Canterlot Castle was in shambles. Anything that had even the slightest hint of Celestia on it had been, by Chrysalis' order, taken down and burnt. Tapestries, carpets, even the throne itself, emblazoned with the Princess' cutie mark as it was, had been dismantled and sent away to be destroyed.
Chrysalis gazed at what was left of the throne room. "So we don't have enough resources to take down and replace those stained glass windows yet?"
"Not yet, my Queen." Protea, clad in the standard commander's armour, replied. "We could always take them down, of course, but then we'd have nothing to replace them with, and the wind would blow in..."
"Just the wind? That isn't so bad." Chrysalis said.
".. and so would the rain."
"Oh." She reconsidered. "Yes, that is quite unwanted. We can keep these windows for now then. But I want them gone as soon as possible."
"Yes, my Queen."
"What about the rest of the castle?"
"Everything you ordered taken down has been removed. But, in my humble opinion, I believe they might serve a better purpose as military matériel."
"A good idea." Chrysalis nodded in approval. "You may do so."
"As you wish."
"How about my subjects? Are they well fed?"
"Yes, the commoners-" Protea corrected herself immediately, "- the army will be ready for tomorrow's invasion."
Chrysalis ignored the little slip. "Good. Has the military council reached its decision?"
"They advise that we strike at the Administrator's base first." Protea said. "With him out of the way, the Republic and the Empire lose their middle ground."
"Yes, that is true." Chrysalis thought for a moment. "What about Midnight Castle?"
"It would severely demoralize the Republic - more so than it already is, at any rate - but it is likely to be very well defended. It will certainly be more secure than the Administrator's base."
"Then tell the council they have my decision. We are to attack the designated target at dawn tomorrow."
"Yes, my Queen." Protea bowed low and excused herself from the throne room.
One of her changeling officers was waiting outside. "Commander, the scouting party is ready. They await your orders."
"Good. Send them out now."
The officer was startled. "Now, Commander?"
"Did you not understand my order?"
"No, Commander," he backtracked hastily, "but to do so now - in broad daylight - would lead to increased casualties."
"Point being?"
"With respect, might I suggest that we move out under the cover of night?"
"No. The council needs time to make its decisions with the appropriate intelligence."
"But we would be needlessly sacrificing troops-"
"There are no sacrifices that are without purpose, officer." Protea snapped. "In any case, we outnumber even the combined forces of the Empire and the Republic ten to one. We can afford to lose a few soldiers. We have reserves."
"But- but-" The poor officer stammered. "But Commander-"
"Do as I say." Protea snarled. "Or I will have you thrown in prison for insubordination."
Instantly, the officer stiffened. Straightening his posture and giving a sharp salute, he said, "I meant nothing by my words, Commander. I merely wished to offer what was, in my mistaken view, a superior alternative. I must apologize for my unprovoked argument."
"Then go and relay my orders. Now."
"At once, Commander." Quick as a flash, the officer bolted away.
These nameless mooks are getting out of hoof. She thought to herself.
The Canterlot dungeons - being the only place in the palace with a dark and dreary atmosphere befitting the changeling military council - had been hastily repurposed as the meeting room for said council. A small round table, painted in the commanders' shade of blue, was erected in the centre of the available space. Four of the five pathetically short chairs (they were boxes, really) were occupied by changelings.
The door creaked open, and Protea stepped in.
"You're late, Protea." One of the changelings chided.
"Not my fault, Shifter. One of the officers had the audacity to question my orders." She removed her helmet and set it down on the floor. Looking around the table accusingly, she said, "Who posted him to the Queen's guard?"
No one said anything. Naturally.
"We'll deal with it later." Another changeling offered.
"Definitely, Espia." Protea accepted. "We need to make sure that the military knows who's in charge."
"Yes, but we'll take care of it later." Yet another changeling grunted. "Let's move on to the important business, shall we?"
"Gran's right." The final changeling noted. "We need to discuss the invasion. Has the Queen given her approval?"
"Of course, Fal. There was no cause for her to refuse."
"Okay, then. How many troops do we need to capture this base?"
"Really, it depends on the intel our scouts get back with." Protea shrugged. "But if you want an informed guess, my estimate is a few hundred."
"That few?" Espia asked. "What's the expected casualty rate?"
"A few hundred."
"So... Everyone then." Shifter said.
