Chapter 5
In her dream, she was made of stars.
Pinkie woke up sometime later in a dark room, unsure of where she was. She felt feverish. All she had were scraps of memory-- the Agent taking her down the back stairwell of the apartment building, out through a side door. The balmy Manehattan night. A short, bumpy carriage ride through the city.
They'd been in some building, too. A hospital, maybe, although nopony had examined or treated her. She'd slept there, laying across a bench while the Agent spoke to a pony in a lab-coat. Then another bumpy carriage ride, and dreams about stars. She had been so exhausted that she could barely distinguish reality from fantasy.
The Agent's muffled voice came drifting in from somewhere. Pinkie tossed her head and groaned, peeling her eyes open. It was almost pitch-black, except for a rectangle of light outlining a closed door across the room. She felt around with her hooves and realized she was on a bed.
I'm back in the hotel room, she thought to herself, as the plastic-smell once again greeted her nostrils. But who's Agent talking to in the hallway?
Pinkie sat straight up and instantly regretted it. It felt like somepony had tried to drive a railroad spike through her skull, and her stomach did a rough somersault. She held onto her gorge, rubbed her eyes with the back of her hoof, and carefully, painfully, stepped down onto the floor.
She padded across the carpeting to the rectangle of light. It wasn't coming from the hotel-room door, as she'd first suspected, but the bathroom. Pinkie placed her hoof on the handle and pushed the latch down, allowing the door to swing open.
"Cross-reference current data with all relevant data for winter, year 1004," said the Agent with his back to her. He was speaking to the mirror.
"Agent?" said Pinkie
He looked over, surprised. "You shouldn't be out of bed," he said.
"Thirsty," she said. "Who are you talking to?"
"Nopony," said the Agent. "It's an information retrieval spell."
"In the mirror?"
"Uh-huh, take a look."
Pinkie stepped into the bathroom. The Agent moved out of her way and started filling a cup for her from the sink.
There was a tiny gemstone attached to the mirror like a magnet. The gem had been cleaned, but a few traces of blood remained.
"That came out of the assassin, didn't it?" asked Pinkie. "You... removed it when we were back at the safe house. That's why you were covered in red blood after I woke up."
"We'll make a spy out of you yet," he said. "By the way, when this is over, I never showed you any of this, okay? It's, like, ultra-top-secret."
"Like ultra?" She couldn't help but grin. "We're starting to sound the same, Agent."
"Perish the thought," he said. Then he shook his head in relief. "By grace, I'm glad you seem to be okay."
"I've been poisoned worse before. Two words: baked bads. Stay away. No-o-o-o thank you."
"I have no idea what that means," he said, giving her the cup of water. "But as usual, you're so cute I don't care."
"I get that a lot!" she said. "There's nothing in the mirror, though, Agent. Except a handsome gray pony and some pink nag who looks a hundred years old."
"You have to scoot over a few inches. It's invisible unless you're in just the right--"
"Got it," said Pinkie. Just a slight change of perspective revealed a scrolling neon text on the surface of the glass. Most of it was just gibberish, though. "I see words, lots and lots of words, but they don't mean anything."
"You've got to know the code," he said. "Each of us elite CI ponies has a storage-gem implanted in our frontal cortex. They record our coded memories, as pertaining to each job we do. That way, there's a hard-copy record of our last few movements, just in case."
"You've got one? One of the storage-thingies?"
"Yup. Didn't feel so good going in, either." He tapped his head.
"So... so if you... I mean, if they got a hold of your gem... they'd see us... doing it?"
"Only if I had been ordered to seduce you." He smirked.
She thought about it. "That's okay, I guess." Pinkie stared into the mirror for another few moments. "The text is moving so fast."
"I'm running a scan of her last set of orders, cross-referenced with an op she ran a few years ago, cross-referenced with DNA I got from a sample at the morgue. Tiny little scraps were about all that was left of my compatriots after the bistro blew, but it's more than enough for our purposes."
"We were at the morgue? I thought that was dream..."
"Nope. Good thing I've still got a few friends in the Manehattan Coroner's office."
"What are you hoping to find?"
"When orders go out, they are coded according to the living DNA of the sender. It's been the only way to ensure that changelings aren't giving out orders to our ponies. I'm cross-referencing the DNA of the three victims from the bistro event with the order code to capture you."
"Why?"
"Call it a hunch."
"The last time you said that, you pulled a crossbow on a mare that could have been your grandmother."
He arched an eyebrow. "I was right, though. Yeah?"
"Maybe if you'd told me beforehoof," she said, "I could have saved you right away instead of at the last second."
"Or maybe you would have blown it by acting sweaty and nervous," he said. "It was the right decision. Sorry anyway."
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him, but she wasn't really mad.
The text in the mirror stopped.
