They're EVERYWHERE!

by Nameless Narrator


1988, 9999: 7

As 1988 trips over a root and gets caught by 8622, it dawns on his hazy mind how exhausted he really is after following the pegasus security guard for so long, the mind manipulation, being watchful throughout the night without love, and flying mixed with walking back.

“We’re almost there,” says the warrior as 1988 steadies himself, “I’m shocked we haven’t been attacked by the monsters so far.”

“Please, don’t jinx it now. I’m hearing a lot of noise ahead and the last thing I need is for it to be the mass panic of a logging camp under attack,” 1988 rolls his eyes.

8622’s ears twitch.

“It does sound like wood repeatedly hitting rock, although there’s no screaming. Unusually loud voices, yes, but no panicked screaming.”

“Hmm, whatever that may be, let’s check up on our guys first.”

Circling around the camp, they reach the changeling site that’s strangely empty for this late in the evening. Usually, the drones would be mucking around, trading scraps or interesting things they found throughout the day, but right now there are only 3 Silents staring blankly their way, barely conscious 9013, and one drone sitting with its back to them and doing something to the warrior.

“We’re back,” announces 1988, “Where is everyone?”

The drone doesn’t react. 1988 and 8622 exchange glances, the infiltrator’s is slightly confused but the warrior is clearly ready to slap a disobedient subordinate.

They approach, still with zero reaction from the drone. Only when 1988 steps into the drone’s field of view, it looks up, its eyes go wide, and it positively jumps into the air before taking a few steps backwards.

“OH, hi, 1988. GlaD yOu’rE bACk.”

“Glad to be back too, 17070,” replies the infiltrator, “Where’s everyone?”

“Uhh, uhh,” while changelings can’t physically sweat in their natural form, this drone is somehow getting close, “I, umm, I cAn totalLy hEar yOu juSt fiNe but 9999 kNows eVerYthiNg and you reaLly wAnt tO talk to iT. I’ll… I’ll go gRab iT!”

17070 bolts away.

“Stop right there,” orders 1988, furrowing his brows. The drone ignores him, “HEY!”

Growling to himself, he extends his mental reach through the drone’s hive link to take grasp of its mind.

The drone resists him and vanishes out of sight, pumping its legs towards the pony camp. 

“Should I go grab it?” asks 8622, “I might break only one leg for this kind of disobedience. Two max, if it keeps resisting afterwards.”

What the hole was 9999 doing here while we were gone?! Drones resisting orders and mental control?

I mean, I’m barely scraping by as far as love goes and the drone was full but-

Wait, the drone was FULL. 

How?

“No,” 1988 shakes his head, “I’ll go see what’s going on once I’m done here.”

“...this is what happens when you don’t keep drones on a tight leash. They start to get… ideas...” mumbles 8622.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions. To me it looked as if it was feeding 9013,” he puts his horn to the prone warrior’s head, “Now… we relink the hive connections and-” he keeps mumbling to himself as he frees 9013 from the mental burden and immediately feels the warrior fall asleep, “-done.”

“So, now we go find the drones and remind them a little how the leadership structure of the hive works?” 8622 raises an eyebrow.

1988 shakes his head.

“No. You stay here with the Silents and keep an eye on 9013. I’ll shroud myself and check out the camp.”

“I doubt you’re strong enough to go invisible.”

Shrouding is a different thing. I couldn’t go invisible even at full power. Shrouding lets infiltrators avoid being sensed by other changelings or force them to ignore us if they’re distinctly lower as far as power level goes.”

“Neat trick. Good luck then, I’ll stay on guard.”

In the next instant, 1988 disappears from her vision without a trace.

In reality, though, 1988 is still there, completely visible to any non-changeling, and heads off to the camp only after his head stops spinning from the expenditure of his already extremely limited love. 

The central bonfire is roaring, ponies are chatting and eating, and the overall atmosphere doesn’t betray anything nefarious to 1988’s eyes as he observes the milling ponies.

Drones in plain sight. Ponies are still wary of them but I’m not seeing any hostilities.

“Hey there, pretty, love-eating, bugpony lady,” says a familiar voice from a pile of logs to the right.

“I’m not- I- we don’t eat-” 1988 scowls at Hacksmith chuckling at the infiltrator’s stuttering.

His eyes. Slightly glassy but he doesn’t smell of alcohol, rather of changeling. He’s under the influence of changeling venom and he’s not the only one. Did the drones have to resort to biting them?

“Glad you’re back all right from your patrol. Any trouble with the monsters?” asks the earth pony.

“Thankfully, no. How did things go here?”

“Business as usual, mostly, although I did want to talk to you in private before… let’s say before I have a chat with Sawtooth.”

