As promised, when the sun came up, 1988, 9999, and the two warriors gave every single drone and Silent a full physical, revealing a total sum of injuries that could probably fell a dragon. Each one had a broken carapace, that one’s given, but some have been dealing with their actual bones as well. Why changelings have both endoskeleton as well as an exoskeleton was beyond the knowledge of anyone involved. Necrotic flesh was the norm, but thankfully, changeling adaptability limited the spread so it didn’t infect anywhere important. 1988 never considered himself a surgeon but the ability to transform his hooves into claws and operate a knife borrowed from the kitchen with a degree of precision that the mouth simply didn’t offer did tons to limit the invasiveness of the ‘cleaning’ process.
In the end, the drones were left with a few more goop-filled holes each but 1988 could feel it, the BIG thing - the drain on their love went down immensely. After some rest, the drones scampered off to help ponies again. After all, none of them were hurt enough to stop working, even though now that 1988 knew the only injury that would stop a drone from working would be a broken neck, it did little to alleviate his conscience. He realized one important thing during this whole medical ordeal - his whole hive knew so little about the drones.
HOWEVER, right now there’s one drone he could really live without, even though it brought him the most critical part for the plan he’s been hatching for a while.
*Bounce bounce bounce bounce!*
“9999, can you stop that guy?”
“MY PICTURE OF THE WORLD IS USEFUL!” 13415 keeps bouncing up and down, its usually serious demeanor completely gone as 1988 studies the map it drew.
“Come on, 1988, it’s just happy. Not everyone got off on the right hole with the ponies so some of us have to take what we can get,” 9999 defends the second highest ranked drone around.
“I DREW ALL THE LITTLE LINES AND SQUIGGLES! THEY’RE IMPORTANT!”
“I knoooow,” moans 1988, giving 9999 an annoyed glance, “If I give it a reward, will it go away? Or at least stop?”
“DEPENDING ON THE REWARD!” 13415’s demeanor changes immediately from excited to ‘attentively listening while still bouncing up and down’.
“That sneaky little bastard knows exactly what it’s doing,” 1988 facehoofs.
“Yep,” sighs 9999, “Alright, that’s enough of that, 13415. The map is important, we understand, now let 1988 do his thing.”
“Aaaand the reward?” asks 13415.
“I won’t feed you to 8622,” scowls 1988, “It looks to me as if you’ve got energy to spare.”
“Hey, you promised you wouldn’t be mean anymore,” 13415 finally stops hopping and gives 1988 a betrayed look.
“That’s a two-way street. You don’t give me a headache, I don’t use parts of you as bait for nightmarish monsters. You’ve already failed the first part. I’m allowed to be mean.”
“Grmmm...” 9999 glares at him.
“Just a little mean. You know, only threatening unspeakable violence, not actually going through with it,” 1988 explains with a roll of his eyes.
“Oh,” 13415 ponders his words and brightens up instantly, “Hey, that’s fair. 9999 was totally right, you’re a really nice infiltrator, 1988!”
“I repeat - if I thank you, will you go away and let me figure this out?”
“What are you doing anyway?” asks 13415 in an excitedly curious way that makes 1988’s eye twitch.
“I’m thinking of a way to get the cocooned ponies to civilization before something bad happens to them. From 9999’s overview of the love situation of you drones I can see we’re slowly improving, especially now that you’re not practically leaking love from all the barely patched up holes and cuts.”
“Thanks for that!” 13415 beams, “I’ve never felt better in my life.”
“I doubt you’re the only one,” mutters 1988, “This makes me suspect that our lack of love in the hive might have not been due to raw consumption but more due to not doing any real… maintenance.”
“When it’s easier to eat the wounded or just recycle-” 9999 is stopped by 1988 patting its head.
“I know. Now I know,” is all 1988 says before resuming his focus on the map, “This is going to take a week at this pace, at least. How can we split up for a week? They can’t feed from the cocoons anymore, so how much love can we really spare? We’d have to hibernate a few guys… but then we’ll be getting even less love here...”