"Naturally. But they'll be all we need to get in. And once that's done we send reinforcements."
"This may not have occurred to you," Fal began sarcastically, "but wouldn't it be better if we have, you know, a battle plan?"
Protea was surprised. "Why? We can overwhelm them easily."
"That might be true - if we were dealing with anyone but the Administrator." He retorted. "His strength rivals - or, at risk of exaggeration, exceeds - that of our esteemed Queen."
"Exceeds?" Protea snorted. "No one is stronger than Queen Chrysalis herself."
"Even if that is the case," he persisted, "how are we going to deal with him?"
"We could always send the Queen to occupy him." Gran suggested.
"With what?" Fal snarked. "A friendly diplomatic discussion?"
"No." Protea replied, getting the idea. "A duel."
"A duel?" Fal gasped. "Unacceptable!"
"Why not?" Gran asked.
"It would put the Queen in great danger, to be dueling with someone of such great power." Fal said. "We cannot allow it."
"We'll ask her if she thinks it's a good idea." Gran elaborated. "She is likely to know the Administrator's level of power better than the rest of us. Let her decide."
"And if she doesn't agree to do it?" Fal asked.
"Then we just send in enough troops to overwhelm him." Protea said. "Strength through numbers always wins in the end."
"Our army might not even be big enough to beat the Administrator." Fal countered. "Have you even considered that?"
"Nonsense. We have thousands upon thousands of changelings. We can't lose."
"And how many of those thousands are we going to lose to defeat him?" He challenged.
"Naturally, many of them." Protea acknowledged. "But that just means fewer mouths to feed."
"But will we still have enough troops to conquer the remaining Equestrian territories?"
She snorted. "Of course. We outnumber them ten to one. We will still outnumber them even if the figures drop to five to one."
"And what about three to one?" Fal asked.
"Still."
"Two to one?"
"I don't see-"
"What if," Fal whispered with dread, "we lose nine-tenths of our forces? What happens then?"
"No one is that powerful." Protea dodged the question.
"But... what if?"
"There is no point contemplating what if," she said stiffly, "if there is no possibility of that if ever happening."
"Can you prove that it's not possible?" Fal shot back.
"... No." Protea admitted. "But to take out nine-tenths of our army just by himself would require unimaginable amounts of power. The Queen would never have approved an assault on his base if that were the case."
"So the Queen knows that he's not too strong." He said.
"Yes."
"That's a relief. But we're not going to send half our forces just to capture one small base in the middle of nowhere." He paused. "... Are we?"
"No, we're not." Protea said. "But we will be sending a sizable force nonetheless."
"At least two thousand?" Gran asked hopefully.
"At least." She confirmed.
"Then it seems this issue is settled." Fal concluded. "Let's move on to the next one. Espia?"
"We need to confirm who will be leading this attack on the Administrator's base." Espia said.
Protea's surprise showed on her face. "Why is this even a question?"
"... Because it needs to be answered?" Espia supplied helpfully.
"But we already know the answer." Protea explained. "Me."
"Oh no, we're not going to let you do that. By yourself, at least." Fal said. "We don't want another incident like Theria's."
She bristled. "Hers was an isolated incident. There is nothing more to it."
"I also happen to know that the two of you were good friends, back in the day." It was almost an accusation.
"Were good friends. Not any more." Protea replied smoothly. "Her betrayal disgraced her both in my eyes and the eyes of our Queen."
"That's not the point." Fal said. "At least Theria got away with only a battalion's worth of troops. You'll be in charge of at least two thousand."
"I have no reason to backstab the Queen."
"But she has reason to suspect you do."
Protea gaped. "What?"
"She ordered us to follow you on the invasion."
"Whether you like it or not." Shifter added.
"She... doesn't trust me?"
"I'm sure it's just because this invasion is really important." Espia comforted her. "She still chose you to be the acting commander, so obviously she thinks you're the most capable."
"I don't think-" Fal began. Espia elbowed him. "Ow..."
"You don't think what?" Protea asked.
"He was about to say something offensive." Espia said. Fal glared at her. She returned the look. He glanced away.
"Really?" Protea looked doubtful.
"What-" Espia knocked him upside the head. "I mean, yes."
"So... what happens to my invasion now?"
"It's still yours." Espia assured her. "It's just that we'll be tagging along. To provide advice and military strategy."
