Hatchling 589 had sensitive ears.
Even through the cotton-like protection of her larval shawl, they rang with tinnitus at the sound of the worker Changeling's shouts. It was only a small comfort, but at least the stomping and shouting coming through her security wrap weren't being projected directly at her, just in the general direction. Hatchling 589 was lined up with scores of other grubs for 'academy initiation' as this was apparently called. So far, she wasn't enjoying it very much.
"-unior Military Academy is NOT a place you were sent to because you're the best of the best," the worker Changeling was bellowing. "In fact, you're all here because for one reason or another, you've each been noted by the nursery nymphs to be lacking in the proper Changeling attitudes. Lacking! You are all here because you hatched from bad eggs!"
Someone was whimpering. Hatchling 589 realized it was herself.
The worker glared at her -right at her- and when she bit her proboscis in fear his angry expression wavered. Into what, Hatchling 589 couldn't tell. But whatever it was quickly dissipated as the worker licked his incisors before continuing.
"None of you are old enough to really understand what deviance you displayed to get sent here-" (Untrue. Hatchling 589 knew exactly what deviance she displayed to get sent here) "-but over the next three moons, I will enjoy holding your collective antennae to the aerosol. There will be chipped carapaces before we're done. Aching exoskeletons and busted abdomens too. But all of the scars you collect under my training will be shed and left behind the day you reach pupation-" (he flashed a sickening smile) "-because by then you'll have become the warriors worthy of serving Queen Chrysalis. Warriors like me. Is that clear, my little Changelings?"
The gathered grubs stayed cautiously silent.
"I said is that clear?"
"Yessir, Lieutenant Pharynx!"
Ostensibly pleased with the response from his 'class', Lieutenant Pharynx beat his wings and took to the air.
"You're all dismissed for the day. Find a hovel in the far wall to claim as your home for the forseeable future. Then again, there's a lot more of you than there are hovels so... consider this the first unofficial group project: you've each got baby fangs. Strongest grubs get the hovels while the wimps sleep on the floor. Over and out."
The gust from Pharynx's departure buffeted Hatchling 589, and she gripped her trusty larval shawl for comfort. Unfortunately, its fabric caught the wind like a dandylion puff which flipped her onto her helpless back. She chirped in distress, but the other grubs squirmed past her without looking back. One less participant in the race for an easily defensible hole in the wall. Hatchling 589 fought the urge to cry as she rocked back and forth helplessly. Then someone gently poked her in the side.
"Can you put your forelegs out?" The gurgling voice of another grub was unmistakable.
"Mm-hm." She extended her sticky pads expecting to meet the stranger's, but a rough shove in the thorax rolled her rightside up again. She felt a little bit dizzy and curiously cold, but also full of relief.
"I'm 589," she chittered by way of introducing herself. "Thank you so much for-" she looked up to see the retreating abdomen of the deceitful rescuer, her stolen larval shawl pinched in his mandibles.
Hatchling 589 had tired legs.
She wriggled through the mud of the obstacle course. Not exactly bringing up the rear, but nowhere near the front of the group either. Grime caked her abdomen and mouth. The budding wings on her back buzzed with anxious exertion. But still she pushed forward.
Things were better this morning. Not great, given the current awful mudbath and all. But better than yesterday's 'academy initiation.'
Predictably, Hatchling 589 had been one of cadets relegated to the floor. None of the other groundlings wanted a shawlless snuggle-buddy, so she'd curled up while feeling terribly alone, exposed, and full of yearning to be back in the nursery wing with all the good grubs.
But she wasn't a good grub, was she? She was being punished for deviance, which meant she belonged here, on the floor. That understanding had almost been enough for Hatchling 589 to start crying, but instead she just wrapped her stubby forelimbs around herself, staring into the dark while waiting to drift off.
Morning had eventually come and with it Lieutenant Pharynx to wake them all up. He noticed Hatchling 589 cowering unclothed and away from everyone. Then he'd scanned the room until he spotted a smug looking hovel dweller nestled on top of some freshly shredded bedding.
Hatchling 589 didn't understand many of the words Pharynx bellowed at her bully, but she didn't need to. The thief was reduced to a blubbering mess in front of all the other cadets while she had managed to keep her eyes dry all night.
Small victory for a small bug.
