//------------------------------//
// Chapter 89 
// Story: Don't Bug Me 
// by Starscribe 
//------------------------------//

Weeks turned into months, and winter came and went outside the walls of the Dressage Hotel. Much changed in that huge building, beyond renaming it to Stella Lacus and expanding into new structures in the newly-vacated buildings around it. Some of those were other facilities they needed—a shipping warehouse and processing center, along with the largest Rent-a-Friend in Equestria.
There, under a different brand name, creatures of all kinds could come and meet with changelings—and anything else they wanted to meet. With some of the bits and extra time, they recreated a few simple homes from Earth to turn into a living museum, worked by the handful of exceptionally talented bugs who could make that transformation.
But few ponies were even interested in seeing what “humans” looked like. They wanted the tiny-sized bugs to talk to them instead, retelling their tragedy of getting ripped away from their homeland.
Ponies had a great many useful emotions to harvest along the way, but one of the most developed of those was compassion. Once outside the shape of a gross bug, ponies usually felt a little empathy for their plight. How much better would they have done in the human world?
Amie didn't have to contemplate that particular nightmare, thankfully. She had more than enough on her plate keeping the little colony running. She had help—from old friends and new, from her boyfriend and her workers. Good thing, because the original staff of Stella Lacus could never manage such a large group alone.
Equestria provided a great deal of services along the way. Teachers for their school, shipments of food for the small but growing number of bugs who preferred to eat it instead of glamour, and protected access to their city for hunting and recreation.
Amie had lots of boring paperwork to fill out—the location of every bug she sent, what their disguise looked like, and what they were doing. Eventually she set up an office to handle all of that, just as Equestria formalized the single overseeing pony into a diplomatic liaison. 
No new eggs came, despite her time with Tailslide. Every bit of wisdom in the knowledge of the orange tribe suggested their union should not have brought anything alive into the world to begin with. So, she didn't worry too much about keeping it going. Queens needed company too. Besides, as the eggs started to hatch, they demanded even more attention from her workers, so much that plenty of ordinary campers got involved to pick up the slack. The wriggling, maggot-like larvae had so little in common with children as Amie knew them that some small part of her still got sick the first time she saw one.
But that part was quickly silenced when she felt their emotions. No matter how freakish they looked, the little bugs still loved her as their mother. Even Tailslide managed not to run away, somehow, though he seemed far less optimistic about how they could raise so many.
“When they look like… when they’re bigger,” he said one night, when the last egg finally hatched. “Am I supposed to provide for them? That’s what stallions do.”
She laughed. “No. But if you’re here, if you can teach them what you’re good at--how to be brave, and kind, and fly--that would be perfect.”
By spring, they had sprawled down under the ground another four levels, burrowing narrow tunnels and cells for the workers as well as plenty of other bugs. There was something instinctively comforting about being in a tiny space—so why force her kids to hang up curtains and use cushions if they could build the space to purpose the first time?
It helped that the vast majority required almost no sleep, and very little water. They had plenty of time to study and work and maintain their space. Soon the young radiated resentment at their confinement—but Amie would not budge. Anyone younger than sixteen would have to wait before going on remote hunting trips. Though if peace with Equestria lasted, they might be able to vacation further out of Maneport.
Whenever bugs asked when they were going home, she always gave the same evasive answer: Equestria was working on it. They would soon have all the magic in the world to bridge the gap. If it was possible to get home again, they soon would.
Except for the day she had to break the news. Eventually all the research was done, and the answer was in. That painful day nearly broke the resolve of her bugs, taking away one distant hope they had all been striving for.
But they were not completely lost. Over the next few weeks, Amie and her most loyal bugs took each and every citizen aside with their best camera to record a message. They had very limited space to work with—but she insisted they sacrifice enough to make the messages audio instead of simple text. Except, of course, for Albrecht’s letters for the dead. Those campers couldn’t record anything for their families. But she could think of no better final message than the ones he wrote. At least that way, they could have closure.
Finally, they were prepared. Amie had a tiny stack of micro-SD cards, bound together in a little plastic case, and sealed with glue.
She brought it all the way to the site of their original camp—mostly empty now, aside for a few makeshift monuments. Largest of these was to Director Albrecht, with a monument of broken wood that always had at least a handful of flowers scattered around it. 
The Equestrian expedition had even added a few. Though whether any of them even understood what the little cross meant, Amie couldn't say. She didn't intend to ask.