Fal nearly managed to get the first word out of his mouth before Espia fixed him with a harsh stare. He closed it reluctantly.
"Then it's settled." Protea said decisively. "We'll attack tomorrow at dawn. The scouting party should be back at any moment with the information we need."
"And then?" Gran asked.
"Then we plan." Protea picked up her helmet and donned it. "For tomorrow's victory."
"Administrator!" Screwball burst into the room, neatly dodging the bucket of water that emptied itself over the spot she'd been standing on a moment ago. "We have company!"
The Administrator, for his part, kept his gaze fixed on the computer screens. "I suppose you wouldn't have fallen for the bucket trick a second time."
"Never mind the bucket." Screwball panicked. "Changelings are advancing on our base!"
"I know."
"You... know?"
"Yes, I have cameras set up around the perimeter of the base." He pointed to one of the screens. "See here? Just twenty of them. It's a scouting party."
"Are those... all Scouts?" Screwball asked slowly.
"With a capital S, yes. Rainbow mane and all." Discord scrutinized the screen. "Interesting. They've chosen to wear green uniforms. To differentiate themselves from our own mercenaries, presumably."
"Otherwise they'll kill more friendlies than hostiles." She pointed out. "There are only eighteen mercs. Early reports indicate they have thousands of changelings."
"Obviously. But now is not the time to talk about their choice of clothing." He waved his hand nonchalantly. "Please take care of it, Screwball."
She was confused. "Take... care of it?"
"You know. The problem."
She still didn't understand. "How, Administrator?"
"By killing them?"
"What? No, I can't!"
"Why not?" The Administrator asked bluntly.
"Because... because... I've never done that before!"
"Killed?"
"No, no, but... killed somepony without a respawn point."
"Oh, so you're afraid of dying without a respawn point." He said.
"Yes." It took a moment for it to hit her. "No! I mean, when they don't have a respawn point."
The Administrator sighed. "Screwball, I spent an entire story - one hundred and ten thousand, nine hundred and twenty-six words, mind you - manipulating Pinkie into a position where she will soon learn to ignore her conscience and kill mercilessly. Do I have to do that for you too?"
"A story? What story?"
"Stay on topic." He commanded. "You are my right-hand pony. The executor of my will. My public face. You cannot show weakness. And I assure you," his eyes glinted cruelly, "by the time this war ends you'll have taken your fair share of lives."
"I..." She hesitated.
"Yes?"
"... I will take care of the problem, Administrator."
"Good." He snapped his fingers. An unassuming brown bag materialized in the air above Screwball's head. She caught it deftly between her teeth. "Take these. They'll help you."
"What are they?"
"Look inside and see."
She opened it. "Oh. These."
"You know how to use them, no?"
"I do, but... these are non-lethal."
"Not anymore."
"But," she persisted, "don't they take a while to work?"
"Of course they did."
"'Did'?"
"I sped up the process... just a little."
"You mean," Screwball concluded, "a lot."
"When you've lived for millennia, everything seems short." The Administrator shrugged.
She took one last look into the bag. "So... this'll do the trick?"
"Why don't you go and see?" He gestured at the door. "Best get going. They're already outside."
"Got it." She galloped over to the door and pushed it open. "Ah, I'm not afraid of dying but... do I have a respawn point?"
"No." He said cheerfully. "Good luck."
"Yeah, I'm going to need it." Screwball muttered under her breath.
She stepped out.
"Do we have enough intel?"
"We've got an attack route. That's all we need for now."
"Who's going to send the preliminary report to the Commander?"
"Pac's going. The rest of us'll stay here and gather further information."
"Right." The creak of an opening door startled the first changeling. "We got company."
"Shh. Stay down." The other hissed. She ducked behind a nearby tree and readied her gun.
"Who is it?" Her companion asked.
Slowly, she peered out from behind the tree. "All clear. It's just his gardener."
"How can you tell?"
"She's wearing gardener's clothes, carrying a hoe, and she's sowing seeds as I speak."
The other changeling risked a glance. "Her eyes are swirls."
"This is the Administrator's base. Did you expect him to get a normal gardener?"
"Good point."
"I think we should just go in there and-" She stopped. Something had just snaked its way up her left hindleg.
"Uh... what's that?"
"I..." She shook her leg vigorously. Whatever it was refused to detach itself. "I don't know."
