//------------------------------// // 16. You're the Changeling // Story: Bug in a Blizzard // by Paracompact //------------------------------// After close to an hour spent searching all of the places the red-eyed pony had told him to, Bluebird worked up the nerve to return to Grid’s room. This time, there was no doubt about its occupancy, even before knocking; the room’s light was on, and a pulse of music leaked through the door. It sounded muffled by headphones, and at this distance was faint and tinny, but for Bluebird to be hearing it at all, he knew it must’ve been playing at a deafening volume. Grid sounded like he was having a good time. Probably shouldn't interrupt. Bluebird shifted in place before the door, stealing a look back down the hallway he came from. He could just stick with the original plan. Go back and search the boiler room. He took a deep breath. No. He couldn’t run away from this. Why would he even want to? He had questions, and it was literally his job to ask them. The cadet reached forward and gave a timid couple of raps on the door with the back of his hoof. Given the music, it was doubtful that Grid would hear them. Not to his surprise, his knocks went unanswered. With more force, and this time using the firmer underside of his hoof, Bluebird gave it another go. It was the loudest he could knock while still being polite about it. Still no response. Welp, he’d tried his best. It was the perfect excuse to walk away. … But it wasn’t his best, and he knew it. Even as an apprentice, he had been given plenty of opportunities in his line of work to knock above and beyond the levels of mere politeness. This was surely one of them. Bluebird braced himself against the door as he unleashed the loudest bangs he could muster short of damaging the door. “Grid! I just want to—” The door yielded. But it was neither the hinges giving out nor Grid answering that was responsible—the door simply glided open a few inches under the force of the knocking itself, as if it had been ajar all along. “… Grid?” The cadet hesitated before pushing the door open and peeking inside. To his relief, the scene was a boring one: In the corner of the room, Grid sat leaning back in his chair at his desk, eyes closed and bobbing his head in rhythm with the music from a portable cassette player. The sound that leaked through the headphones was even clearer now that there was no door between them. Slow, heavy guitars dominated the song’s chorus. He called out Grid’s name once again, to no effect. Grid was off in the land of hard metal. Exasperated and without any other options, Bluebird simply walked over, extended his wing, and tapped Grid on the shoulder. As the cadet could have expected, Grid turned slowly at first in reaction to the touch… and then nearly fell over in his chair once he connected it to the pegasus standing at hoof’s reach right behind him. “Bluebird?!” He ripped the headset off his ears and blinked in rapid succession. “Yeah, uh, hey, what’s up?” “Oh, I just wanted to have a word with you. Nothing serious. But, ahah, maybe we should close the door so we aren’t overheard. That fine?” “Um, sure.” As the cadet walked back to the entrance, Grid added, “How’d you get in, anyway? Did I seriously just leave my door wide open?” “Not exactly, but it wasn’t locked.” “It wasn’t? But I thought I”—he shook his head—“ah man, this whole situation’s got me out of sorts, you know? More scatterbrained than usual.” “Scatterbrained, huh?” Before closing the door, Bluebird took a moment to test the lock. As he turned the locking knob, the deadbolt shot in and out on a spring action. All seemed to be in working order. “I know the feeling, ahah. Why do you think I keep this thing at hoof’s reach?” The cadet flashed his trusty notepad. “My dude, you already got that thing at the ready?” Grid laughed. “Guessing ‘nothing serious’ is more than just shooting the breeze, huh?” Bluebird sheepishly retired the notepad into a distant pouch on his bags. “You’re right, it’s unnecessary. I do have some questions to ask, some of them pretty important. That said, whatever answers you give me…” Bluebird plopped down on the nearby bed, and looked up at the earth pony still seated in his desk chair. “… they don’t need to be recorded. You get what I mean?” “Ah, don’t sweat it, I was only giving you a hard time. I know it’s your job.” “Right. My only duty, in the end, is to protect the innocent.” A long pause ensued while Bluebird mulled over his words. Grid took the time to coil up his headset and cassette player and stuff it into a drawer. “… You ever heard of roleplaying, Grid?” “You mean, like, playing make-believe? Pretending to be someone you aren’t?” “Yeah, you can think of it like that,” Bluebird said. “This might sound weird, but, do you think you could roleplay as the changeling for a minute while I ask you some questions?” “Hm, you’re right: That does sound weird!” He gave another belly laugh. “Sorry, I’m being a real piece of work. Like I said, I’m feeling kinda ‘off’ in a lot of ways, what with the whole changeling thing and now the Bon thing—ah, never mind. Sure, I’ll roleplay with you.” “Good to hear.” “Might I just ask… like, why?” “Just to help me with the case,” the cadet fibbed. “It might sound like an off-the-wall idea, but ahahahah, it’s actually a common police tactic to help brainstorm!” he lied egregiously. “Well all right then!” He bared his hooves and narrowed his eyes in mock-villainous fashion. “I guess I’m a big bad bug now? Ask me something… if you