The monumentality of the task before them was obvious from every aspect of Equestria's magical infrastructure. Vast metal devices pronged with crystals all stood in a line, humming together with a refrain that was almost usual to Amie's ears.
The magic here was so powerful she could barely think straight. It brought the trees and leaves and flowers to verdant life; it made the colors seem more vibrant.
How long could she have fed her camp with this much power? Granted, it wasn't the same kind of food her bugs needed. This was a bit like parking her gasoline car next to a high voltage line and expecting it to somehow refuel. Powerful energy yes, but not in a form any of them could use.
"Transit point is coming with the sunrise," called Sunset Shimmer, the Equestrian expert in universal travel. She wore a hard-hat and a magically insulating vest, just like every other pony on the grounds. Amie walked behind her, wearing the same outfit and treading only on the insulated foam panels.
She wasn’t the only one, either. Sunset Shimmer had a representative of Stella Lacus on her team, one that Amie could trust, but who wouldn’t alarm any of the scientists or get overwhelmed by the constant magical energy.
Amie only waved to Sunset, but she met Ivy Path with a hug. The young mare was a little taller than the last time, and had finally started filling out that lanky frame. Still much shorter than Ivy, given she didn’t look like a pony right now. “You made it!” she said. Then she let go, looking up. “I can’t believe something like that can really exist.”
“By some definitions,” Amie said. “But believe me--if you think I look weird, the ones on the other side would be terrified if they saw a changeling.” She walked forward then, on bare feet instead of hooves.
Of all the times she needed to recreate a human body, this was perhaps the most important. That earned her plenty of stares, along with numerous flashing bulbs from the press waiting behind the cordoned line. If it were up to her, none of them would be here for this.
Every bug couldn't make the trip to see this moment. Instead, each group nominated one, and most of those had working cell phones or other cameras to commemorate the occasion. 
At least Sunset Shimmer was too professional to be intimidated. She acted like she’d seen humans before, or something like them. "You get ten minutes at most. Probably much less than that. It would be longer if you weren't trying to send material through."
Amie clutched the little box closer to her chest, squeezing it tight. "I couldn't go without it. My kids are waiting to say goodbye to their families. The people on the other side deserve some closure too. Just one message from the camp isn't good enough."
Sunset shrugged. "No judgment, just reminding you of the mathematics. Plan for ten minutes, and you won't be disappointed. After that, you're just waiting on Celestia's grace. Maybe we get lucky, maybe we don't."
She gestured at a little metal box, surrounded by thick wires and cables. Its little door opened, exposing an interior space barely large enough for her plastic case packed with microSD cards. Amie set it down inside, then backed away.
"Hope you don't expect me to get small enough to fit in there with it. I'm not that good. Never met a bug who was."
Ivy laughed, barely audible over the roar of distant thaumic generators. "You're not really going over. It’s just an illusion!”
"I know," Amie held out one hand, stopping her. "Let's not miss the sunrise."
Sunset escorted her to another open door, near the center of the machine. Several crystal lenses all pointed at a raised platform between them, each one glowing with a different kind of magic. "Stand here and brace yourself. Even for a creature as magically tolerant as you, the exposure will be... difficult. You might take weeks to recover."
"I'll be ready for it." Amie stepped up onto the platform. Boots shifting on the not-quite-glass surface. Technically speaking she wasn't wearing boots—her clothing was just an illusion, offering no protection against the elements or physical utility. But today of all days illusion was what she needed. She removed her insulation vest then, resting it on a waiting hook. It might be protecting her--but it would also prevent the spell from working.
Sunset levitated the metal cage shut behind her with a bang. "Right there, don't move! We're engaging the—"
Amie wasn't in a cage anymore. She wasn't surrounded by ponies and wires—she wasn't even on her familiar mountain.
Instead, she stood on a piece of perfectly flat ground, as though sliced out of the planet with a knife. Only—it didn't continue that way forever. Several structures rose from it, built in an uneven circle. At the center was a spire of white rock, ascending a few stories up into the air. Gardens surrounded it, arranged in little grow-boxes.
As she watched, several boy scouts worked with a single ranger—a young woman, who might've been in the forest service, or maybe a branch of the military.
At her command, the flag went up, rising almost as high as the monument behind it. At least until she appeared.
All eyes turned on her. The bugler dropped his instrument, though the two kids holding the flag managed not to drop it. Amie grinned, waving enthusiastically at the ranger. "Hey! Hey! Are you... Is this Stella Lacus?"