“If you give me a copy of the map and a few drones, I think I can provide a stable hive mind for a small group,” offers 9999.
“You nearly collapsed after a few hours,” 1988 shakes his head, “With the amount of changelings this is going to require, that’s out of the question. Besides, you’ve done well here and I want to use the right changeling for the right thing, no matter the rank. It’s a novel idea but let’s give it a shot. No, for safety reasons and to swap serving as hive mind nodes, both 8622 and 9013 will have to go.”
“They can’t hurt the monsters,” objects 9999.
“We’re in the north. They can fight off a black bear, timberwolves, or any other wildlife if needed. Good point, though. So, we’re going to need both carriers and supernatural security...”
“The Silents can carry three cocoons each, provided we can make a proper harness. Other than one of them, they don’t seem to be improving in their heads but they won’t panic in a tight situation which I can’t say about us. Although I’d like to keep the one who potentially seems to be getting better here,” replies 9999.
“Sounds good. So, two Silents, two warriors, but still a double-digit amount of pony-sized cocoons which will break if they drag them on the ground.”
“The camp ponies have those huge carts for tree trunks stationed around our shiny reward spot. Maybe we could borrow one?” offers 13415.
“I’ll ask Sawtooth later. Wait, no. Let’s not make two versions of the plan. 13415, go do that right now. Sawtooth should still be in the camp’s office building this early.”
“On it!” 13415 salutes and bolts away.
“Hmph, no matter how I look at it, we’re still short on love. If we send out the drones who keep bringing in the least with the cocoon group, we’ll still end up exhausted. Without draining some of you drones and forcing you into hibernation it won’t work.”
“I can’t ask the guys to do it. You heard them last night. I’ve never seen them so happy- no, that’s not right,” 9999 pauses.
“It didn’t look like that to me,” 1988 shrugs, “They look more excited whenever one of them wins the chance to hug the bug zapper.”
“No no no, you don’t understand. This… this is important that I say it right,” 9999 shakes its head, “It’s easy to be ecstatic about… anything, really, when you only have this exact moment to live, when you can be eaten in the next second. Yesterday… they were happier than ever because… because they were starting to believe they might get to... live? To maybe enjoy tomorrow what they have now as well?” 9999 kicks the ground in frustration and growls before sighing and saying, “I wish I was able to say it in a way that makes sense.”
“You’re making too much out of this. We just need one or two to go into hibernation until we get some love from the ponies again because we’re going to have to give almost all we have to the cocoon group.”
“That’s not how they’ll see-” 9999 looks at the patch of grass it kicked out, “If I was an infiltrator with proper brain and words I’d know how to say it right. I-” it pauses and blinks, “Wait! Hibernate me!”
“What? No! I need you the most out of all of them.”
“No, you don’t,” 9999 shakes its head, pleading, “I can sense it. That eye trick is making me use up more love, my head’s been all weird since I had to hold the hive links together too and you can’t patch that up with a knife. Pleasedon’ttry. I am the one using up more love than any other drone here and I haven’t been bringing any in since I had to keep planning and thinking all the time. You have to stay here to manage everything anyway so you don’t need me. Have the guys whom the ponies like stay here, hibernate me, and fill up all the others who will go away. Yesterday, a high rank, you, gained a tiny amount of their trust, something they thought could never happen. Don’t ruin it, please.”
1988 measures the small drone looking up into his eyes with equal parts determined and desperate expression.
“If you really think it’s going to mean this much to them,” the infiltrator shrugs, “I mean, it is going to be only for a day or two, hopefully. We’re surprisingly stable and if we didn’t have to do this we’d be gradually filling up.”
To his surprise, 9999 slams into him, wrapping its forelegs around his slim frame.
“Thank youuuuuuu!”
***
Short time later, 1988 looks over the assembled changelings.
“Everyone, this is going to be dangerous but we have to do it. Of course, we could simply suck the cocooned ponies dry and bury them afterwards but I want all the good points we can get in case we get revealed at the wrong time. That means we have to make sure the ponies return to civilization unharmed. The closest major town is Saint Hoofsburg to the northeast but it will take you at least a week to get there and back and that’s assuming you maintain a pretty sharp pace. The more realistic guess is closer to two weeks.”