dare!” “Okay! First question: Why were you so insistent last night when you asked me if the Royal Guard was actually on their way?” “… I dunno.” His eyes returned to normal and his hooves returned to his sides. “I suppose I wanted to know there’ll be an end to this thing, just in case you and Pesco can’t figure it out. Y’know?” “You’re the changeling, Grid.” Grid’s eyes narrowed again. “I mean, you’re pretending to be the changeling. Remember?” “Oh. Right,” he said. “I guess, if I was the bug and I asked something like that, it would be because I’m afraid of the Royal Guard. That’s obvious, right?” “Right. It’d only be natural to be afraid.” The cadet stared past Grid and out the window for a few moments. “But that’s not necessarily obvious from the changeling’s behavior, is it? If I were him, as soon as I heard the news, ahah, I think I would have grabbed my coat and a few granola bars and hightailed it! I wouldn’t need to prepare my escape plan all that much as long as I could get out of the mountains, I figure. What are they gonna do, put up wanted posters? I’m a shapeshifter, ahah!” “Wasn’t I the shapeshifter?” “Oh, yeah. You are. But my point is, you must have something that’s giving you pause, or maybe some sort of baggage that’s keeping you here? If we’re assuming that you’ve been here for years, that the ‘real’ Grid Iron never existed, then you must have formed some genuine attachments to these five by now. Don’t you think?” “Maybe. I guess.” He shrugged, and shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I already told you last night that all that stuff sounds farfetched to me, though.” “You’re right. It is just my hunch about these things. I’ll say that I’m not alone, though, because Pesco is pretty convinced of it, too. But I should warn you, ahah… Pesco is starting to come to conclusions that I don’t share.” “Huh?” “Anyway! Second question, or whichever one we’re on: Why did you act oblivious to Bon’s advances all these years, and why did you reject him last night? Why can’t you love anyone?” “… What.” “You’re the changeling, you feed off love in a very literal sense, right? Isn’t Bon’s affection like ambrosia on a silver platter to you?” “Sure, whatever. I guess.” Grid shook his head. “Gotta say, not sure I’m still on board with this whole role—” “So I’ve gotta assume you have your reasons, right? Maybe you just think it would make you too suspicious, it would be too obvious? Or maybe romantic love is like drugs to you, and you don’t trust yourself with it, and anyway your platonic relationships keep you well fed? Like you said, who needs lovers when you have friends, right? A life without all that whatever-you-call it, ahahah?” Only a stern glower from the ‘earth pony.’ “Or maybe… maybe you just think it would be cruel to Bon. To enter into a relationship on false pretenses. To parasitize his infatuation for you. To break his heart one day if ever he finds out, or you need to run away.” “…” “And I’m only saying, if you do run away, you’d better do it fast. But if you’re not a fan of running, if you’re afraid of the cold or if you’ve grown too attached to your five friends… there is another option. You can give yourself up peacefully. Right? And I’ll plead your case that you haven’t hurt anybody or done anything wrong. Because you haven’t! … Right?” Every muscle in Grid’s foreleg was visible as he gripped the side of his chair. A broken sort of smile cracked his cheeks. He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or to shout. “Um, dude,” he spoke up, “Bluebird, Cadet, Peter Pan… you’ve lost your marbles. You’ve gone completely nutso.” Regardless of anything, Bluebird couldn’t disagree. He really felt that way. “I’m not the changeling. And what, are you trying to help him escape now? Seriously? What ever happened to that promise of justice, huh?” Bluebird wasn’t breaking that promise. If his mind was gone, his conscience was intact. “If you don’t have anything else to say, Little Guns, then I think this is the part where I, like, ask you to get out?” Bluebird sighed. “All right. Just one last question, though, if you’ll hear it out. I should’ve asked it first, since it really is the one that’s most in need of an answer, ahah.” Grid cocked his head. “Why did you lie about the protein powder?” The light in Bon’s room had been off, but a hunch had me knocking anyway. And indeed, after a few seconds of covers rustling and hoofsteps from inside, the door opened. The ghost of underage drinking stood to greet me. “Why, good afternoon, Detective.” He made the effort to part his unkempt mane and push a smile. “What brings you around?” “There’s been a development in the case, Bon.” I flashed him my badge in case he needed any reassurance of my identity. “And I believe your talents may put you in the unique position to help convert it into a breakthrough.” “Oh?” Some color returned to the deer’s face. Whether this was because of the news or because of my bald-faced flattery, one couldn’t quite say. “Mais absolument, I shall do my best if it’s for the sake of the case! ‘Twas time for me to rise from my siesta, anyway. You’ll have to give me a moment to make myself presentable, however.” “That won’t be necessary. This will only take the antlers on your head and a minute of your time,” I said. “Let’s conduct this inside your room.” Bon followed my cue and stepped back to allow me inside. I entered and closed the door behind me, shutting out all the light from the corridor. In the dim glow of a nearby desk lamp I could make out a great