And you’re going to do that with all this?”

                                            “Well, we’re going to start. And we start with a lot of questions.”

                                            >You hold up what had to be the biggest flawless quartz crystal you’d ever seen, about as long as your forearm. You had fastened a couple electrodes to its surface the night before.

                                            “You have a ton of this stuff, apparently.”

                                            >”It’s just a crystal, Anon. I could grow something like that one easily.”

                                            “That’s ridiculous, but alright.”

                                            >Magic was bullshit.

                                            “Hold this for me.”

                                            >Her horn starts glowing. You let go of the crystal when it too begins to glow.

                                            >You pick up a fairly thick wire attached to it, along with another wire attached to a post on your workstation, and hold their exposed ends near each other.

                                            “Now squeeze it as hard as you can without breaking it.”

                                            >Twilight looks at you like you asked her to open a jar.

                                            >You’d like her a lot more if it wasn’t for all the condescension.

                                            >At least she was actually interested in your ideas, unlike the other two alicorns you interacted with regularly.

                                            >Twilight looked to be straining with the effort, now is the time

                                            >You slowly bring the two wires closer together

                                            >Far sooner than anticipated, a bright flash arcs between then, accompanied by a loud snap.

                                            “Holy shit.”

                                            >You look to Twilight with a manic grin on your face

                                            >She looks astonished.

                                            “Power!”

                                            >”Did I do that?”

                                            “Kinda. It’s complicated.”

                                            >She looks over the crystal again, then back to you. “Can we do it again?”

                                            >You tap the now-dead ends of the wires together a few times.

                                            “No, you’d need to let it go and start squeezing again. But it’s a fun trick, and when I saw how big this thing was, I had to try it.”

                                            >Twilight considers this, then shakes her head. “Wait, you were the one with questions. You weren’t supposed to make me have my own.”

                                            “Oh, yeah. Well, here we go. If you squeeze something with magic, does it stay squeezed?”

                                            >”No.”

                                            >You thought about this some, looking over the bits and pieces on your desk.

                                            “If you shrink something, does it stay shrunk?”

                                            >”Yes it does, but that’s much more complicated than squeezing something.”

                                            “How so?”

                                            >”Well,” Twilight started, fidgeting. By the look of her eyes, she was about ten seconds away from starting a rant. “It requires a lot more preparation and effort. It’s also a lot more specialized, so most unicorns wouldn’t be able to manage it unless they’ve studied it, or their specialtalenthassomethingtodowithmagicorsizeand-”

                                            “Alright, alright, I get it. Well I can already think of one way to break this; mechanically, you can make some sort of harness, then shrink the harness around the object in question. It’s now squeezed for long periods of time.”

                                            >At first she looked miffed you interrupted her lecture-to-be, then rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, Anon, everypony knows that. Well, everypony who cares, which isn’t many. It’s not a very useful trick.”

                                            “But that’s the kind of stuff I mean. Getting around the rules of magic. Squeezed things stay… squeezed. There’s all sorts of things we can do, like turn this crystal into a capacitor.”

                                            >”I could always charge the crystal directly, with magic. We do that all the time.”

                                            >You make a show of thinking on this. Could magic be measured piezo- or pyroelectrically?

                                            “Maybe I can do something with that later. For now, I was thinking more… mundane.

                                            >Twilight puts the giant crystal back on your workbench, then looks over some other pieces. “And you want to know how magic can break the rules of the mundane?”

                                            “Exactly.”

                                            >You pick up a rod with several magnets glued to one end, then roll it between your hands back and forth

                                            “Can you make things spin magically?”

                                            >Twilight looked at your idle activity. “Temporarily, that’s trivial. Over long periods of time without a pony doing it themselves, that’d require something like a come-to-life spell-”

                                            “A whatnow?”

                                            >A look of frustration flit across her features at another interruption.

                                            >She looked kind of cute when she was irritated, you’ll have to do it more.

                                            >“It’s an animation spell, of a sort. It makes things move on their own.”