Pharynx had led them all outside after to the training course after that. The sun beat down on Hatchling 589's uncovered dorsal plates, and the others looked uncomfortably insulated. Still, there were chirps of shared excitement since this was the first time any of them had been outside of the hive's walls. Pharynx did his now familiar stomping thing and announced that sunny days were prime times for Griffons to patrol the sky and look for crawlies to snack on. Helpless crawlies like larval Changelings. So best stop all that chirruping and get through the obstacle course before any predators showed up.
Hatchling 589 had no idea what a Griffon was, but being eaten was NOT on her to-do list. So through the mud she wriggled, praying to Queen Chrysalis that she'd go the rest of her life never having to see such a scary-sounding monster up close.
"Dirt!" yelled a rather large grub barreling past 589. "Dirt dirt dirt dirt..." He paused in front of her and looked back. "Dirt?" He inquired in a tone far too serious for the given situation.
"Erm... yes," Hatchling 589 cautiously affirmed.
The big grub thumped his tail in celebration and barreled forward. "Diiiiiirt....!"
Hatchling 589 followed the clear path he made behind him, smiling both at her good fortune and at the absurdity of it all. She really was among fellow faulty filiforms, wasn't she? Yet here they all were, learning to toughen up and be proper members of the colony. For the first time since being pulled from the nursery, she felt... hope. Hope that she could one day molt into a respectable Changeling. Maybe be assigned a pair of parents, earn a rank in the formal forces, be permitted to choose a name to replace her number...
A shadowy shape passed over Hatchling 589 and she flinched in fear that a Griffon had spotted her. Until the source of the shadow barked out another announcement.
"Pick it up, stragglers! The first ten to cross the finish get bonus marks. But the last ten to cross won't be allowed to wash off before the next drill!"
Wash off? Hatchling 589 dug her tarsis in and made tracks.
"Last one there's a rotten egg!" she called. "Literally, hee hee!"
With the promise of a reward and no larval shawl to slow her down, Hatchling 589 plowed past the surprised big grub from earlier. A few meters later she overtook two more cadets. She was stymied however, by a large log obstacle she saw several more nimble racers clamber over just as she reached it.
Her tracheae burned from physical effort, and she knew even before skidding to a halt that she hadn't saved enough energy to climb. Deciding she couldn't possibly get any dirtier, Hatchling 589 took a deep breath and burrowed beneath the log. Even if she finished eleventh to last, it'd be a win. All she had to do was push. Don't feel. Don't think. Dig. Scurry. Earn that wash.
Hatchling 589 broke the surface on the other side of the log, arching her back to let out a victory trill.
She was drowned out by an attack screech from above as feathery leonine flier swooped past. The sound of panic buzzes assaulted 589's ears as she blinked away dirt and saw the other cadets running towards tall grass, overhanging rocks, or any other improvised shelter they could find. The finish line lay dead ahead of where Hatchling 589 was partially buried, but another screech accompanied the landing of a massive muscled creature in the muck in front of her.
At least, it was massive by Hatchling 589's standards. She didn't know what a cat looked like. Nor a bird. Nor that she was being menaced by a heavily panting hybrid of the two animals.
All she knew was that her abdomen was stuck under the log.
"Pharynx!" she called. "Lieutenant Pharynx, where are you?!"
The griffon cocked it head at the odd clicking noises verbalizing from its prey. Then it flared its wings and screeched at her a third time.
Hatchling 589 scrabbled at the uncooperative mud with her free legs. The other grubs had abandoned her. Lieutenant Pharynx had abandoned her. It wasn't fair. She did everything right and ran as fast as she could and it wasn't fair!
The griffon raked its talons on the ground and the old urge to start crying boiled inside of Hatchling 589. She choked it down, more scared of showing deviance than of being eaten, but the pressure built and built until her tiny prepubescent horn sparked with green and a sudden hoop of fire swept over the spot where she was pinned.
The griffon stared the pebble that had replaced its prey. Hatchling 589 stared up at the monster. She felt confused, woozy, and very very small. Then the griffon stomped the ground.
"Everyone inside," Pharynx demanded as a more practiced hoop of fire dispelled his own illusion. "And get cleaned up. Drills are... drills are all canceled for the rest of the morning.”