“What did they do this time?” 1988 rolls his eyes with absolute certainty. Knowing the feeding habits of changelings is already a huge risk to their safety.

“Actually, this one’s about you,” Hacksmith frowns at 1988’s reaction, “I know your culture is different but abuse is abuse.”

“What are you talking about?” 1988 narrows his eyes.

“You know the two bark-eating guys, right?” when 1988 nods, Hacksmith continues, “But do you know why they were eating bark?”

Even 1988 knows that the answer ‘because they are morons’ is the wrong one here.

“Not really.”

“Thought so,” Hacksmith nods, “They themselves didn’t know why the birch bark helped them dull the constant pain they were in. Granted, bark itself shouldn’t do that but I assume your ‘digestion’ is different.”

“They were hurt?”

“Hmph!” Hacksmith frowns, “They didn’t want to tell me either but it turned out they were terrified of anypony knowing and of them not being able to work at full capacity. Does something called ‘the crusher’ ring a bell? They mentioned it a lot.”

1988 nods. Of course he knows why they would feel that. However, that doesn’t please Hacksmith at all.

“Got nothing to say to that, really?” he asks.

1988 takes a deep breath, carefully weighing his words.

“There’s very little I can tell you. Please don’t take it as me being hostile or anything. There are reasons for why we treat each other the way we do.”

“I was afraid you’d say that but at least you’re not trying to lie to me. 1988, let me be completely frank here. We won’t tolerate anypony threatening the little guys. Work or die is barbarism of the worst degree, and I’m saying that as a Stalliongrad citizen.”

Apparently, they DID manage to gather love so we could spare some for repairs.

“Mister Hacksmith, as long as I’m in charge I have no intention of doing anything that would hurt us. I fully intend to keep everyone alive until 156 and 387 return, if they return. However, since they clearly shared our feeding habits with you, not starving has always been an issue for us, and the energy required for proper healing hasn’t always been… available.”

“If that’s a problem, you can keep the hurt guys with us. I talked with… crap, I can’t remember your numbers at all. The second top guy after 9999.”

“13415,” replies 1988 immediately.

“Yeah, that one. He- it said that they’re not getting worse, so clearly our interactions as they are now are enough.”

“As I said, I intend to return everyone into 156’s hooves,” says 1988 flatly.

“Look, the deaf guy was afraid you’d kill it straight up when you came back,” Hacksmith scowls, raising his voice and jabbing 1988 in the chest.

“Deaf? Oh… oooooh...” 1988 blinks in realization, “Would that be 17070?”

“You’d have to ask Swirling Ladle but that number does sound familiar. She’s been spending the whole day with it and they’ve been getting along pretty well.”

“Interesting,” 1988 shakes his head, “Look, it seems to me that the drones have been useful and in no danger while I was gone. I have to talk to everyone and assess the situation before deciding on what to do next. I know you ponies can’t tell but we were in a bad shape, and I don’t mean physical scratches and bruises. So far, it seems we are recovering and the drones are being crucial to that. I’m not about to make things worse.”

“Glad to hear that. I’d hate to tell Sawtooth that we might have to protect a few of your drones from you.”

While that does sound like a threat, and it is, to an infiltrator it means one more important thing - the ponies like the drones, and that means food. The problem is that he can’t be sure which part of what Hacksmith is saying is his own will and which part is the changeling venom afflicting his mind.

“As long as I’m in charge, that won’t be necessary,” 1988 nods towards the pony festivities, “Now, please, let’s talk about something more pleasant - what’s the celebration today about?”

Hacksmith snickers.

“Nothing in particular. Just that the bark guy managed to make some painkillers and everypony took a dose to chill out a little, calls them ‘goomy lings’. We don’t have much beer here for celebrations and the painkillers can give you a bit of a high on top of dulling the muscle pain. Everypony’s gonna be sleeping well tonight, and trust me when I tell you that it’s been a while and it’s sorely needed.”

Huh, they knew what they were taking.

“So… everything is alright?”

“If you’re not about to hurt the drones as they’re so worried about, I think we’re okay. How about you have a bite and join us?” Hacksmith offers a goomy ling to 1988 who shakes his head.

“Not now, thanks. I think I’ll have a word with 9999 and see what to do next.”

“Then you should at least wait for the music number.”

“Music number?”

