"So what's it like?"
IJ glanced up from her meal to see Carradan approaching from the other end of the room. The mess hall was mostly used by palace guards, and since the morning watch had started hours before it was empty save for herself, her two guards, and the salmon Pegasus.
IJ sighed loudly and resigned herself to Stanley's presence, returning to idly stirring the grits before her with one hoof. The gyroscopically stabilized bowl, a staple eating implement for non-Unicorns, made a slight rasping sound as the wooden gimbals moved slightly with each revolution "You mean being trapped in a single form?"
Carradan plopped down into the seat opposite his fellow newly minted Pegasus, and shook his head, "Naw. I mean what's the hive like?"
IJ looked up from her bowl again, an expression of confusion mixed with disdain plastered to her muzzle, "Beg pardon?"
Carradan leaned forward enthusiastically, "The hive! Neyla told me Changelings have a hive mind. What's it like to be connected?"
The white Pegasus shook her head and downed a mouthful of grits before responding, "Why do you care?"
Carradan snorted and sat back, his expression of offense not entirely sincere, yet not entirely false, "Awww c'mon! I'm a *reporter* sweetheart. Most folks who read a newspaper, over here or over there, haven't the foggiest what your life is like. Aintcha the least bit interested to open their eyes?"
IJ raised an eyebrow and glared, "Why should I discuss a difficult topic to further *your* career, *and* help induce greater prejudice against my race than we already suffer?"
Carradan shook his head and leaned forward again, lowering his tone to a conspiratorial level and eyeing the stone-faced unmoving guards flanking IJ, "Because sister... I don't want to 'induce greater prejudice.' I want to give people a chance to see what *you* did."
IJ grimaced, "You mean lie, play the traitor's role, and fail miserably at even that?"
Carradan frowned sympathetically, "No. I mean comin' quietly, and learnin' your lesson. Like I had to. You think you're the only one who's 'gone four legs' ? Alotta people back on Earth deal with being forced into a new shape every day. I was given the chance to go willingly, or refuse, even tho I didn't much deserve it, and it was *still* hard to adjust to some things as wonderful as it is."
The reporter's normally mirthful minty-green eyes fixed solidly on IJ's, and he spoke with unusual gravitas, "I want folks to give others the same chance you got. I've done alotta nasty things in my career its true... so maybe its time for a change."
IJ frowned thoughtfully, before sighing, her ears flattening in defeat, "Very well." She sighed and leaned back in her own seat, "It is difficult to make into words you would grasp. We can have private thought, but most elect not to; why hide anything after all? While our thoughts are our own and we do not hear those of others at all times, our streams of consciousness become... linked when we choose to. More importantly, information and emotions flow instantly and freely through the hive. Part of the power and joy of it is perfect memory; when one of us dies, copies of our memories are preserved, and later generations can peruse them. Practically, this also gives us instant access to all the collective knowledge of our kind."
Stanley gaped and stammered, "You uhh. um.. you talk about it like a thing... is it? A real thing you can touch I mean."
IJ shook her head, "It is... distributed. All Changelings act as... nodes in a web. A tiny portion of each mind dedicated to storing data not-its-own so that no individual suffers inconvenience, yet the whole always has access."
Carradan nodded, "Like cloud computing."
"It has nothing to do with weather magic."
Stanley guffawed, "Earth stuff sweetheart. Anyways that gives me another question; how do you 'log on' ?"
IJ tilted her head quizzically, and Carradan shook his, rephrasing swiftly, "Turn of phrase. I mean how do ya connect to the Hive? Is it pheremones or chemical whatchamacallits?"
IJ flared her wings impatiently, "I am not sure you have the words for it. It is a form of magic, or science, you would not understand. It works over great, but not infinite distances, and it happens naturally whenever any Changeling is close enough to one or more others that are themselves linked to the Hive."
Carradan shook his head once more, in awe, and sat back, "Sweetheart... I bet you have some amazing stories to tell."
IJ allowed herself an almost-smile, "And if you call me that again... I shall give you an excellent story to tell about how I broke every bone in your muzzle, and it took two royal guards to get me off you."
Stanley smirked, "I like the way you think. I'd wrastle with you anytime. Sweetheart."
Neyla yawned; a gesture non-beaked life forms seemed to find peculiar and amusing on Gryphic faces. Sleep had been a long time coming, even by her rugged standards, and she was looking forward to nesting early.
She had decided she liked human fabrics and 'tempur' materials; they made for astonishingly restful sleeping surfaces, especially compared to her usual position in a rock cleft or on a tree branch, deep in the wilderness.
The Gryphoness was nearly to her temporary quarters, when she noticed a strange bluish light coming from Varan's room. Kephic and Fyrenn had their accommodations several doors down, but their rooms seemed silent and dark.
The light under the door was being accompanied by a strange rhythmic beat. Neyla's right ear twitched, and she rapped sharply on the metal slab of the door, unable to stem the rising tide of her curiosity.
