“What to do? What to do?” mumbles 1988 to himself.
“...big ponies, small ponies, smooth pony, green pony, brown pony...” 9999, trotting next to him, keeps whispering to itself, “...green eyes, pink eyes, brown eyes, red eyes-”
“Good eyes,” Hacksmith puts a hoof on 9999’s head.
“What? Where?!” the drone starts turning his head repeatedly from side to side.
“In here,” the earth pony flicks 9999’s forehead.
“I’m not trading those...” it scrunches its nose in thought, “Maybe just one for something really nice. A real helmet maybe? Oooh! And an eyepatch, I’d definitely need an eyepatch,” the drone gives him an unsettlingly honest stare, “Do you have an eyepatch?”
“I didn’t mean- wait, you seriously thought I wanted your eye?”
“Awww… so no helmet and an eyepatch?” 9999 pouts.
“Nopony wants your eye!”
“I’m confused now...”
“You’re messing with me, are you?”
“You ponies don’t trade stuff?”
“Not our organs!”
“But I left all my stuff at home, how am I supposed to trade if someone has something totally awesome?”
“No. Organs.”
“...can’t even trade eyeballs for something awesome...” grumbles 9999, “...it’s not like I need both-” it suddenly stops and its untraded eyes go wide, “SHINY!”
Hacksmith and 1988 exchange confused glances.
“9999, we must-”
*Whommm!*
“Aaand off he- it goes,” comments Hacksmith.
“9999, get over here or I’ll tell 156 when she gets here!” 1988 calls out to no effect, “Oookay, a disobedient drone, that’s new,” he follows the vague direction in which 9999 disappeared.
“Don’t worry, my filly was the same when she was smaller,” Hacksmith smiles, “There wasn’t a day when I didn’t long for a leash to put her on.”
“Yeah, well, I doubt your filly was ever in danger of being clubbed to death due to her looks.”
“You’re overreacting,” Hacksmith picks up the pace to keep up with 1988.
“I’m not.”
1988’s cold tone stops Hacksmith’s further objections.
*Bzzzt!*
“Eeep!” they hear 9999’s surprised yelp and bolt forward past the corner of the office building to the area filled with stacked freight containers repurposed for living.
*Bzzzt!*
“Ehehehehehehe- eeep!”
Hacksmith stops.
“Shinyyyy-”
*Bzzt!*
“-eep!”
“You know, before this, I’d say that calling you bug ponies would be racist, buuut...”
*Bzzt!*
“STOP SHOVING YOUR FACE INTO THAT BUG ZAPPER!” 1988’s eye twitches, he bites down on the stub that constitutes the excited drone tail, and starts pulling 9999 away.
“I’ll trade you all my sticks and rusty horseshoes for iiiiiit!” the drone desperately waves its forelegs at Hacksmith staring in disbelief, “You can have both of my eyes too! And a leg! You in the market for some primo hooves? I’ve got fooooour!”
“...recycle them all, recycle them all, recycle them all...” 1988 keeps grumbling as he drags the drone through the camp.
The earth pony walks with them for a while before tapping on 1988’s shoulder and nodding towards ponies gathering around the long table at the center of the camp.
“We’ll be starting a fire soon, feel free to join us. Sawtooth cleared it personally, so I’ll just explain to the guys what’s going on. Okay?”
1988 lets 9999’s stump go, saying:
“We’ll be there, I just need to slap some sense into this moron.”
“Don’t be too rough on the little guy,” Hacksmith snickers, “It was pretty funny and nopony was hurt.”
“Yet...” 1988 smacks the back of 9999’s head, “Are you coming or do I have to keep dragging you?”
“I’m good, I’m good,” the drone nods and follows the infiltrator away, “What was that?”
“A bug zapper. A device designed to attract mostly flies and mosquitoes and fry them with electricity.”
“It was so shiny and so… flowy. Like fresh goop.”
“Yes, a fraction of the light it emits is in the part of the spectrum only insectoid eyes can see and it flickers at a frequency-” 1988 pauses, “You have no idea what I’m talking about, have you?”
9999 lowers its head and shakes it.
“I don’t. Sorry.”
To his own surprise, he finds himself saying:
“It’s not your fault. I keep forgetting that this isn’t a two-infiltrator mission,” several moments of walking in silence later, 1988 adds, “I’m gonna teach you a trick.”
“A trick? I can do the one where I walk on my hind legs for a bit. When 4822 was bored, she made a few of us jump around for fun like she saw in something called a… circle- cactus?”
“A circus?”
“Right, that! She split us in threes and ate the one who did the trick the worst.”
“Yep, definitely sounds like a bored low-rank infiltrator winding down after a mission...” 1988 shakes his head, “Why did we do that? It was all clear back in the hive but...” he lowers his voice, “Half of the things I used to do to kill time makes me gag now.”
“L-Like what?” asks 9999 carefully.
“You don’t want to know,” he grits his teeth, “Anyway, I’m going to teach you how to adjust your eyes so that that damned thing doesn’t make it so that all of you drones are just sitting around and getting shocked all day… as fun as it would be to watch for an hour or two.”
