For the past fifteen minutes, increasingly confused 387 has been hearing faint music inside its head. It started out of nowhere while he was busy inconspicuously following Chrysalis, now swimming in the biggest pool of the ship being openly stared at by several stallion bodyguards belonging to the Las Pegasus delegation.
He takes a sip of his cold, unflavored soda to combat the sunlight.
Makes me wonder how hard they’d be staring if she didn’t bloat her hips just to lure them in. On the other hole, if ponies weren’t so horny, our lives would be so much more difficult.
The intrusive theme inside his head shifts into a jaunty tune of a leading fiddle mixed with modern string instruments, which prompts 387 to finally take action.
I like the music, but what in all holes is it doing in my head?
As an experiment, he hides his mental presence entirely and the music stops.
Okay, so someone wasting love by… broadcasting music through the hive mind? I swear, if I have to refill someone this early in the day I’m gonna slap a drone.
93 is currently… observing a card game inside? Looks like it’s between a unicorn from Stalliongrad and some griffon.
10013 is… attending some sort of a lecture? Weird but okay.
20100… has so far earned 12 bits by drawing portraits of ponies? I’m sorry, what?!
36658 is helping some zebra mix potions. Go figure.
99111 is helping fix a door for that unicorn Smiley saved. Speaking of the Silent, it just drew a simple facsimile of a smiling face on a blackboard in the workshop with a piece of chalk it got holes know where. Hmmm, that gives me an idea.
99526- ah, that’s where the music is coming from. Wait, no. It’s nearby, but that’s not it. 99526 is just…
387 looks back at the filling up deck spread behind him and locates the drone in question who is busy swabbing the floor near one of the many bars. 99526 catches him looking and waves.
“Hi, is there a problem?” it asks, “I got a sweet fizzy juice from the nice bartender and I can lick anything anyone spills or drops on the floor. All I gotta do is make sure it’s clean around here afterwards.”
“Just… just sniff anything that drops on the floor first in case it’s unhealthy to changelings or something,” 387 sighs, mentally counting off the minutes until someone inevitably tries to poison the drone.
“I sure will.”
As the drone resumes mopping, 387 finally finds what’s been looking for, which is 99380, sitting on the counter of said bar, humming and bobbing its head from side to side with the tune playing in 387’s mind. Surprisingly, no one seems to mind.
The warrior checks the drone’s love level and finds it absolutely satisfactory. Several brief memory checks later, he ascertains that it’s not because the drone is being refilled but rather because the broadcasting isn’t draining almost any of its resources. Drones aren’t normally skilled at mental communication enough to do it without exhausting themselves, if overused.
“99380, why are you broadcasting the music?” he asks.
“Oh right, I was doing that,” replies the drone and the music stops, “Miss 93 asked me to try it earlier and we ended up sitting here and listening to the talky box. Did you know that the Maretime Bay’s sea crest festival will be hosting hippogriffs this year? I don’t know what those are but the Fuzzy lady was really excited about it.”
“387, I was listening to the radio,” Chrysalis’ annoyed voice interrupts the conversation, “Stop bothering the drone!”
387 gets forcefully booted out of 99380’s head by the queen, and it takes about two minutes before the music begins effortlessly flowing through the hive mind again.
Minimal energy drain and it can’t restart immediately. It’s clear that 99380 isn’t doing it entirely consciously, and 93 knows about it.
The warrior finishes his drink. It’s going to be a long day, but so far nothing is on fire and that’s the critical thing. If he remains vigilant, he’s bound to eventually get some idea of what Chrysalis’ plan is.
***
Instinct is a wonderful thing, but can also be a set of heavy shackles. For quite some time now, 93 has been strolling across the deck, unbothered by the rough estimate of three hundred guests enjoying the sunny day, looking for something which, as the queen ordered, she would find ‘fun’. Exploring the depths of 99380’s newly discovered broadcasting skill was interesting for a short while several hours ago, but it quickly became clear that the drone’s mental ability was simplistic and… hard-wired, so spending more time on attempting to customize it would prove fruitless.
93 checks the status of all drones multiple times, and doesn’t find anything that requires her involvement. Some of the images she draws from their minds are confusing, but their overall demeanor doesn’t hint at anything problematic. Experimentally, 93 attempts to sneak into 387’s mind and, as always, finds it slipping away, which means the warrior doesn’t need her help either. She asked the queen before about how a warrior can resist her mental abilities, and the queen simply said that 387 and a couple others were special and to not worry about it.