Deafening silence accompanied the scurry of infant Changelings fleeing back to the safety of the hive. Hatchling 589's polymorphed stomach lurched as Pharynx scooped her up, prompting a third and final hoop over the both of them. She was left undisguised and trembling in the grip of his crater-covered pseudohoof.
"What's your number designation, deviant?"
Hatchling 589 had a heart full of fear.
She was dripping wet from Pharynx dipping her in the hive's central fountain, but it was better than still being dirty. And also better than being eaten alive, she supposed. Her front legs had stopped shaking from adrenaline just in time to start shaking from cold and apprehension. Lieutenant Pharynx had plopped her down in this side room several minutes ago, then told her to stay put.
Hatchling 589's horn throbbed. Very painfully to be honest, but she was afraid to touch it. She was afraid to do anything until the older worker drone came back, and fortunately by the sound of tired trudging behind her, Pharynx had finished whatever it was he'd needed to do without her.
"Nothing's ever easy," he grumbled aloud. "Not with the Queen, not with the grubs, not with anyone." He slumped down against the wall across and regarded Hatchling 589 with the most tired eyes she'd ever seen. This was the first time she'd ever seen a grown up Changeling sit down. Or talk quietly.
"Alright 589, let's get this over with. D'you know why you're here at the Junior Military Academy?"
The hatchling's cheeks burned. "Be-because I hatched from a bad egg. All grubs who hatched from bad eggs go to-"
"Nah nah, that wasn't what I asked. Number 276 is an impulsive klepto. Number 925 is more dopey than a hippogriff. Those are the deviant traits that need hammered out of the two of them. I asked why you get sent here, and I know you can answer cuz you're... an above average kid. The mock attack drill proved that. So stop flitting around. Say what you did to get kicked out of the nursery and sent to me."
Hatchling 589 bowed her tiny head. "I... I cried too much. I was a crybaby." She gritted her mandibles in frustration. "And I still am."
Hatchling 589 didn't know what she expected the tall scary bigger bug to do when she confessed, but patting her on the head definitely wasn't it.
"Kiddo, you have no idea how much you remind me of my little brother. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the male contribution to your egg clutch."
Hatchling 589 scrunched her eyes shut, trying very hard not to visualize the Lieutenant's ponderings.
"Listen, this might be a hard thing for a kid like you to understand, but... its okay to cry sometimes. Not all the time of course, but it's not safe for our species bottle up our emotions. It makes you sick. It makes you hurt. Makes you age faster than you should."
"Is... is that why I was able to change shape earlier?"
"It was, kiddo. But trust me, you don't want to grow up too fast. Take it from someone who can't turn back his own clock."
This being the first time she'd seen him so close, Hatchling 589 regarded Pharynx. He had a scratchy voice like the Queen for sure. And he stomped around like a lot of the bigger Changelings. But his carapace was... soft. Not quite like hers, but he definitely hadn't shed his own shawl more than six or seven moons ago.
"Wh-why're you telling me all of this, Lieutenant Pharynx?"
The adolescent older bug stepped back and cleared his throat. "Cuz it's my job to whip each grub into shape. At least, that's what I told the Queen. And she'll be real disappointed in me if I can't give my first batch of cadets to a full hundred percent pass rate." He looked down at Hatchling 589. "I'll be dissapointed in me too. Changelings need tough love as much as we need food love. I want to make sure those who need it, get it. Ya dig?"
Hatchling 589 nodded. "So.. what should I do? Uh... sir?"
"You're dismissed. Head back to the other cadets and mingle til lunchtime. Tomorrow's a new day and I need to redraw my lesson plans." Pharynx chuckled darkly. "In hindsight, the first outing was a bit too early to try simulating a Griffon attack. But cut me a break; I'm as new at this as all of you are."
"Will do, sir. And... thanks. For keeping an ocellus on me."
"Bah," Pharynx waved her off and focused his attention on a beeswax calendar etched in the far wall. "Don't go spreading this little heart-to-heart around. Or next time I'll come at you as a dragon. And trust me, if you never meet a real dragon in all your life, you can count yourself as one lucky bug."
Hatchling 589 didn't say anything as she peristaled away, but Pharynx could taste her optimism. He sighed and thanked the Queen she couldn't taste his own worry.
First his brother, now Hatchling 589. What direction was the hive heading in if softies like them were starting to pop up?
Pharynx brushed the thought away and returned to his scheduling work.