“Yeah!” Hacksmith pats 1988 on the back and gently guides him closer to the lively center of the camp where someone assembled a small podium while the two were talking, “Triangle used to be a music teacher,” he nods towards a unicorn talking to two eagerly listening drones, “But that’s not the best paid profession so he ended up here. It turns out, your guys are super good at copying music so he’s been teaching them a song today. He had some trouble translating notes into numbers but apparently he did it in the end. You can’t even begin to imagine how happy finding somepony as skilled made him. He even let… buck if I know which number drone he let use his guitar. You’ll see in a few moments. Wanna come cheer them up? It might mean a lot to them.”

“No, I’ll stay here and watch. If they’re worried about me coming back, I wouldn’t want to ruin their performance,” 1988 shakes his head.

“Suit yourself. I’ll go grab a bite. Ladle’s stew is delicious.”

As the earth pony walks away, 1988 turns his attention to the podium where two drones seem to be smacking each other over the head with sticks and yelling:

“ROCK MUSIC!”

“METAL MUSIC!”

“ROCK-”

“METAL-”

“ROCK! We’re smashing ROCKS against each other!”

“17070 let me use its cup just this once! WE HAVE METAL!”

“We have more rocks than metal!”

“Then we’re doing rock music with a hint of metal!” 

 Both drones stop waving sticks at each other and exchange thoughtful looks.

“Hey, that’s not bad!” they clop their hooves into a high one, all beef instantly forgotten.

13415 walks on stage, clearing its throat and visibly nervous as the ponies quieten down. 

“So, umm,” it begins, “We kinda made up a song… I mean new words for a song that mister Triangle taught us. He said it needed a few more instruments, but we got some rocks-”

“You worry too much!” calls out the ex-teacher sitting at the table, “Just take a deep breath and go!” 

From this far, 1988 can’t recognize which drone is the one who begins playing a slow tune on Triangle’s guitar. 9999 is sitting in front of the drone group, its back turned to the ponies. From the corner of his eye, 1988 spots 17070 on the back of an earth pony mare in the audience.

As the other drones join in by drumming on rocks and one on a broken metal cup, completely messing the surprisingly smooth guitar tune up by the flat noise, 13415 takes a long breath and starts singing:

Back home, we were so scared

now we’re away from the hive

carrying, digging, that’s who we were

and score was all that mattered.

Cave-ins, monsters we couldn’t get away

life was hard, we didn’t last long

too dumb for long words like marmalade

and score was all that mattered

Hope we sought and we’re finding you

every day we learn something new

pretty leaves, ponies, morning dew

score’s not all that matters

High ranks never care for what we say

never care for games we play

never care for how we do

never care for what we know

we’re just drones, yeah, yeah… 

The guitar drone follows the words by a slow, haunting solo which makes 1988 think again about Hacksmith’s concerns.

High Score, you got us so far

we love you from all our hearts

only you can keep us alive

You don’t know how much you matter.

13415 steps down and pulls listening 9999 into a hug to the explosion of clapping and stomping from the listening ponies.

By the time the applause ends, 1988 is already gone, heading quickly back to the changeling camp.

“How did it go?” asks 8622.

“We’re assholes, 8622,” 1988 shakes his head, “And we’ve been like that for a very long time, no matter how necessary it was.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re on watch tonight, you’re in the best shape out of all of us. I’ll see how the drones are overall and maybe we’ll manage to give you a small refill.”

“Understood.”

1988 smiles, knowing she’ll obey and not do anything to the drones without explicit orders.

Warriors. You gotta hate them and you gotta love them. 

Connecting to 9999, 1988 says simply:

“When you’re done for tonight, I want to talk to you, just the two of us.”

***

To 1988’s surprise, 9999 arrives only a few minutes later. Logically, the drone shouldn’t have any reason to be on edge but 1988 can see the small signs and knows that 9999 knows what this is- what this could be about.

“I was half expecting you to run off like 17070,” says the infiltrator, sitting down on a bank at the edge of the changeling camp.

“17070 was just scared, and for a good reason,” replies 9999, taking place next to the infiltrator, “Doing its best to run away is still better than simply getting crunched.”

“Since when do you drones refuse to return the love you got to the hive?” asks 1988 with curiosity more than hostility.

9999 grits its teeth.

“Maybe it has something to do with us having to fend for ourselves while you high ranks were away, while I thought my head would explode as I held the hive links together. Or maybe just with the fact that 17070 earned it on its own from that cook lady,” the drone reminds itself that just talking this way to a higher rank would get it immediately killed back home, “Sorry, I didn’t want to be mean but you started it and wanted to know the truth.

Still, seeing 1988 face it with bared fangs and hearing the low growl from his throat shows that a polite apology might not be enough.