                                            “Can it actually bring things to life? Walking, talking-”

                                            >”No, Anon,” she said. You had to expect she’d get you back. “Just simple movement, they’re not aware or anything. You probably could do something like that with magic, but it’d take me a lot of research to figure out how. And, ah, probably not recommended.”

                                            “I’m not here to figure out if we should do something, only if we could. And if we can, I will.”

                                            >Twilight does not look convinced, but she’s having trouble hiding proof that your enthusiasm is contagious.

                                            >”So why were you interested in making a machine that could think?”

                                            >You reach down and whip out a huge sheet of paper from underneath your workbench, startling Twilight. She jumps far enough back for you to snatch a couple more pages from near where she stood.

                                            >You look around your desk for a pen, then scowl when you see the pencil you’ve been using. Could pony manufacturing advance far enough to make a ballpoint before you die?

                                            >Taking the pencil, you vigorously circle an entry on the page, then start making a couple notes next to it. Twilight recovers her wits and walks over, craning her neck around your body to see what you’re doing. Her chin barely clears the benchtop.

                                            >”Horse Hands?” she reads off the main entry

                                            “Yeah, I figure if I can find a way to make some servomotors and a means of controlling them, I can make you some hands.”

                                            >You wiggle your fingers in an exaggerated wave. Twilight looked unimpressed. ”Telekinesis is far better than anything you can do with those crude appendages.”

                                            “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. It’s a long way off anyhow.”

                                            >You roll up your sheets and place them back under your bench with the rest of your many pages.

                                            “Doesn’t really matter until I can get some reliable power working. Free spinning is great, that’s a perpetual motion generator already.”

                                            >”Not perpetual, after constant use it’ll wear down in about a year. I’d have to come back and cast it again.”

                                            “Hell, that’s still better than I was expecting going into this. We’re practically already there.”

                                            >You pick your magnet-stick up again and spin it a few more times, then put it out at the edge of your collection of parts. What else could you do?

                                            “Do ponies know about radioactivity?”

                                            >”Radio-what?”

                                            “I don’t know how to make a radioisotope generator anyway. Is your metallurgy even good enough to make thermocouples? Wait, are there no handheld firearms because you can’t heat-treat metal?”

                                            >”Handheld? We don’t have hands, Anon,” Twilight says flatly.

                                            “Right, that makes more sense. Guns are one of those things we shouldn’t do, anyway. Well, we can keep this simple. One of my mentors always said almost every way of generating power consistently used water to make something spin, and you already have coal-fired steam engines. Oil or gas might require too much infrastructure. Reflector arrays can make solar power without messing around with photovoltaics. Aside from boilers… Stirlings should be easy. If you use magic to make something hot, does it stay hot?”

                                            >”Of course not.”

                                            “I wonder if we can make some sort of Maxwell’s Demon”

                                            >”I’m not summoning a demon for you!” You look over to Twilight, who is now visibly angry. “Perhaps a lesson on means and ends is proper, before we go any further!”

                                            “No, not an actual- wait are there actual Maxwell’s Demons here? That’s wild.”

                                            >Her anger slowly fades to confusion. “I’ve never read of anything by that name, demonic or otherwise.”

                                            “Not a demon. It’s- nevermind. Can magic do something when it sees something?”

                                            >”I don’t know, Anon,” she says, sarcasm practically dripping from her mouth. “Can you be any more vague?”

                                            “Perform an action when it notices a specific thing. Like tap a crystal, maybe.”

                                            >”Oh, yes. That’s trivial.”

                                            “I don’t know any ways of turning information into energy that’d be practical anyway.”

                                            >Twilight cocks her head. “It sounds like there is a lot you don’t know, Anon.”

                                            “Well, that’s how it goes, back home. Everyone specializes. You know a lot about a couple things.”

                                            >”Well,” she says, smug, “never send a stallion to do a mare’s job. I’ll have you know I study everything.”

                                            “Good for you. You still don’t know how crushing quartz makes a spark.”

