//------------------------------//
// Chapter 86 
// Story: Don't Bug Me 
// by Starscribe 
//------------------------------//

Amie watched the bugs of her swarm work over the wreckage of their home. 
She still remembered the early days after the Transit. Back then, campers believed they were going to be swiftly returned to their homes. They thought of themselves more like victims than people who needed to work desperately to survive. 
There was no hesitation this time, no large group of bugs doing whatever they could to avoid being in the same area as hard work. There was no one in Stella Lacus who didn’t want to be part of the camp salvage.
Several large canvas tents stood around what had been camp center, where the majority of human structures had once been. Unfortunately, this was also the most obvious target from the air, and thus where most damage was concentrated. Carts gathered around each one, mining ore carts meant to be pulled by ponies. Many had the markings of the FlimFlam Regional Excavation and Mineral Extraction Company over from nearby Motherlode.
Every bug had somewhere to help—be it digging through wreckage with magic, moving things with a powerful transformation, or just hauling carts around. Though no one said it, all present knew the terrible finality of the event.
Soon they would be leaving the camp behind—when they did, much of what connected them to Earth would be abandoned too.
Some structures had survived the siege, it turned out—the medical building, the camp store, and a few of the staff homes. The rest were basically a total loss. With no supply of raw materials or replacement parts, there was no way to rebuild Stella Lacus exactly as it had been.
Even if they had it, why should they want to? Its population weren’t “campers” anymore—they were the first generation of a new tribe, stolen from their home and given a new world to build. Their needs barely had anything in common with the original facility.
Many of her bugs were too young and small to risk themselves in salvage—those worked in support roles, helping with carts, fresh water, or just running messages for the others. One of those came jogging up to her now, mixture of griffon claws and pony hooves skittering through the gravel road.
“Director? Director, there’s someone at the train tracks to see you.”
They didn’t call her queen. Many of the bugs knew what form she wore under a pony disguise—but however widespread the knowledge, she still chose a willowy pegasus body as her typical around them. It meant giving up unicorn magic, but she needed practice with her wings too badly to give them up. Besides, some of her bugs needed a visual reminder that hands just weren’t required to live a productive life. If their leader could do it, then anyone could.
“The shipping company? I know they want to get us to Maneport. But if they think we’re gonna have this whole place torn down in three days…”
The child flared both his wings, pawing at the ground with clawed forelegs. “I don’t think so. She seemed way more… official. Knew your name and all. Only important aliens know who you are, right?”
That wasn’t quite true anymore—thanks to the Equestrian newspapers, half of the nation knew who she was by now. Surrendered queen, ruler of children and victims. Defender of the destroyed mountain. She’d lost track of the nicknames they used on her in the headlines. Let them use whatever names they wanted, use the scariest photos they could, so long as Equestria kept its treaty.
“What did she look like?”
“Uh… kinda like that.” The kid pointed with his foreleg, directly back the way they’d come. Another habit common to those who still hadn’t fully adjusted to their new form—using a leg you were standing on worked well enough indoors, but on a slippery gravel slope it swiftly meant he began losing his footing. He caught himself by flaring both wings, narrowly avoiding a ride down the path.
Amie turned to follow his gaze and stopped in place. A mare was working her way up the slope, one she had seen walk this exact path before. Her coat was yellow, her mane a mix of blue and pink. Agent Sweetie Drops. 
Even at a distance, the mare was far less pained, far less depressed. An undercurrent of guilt followed her, unsettling enough that most bugs kept their distance. One followed close behind her, with a hunting bow over his shoulder. One of Amie’s “guards,” though she knew with certainty just how badly an engagement for him would go if it actually came to violence.
Agent Sweetie Drops looked like an adorable, helpless pony—but she was just as deceptively dangerous as Amie herself. Maybe far more, since she actually spent her life devoted to a difficult job. She had killed people before, which was more than Amie could say.
It might change later, but at that moment…
Amie broke into a trot, hurrying past the messenger to where her new visitor waited on the slope. The mare saw her coming of course and settled back onto her haunches to wait. Not that she was trying to avoid the hike of course—this earth pony could probably scale Everest without slowing down.
“Based on your reaction, I’m guessing I know you,” Sweetie Drops said. Gone was her oppressive exhaustion, replaced with the simple confidence of someone in a difficult job they understood. “Queen Amie?”
“Director Amie,” she corrected, returning the nod with a dramatic bow, flaring both wings. Not that any significant respect was owed to an ordinary pony visitor—but she enjoyed the drama. There were so many little feathers on those wings that one or two usually fluttered off whenever she moved so dramatically. Getting details that precise took skill that few of her bugs could yet imitate. “I could change if it would make things easier. There are some shapes you know better than others.”
The mare shrugged absently. Amie felt her slight undercurrent of resentment—but that was a small part of her feelings, not some overwhelming, obsessive hatred. “I realize who I’m talking to. It’s up to you whether you want to show me the truth.”
Amie tensed as she heard it, and the anger underneath. Their first encounter had come with Amie wearing the false face of a pregnant mare, taking her family to new opportunities in Motherlode. She had been carrying eggs at the time, though no other part of that story was true.
Amie changed. Blue fur vanished, replaced with a shiny black coat. She kept the mane, which changed to her usual deep green, long and braided. Even the style persisted between transformations, so long as she was careful.