So, here’s the problem - 93 has nothing to do and, unlike the queen, she doesn’t feel any particular need to attract the attention of hunky stallions from various delegations. Here, on the cruise ship filled with creatures from all corners of Equestria, with drinks and food of various cultures to at least taste, and with attractions meant to take one’s mind off of troubles of daily life, she’s bored and it’s only her own fault.
No, bored isn’t the correct word, although it works. There’s no place for her here, no activity into which she could comfortably insert herself. The worst part is that she’s the only one. A changeling, the being genetically forged to blend in, is the only one sticking out like a sore hoof.
Her lazy walking eventually brings her to a long line of ponies chatting with each other and waiting for something related to 20100 whose mind is pretty much overflowing with busy joy. Curious, she walks to the front of the queue to see what’s going on, and stops when she spots 20100 sitting on a bar stool under which there’s a small pile of gold, an easel and a canvas in front of it and a short paint brush creatively stuck in its leg hole so that it aims outwards as if lengthening the hoof. The drone itself is splattered with paint, not minding it whatsoever and excitedly painting away.
What’s more interesting to 93, however, is the second changeling drone on a bar stool next to it, watching and occasionally pointing at 20100’s painting with a suggestion or two:
“No no no no, you don’t always gotta mix the paints. You can layer them over each other, so that from a distance it kinda blends but not really.”
Clearly, this has been going on for a long time, and 20100 gives the brush to the other drone in response, hops off of the stool, and runs a short distance away. The second drone paints a few lines, 20100 gasps, slapping its forelegs over its mouth and probably not poisoning itself with paint, and gallops back to the easel.
“IT’S TWO COLORS BUT IT LOOKS LIKE ONE FROM OVER THERE AND HERE IT’S LIKE TWO LINES AND IT’S SO COOL!” 20100 hops up and down, yelling with excitement. That doesn’t seem to bother anyone, and the ponies waiting in line are clearly used to the outbursts, “Heya, 93!” 20100 beams at her as she walks over to examine what’s going on.
“You look like you’re having fun,” she comments.
“I’m painting ponies and getting shinies!” 20100 gestures at her to come have a look before pointing at the gold under its stool, “AND LOOK WHO’S HERE TOO!” it finally points at 65536.
“Hello!” 65536 waves and smiles at her, “I’m 65536.”
“I’m 93,” she blinks when she sees 20100’s painting in its full glory. It depicts a unicorn mare currently waiting nearby, sipping on a drink, in a heroic pose she’s definitely not holding at the moment. 93 looks again, comparing the real pony with the painting.
And sucking in her gut.
“Whoah! You’re a super high rank,” 65536 salutes.
“Easy, 65536,” 93 looks at the drone, “We’re all here to relax.”
“All done. Miss!” 20100, after a quick shading of the painting’s hooves, calls out to the mare who walks over, levitates up the painting, and trots off with it after tossing five coins onto the pile under 20100’s stool.
93 steps in front of the canvas, and strikes a pose with a puffed out chest. Immediately, the next pony in line, an earth pony on the heavy side, huffs indignantly:
“Hey, hey, hey, changeling! No preferential treatment. You gotta wait in the line like everypony else!” before 93 can say anything, he pushes past her and points at 20100, “You, ten- five bits if you paint me holding a sword and standing on my back hooves! Low-angle side view. And add abs. Six pack- no, twelve pack.”
“Sorry,” 20100 shakes its head, “I can’t add any stuff yet. I’ll try to learn that soon, but for now I can only copy what I see. Just pull out your slashy and hold the pose for a moment, I’ll have a good look, and then I’ll get painting.”
“Acceptable!” the chubby earth pony, who likely hasn’t seen any sort of muscles even in a documentary, holds up a heavily decorated blade while trembling in an attempt to stay upright and epic as 20100 looks at him from various angles.
“Oookay, that’s enough,” 20100 jumps backwards as the pony slams down, gasping for air, sweating, and jiggling, “I’ll get right on it,” once it climbs back onto the borrowed bar stool, it looks at 93, ”Sorry, did you need anything? We’re kinda busy here.”
“No, I was just curious,” 93 shakes her head, “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Take a shiny if you want!” 20100 points to the pile of gold, “Did you know you can trade those for sweet cream that makes your noggin hurt, but in a good way? That, or a fizzy drink that comes out of your nose! Or a bunch of other things!”
The corner of 93’s mouth curls up.
“No. You earned those bits. Do with them what you will,” she heads off.