                                            >There’s that cute irritated expression again.

                                            “Doesn’t matter. We can make something spin. Is there a limit to how hard it is? How heavy?”

                                            >”Well, the harder the motion, the more effort required to cast the spell.”

                                            “So the only limit is your prodigious magical talent.”

                                            >She looked cute when she was proud of herself too. You could get used to working with her.

                                            “I’ll take that as a yes. We’ll have to do some experiments sometime on how heavy a load you can turn, and how fast.”

                                            “I’d be happy to. It would be a fun challenge.”

                                            >You lean back and look over your collection of parts again, thinking of your list of ideas. The amount of components you need to make by hand is exhausting just to think about.

                                            “Can you duplicate items?”

                                            >”Yes. Some ponies can even duplicate themselves, or others.”

                                            “How has your economy not collapsed?”

                                            >”It’s an exceedingly rare skill. Those who can do it know the trouble that sort of thing brings.”

                                            “You’re telling me you’ve never, uh, made change?”

                                            >She looks away from you and shifts on her hooves.

                                            “Thought so. Your restraint is noted. At any rate, I’d like to have you duplicate a bunch of parts for me, once I’ve figured out what I need.”

                                            >”As long as they’re small and simple, that wont be a problem.” She looked out across the vast assortment of miscellaneous doodads Celestia had brought you by request. “As long as you clean all this up.”

                                            “Oh, uh. Yeah. Now that I know what I have to do next, I can do that.”

                                            >The two of you continued staring at the mess until it became awkward. You thought about pulling your planning sheets out again, but Twilight stood in the way, shuffling nervously.

                                            >”Anon, you know...”

                                            “Yes?”

                                            >”Well, it’s weird being able to talk to a… a male, about stuff like this. So few are interested in magic, or science.”

                                            “I tried talking to some guards about it when I needed help. They wondered why I was getting my hands dirty. I’ve never met such a combination of catty, prissy, and meathead before.”

                                            >”They’re there mostly to look pretty.”

                                            “Where I come from, they’d be there mostly to kill things.”

                                            >Twilight blanched. “The princesses are more than capable of taking care of themselves. They wouldn’t put their guards in needless danger. Celestia cares for them.”

                                            “So I’d guessed.”

                                            >You still didn’t like the implications.

                                            >Twilight swept out one wing to indicate the table and its numerous occupants. “Celestia seems to be taking care of you as well.”

                                            “She humors me. Really, she dotes on me. It’s embarrassing, frankly. Part of the reason I’m doing this is just to show I’m able to put deed to word, when she asks my opinion. Not that she’s actually asking my opinion, but she makes a show of it during petitions. I don’t know why; as far as I can tell, my title is meaningless. I don’t even think she knows what I’m doing here. She might not even know you’re here at all.”

                                            >This stopped the purple pony cold. “She- she doesn’t know I’m here? With you?”

                                            “No, why?”

                                            >Twilight’s wings flit out in alarm, then she started to back out of the room. “Because, she’s, uh. She- it’s hard to explain. I’ll uh, I’ll talk to you later, Anon. Let me know when you’ve got the experiment ready. And, uh, let Celestia know too. I’ll- I’ll see you then.”

                                            >She turned then, and darted out of the room.

                                            >What the fuck?


                                            * * *


                                            >Looking at alien stars is a surreal experience. You weren’t an astronomer, but you’d learned to navigate by the night sky in Scouts, half a lifetime ago. Celestial navigation was just a bunch of memorization and math to reverse-engineer your position from known constants.

                                            >”Anon?”

                                            >There was nothing to recognize in this collection of tiny sparks. Your mind kept trying to draw lines, build familiar constellations, but all attempts failed. Formations were indistinct, and connections fleeting.

                                            >”Anon, please...”

                                            >Have ponies named all their stars and constellations? Could you take up astronomy as a hobby here, and do it yourself? Maybe name them all after mythologies from your home, as yours were, that’d be an interesting-

                                            >”Anon, must thou?!”