9999 pouts at him.
“Hey, I’m against harming or killing you for no reason. That doesn’t mean I don’t get a chuckle out of you doing something stupid to yourself.”
The drone sighs.
“You know what? That’s fair.”
“Now, this is a warrior-level transformation, they use it to improve their reaction times. Luckily for you, it’s a fairly small upgrade and I’ll guide you through it. Your only job will be to maintain it,” he puts his horn to 9999’s.
Taking the transfer of information as slowly as he can, he starts changing the internal structure of the drone’s eyes. 9999 groans at the growing headache but before it reaches unbearable levels 1988 withdraws himself from the drone’s head.
“Owww...” 9999 sits down, breathing deeply.
“It’ll take some time to adjust.”
“Everything is… shiny and fuzzy.”
“Yes, I improved your eyes and brain so that you can process frames at a higher rate than before and see in a slightly different spectrum of light- aaand I’ve lost you again, have I?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay. The bug zapper is going to look different now, that’s all. Most other things should be similar to before, though.”
“AH?!” 9999 groans as a completely unexpected spike of pain surges through his eye socket and into the back of its head.
“Look down on the ground and breathe. Close your eyes if it’s too much but don’t do it unless it’s necessary.”
“Whuh?” 9999 does its best to keep its eyes open but eventually loses as its entire body starts trembling.
“How to explain it to a drone?” mumbles 1988, “You are seeing ‘faster’ but your brain isn’t processing- thinking faster. I made the increase only as small as it was necessary but without burning love to adapt it’s going to take time. I don’t know if a drone ever did this before, so we’re both working with little to nothing here.”
“Sorry...” 9999 repeats.
“Don’t worry about it, just focus on breathing. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does!” the drone hisses angrily, “387 picked me to contact the ponies and the other drones believed I could do it. They thought I wouldn’t fail them, as the only four-digit there. I can’t fail them...”
It surprises even 1988 that he himself doesn’t have the heart to tell 9999 that those ranks in reality mean nothing at such low levels and that it got picked from the line-up only because it was the only one not to back off quickly enough.
“Hnnngh...” 9999 groans again. 1988 leans down, only to see the drone’s teared up eyes forced open with its fetlocks and a string of green drool dripping from its open mouth.
He sighs, grabs its forelegs, and pulls them away. 9999’s eyes immediately close.
“Stop it. This isn’t about willpower, this is about biology. You’re just going to hurt yourself if you push it. Rest, wait, and try again. We’re in no hurry.”
“I can-”
“Did I hear you just disobey a direct order from an infiltrator?”
“No, 1988,” 9999 sits up straight, eyes closed.
“Good,” he picks the drone up and puts it on his back, “From what I’ve seen so far, this place is close enough to the camp and we’ll still have a good wall of trees shielding us from prying eyes. We’ll stay here tonight and bring the others in the morning.”
Carrying the drone back to the now roaring fire pit and the ponies gathered around, 1988 does his best to shrug off the mix of surprise, curiosity, unease, and downright fear in their eyes. What helps is Hacksmith arriving with two ponies, one pegasus and one unicorn, both wearing utility belts and jackets with ‘SECURITY’ written on them.
“That’s them, guys,” says the earth pony, “Sawtooth is letting them stay on the southern edge of the camp.”
“I’m 1988 and the dro- one on my back is 9999,” the infiltrator raises a hoof to shake which neither of the two security guards take.
“Strange names,” says the unicorn with the tact of a brick through a window.
“Our names translate as numbers into ponish,” lies 1988, “It’s a weird language thing from a long time ago.”
“Why is 9999 crying?” asks Hacksmith, walking closer.
9999 puffs out its chest.
“I’m not crying!” it huffs, carefully opening its definitely-not-teared-up eyes and gritting its teeth, “1988 showed me a trick so that the bug zapper shiny flowy thing doesn’t make me run off again. Now my head hurts really bad but I’ll get over it and when the other drones arrive they’ll know they can learn it too.”
The corner of Hacksmith’s mouth curls up, and from one of the few mares of the camp comes a quiet ‘awwww!’.
“Drones?” asks the pegasus security guard.
Read the room, muscle-for-brains. I mean, the clearing.
“Yes, a biological designation,” says 1988 out loud, “Workers. I’m a… diplomat is the closest translation that comes to mind, then there are warriors, and so on...”
“Oh, so why did I meet the little guy first?” asks Hacksmith.
“I can only point to my sharp teeth so often without getting a hoof cramp,” 1988 gives him a smug smirk.
“Oh, right-”
“Let me handle this,” the unicorn’s horn lights up as he interrupts Hacksmith, “The worker on shift with Hacksmith here hasn’t returned from his section yet. Hacksmith said you’re supposedly not the only members of your group around here. Care to explain?”
1988’s expression freezes.
“Uh oh,” he can’t stop himself from recalling the strange creature that attacked him.