In her real shape, Amie was taller than the mare by a few inches, and a head taller than any of the working bugs. Many of those stopped to stare, drawn by the intensity of their interaction. No matter how close her camp tried to simulate their previous human lives, there was no way to ignore the profound differences between pony and bug. Even in anger, Sweetie Drops radiated magical energy. Just because it was useless for harvesting didn’t mean they couldn’t feel it, like rain cascading off their coats they could not drink.
“The truth,” she said. “I don’t like how it makes me look. So different from the other bugs—people might start thinking that I’m lording over them, that I think of myself as more important than anyone else. Where I came from, we got rid of nobility and titles a long time ago.”
Sweetie Drops shrugged to one side. “Amie Blythe. You can cast your mind across continents, transform into impossible shapes, lay hundreds of eggs, and wear the bodies of your bugs like puppets. You are not the same creature.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, scratching wistfully into the gravel. “If you were, I think this camp would be a lifeless ruin now. Commander Path was so determined to make Equestria safe, he would’ve performed atrocities to do it. There would be no survivors to rebuild.”
“You didn’t make it easy for us to survive,” Amie admitted. She gestured past them with her transparent wings—at the wreckage that had once been the multipurpose room. The camp’s covered garage with its various vehicles was now a blackened husk, still smoking in places. Only one jeep survived, the one still parked outside the gift shop. It was the same story with so many other pieces of irreplaceable tech. The battery bank was intact, but most of the solar panels were scrap. “But if we want to move on, we have to give up blaming and making things even. Only thing I want for my bugs now is a chance to move forward.”
“I read the treaty.” Sweetie Drops circled past her, until she was directly in front of Amie. “It’s all noble and aspirational, a look into the future of Equestria and civilized bugs. But we still have to make it real. Writing it all down on a piece of paper is the easy part. In the end, real ponies and real bugs have to build it. Creatures need to stay willing to work with each other. They may not be so trusting.”
Amie waited for her to finish, watching in silence. But a few seconds later, and the mare fell silent too. “What brought you to Stella Lacus?” she finally asked. “Not that I don’t want to be a friendly host. But as you can see, we don’t have a place for visitors right now. We’re still getting ready for our move. Two weeks is the best I can do—I’ll get these bugs ready to ride before the first snow.”
Sweetie Drops started walking again, closing the distance between them and one of the many covered tents. This one had several open carts, each one filled with copper. Most of it was wire, or at least it had been, coiled out of walls or appliances or connecting infrastructure. The material was too valuable to leave behind. 
“I’m not coordinating the transfer,” Sweetie Drops said. “You were there for the treaty, you… probably helped write it. I’m the Equestrian liaison. At least I will be until you’re settled into Maneport. Wasn’t another pony in Equestria who understood changelings as well as I did. And… was willing to go anywhere near you.”
Amie tensed, wings flicking open involuntarily. But there was no hostility in those words—the pony only sounded resolved. “I can’t think of a mare I would trust more to do that job.” She gestured at the working bugs, the sound of breaking metal and shifting rubble interrupted only by the distant hum of music from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. Not loud enough to make out the words at this distance. “I’m a little surprised you wanted anything to do with us. After the last time…”
Sweetie Drops continued up the path, until they reached where the gigantic multipurpose building had once stood.
Commander Path’s bombardment had reduced it to rubble so completely that there were only a handful of bugs combing over it, salvaging the heavy cables that had once connected its solar tiles.
Only the huge flagpole still stood, undamaged despite the assault. No spotlight remained on the oversized American flag that hung there. But the flag was also flying upside-down, along with who knew how many other violations of the flag code.
There were probably better places to dig a grave. They still had the rope course, and the fallen campers entombed there under simple wooden crosses. Albrecht’s own memorial was made of the same material, placed just beside the flagpole. With the rest of the camp in ruins, where else could they bury him? His widow was there most days, tending to the flowers, cutting back the weeds. To her credit, Amie knew she did the same for the other graves in camp. These dead would not be forgotten.
There was no longer anyone to care about such things—just one last desperate call for help that their home would never answer. 
“I had the chance to go back. To Ponyville—beautiful little town. You should visit sometime, if you get the chance. It’s everything that makes Equestria great. I think the ponies there would’ve treated you different than these. But I refused. I thought—a crazy bug showed me there was another way. 
“First, I thought it was impossible, that we would go right back to killing each other as soon as we got the chance. Now I think maybe she was right. SMILE’s vision was never about destroying threats—it’s about making Equestria safe. 
“The best way to do that isn’t by breaking something, it’s turning an enemy into a friend. I think after Canterlot… some of us forgot. Including me. If we can make this work, one day I’ll ask for your forgiveness. I hope you’ll think about giving it to me.”
“If we can make this work, I won’t have to think about it very long,” she said. “But there’s a lot left to do before that happens. A lot left to build—and a missing brother I hope I can find.” Not to mention other bugs who might want to kill me for this. Even the orange tribe might not stay allies when it’s over.
“I would offer to help,” the mare said. “But we both know how good a job we’ve done tracking down infiltrating changelings. You should probably do it without our help. But keep in touch about how it goes.”
“The treaty,” Amie agreed. “We’ll keep it. If ponies can, things should work out pretty well.”