                                            >Your eyes snapped from Princess Luna’s mane to her face, where you found ample consternation.

                                            “Sorry. I got lost.”

                                            >”Lost? We know human dreams hath strange tides and currents that no pony’s laboreth under, but surely thou meanst not lost. Thou hast not left.”

                                            >You lean back in the tall chair you’re sitting in, looking back to your drawing board. The open twilit space around you is surrounded by a dense featureless fog; leaving surely would lead to getting lost. Imaginary, all of it, but with Luna around, sleep time can also be work time.

                                            >You consider for a moment that you’re now not only spending every waking moment but every dozing moment working too. This may not be conducive to continued good health.

                                            >Fuck it, you have science to do.

                                            >Beside you, the royal pain in your ass stamps a hoof and clears her throat. “Anon, we will not be ignored.”

                                            “Oh. No, thou… beest…? Uh-”

                                            >Luna rears back, astonishment plastered across her face as if you’d just slapped her with it. Fury quickly chased it away. “Thou shalt say ‘you’ when speaking to us, as befitting our station!” She stomps again. “Before our banishment, stallions were bolder, but even they knew proper respect for royal persons. Thou shalt know we are more amenable than most to thy atrocious breaches of etiquette, but thou canst push even us to ire. We have elected to grant thee this extraordinary time to pursue thy plans; gratitude, not impertinence, is the appropriate response.”

                                            >She talks like Henry VIII would have mounted her head on his wall. Your mind reels. Regicide is not the best line of thinking right now; for all you know she could read your mind in here.

                                            “Sorry, Your- uh- Majesty.”

                                            >Thankfully, her ire passes quickly. Her temper is quick to flare and quick to fade. You fear her sister may, instead, be slow to anger but result in devastating eruptions. So far you remain blessedly ignorant.

                                            >”We accept thy apology, Anon.” She turns to your drawing table and squints. “But what, pray tell, art thou designing?”

                                            >You look back to the drawing board, turning your tall swivel chair side to side minute amounts. The drawing was a bit hazy – Luna said this seemed normal for humans as far as she could tell, but not ponies – and half of it was erased.

                                            “It’s a transmission. Well, part of one. Or it’s supposed to be. It doesn’t work.”

                                            >”We expect not; it is merely paper.”

                                            “Even if I had it in my hand, it wouldn’t. I know theoretically one could design a magnetic variable transmission, but I can’t figure it out. You know what? This is going to be a test article anyway. Once I figure out the proper gear ratios, I could make a fixed one.”

                                            >You wipe a hand across the drawing. Only blank canvas is left behind.

                                            “I can’t deny using dreams for this is convenient. Thanks, Princess.”

                                            >Luna smiles, but is still squinting. The sun’s definitely brighter, now that all the fog’s burned away.

                                            >Wait, when did the sun appear?

                                            >Dreams are bullshit.

                                            “Think you can turn the sun down?”

                                            >”Thou art the ruler of this space, Anon. Thy request is best answered by thyself.”

                                            “You’re very hard to understand.”

                                            >“And thou speakest as a simpleton, like so many others we have had the misfortune to converse with since our return.”

                                            “Then why not speak like they do?”

                                            >She blinked a couple times as she tried to formulate an answer. “Because… we wish to… maintain our regal air. Others seeth it as dignified and attractive.”

                                            >Attractive? Was that admission intentional? You let it hang in the air, where it’s sweetened by the scent of all the flowers blooming on the hill your drawing table is set atop. You move your work lamp aside, and note that it no longer casts a shadow. The sun has disappeared, but ambient light remains, and the sky is still a clear blue. Clouds smudge the horizon, until they don’t. In some places, the horizon is smudged without their help.

                                            “So what are you, chivalrous?”

                                            >Luna brightens at the prospect. “Thy world hath similar doctrines?”

                                            “Had. Usually the word ‘chivalry’ is followed by two more; ‘is dead.’