“Listen here, you little goop! My superiors are gone, most of our knowledge is gone, unknown things from holes-know-where abducted changelings hundred times stronger than myself and they haven’t been heard of since, and then I come back after STOPPING a pony intent on telling others about us being here and I have a drone ignore me, more drones worshipping you, an unconscious warrior, and a pony basically telling me that if I lay a hoof on one of you guys I’ll get a first-hoof experience in what it means to be a logged tree. I’m a little on edge right now, so pick your next words carefully.”

9999 sighs.

Oh well, it’s all or nothing then.

“You haven’t figured out which drones are too badly hurt to remain alive so far, and I’m not going to tell you and have them eaten. You want to make an example of me away from the ponies? Go for it but it’ll still be one dead drone compared to way more. Song or not, I’m not special or important.”

9999 wasn’t expecting 1988 to slap it, especially hard enough to hear a crunch. It expected the fact that the crunch didn’t come from its head even less.

Scowling, 1988 raises its foreleg cracked and badly bent at the fetlock and shoves it into 9999’s face.

“Now do you understand how weak I am right now? 8622 isn’t much stronger. A drone resisted my control attempt. I. Need. All. Of. You. Especially if you managed to refill on love while we were gone. Do you think I can send a standard warrior like 8622 to the camp and get any positive result? You connected with the ponies, only you can hurt the damn monsters. Even from a purely strategic standpoint, getting rid of even a single drone is dropping my own chances of survival. And… honestly… I feel a little hurt. We’ve saved each other before and you still think I’d do that?”

9999 looks into the infiltrator’s eyes. He sounds genuine, but he’s still an infiltrator - it’s their job.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… you can’t know how life in the hive was for a drone. You just can’t.”

To the drone’s surprise, 1988 shakes his head.

“9999, it was the same for everyone who wasn’t in the top ten. The exact nature of the danger might have been different but we were all just expendable snacks for those above us.”

“But you weren’t defenseless! You could fight and maybe you would win and get something out of it but do you know what happened to the last group of drones who successfully defeated a warrior trying to eat them? The entire tunnel section they worked in was wiped. Can you be replaced just by pouring a little love into a reserve egg ready to hatch? Or by Silents? No. You might be a low ranked infiltrator but you still have value. We, in the eyes of everyone above us? We’re recyclable tools in a world where recycling is easier than repair.”

1988 has to concede this. He leans closer to flinching 9999’s face and presses his forehead to the drone’s, whispering:

“Look, I know words mean nothing, especially from the mouth of a changeling infiltrator, so think about it this way - patchwork repairs and surface plastering over deep wounds is only hurting us in the long run. You will either help me provide proper healing or you won’t tell me anything and we’ll suffer more and more drain on our energy reserves as the damage mounts. I left you in charge until I got back, so think of this as your final leadership decision.”

9999’s mind starts going in circles. If it decides wrong, everyone might die. If it doesn’t say anything, some of the drones will eventually get killed as the wounds get more serious.

This is a real decision. Not picking a drone based on imaginary points and what sounds like a good idea at the time. 

This has meaning…

...and consequences.

***

The celebration is over.

“Psst!”

9999, strolling through the now empty pony camp, hears a hiss nearby. Everyone has gone to sleep and no drones have returned yet.

“Psst!”

“Yes?” it asks, looking at a pair of glowing teal eyes peeking from behind a pile of logs.

“So… can we go back?”

“Yes,” 9999 nods.

“No crunching?”

“None. 1988 promised.”

Three more heads stacked atop each other peek out.

“You sure?”

“17070 will have to remain deaf. We don’t have the love for such complex healing. The rest of you are to report all your injuries or anything unusual to 1988 tomorrow. He’ll give you a full check-up and surgery, all safely under 36658’s agonyslayers. I’ll be there holding your hoof if you want,” simultaneously speaking through the hive link to 17070.

“ThAnK yOuuu!” the deaf drone rams into 9999, clamping its forelegs around its neck, “I liKe tHe pOnies bUt You guyS aRe tHe beSt anD I dun wanNa Leave Youuu!”

“If we have the time and love, we’ll fix you too, 17070. Don’t worry,” 9999 replies in the only way the deaf drone can understand.

*Mass, heavily emotional wibble!*

“Don’t you try that on me, I’m one of you and that makes it illegal,” 9999 faces the synchronized wibbling from the circle of drones around it, “You go and thank 1988. He’s the one in charge who’s going against everything he learned in the hive.”

***

In the morning, 1988 yawns but finds himself unable to get up or even move his legs.

Am I too hungry? What’s going on?

The blackness covering his face shifts, revealing two teal eyes, a mouth, and a tongue that licks his face. The numerous black weights on his limbs and all over his body do the same but without the licking.

And afterwards, they all say as one:

“Thank you, 1988!”

“My… heart...”