“Quesshun!” 57999 raises its hoof and quickly swallows a piece of bark, “Question, I mean.”
“Yes?”
“Why can’t we return them back to Riverside? We took longer to get here but the map you showed us had fewer of the squiggly lines we have to avoid and it didn’t look much longer of a trip.”
“Good question-” 1988 nods.
“Woop woop!”
“Now shut up so that I can answer it!”
One does not simply defeat drone excitement, though.
“...woopwoop...”
1988 narrows his eyes before giving up and continuing.
“Our trip from Riverside took longer because we moved at a slow pace and without a clear direction. Plus, the queen was… unwell for some reason, probably because she got badly hurt during the invasion or something. As for why we can’t return the cocoons to Riverside - we don’t know in what shape the town is. If the worst comes to worst, the town will still be abandoned and if we leave the cocoons the ponies will be too exhausted to do anything and they might starve. The second possibility is that the town will be swarming with guards which would mean safety for ponies but a threat to us. Yes, we are losing our potential bargaining chip but I don’t want to be negotiating a hostage situation in the first place. Understood?”
*Nod nod nod.*
“Good. Now, we’ll be splitting into two groups. 8622, 9013, AND 13415 will be leading the transport group,” he smirks as 8622 shoots the jaw-dropped drone a frown but appreciates that 9013 doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, “Warriors, you’re going to be periodically swapping your role as hive mind nodes as well as providing security from wildlife. Drones, you’ll be pulling the cart Sawtooth agreed to lend us. In case of an attack from those weird horror things, obey the warriors. Only you might be able to harm those but 8622 and 9013 know how to fight both single as well as a unit and can instruct you how to do it so that none of you get eaten. And you two, mark this down,” he nods to the warriors, “Drones aren’t chitin shields, emergency rations, or acceptable casualties. You do everything you can to keep them alive. If you have a problem with it, feel free to give a full report to 156 and 387 if we ever see them again. 13415, you’re responsible for the drones. That means making sure they don’t mess around, don’t wander off, don’t jeopardize the mission in any way, and obey. Got it?”
“Meep!” the newly promoted commanding drone keeps shaking.
9999 walks over to 13415 and pats its head.
“One more step towards the high score, buddy,” it smiles.
“...meep...”
“If you don’t panic, you’ll do well,” 9999 looks at the other drones, “If a single one of you causes trouble for 13415, unintentionally or even by not doing your best to help it, no shiny for you anymore. Ever!”
A unified gasp of horror passes through its audience.
As it returns to 1988’s side, the infiltrator resumes talking.
“With that out of the way, I’ve decided that the drones who have been getting the most love recently will stay here to help us recover because we’ll be giving you the vast majority of our energy reserves. So, who stays here - 36658, 57999, 17070, 20100, and 9999,” he mentally pokes the deaf drone who is unsure what’s going on but feels that it’s important, “However, we don’t have enough love so we’ll have to hibernate some of our members.”
There it is. The almost imperceptible freezing passing through all the drones. 9999 was right. They all know who’s the first on the chopping block in every situation.
That’s how it begins. Hibernation, then getting eaten because there’s never enough love to wake up someone as unimportant as drones. For drones, hibernation IS death.
“And that’s going to be me,” 9999 steps up, raising its voice, “I’m a drain on our love right now and I haven’t been bringing much in. Just like the drones on the road will be listening to everything 13415 says, the guys left here will obey 1988. Okay?”
*Nod nod nod.*
9999 returns to its place by 1988’s side.
“Alright, we’ll start with the love transfer unless anyone has questions,” the infiltrator stares at everyone.
“I do,” 8622 says, “Any plan on how to give the cocoons to ponies?”
“No,” 1988 shakes his head, “I’ve never been in these parts before so I have no idea how things work here. You’ll have to improvise once you get there. The important part is that they get there alive and as healthy as possible.”