                                            >Her expression falls. “We understand.”

                                            >Seeing that hurt you more than you’d care to admit.

                                            “I’m sure it’s more appreciated around here, even if few show it.”

                                            >You pick up you pen/cil/marker/stick and perform an arcane yet intuitive motion to ready it that even you cannot describe. You try to swivel your chair again, but it was never able to swivel at all. Instead, it rolls across the hard, flat surface of the tall grass, which tickles your knees as you glide over/through it. You end up rolling away from your table, so you grab it and drag yourself back.

                                            >Your next drawing is already partially completed on the canvas. It makes more sense than you’d expect.

                                            “Oh yeah, that’d work, wouldn’t it?”

                                            >You draw the other half of the simple design.

                                            >You redraw the first half, upon finding it had vanished. It was probably never there in the first place.

                                            >Luna is still squinting at the drawing, even though the fog’s return means it’s not so bright out.

                                            >Why does the fog smell like flowers?

                                            >”Forgive us, for we know little of the technological developments that preceded our return. What doeth this contraption?”

                                            “It turns force into different force.”

                                            >This bland statement somehow conveys far more meaning than the sum of its parts. Luna nods enthusiastically.

                                            >You point at a part of it and start explaining further anyway.

                                            “The shaft connected to this concave cone is already spinning. These rounded wheels between it and a similar cone on the other side transfer force across the gap. If the wheels are angled, one cone will spin faster and the other slower. Usually you’d use a belt, I think, or some sort of planetary gearing, but this would be easier to make.”

                                            >You look over some notes that appeared on the page. They’re completely illegible.

                                            “I’ll use it to figure out an ideal balance of speed and torque Twilight’s spells can produce, then make a fixed transmission with magnets off the required ratios, for reduced maintenance. For the test we can just use flywheels as loads. Oh, I’ll need to design a way to control this.”

                                            >Luna watches you start working on a manual control extension. “Thou workest with our sister’s student?”

                                            “Yeah, we’re trying to combine magic and mechanics. I think she’s into it, and she might be nice to work with. Most ponies scoff at this stuff. Or at me. One or the other, depends on who.”

                                            >”She maketh a good compatriot in such endeavors,” Luna squints at the sheet again, and cocks her head, “for she understandeth such matters better than most.”

                                            >Hearing something in her tone, you stop drawing and look over at her.

                                            >After at moment, she looks back, with something approximating a sheepish expression. Her wings are slightly lifted off her back and angled downward, giving you an impression of slumped shoulders.

                                            “We all have our talents.”

                                            >You give her your warmest smile.

                                            >She smiles as well and chuckles, her wings returning to her back. “Indeed. Thou speakest true.”

                                            >As you return to your work, she clears her throat. “We would warn thou against spending too much time with her on this, however. Though could stirrest our sister’s displeasure.”

                                            “Twilight did kinda freak out last night about that. Why should she worry? Celestia doesn’t stop me from doing this nonsense, and she doesn’t stop me from talking to whoever I want around the palace.”

                                            >Luna hesitates, then starts pacing around your drawing table, the sound of her hooffalls against what sounded like stone resonating strangely against the fog. “These follies thou pursuest… she believes humoring them is her prerogative alone. She seeth it as a way to ingratiate thyself to her, to- well. She wisheth thou associate her grace with such activities of thine.”

                                            “So why are you here?”

                                            >”We disagree with her desires to this point,” she says, passing behind you. “We wished to share thy company for a time, and these means are unique to us alone.”

                                            >You suddenly feel a bit like prey.

                                            “I see. What do you think of me so far, then?”

                                            >She stops her pacing, back at your side near where she’d began. “Thou hast a single-minded focus on thy goals," she says, tone flat.

                                            >What’s that supposed to mean?

                                            >”We have seen thy dreams before. Wondrous places. Interesting… activities. We had hoped thou would showest us the ways of thy kind, if we made an appearance. Instead thou hast engaged in activities thou could performest awake.”