Both security guards exchange glances and step towards 1988, the unicorn one levitating up a telescopic blackjack from his belt.
“Calm down, guys,” Hacksmith speaks up, completely ignored.
“Is it possible that Uproot had a run-in with your… friends?” asks the pegasus guard.
“...!” 9999’s sharp intake of breath and raised hoof makes them both look at him, ”Maybe the thing that knocked you out found him too!”
Thank holes…
If I said it, it would look like making excuses but hearing it from a harmless-looking drone is a different story entirely.
“What thing?” the security guards hesitate, and 1988 suppresses a satisfied smirk.
“I...” his internal satisfaction doesn’t last long, though, as he recalls whatever little he can from the incident and shudders, “I was following 9999 to make sure nothing happened to it, I turned around, saw a brief flicker of something equine-shaped, and then I passed out. 1988 and Hacksmith woke me up.”
“And it looked really scary!” adds 9999, “At least from what he described before.”
Holes damn it, drone! They won’t believe a horror monster scared me to death...
“Scary, you say?” asks the guard with expected skepticism.
“Look,” 1988’s brain is working overtime to save the situation. He points at the heavily fractured chitin on his barrel, “It was… weird. I suddenly felt cold, and I remember the shock it gave me. Hacksmith-”
“His heart wasn’t beating so I got on with the first aid the second we found him,” Hacksmith speaks out.
Now, I know you are the hired muscle but even you can’t think someone successfully faked a heart attack.
“Then we need to go and check out your section immediately,” the pegasus glances Hacksmith’s way.
“We can come with-” offers 9999.
“No,” the pegasus refuses immediately, “You two are staying here. Something might have happened to an Equestrian citizen and you could be involved. Don’t try to escape!”
That went south quickly.
“Let’s go, Hack,” the unicorn’s horn flashes and summons a ball of light hovering over him. He nods to the pegasus, “You keep an eye on these two.”
As the guard leads them to the now roaring campfire, 1988 can’t stop himself from sighing.
Whatever’s going on, if they don’t come back we’re in deep goop.
***
Minutes drag on, eventually stretching into hours. The forest is pitch black now as the moonlight can barely penetrate the canopies past the area cleared out for the logging camp. Of course, that’s a problem for ponies, not for changelings and their near-perfect night vision.
1988 is sitting on a bench, his back propped against the long table. Next to him, 9999 is curled up into a ball, its small chest peacefully rising up and down and its foreleg twitching occasionally.
It didn’t take even us this long to get here. Something happened to them.
“...that’s really bad...” he quietly breathes out, staring into the line of trees, unbothered by the darkness.
His ears twitch as he hears distant cracking of branches which grows closer and closer at alarming speed.
Someone isn’t sneaking, they’re running.
He jumps up on all fours, his sudden movement making the pegasus security guard on night watch freeze and look his way.
“What’s g-” he catches the noise too, “What the hay?”
Said someone isn’t alone. It’s a group.
Like tiny stars dotting the night sky, hive links start opening in 1988’s mind. On reflex, he nudges 9999, waking the drone up.
“Whuh- uh-” it’s head snaps upwards, eyes blinking in confusion, “Everyone?”
“GO GO GO!” they hear from the darkness.
The pegasus darts towards the corner of the makeshift roof above the long table and pulls repeatedly on a rope hanging there. The noise of a tolling bell rings through the camp, and within a few moments, the central clearing fills with ponies carrying axes, knives, and bats.
They all raise them, because the first thing that appears in the darkness are dozens of glowing teal eyes. Before anything worse happens, though, the first incoming changelings come into view with Uproot and Hacksmith on their backs and the unicorn guard propped against 8622’s side leading the group, his horn ineffectively sparking and sizzling.
Sawtooth accompanied by the pegasus rush towards the group as 1988 scans the changelings for…
Neither 156 nor 387 are with them.
“What’s going on? Why are you here?” 1988 asks anyone listening.
“NURSE!” Sawtooth calls out, and two stallions accompanied by a mare split off from the small crowd, rushing towards him.
Drones rush past 1988 towards 9999, each one already spewing its version of recent events.
“Youwouldn’tbelieveit-”
“-itwasscarybutawesome-”
“-therewereclawsandteetheverywhere-”
“-holesholesinspacetoo-”
“-andthen156waslikepewpewpew-”
“QUIET!” yells 1988. The drones shut up instantly. The only two warriors, 8622 and 9013, of the changeling group salute, “Where are 156 and 387?”
“Got dragged into some weird holes by these long, sharp legs,” reports 8622, “387 ordered to get everyone we could out while the rest held the line. We followed 156’s pheromone trail to the camp which she sent you and 9999 to scout out and we found those two,” he points at Hacksmith and the unicorn, “with the unconscious pony. That Hacksmith earth pony told us he met you and we followed him. I think those things chased us at first but they’re gone now.”
“Okay,” 1988 takes a deep breath, “If 156 and 387 are gone, who’s in charge?”
1988 gets his answer from the looks of every present changeling converging on him.
“Oh holes...”