8622 nods.
“Then let’s do this,” 1988 turns towards 9999 and puts his horn to the drone’s.
9999’s carapace loses its healthy sheen, revealing hair-thin cracks, and once the drone slowly folds on the ground, its eyes close, its forelegs cross on its chest, and hind legs bend at the knees.
The mouths of the watching drones wibble but no one says anything. Gradually, 1988 approaches 36658, 57999, 17070, 20100, and drains almost every drop of love from them, redistributing everything to the group about to leave.
***
Since the cocoon group left, 1988 has been measuring his love reserves with utmost care. Unlike the warriors or much less the drones, his keeping the hive mind together is more a reflex not requiring that much energy. Still, if he fails, the trouble could prove fatal for everyone left here.
Maybe I could chat up some of the ponies left in the camp?
“Urk, bluh!”
The infiltrator looks around at the source of the noise, revealing 20100 biting off a clump of grass, chewing it up, swallowing, then waiting for a few moments with a thoughtful expression, and then throwing up.
“For the love of holes, please don’t tell me you’re experimenting with eating like a pony. I had enough trouble explaining the bark eater duo to ponies,” 1988 rolls his eyes.
“Nope,” 20100 shakes its head, “I’m just trying to make a drawy thingy.”
“Like… a pencil? You’d need coal for that, I think, not grass.”
“No, I’m allowed to take as much burnt wood as I want from the campfire. I meant the thing you draw on.”
“Paper. From grass?”
“Yup, I dug through the hive mind a bit and I found out that ponies used to make scrolls out of some water plants. We don’t have that here so I’m trying grass.”
“Do you mean papyrus? From water reed?”
“Dunno, maybe?”
“Why do you want it anyway?” asks 1988.
“You know how Magic Lantern showed me how to make pictures move, right?”
“No?”
“9999 didn’t tell you?”
“I didn’t ask about what you did while I was gone. You were healthy and regaining love, that’s all I needed.”
“Oooh! Wanna see?”
“Sure, why not?” 1988 shrugs.
20100 rushes away and quickly returns with a small stack of leaves with a crude depiction of a drone. Crude not because of the lack of skill of the artist but because of the material. Coal and wide leaves isn’t the best medium. The drone examines its ‘moving pictures’ and frowns.
“Awww… it’s all smudged. I swear, it was much better when it was fresh.”
“I see, you were trying to make a movie scene,” 1988 nods, “And you left this stack of leaves in a wet place, right?”
“Yeah! I got a pretty sweet hiding spot.”
“Ookay. I think I might have some pointers for you that might improve the quality of your ‘drawings’.”
“I’m listening.”
“One, screw papyrus-”
“Neat. How do I do that? Do I twist it or… nevermind, I’d forget anyway. Can I ask you again once I make some?”
1988 facehoofs.
“Poor choice of words on my side. You can get much better material than this papyrus-like grass mess. We’re in a forest, and real paper is made from sawdust.”
“Hey, there’s a bunch of that all over the place!”
“Exactly. Go help Hacksmith or someone else and they’ll give you some.”
“I’ll totally do my best to remember that!”
“Tip two - sharpen a burnt stick, it will make much clearer lines then just grabbing a random chunk from the campfire and drawing with it.”
“That’s important!”
“Yes, yes, it is,” 1988 nods.
***
“Hi, cooking buddy,” Swirling Ladle notices 17070 approaching her, “Are your ears better?”
“Umm, I can’t hear you, miss Ladle but good morning to you too!” the drone smiles at her.
Ladle takes a quick break from washing the dishes left after lunch just to pat 17070’s head.
“Do you want a ride?” she lowers herself down. To her surprise, 17070 shakes its head.
“I want a pot,” it points at the big metal tub filled with water and dishes.
“I can’t give you one. We’re tight on supplies right now,” she shakes her head.
17070 takes a moment to think about what the shake could have meant.
“Ah!” it blinks in realization, “I don’t want yours. I want to make one,” it beams with pride, “I don’t think just a goop one would work and I can’t make metal, though. Is there something else you can make a pot of?”