                                            “Well I guess I’ve been a little preoccupied,” you mumble.

                                            >Luna smiles at this, and suddenly her tone is much warmer. “Of course. We have learned thy thoughts runneth over with unique creativity. Though not the pleasure we had hoped, thy company hath nevertheless been a pleasure.”

                                            >You thought on this for a time. The drawing suddenly feels less important. You’ve got it figured out in your head by now anyway, disregarding the fact this environment itself was in your head.

                                            “You’re saying you could put me back home, in here?”

                                            >Her smile falters, but quickly finds its place again, calm and gentle. “Only thou art ruler here, as we have said. Human dreams are less stable than ponies, we have found, and our control over them is not as firm. But we may be able to nudge thy sleeping mind in certain directions, and then appear to thou once underway.”

                                            >You sat in silence, slouching.

                                            >You could actually see home again, however briefly, and you’d never known until now.

                                            >Is this something you wanted to indulge in? You’ve been treated well here, and a taste of home would tempt further homesickness, not that you had much to be homesick for.

                                            >Well, the food. You definitely missed the food.

                                            >And you could, at least, show Luna around. For her benefit if not yours.

                                            “You know what? That might not be a bad idea.”

                                            >Luna stepped back, looking proud. “We are very pleased. Tonight will not work; we have already asserted ourselves within this space to stabilize this working area of thine. In the future, though, we will endeavor to try.”

                                            >You sighed.

                                            “That’ll be a breath of fresh air.”

                                            >Your sigh was also a breath of fresh air; the flower smell was back.

                                            >”Thou art fortunate, for thy world thou hadst left behind was pleasant. Even past, thou at least hast sweet memories of it.”

                                            >Her tone was a lot sadder. You look over at her. All her pride had fled.

                                            “You, uh, you wanna talk about something?”

                                            >”Yes, but no. Perhaps another night. Thou hast spent much time here, for we needed to alter the rate of time; thy dreams flow quick, but at that speed are uncontrollable. Thou hast work to complete, so we shall allow thou it, and interrupt no further.”

                                            >You looked back at your canvas. Even as Luna resumed her place at your side to watch, dozens of little notes resolved across it. They were still illegible, but somehow you knew what they said.

                                            >You sigh and start writing them out properly, so you’d have them committed to memory come morning.


                                            * * *


                                            >”Ah, there’s my little adviser.”

                                            >Startled awake, you jolt upright in your seat. Celestia stands on the other side of your large workbench. A large rubber flap suspended in the air in front of her drops to the table.

                                            “Oh, hey Princess. I, uh, did I miss something?”

                                            >”Nothing you were needed for. Your requests are becoming rather specific. I thought I’d stop by and see what you were working on.”

                                            >Behind her entered the palace quartermare, or whatever they called the pony in charge of the royal supply closet. Dragging behind her, one end held in a telekinetic grip, were two large toothed bars. The poor unicorn tried to lift the racks to the workbench, but couldn’t make the high surface. She ended up dropping them beside it instead, then left the room panting.

                                            >Perhaps it’d be worthwhile to see the limitations of unicorns who weren’t magical prodigies. You stroke your chin in thought at the display you’d just witnessed.

                                            >Shit, you haven’t shaved in three days.

                                            “Are the rest of the parts coming? If you could put me through to the smith directly...”

                                            >”Palace resources are precious, Anon. I will find time in their busy schedule to have your request fulfilled.” Celestia cocks and lowers her head, craning her neck across the table. “You look terrible, and this is the first time I’ve seen you sleeping in here. Are you getting enough rest? Taking care of yourself?”

                                            >You wave her concern off.

                                            “You sound like my mother.”

                                            >”I bet she was a wise mare, and you’d have done well to listen to her.”

                                            “It sounds weird when you refer to stuff from my world with Equestrian terms.”

                                            >She smiles. “Ah, but how else would you adapt to your new home?” Despite the rhetorical question, her tone sounds apologetic.