"It stopped," she said.
They traded spots. The Agent readjusted his spectacles as he examined the text.
"I'll be damned," he said.
"Okay, now you've really got to tell me," she said.
"Nothing here is as it seems. Absolutely nothing." His jokey demeanor had changed completely. He seemed furious, distraught, as he pounded a hoof on the sink, then stared at the floor. "Horseradish. Why?" His jaw set. "Well, I guess that's a stupid question."
"Talk," demanded Pinkie Pie. "Agent, you're scaring me."
"He faked his own death... for this!" His voice had a thread of despair in it.
"Agent!" she said. "Tell me! Please tell me."
"I know who did it," he said, looking at her. His eyes were so cold and merciless that she took a step back. "It's been him all along."
* * *
4 years earlier
Mantid sat in a booth at the local Dining Chamber, several blocks from his home pod. Around the table with him were three other changelings.
"Retrieval order five-seven-alpha-zeta-six," said the first, a young male.
"Confirmed," said Mantid.
"Retrieval order three-three-gamma-four-nine," said the second, a middle-aged female.
"Confirmed," said Mantid. He sat back heavily in the booth and took his claw off his dagger. These changelings were CI, alright, as far as he could tell. "ETD?"
"Extraction in one hour," rumbled the third. This one was also male, but much larger than the other two, with broad shoulders that barely fit in the booth.
Mantid nodded. If it was time to act, it was time to act fast. None of them wanted to be a prisoner of Queen Chrysalis.
"Method?"
"We'll go up the East Chimney." This was a vent used for removing excess heat from the hive. The draft would make for a fast escape, as long as it didn't broil them alive first.
Mantid knew this plan well; he had created it and sent it along years ago. There were solutions for nearly every contingency. "Good," he said. "I was hoping you'd say that. I checked it myself last week, and it's clear all the way up to the surface. If we time it right, they'll never even realize what's happening until we're already home free."
The youngest male breathed a sigh of relief. "Nice," he said, "I was damned nervous about it on the way in. Good to see you, by the way."
"You, too," Mantid lied.
"Disgusting creatures," said the elderly female, looking around. She shuddered a little. "Thank Celestia they usually look like something else, right?"
"Seriously," said the young male.
Mantid just looked at them. He could remember a time when he had talked like that. "So the hierarchy got word of my true form, huh?" he said at last. "Good thing you got here in time to warn me."
The large one glanced at the old female.
"Just tell him," said the female. "I'd want to know."
"You weren't discovered," said the young male. "The Prism is pulling the plug on your op. He... he thinks you're in too deep."
All Mantid could hear was the blood pounding in his ears. It was true, of course. But for that reason, they had ended his entire life here. He might have been able to hide out forever, otherwise.
Suddenly, another changeling melted out of the crowd and approached their booth. All three of Mantid's compatriots placed their claws on hidden weapons, but Mantid waved them down. He leaped up to greet her.
"Cricket," he said, his hearts pounding so hard he could barely hear. They embraced, holding onto each other tightly.
"I'll go," she said.
"What about your family? What about your home?"
"This is my family," she said pointing to her womb. "You're my home."
Their mouthparts fit together perfectly, like puzzle-pieces, like they were made for each other.
"Absolutely not," said the older female, once they'd sat down.
"Are you insane?" said the younger male.
"We take her with us, or I stay here and take my chances with the hierarchy."
"You can't do that. They'll peel you like a shrimp!"
"I don't care," said Mantid. "Cricket, say the words."
"I request... I request asylum."
"You don't sound so sure of yourself," said the young male.
"I am!" she said, frowning at him. "It's just... I can't even really believe this is happening."
"Well, believe it, sister," said the big, burly one.
A few nearby walls changed their glow from green to yellow, signifying the turn of the hour.
The older female nodded to the others. "Time's up. We should leave before much longer."
"Come on, Cricket," said Mantid, taking her claw as their buzzed up, out of the booth. All Cricket had with her was a small, silk satchel. Everything else she was leaving behind; everything she had ever known. In a way, it was like he was watching himself.
* * *
They swept into the Chimney Control Chamber undetected. One particularly useful thing about being turned into a changeling was that a pony could use the creatures' own powers against them.
The four ponies posed as a science-caste engineer, a warrior-caste guard, a worker-caste janitor, and a worker-caste repair tech. Cricket waited in the hallway. When each pony was in position, they all struck at once, and the room was clear.
"Nice," said the young male, giving the big, burly one a congratulatory high-claw. He used a foot to push one of the guards off a control panel.
"Hey," said Mantid, "show some respect. They had families."
"Good," said the big one. "Buck 'em. They woulda' done the same to us."
Mantid just looked at him.
"What, Match?" the big one responded. "The hay you lookin' at me like that for?"