“Ooooh!” Ladle nods and can’t help smiling as the drone’s expression lightens up. Something about these critters’ eagerness just has this potential to brighten one’s mood. She points down at the ground and digs out a hoof full of dirt, “This isn’t the right kind-” she pauses, “This is going to be difficult to explain without words.”
“Soil?” asks 17070.
Ladle shakes her head, first pointing at her tub, then pulling out a bowl filled with water and pouring it over her hoof.
“Soil and water?”
“Yes,” Ladle nods but raises her foreleg to retain the drone’s attention, “but there’s more,” she points at the small hole in the ground, splashes a little bit of water in there, digs out more, and finally molds a small piece of mud into a hoof-sized, bent disc before pointing at the firepit.
17070 blinks, confused. Clearly, there are more steps to the whole process than it thought.
“Make a pot from water and soil, then… use fire for something?” it tries its best to interpret the gestures.
“Who’s a smart colt- filly- critter,” Ladle nods and pats 17070 again who nuzzles her underhoof and runs off without any further explanation. Ladle just shrugs and returns to her dishes, “I’m not sure if it’s even possible to make a pot from random mud but we’ll see.”
By the time 17070 returns, she’s already started working on the ingredients for dinner. The smaller fireplace meant for cooking is happily crackling under the cauldron filled with what’s about to be the usual vegetable stew. To Ladle’s surprise, the drone presents a hoof-sized cup clearly made of mud but with a strange, green sheen to it. Tapping on it reveals that it’s surprisingly sturdy, not even on the level of clay pottery but it’s not crumbling straight up, so she lowers the edge of the cup into water and carefully rubs a bit of the mud off.
“Hmm, okay,” she raises the cauldron up a few notches on its holding metal frame to make space underneath, and puts the cup near the fire, “Now let’s let it dry and see what happens,” she tells 17070 who is simply observing her, “I’ll be stumped if this works but stranger things have happened,” she points at her eye, at 17070, and then at the cup before resuming chopping vegetables.
17070 was told to watch the cup.
17070 watches the cup sit there.
17070 watches the cup start to sizzle.
17070 watches the cup catch fire.
17070 watches the cup crumble into dust.
17070 whimpers.
Swirling Ladle faces it as it points at the fire.
17070 wibbles at Ladle with drooped ears. It’s super effective!
“Awww!” she rushes over and scoops the drone into a hug. The flow of affection coming from her does wonders to improve 17070’s mood immediately, “Don’t worry about it. I- you can’t hear a word I’m saying anyway,” she shakes her head and scratches the drone behind the ear.
Why is our goop so flammable?
“I’M A DUMMY!” blurts out 17070, starting to wiggle out of Ladle’s hug until she lets it go, “I’ll be right back.”
When it returns, 20100 is with it, saying:
“Hello, Miss! 17070 said it wanted me to, umm, interpret. By the way, is there a bag around which no one is using? I need it for wood shavings.”
“Sure. We have a bunch of those already that we use to help light fires. They’re around the back,” she points at the office building, “Of course, you have to clear any supply questions with Sawtooth.”
“Neat!” 20100 beams, “Now, 17070 wants to know what it did wrong with its… cup, you say?”
“It’s possible that nothing,” Ladle shrugs, resuming her chopping as she talks, “I’m no expert but the general idea is to make a shape from water and a specific kind of soil which makes clay, I think, and finally bake it in the right kind of oven with even heating.”
“So adding our goop because the mud kept crumbling wasn’t the best idea,” says 20100 after exchanging glances with 17070.
“Umm, probably,” Ladle ponders 17070’s last accident, “You seem to be making things a little… explosive. Wait, I’ve got an idea!”
Two heads lock onto her, one of them eagerly listening and one eagerly… being eager.
“Go ask Keen Eye, one of the two security guards. The unicorn. He has survivalist training and he assessed the surrounding area with Oversight when we first arrived. He might know if there’s a place here where you could dig out some useful mud. At this time of day, he should be assessing the state of our hardware.”