                                            >She walks around the table to where you sit, her flowing shimmering mane shifting to the other side of her body, to not blanket you. Is that something she can control consciously? Luna wasn’t able to, or at least never thought to do so, leading to a bit of embarrassment last night when she came close enough to be distracting. Apparently staring is as impolite here as back home.

                                            >“What were you doing so boring to fall asleep?”

                                            >A big spool of copper wire sits next to you and a collection of thick rods is scattered around this side. Several of them have plates on either end with the wire wound around the shafts. One in front of you has the same plates, but the wire’s only partially wound.

                                            “You have no idea how boring making coils by hand is.”

                                            >“Surely it cannot be that bad.” Celestia laughs, crystal clear. Just hearing it wakes you up a little more, brings you a new alertness and serenity.

                                            “How do you DO that?”

                                            >”Simple; I forego fingers.” Your desk suddenly blazes with pale golden light; a length of wire is extracted from its spool of its own accord, is bent and snapped, and drifts over to a now-floating empty rod. It twists itself into a coil, the rod floats through this coil’s center, and the wire contracts all at once around it, slithering out so its ends align perfectly with the rod’s faces.

                                            “That’s not what I meant, but holy hell.”

                                            >You pick up the now-wound coil and inspect it. Its spacing is impeccable, the wind flawless.

                                            “You know, I could really use an assistant.”

                                            >Celestia laughs again. You’re now even more awake.

                                            >”A playmate, Anon?”

                                            “The guards aren’t interested, the noble stallions have their own interests, and you manage to keep the mares busy enough they never have the time. Well, the mares who don’t simply gawk, or shrug me off.”

                                            >”Your hobby is… unorthodox.”

                                            “It’s my job, and I’m a workaholic.”

                                            >”Your position is our adviser, Anon, and you’re quite adept.”

                                            “At bullshitting answers? I guess. I never find out if they work or not.”

                                            >”My sister usually handles concerns of administration like that. If she’s not informing you of your results after our meetings, perhaps she is avoiding you for some reason.”

                                            >You look at Celestia sidelong. Her face is a perfect image of innocence.

                                            “I guess. At any rate, it’d be nice to have someone who I could interest in this work. Isn’t Twilight Sparkle supposed to be a bookworm? You have no idea the number of equations I can drop on her head.”

                                            >”My foremost student studies magic. This is perhaps the furthest thing from that. I’m not sure I’d be able to convince her to help you.”

                                            >The tilt of her head, her relaxed stance, the way her wings are barely folded against her back, her whole body looks the exact opposite of guarded; open and sincere.

                                            >You realize this is a game, perhaps the only game that matters. Celestia has had a millennium to perfect her play at the highest levels. You barely broke even in the company cafeteria.

                                            >How do you call a sovereign a liar to her face without getting executed? You’re not going to take your chances that you’ll find a third world after your second death. You still don’t know if you got here by dying at all.

                                            >Score: fifteen-love.

                                            >You sigh and look back to your work, picking up the half-completed coil and starting to unkink the wire.

                                            “Some smart guys at NASA – remind me to explain that group to you sometime, you might get a kick out of it – said there are three categories of knowledge. You have your known knowns, your known unknowns, and your unknown unknowns. I’ve found this very useful advice for engineering.”

                                            >You finish your work straightening the wire, and resume winding it by hand.

                                            “Obviously, you have your pool of knowledge. Then there’s everything you’re aware you lack, the gaps in your knowledge, all the things you might need help to understand. Know what I’m saying? But after that there’s everything else. All the knowledge that you have no frame of reference for, that you can’t even know you don’t know.”

                                            >You’ve found a rhythm with the coiling now. It’s a lot easier to slip into now that you’re not exhausted.

                                            “In the end, it’s the unknown unknowns that get you. I need to watch out for them. Even you need to watch out for them.”

                                            >Celestia is silent for a moment. You don’t dare meet her gaze, and simply continue winding your coil.