"Matchstick," said the younger one coming up behind Mantid. "Here, the technician over there had the master key-crystal."
"Just... call me Mantid until we're out of here."
"The buck?" asked the younger one.
"Just do it, Agent," said the Matchstick. "Call me Mantid."
"No way," rumbled the large one. "Belay that order. I know what's wrong with Match. He is in too deep. Prism was right! Matchstick, you're my best friend, and I can't believe how good it is to see you again. But I do have one thing to say." The giant suddenly slugged Matchstick across the face, knocking him down onto the dried-resin floor. "Snap out of it!" he yelled. "You're gonna' get us killed!"
"Mantid!" cried Cricket from the doorway.
"Horseradish," said the Agent, buzzing over to her and bringing her into the room. "Keep your voice down."
"Don't touch me!" she chittered at him.
"Lady," said the elderly female, coming up behind her, "you are so supremely lucky we didn't leave your pretty little thorax back at the Dining Chamber, you just don't even know. Your being here puts everypony at risk, so if I hear a single complaint out of you, you're history."
"How dare you speak to her like that!" thundered Matchstick, jumping between them. He brandished a deadly, black resin-blade. "And you," he turned to the large one, "Boxer, if you ever strike me again, I'll cut your bucking throat from ear to ear. I swear to bucking Celestia, I will."
"In too deep," rumbled the Boxer, shaking his head. "Sad. Happens to the best of us, I guess."
"Come on, ponies, lay off him," said the Agent. "We've got a job to do."
"Agreed," said the Maple Leaf. "Get to it."
Each made their way over to their respective, assigned consoles, calling out orders and turning crystal keys, activating plasma switches, working in perfect synchronicity so that four ponies could do the work of ten changelings. At last, they had reduced the airflow in the East Chimney to relatively safe levels, and jammed the ventilator hatches closed to keep it that way.
"We've got ten minutes before the pressure exceeds capacity," said the Boxer. "Let's go!"
* * *
They ran out into a hail of fire. Green bolts of energy whistled down the corridor at them. Where they struck the wall, each left a shiny chitin spear. Not just warrior-caste, but ranged fighters.
"Buckin' death-ray BS!" growled Boxer.
The Agent took a running leap and dove across the hallway, dodging a number of the projectiles by inches or less. He rolled up on the other side with his pump-action crossbow in his claws, racked the pump, then made a signal over his head, claw flat-out. I'll cover you. He made a drifting motion with his claw. Smoke.
Maple Leaf nodded and looked to Matchstick. "Boxer first, then you two," she said.
Match nodded.
"Smoke 'em if you got 'em," said Boxer, breaking out a number of pony-made smoke grenades. They lit fuse after fuse and chucked the lot of them around the corner. Within a few moments, the hallway was a sea of swirling, liquid mist.
"Go," said Maple.
Boxer put his forehooves together. "Praise Celestia," he said. "Save me from this bucking manure, amen." He went diving into the hallway just as another hail of fire came flying down the corridor, and one of the green bolts struck him in the rear-calf. He grunted with pain, and then he was lost in the smoke.
The Agent had his eye against his sniper-scope. Twang. Somewhere down the hall, a changeling screeched. Cha-chuk. He aimed. Twang. A gurgling noise, as if someone were drowning.
Match nodded to Cricket. She looked into his eyes with fear and trust. Her eyes were so deeply violet...
Claw-in-claw, they tore across the hallway. Another hail of fire came flying down the corridor, but the shots were random, and neither of them got hit. They skidded to safety on the smooth resin floor of the opposite corridor.
"Ow," said Boxer, tying a bandage around his ankle. Green blood was leaking out of a crack in the chitin. "Celestia's mane it hurts to get your exoskeleton broken."
"I know, kind of like breaking a bone, huh?" said Matchstick.
"Ow," he said again. This was a statement of incredible pain, coming from him. "I always thought we were at a disadvantage with our soft bits on the outside. But... yeah, wow."
The Maple Leaf skidded to safety right behind them, and the Agent was close on her tail. A look went around the group.
"So?" chirped Cricket. "What's next?"
"The tunnel leads up to the Chimney floor," said Boxer. "Come on."
They raced up the spiral slope for a number of revolutions, their wings buzzing furiously. The warriors were right behind them, and the circular nature of the tunnel was all that kept them from getting shot in the back.
At last, they reached a diaphanous membrane. This was a safety measure that they couldn't disable from the Control Chamber. Agent started cutting through it with a resin blade. Even the ponies on the surface were using these knives now, when they could get them. The daggers could be sharpened to a monomolecular level.
Maple held up a stick of dynamite. "Can a lady get a light?"
The five of them pushed their way through the slitted membrane and dove to the ground as the dynamite went off behind them. The thunderous explosion vented down the spiral tunnel, aided by the reflective nature of the resin. They could all imagine the crushing damage that the shockwave would inflict on their pursuers.