She was the first one here—maybe the oldest, though that might not be true for long. A little parking lot now had a place on the strange flat stone, and a few dozen vehicles were already waiting. Now people emerged from windows, pointing their cameras in Amie's direction.
"How did you... how did you do that? Who are you?"
“My name is Amie Blythe. I was a counselor at Stella Lacus.” She held out one hand. As she did, the air flickered and fuzzed, then solidified into a piece of plastic. Light exploded from around her, little bolts of lightning that crashed into the stone, sending bits of it scattering in all directions. Where they struck, bright green plants sprouted, surrounded by hundreds of little flowers in orange and yellow.
Then it passed through her fingers, and clattered to the ground with an empty, plastic sound. She glanced down, glaring at it.
Then she turned her attention back up again. "Listen, could you pick that up? It's... kinda the most important thing in the world to about a thousand kids. Please make sure their families get these.”
The ranger stepped between her and the watching scouts. She kept her distance, one arm raised in front of her. As though that would make any difference against a magical attack. 
"Amie Blythe—" someone said, behind her. One of the scouts, with his hand on the plaque. "She's on here, last name on the staff section."
Last name? I wasn't the least senior counselor! But she hadn't come to inspect the quality of her memorial plaque. She could imagine how her bugs would respond when they heard the news. Maybe she shouldn't say anything. "Yes. I'm communicating to you from... where Stella Lacus ended up. I have video of everything—and messages from the campers and staff. It's right here on the ground, if you could pick it up."
"You should." The ranger lifted her walkie-talkie towards an ear, the transmit button held down. But she wasn't talking into it specifically, more holding it where it could hear what they said. "If you want me to have it so bad, you should hand it over."
She backed away from the box, holding out both hands as she did. "Can't. I'm not really here. Just... transmitting. It's a hologram, or—something so close it might as well be the same thing. I couldn't get more detailed than that."
"Are you a ghost?" asked one of the other boys. They weren't that old—could have fit right in with any of her campers. Except that he, like everyone else here, was human. Two legs—machines, people, plants... it was her home! She couldn't say completely returned, since of course she wasn't really there. Only looking across, like Moses into the promised land.
"Kinda. Except I'm still alive. Stella Lacus is too. But we're... out of reach. Because... well, it's all in those files. If you could get them, make sure the authorities get to read it all. We're safe, but we can't come home. Ever."
Finally, the ranger made her way over. She bent down, then scooped up the little plastic case in one hand. She gave it a shake, holding it up to the light. "Memory cards?"
Amie nodded. "They're numbered. It looks like you never figured out what happened to us on this side. You're about to hear it! And see it and read about it. Sending matter across was... very difficult. But we tested, and the data should still be intact on those things. It wasn't electrical or magnetic."
She already heard sirens. For once, they didn't give her anxiety. This time, they were probably the right people.
Amie turned in a slow circle, soaking in the warmth of her home one final time. Technically speaking, she was one of the few beings magically durable enough to survive this projection. Maybe in a few years, she could try again. But she couldn't imagine Equestria's generosity would last much longer than its guilt. It would be a long, long time before changelings had the magical power to send things on their own.
"What happened to you?" the ranger asked, running one finger down the plastic clasp. It didn't open—the case was sealed, so none of its contents could be accidentally lost. Someone was going to have to cut it open.
"More than you can imagine," she said, without thinking. "But we survived it, that's the important thing. More details are in there. Make sure the families get them. Make sure they know—we're okay. We built something there. Made some friends. And they're taking good care of us."
She turned directly towards the scout holding the camera, staring at the lens. "Mom and Dad—Wes is safe. We both are. I'm sorry we won't get to see you again. I should've let him stay."
She wiped her eyes with her arm, but that did little good. She was still crying. She was crying in the recording, and no telling how many would see it.
Oh well. There were worse fates.
Amie never heard the reply. As it turned out, the spell lasted quite a bit less than ten minutes. 
She returned to an explosion. She dropped to the ground, losing her disguise in an instant. She smelled burning, and realized it was coming from her mane. She'd melted it short, not even falling to her shoulders.
Amie dropped to the side, body smoking from the magical energy. 
The door banged open, and ponies rushed in around her. Ivy Path was at the front, her expression urgent and fearful. "Are you okay?"
She nodded in reply, letting them help her to her hooves. "Y-yeah. There was someone there... someone to take the recordings. I did it."
"What did you tell them?"
"We wouldn't get to see them again," she answered. "But that we were okay. We found a place. One day, we'd make it home."