                                            >Eventually, “Who taught you that wisdom?”

                                            “Ah, who knows. Just call it a friend’s lesson.”

                                            >You sneak a glance, finally.

                                            >She still looks sincere, but a light has gone from her eyes, replaced by a strange flatness. At least her eyes are honest.

                                            >Score: fifteen-all.

                                            “It’d be a lot easier if I had someone who knew the ins and outs of magic. That would, I think, cover quite a lot of unknown, and that’s just ones I can think of. I have no idea what could possibly be lurking out there beyond the bits of it I can even contemplate, but I’m sure there are those who do.”

                                            >”I’ll see if I can win her over to your cause.”

                                            “Thanks. I’ll need someone to spin that obnoxious thing.”

                                            >You jerk a thumb to the featureless wall opposite the room’s lone window, currently occupied by your half-constructed variable transmission, then resume your winding.

                                            >”Just be careful, Anon. Many of our social customs would also be unknown unknowns to you.”

                                            >You fail to hide a wince, but continue your work.

                                            >Score: thirty-fifteen.

                                            >”You’re important to me. A fresh perspective is often useful, especially when I’ve ruled for a long time. It would sadden me if you lost status due to mere ignorance.”

                                            >Score: forty-fifteen.

                                            >You put the coil down and think a bit.

                                            “I may have said it before, but where I come from, it’s not unusual for guys to keep their social competitions, uh, constrained. Or, no, that’s not it. We don’t really play for stakes except in certain situations; while I can’t deny it happens, it’s not like our every conversation is moving pegs. I’m not an exception to that.”

                                            >You look back to Celestia. Her jaw is working as if shes physically chewing on this.

                                            >Score: forty-thirty.

                                            “I never asked for the position you gave me. I don’t even know if my advice is any good or not. Your other advisers and functionaries totally ignore me. If some slip-up means this workshop has to be relocated from this lofty two-digit-story floor to the dungeons, so be it. At least I’d still be working in peace.”

                                            >Her demeanor had shifted from thoughtful to apologetic understanding.

                                            >Score: Deuce

                                            >”Anon, I know I thrust you into a difficult position, but it was the fastest way for you to demonstrate your talents. As long as I keep you at my side, I keep you protected. Those guards you talk to, well, they talk to each other. They’re quite the rumormongers. And while it may be different in your world, here stallions will gossip about anything, all the time. This is useful, and the true reason I keep them around; my guards know far more about what goes on in this palace than I ever could because of it, and will volunteer any information I ask them for. Lately, though, a lot of that gossip has been about you, and your obsessive pursuits.”

                                            >Ah, hell. Unknown unknowns.

                                            >Score: Advantage in

                                            >Celestia leans in close, then, studying your expression intimately. If you had the misfortune to sneeze now, you’d scalp yourself with her horn.

                                            >”If anyone starts coming after you, whether rhetorically or by more serious… social maneuvering, please tell me immediately. I’m worried about you.”

                                            >Her honest eyes show the truth of her words.

                                            >Game

                                            >You sigh and slump in defeat.

                                            >The Game is bullshit

                                            “Yeah, alright. I just… I want to get this done. If I can pull this off, that gossip will turn to awe. But I need resources, and I need time.”

                                            >”I’ll give you everything I can, Anon. You may not believe me, but I really do value your input. Besides,” she chuckles, pulling her head away from you to a more normal posture, “nobody else has the nerve to talk to me like you do. Especially not that other subordinate who I so value. Twilight is familiar, but at the same time skittish.”

                                            “Yeah, I, uh, heard that.”

                                            >Celestia gave you a knowing smile. “I’ll bet you have. Is there anything else you need? Before you ask, the rest of the parts you wanted are still on order.”

                                            >You wave a hand over your collection of coils.

                                            “I need a lot of these. Tons.”

                                            >”I think I have a stretch of free time."

                                            >The sovereign ruler of this kingdom sat on her haunches beside you like a giant puppy, and once again your workbench was awash in golden fire.