When no answer was forthcoming, Neyla tapped the open control beside the aperture and stepped in as the door hissed open. She paused, coming up short and flattening both ears as the noise assaulted her directly.
"Oppa GANGAM STYLE!"
The sound was blaring from a pair of extra-large headphones surrounding Varan's ears. The golden Gryphon was sitting on a large cushion before his desk terminal. Neyla could make out a human in some form of peculiar obsolete clothing and eye protection dancing madly on the holoscreen.
"What in the name of...?"
Varan was oblivious; the headphones were intended to be noise-cancelling, and he was too busy enjoying blaring the peculiar form of human music at a decibel level that most Gryphons would find truly painful.
Neyla reached forward and tapped him on the shoulder-joint of his wing, causing him to tense and reflexively pause the video.
"Neyla?!" His shock swiftly shifted to a glowering stare, "Are you not familiar with the concept of requesting permission before entering?"
Neyla chuckled and shook her head, "I did knock. Rather loudly. You missed it. I can hear your... cultural studies all the way out in the hall. I wasn't sure what to make of the noise."
Even under the pale blue light of the screen, Neyla could tell Varan was uncharacteristically blanching, "I... well... Kephic and Fyrenn were insistent I browse this 'internet.' I was merely taking my brothers' suggestion in order to better understand human culture."
Neyla raised an eyebrow and smirked, the expression mixed with a tinge of rebuking glare, "Mmmhmmmm. And what have you learned from..." She leaned over and glanced at the words on the screen, "You Tube?"
Varan tried, mostly successfully, to resume his usual stoic posture and expression, "Thus far my strongest impression has been that the infrastructure is riddled with... cats."
Neyla laughed, her amusement generated as much by the deadpan manner in which Varan delivered the word 'cats' as by the fact that it *was* 'cats.' "Cats?"
Varan nodded and with the swipe of a claw displayed several tabs at once. Neyla swiftly scanned the images as Varan described the phenomenon, "In the twenty-first epoch of their Anno Domini calendar, a strange infatuation with images of tame felines, captioned with amusing phrases, swept the 'internet.' I have found the spelling to be universally reprehensible."
Neyla giggled, "I take it you have no desire to share your finding with the others?"
Varan nodded, "Your discretion is appreciated."
The tan and blue Gryphoness smiled and nodded herself, "I will remain silent on the matter." She began walking back to the hallway, but turned as she reached the door, "Providing, of course, that you pass on half of your meat ration tomorrow."
Varan glowered, "One quarter."
Neyla smirked, "One third, or I tell Fyrenn to go look up the security log for this room for the past hour."
"You would not."
Neyla's expression instantly robbed the surety from Varan's words, and expression. The gold Gryphon sighed, "Very well then. And if you feel tempted to break our agreement, I will find a suitable recourse for punishment."
Neyla rolled her eyes and tapped the door control, "Duly noted."
"And you let him?"
In answer to Skye's query, Fyrenn shrugged, "Well of course Tevere got off easy. The CO was watching."
Skye stopped and stepped to the side to clear the hallway; the Bureau was still in damage control mode thanks to the events at Gavin/Schummel, and the corridors were even more crowded than usual.
"And when the CO *wasn't* watching?" Her mischievous grin implied that she had some idea of the answer before the Gryphon spoke.
Fyrenn grinned, the devil-may-care expression sitting well on his sharp yellow beak, "Hypothetically... I may or may not have reprogrammed all the lieutenant's DaTabs to spout offensive remarks with regard to the character of the CO. In Einrig's own voice too."
Skye tried unsuccessfully to avoid bursting out into peals of laughter, first making a few strained 'snerk' noises, then finally succumbing. Fyrenn chuckled, the humor of the memory somehow enhanced by having someone appreciative to share it with.
When Skye finally managed to regain vocal control, she glanced up at Fyrenn, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes with a hoof, "And... how.. hehe... did that work out for him?"
Fyrenn snickered, "It.. aaahh.. 'didn't go his way.' He was trying to give a briefing the next morning and, from what sources tell me, the DaTab he was reading off of popped out with, 'Who wants to know, captain wanker, sir?' the first time he got asked a question."
Skye's eyes grew to the size of saucers, "I bet that went over like a lead airship."
"Its Balloon, actually. And the CO put him in traction for two months."
Skye began chuckling again, "Noooo..."
Fyrenn smiled wickedly and began walking again, "Yessss. And what's better? I went to sign his cast. The guy was a die-hard speciesist. Been on watchlist for HLF activity twice... and do you know what I did?"
Skye winced, mocking Fyrenn's manic expression, "You *didn't*...."
The red Gryphon nodded and chirruped slightly in his throat mirthfully, "I did. I drew my best rendition of her majesty, the esteemed Solar Monarch herself on his dermoplast cast. In pink permanent ink..."
Fyrenn paused and snickered uncontrollably for a moment before finishing, "With the words 'I am the very model of an asinine homo sapiens, I wish I could be pretty, pink, and nice as all the Ponies is.' "
Skye once again devolved into peals of laughter, drawing confused looks from several passing medical technicians.