"Bet they weren't happy about that one," said Boxer with a grin.
Cricket looked over at Matchstick in fear. He grabbed her claw.
"Fly, guys," said Maple Leaf. "Into the great beyond. Before they realize that all they have to do is open the vents and we cook in here."
The five of them took off into the air, each catching the residual heat under their insect-wings. Soon they were coasting on invisible thermal waves at an accelerating pace. For a moment, Match dared to think they'd made a clean getaway.
Then shapes above them sprouted from the walls, and they were beset upon by a patrol of warriors.
They fought, fired, slashed, kicked, and stabbed. Green bolts lanced from the warriors' jagged, black horns, and they darted to-and-fro like giant wasps. The ponies, for their own part, were like living weapons, blades slicing, claws raking, wire garrotes closing around throats. The midair melee continued as they raced faster and faster up the narrower-and-narrower chute. One by one, warrior changelings screamed in a spray of green blood and fell into the darkness below.
And then it wasn't dark below anymore. It was glowing red.
"The vents are open!" screamed the Agent into the roaring wind. "Unh!" He barely blocked the hammer-blow strike from a changeling that had maneuvered above him. When the changeling struck again, it stabbed its own claw on the Agent's dagger. The Agent jerked the blade away, creating a spray of green, then swooped above him as he shrieked. The changeling warrior moved the wrong way, the Agent moved the right way, and the pony-spy cut the warrior's throat.
"Fly faster!" ordered Maple, and they strained their wings to increase speed. They could feel the air below them getting hotter and hotter. If they were still in the Chimney when the wave hit, they would be toast.
Match could see it, far above. A spot of light. White light. Nowhere in the entire hive had he ever seen a white light. He suddenly realized how much he missed the sun, how much he missed the grass. The grass! THE GRASS! Trees, birds, CLOUDS! By Celestia, CLOUDS. The surface... And he would share it all with her and their--
A blur dropped down from above and a warrior crashed into them, sending them spinning, out-of-control downwards.
Matchstick righted himself in midair, and could see Cricket falling, unconscious.
Everything he loved was on its way into the fire.
He aimed his body like a torpedo, racing straight down, picking up more and more speed. Just as he got to her, a warrior swooped in from the side and fired a spray of acid right into his face. Match threw a claw over his compound eyes, but with his open respiratory system, the fumes from the goop were devastating, clogging his breathing holes, suffocating him. Stupid, stupid! he thought, then more blurs of motions beset upon him, and he was kicked in the side, in the neck, and a blade skidded alongside his shoulder-plating. Their blades were everywhere and he was about to die.
Boxer came screaming into the pack like a wrecking ball, bashing the warriors away with haymaker after haymaker blow. They fell faster and faster, and Cricket was just out of reach... just out of reach...
Then a huge claw was on him, and Boxer was shouting in his ear something about there being no time left, but Match didn't care. He had one mission in life, and CI had nothing to do with it. CI was the last thing he ever wanted to be again. He just wanted to be a changeling and have his changeling mate and his changeling home and his stupid changeling job. He just wanted to be Mantid.
Boxer tried to stop him, and Matchstick turned and jammed a blade into the big spy's shoulder, all the way down to the hilt. Boxer's eyes flashed with rage, he bared his teeth and headbutted Match, sending him spinning away, head lolling. Then the Agent was behind Match, forcing him into a triangle-lock, squeezing his neck-chitin until he was barely conscious. The two of them, grabbing him, flying up as the inferno raced closer and closer below. Up, up, up towards that spot of light.
Cricket, Cricket, our eggs...
Cricket...
But there were no tears.
* * *
Present
The white houseboat bobbed in the bay a quarter-mile off shore, anchored to the last strip of land before deep sea. The smell of the ocean and the cry of the errant gull made this place seem almost serene as Pinkie and the Agent rowed up next to it, but there was the smell of a summer-storm coming on as well. The air felt electric, saturated with tension. The clouds thickened overhead.
"This is it," said the Agent, standing up and checking his saddlebags one last time. "He's here. If nothing else, Matchstick was always a stallion of habit. We used to fish off this spot when he was training me. Back when he was still a pony."
On the side of the houseboat was a name, painted in cursive. Cricket.
"He named it after her," said Pinkie.
"Everything he's done has been for her," said the Agent. "But it's time that ended, now."
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Picture Credit:
http://th08.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2012/129/6/d/intergalactic_pinkie_pie_wallpaper_by_chingypants-d4z6e05.png
http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2012/204/5/3/deltablue_collab___changelings_by_ephemeralblue-d58azd2.png
http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs6/i/2005/104/b/e/heart_by_nauticalstar13.jpg