number of the young master’s playthings strewn about the room. Bon reached for the light switch. “Leave it dark,” I instructed. “In a moment, I’ll have you turn off the lamp as well.” A quizzical look. “Hm, very well.” He lowered his hoof from the switch. I opened up my trench coat, retrieved the note from the changeling, and flipped it over to show him the crossed-out text. “This is a message we’ve received from the changeling. As you can see, they had some second thoughts about what they wanted to say.” In a low tone, I continued, “I would very much like to find out what that was.” “From the changeling, you say!” He arched an eyebrow. “How do you figure that, Detective? You didn’t have another run-in with them, did you?” “Not quite.” “Hm?” I didn’t care to explain. I put the note on a nearby table for the time being, and gestured for Bon to take a look. He slotted in next to me and leaned over the table. He squinted at the scribble in the near darkness before quickly giving up. “If you want to read what’s written, I hardly think having the lights off is going to help!” “You’re right, of course. But bear with me: I had in mind the light will come from your antlers.” I explained, “You see, ink from a quill will stain parchment differently depending on how it’s applied. For example, the angle and pressure involved while crossing out text is very distinct from that of ordinary writing. This can result in minute differences in how much ink is deposited, and how deeply. These differences may not be visible under ordinary lighting conditions. But, under exotic lighting conditions that the redactor never accounted for… suffice to say, they very much can be.” “Oh, that sounds ingenious!” Bon admired. “Not really. It’s the same concept behind blacklight spells bankers use for inspecting watermarks on promissory notes, or that the police use for finding trace evidence at crime scenes,” I said. “My specialty isn’t forensics, but over the course of years, I’ve picked up some tips and tricks around the water cooler.” “Nonetheless, that’s still more expertise than the changeling has at their disposal, I should think.” He looked back at the scribble before, asking eagerly, “Now, how exactly might I be of assistance? What sort of light do you want?” “I have no specific instructions. Just vary the intensity and the wavelength of the light from your antlers all across the visible spectrum—and perhaps the nonvisible spectra, as well, if you’re capable of it.” “But of course!” The young buck all but squealed in delight. “And here I thought my infrared spell would forever remain a party trick…” “I’ve been told UV is a better bet,” I critiqued. “But yes, you have the right idea.” And so we began our little darkroom experiment. I held the paper up in front of his brow and angled it this way and that as he smoothly adjusted the glow of his antlers, like a radio operator scanning for frequencies amidst the static. I had to admit I was impressed when he began varying the light from each of his two antlers independently in an effort to increase the search space. Somewhere around the UV-and-red combination of light, the paper underwent a change. I got my hopes up, but then realized too late what was happening: Both the scribble and the texture of the paper itself transpared, and the markings on the other side became visible. “Huh, what’s that written on the other—” He began to twist the paper around with his telekinesis. I jerked it away from him. “It’s not important,” I growled. It wasn’t. The glow from Bon’s antlers faltered for as he took a step backwards. Despite my outburst, he stared at me with at least as much contrition in his eyes as confusion. “I apologize.” I didn’t know what more to say. After a pause, I simply held the paper back up, scribble-side forward. “If you’d please continue.” Hesitating at first, Bon acquiesced with a nod. The analysis continued, although the young buck’s enthusiasm never returned. He anxiously looked at me at least as often as he looked at the paper, which did not yield its secrets after a full minute of effort. “Say, Detective?” “Yes?” “If I can’t make this work like you want,” he said, “might I suggest seeking Zorn’s assistance? He has plenty of scientific equipment that could, I'm sure, outshine even yours truly.” “Hmm,” I grumbled, “I agree, that’s a good idea…” In point of fact, Zorn was the first one I had gone to after discovering the note. He had refused to help me, once he had glimpsed what was not important. “… but let’s keep at this for a little while longer, please.” I tried some more flattery: “I truly think you’re the best deer for the job.” “Very well,” he replied, sighing a little. The examination continued. “A little while longer” began to overstay its welcome as another minute passed, and then two. By this point, Bon was no longer smoothly sailing across the light spectrum with his antlers, but instead flickering through a multitude of color combinations that had simply been skipped over in the initial search. All the while, I watched the paper unflinchingly. My eyes burned even more than their usual, but I resisted the urge to blink—and I was glad I did, because that was precisely when I saw it. “Hold it!” Bon stabilized his current lights of orange and magenta, and peered in for a closer look himself. The scribble was faint, but so too were the words underneath. Cautiously, ever so precisely, he modulated his glow… and like magic, like science, the secret message was brought to light: Searched Grid’s closet yet??