“Thank you!” is a perfectly synchronized answer from two mouths.
“Aaaaand they’re both gone,” she shakes her head, watching them run off like dogs chasing a thrown stick, “It’s so refreshing to see this much excitement for everything.”
***
Night has fallen on the camp and the ponies are once again observing their daily campfire routine. This time, however, all changelings are assembled in their small campsite, sitting in a tight group in front of 1988.
“Report,” he says, adding a hive link component to the order so that 17070 can hear it.
“I got sawdust!”
“I made pots!”
“I made goomy lings!”
“I made… even more goomy lings.”
“Oookay, I’m not exactly sure what to make of that,” 1988 pauses, realizing that he, in fact, has absolutely zero clue about how to deal with drones beyond giving them orders, “First, any problems?”
“I don’t know how to make paper out of the sawdust.”
“My pots keep catching fire!”
36658 and 57999 exchange looks.
“We have a lot of goomy lings.”
“Did you give some to the ponies?” asks 1988.
“Yup, the mean medicine lady wasn’t as mean today,” 36658 nods.
“Good,” 1988 nods, “Now for your orders. Our remaining Silent will be guarding 9999 here but since both our warriors are gone, we have to set up a patrol schedule.”
“Why?” asks 20100.
“What do you mean ‘why’?”
“Weren’t we supposed to be protecting the cocoons?” 20100 continues, “Now that they’re gone, why would we be patrolling?”
“Invulnerable nightmarish monsters ring a bell?”
“Oh...” 20100’s ears droop, “Sorry.”
“You’re going to have an excellent opportunity to make up for your forgetfulness-”
*Gulp.*
“-by taking tonight’s watch.”
“Phew...” 20100 wipes its forehead.
“Did you think I was going to eat you?”
“Yes- I mean, no- I mean, which answer won’t get me munched?” 20100 looks up at 1988 with genuine fear in its eyes. Without moving, the other drones in the unorganized huddle suddenly feel far too away.
“The honest one,” says 1988 firmly.
“Then, uhh, yes.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Umm, no. Umm, sorry.”
“You trust 9999 and it trusts me.”
“And it’s hibernating already.”
1988 takes a deep breath to calm down.
“The better you do at gaining love the sooner I’ll wake it up,” he says, trying to be as non-threatening as possible, “Now, I’ll mark your patrol route on the hive mind map. Here.”
20100 winces in pain. Too little love, too much detail for a drone.
“...ow ow ow...”
“This is the simplest I can make it,” says 1988, “If you can’t do it, I’ll task someone else with it.”
“...no, no, I’ll do it...” whispers 20100, “...what do I… do if I see something mean?”
“Umm, you can have my pot if it helps,” peeps 17070, “I managed to make a pretty sturdy one in the end… just stay away from any fire. It might help you protect your noggin, I made it big enough.”
“That’s actually a good idea,” says 1988, much to the surprised gasps of the drones which he decides to ignore, “What? Warriors sometimes do prepare armor beforehoof for cases where they might not have enough love for durability enhancements. The small loss of mobility is still better than getting crippled by a glancing blow.”
“You mean I can make goop armor?” 17070’s eyes go wide.
“If you figure out a way to stop making it explode then we might use that.”
“Woooooow...” 17070 keeps staring blankly ahead, clearly in shock, mouthing, “I’m still useful...”
“You know what? I’ll come with you tomorrow and we’ll try to make a more polished version of a helmet, okay?” 1988 can’t help feeling a little guilty at seeing 17070 gradually come to terms with not inevitably getting recycled.
“Oooh oooh oooh!” 20100 bounces up to 1988, “Can you help me with making paper too? I’ll make you your own moving picture.”
“You know what? Do your job right and I just might,” 1988 gives it a smug smirk.
20100 smacks its hoof against its head.
“17070, GIVE ME THAT POT!”
“It can’t hear you,” comments 1988, immediately shutting off his hive link right before-
“17070, GIMME THAT POT! I GOTS PORTALLING TO DO!”