"Let me try to get it off." She felt her companion's hooves on her leg, trying to wrench off the thing. "Almost... I- GAH!"
"What happened?" She whipped around. The thing - a black tentacle, lined with bluish spikes sharpened to a point - had wrapped itself firmly around her leg. One of the tips of the spikes had impaled itself in the other changeling's eye. He was screaming in pain, thrashing wildly.
Even as she took in the scene with absolute horror, another tentacle snaked its way towards her face. "No... stay back!"
"Or what?" Asked a voice cheerfully from behind her.
"AH!" She turned quickly. The gardener, now levitating above the ground, gave her a nasty smile.
"What's wrong?" She cackled. "It won't hurt you!"
Training took over. Her scattergun, all but forgotten in the earlier struggle, pressed itself to the gardener's mouth.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you."
A tentacle reached up to the gun and smacked it out of her hoof. She gasped in shock. "But..."
"Like you said: This is the Administrator's base." She pressed her hoof onto the changeling's neck. "You shouldn't have expected him to get a normal gardener."
crack
"Commander!" A desperate changeling burst into the dungeon.
"What is it?" Protea snapped. "It had better be important. You have standing orders not to interrupt a council meeting."
"The scouts' report, Commander." He explained breathlessly. "It identifies an attack route but... communications were cut off abruptly."
"That means they got killed." Protea shrugged. "Not a big loss, so long as we still have the attack route."
"But I-"
"Commander!" Behind him, another changeling charged headfirst through the door.
"What?!"
"Communications are back online, but they've been compromised."
"What do you mean, 'compromised'?"
"The phone's for you, Commander." He handed a cordless telephone over to Protea.
"Who is it?" She shouted into the phone.
Whoever was on the other end stayed silent.
"Speak!" She commanded.
"... Are you the commander of the changeling army?"
"Yes, I am." She eyed the receiver suspiciously. "And who are you?"
The question went unanswered. "I hope you're ready to lose tomorrow, Protea."
If her face had not been black, the colour would have drained from it. "How do you know my name?"
"Your scouts are awfully talkative, with the right... incentive." A dark chuckle. "Oh yes, one more thing."
"What?"
"Pac wants me to tell you that he's always hated you... Commander." The last word somehow came out sounding like an insult. "Goodbye."
"Hey, wait! I-" A loud beep interrupted her. Protea stared at the phone.
"The line's dead, Commander." The first changeling added unnecessarily.
"I know that." She growled. "But who is Pac?"
"Ah... one of your scouts."
"Oh." She dropped the phone on the ground and stomped on it. "Useless minions. At least they didn't know anything really important they could confess."
"Doesn't that hurt?" Espia asked.
"What?"
"Trying to crush the phone."
"I've gotten used to-" She looked down. "Why isn't it broken?"
"They're armour-coated now. The Queen's orders." Gran explained. "She decided that you've cost us enough in broken phones that we'd be in debt if we weren't just stealing a new one from the Empire every time we needed one."
"That means we're costing the Empire hundreds of dollars."
"But we lose changelings every time we conduct a new infiltration mission."
"A necessary sacrifice." Protea waved her hoof dismissively.
"I see." Gran said dryly. "And I suppose you'd go mad from the inability to destroy the Queen's property otherwise, eh?"
"Look, this isn't important. What is important is preparing a battle plan." She pressed her hooves together, deep in thought. "We've got an attack route. A frontal attack ought to be best. We can wear down the Administrator's defenses in waves and send in the main body of the army when he's weak enough."
"So, basically, just throwing troops at them until they give up." Fal sighed. "It sounds like your type of plan, all right."
"Look, I can come up with more complicated plans if I wanted to." Protea retorted. "But unless every last soldier both and Empire and the Republic can muster are there, we will outnumber them. It's a good plan."
"But is it the best plan?"
"It's a lot less likely to fail than a lot of other plans, if that's what you're thinking."
"No," Fal explained impatiently, "I was thinking more along the lines of reducing our casualties."
"Why would we do that?"
"Because, I don't know, we shouldn't be throwing away the lives of our soldiers?"
Protea scoffed. "There's no need to worry about that. If we push the breeding centres a little, we'll be producing troops faster than they die."
"Firstly, they are called families, not 'breeding centres'." Fal ground out. "And secondly, did it maybe not come to your mind that they might not want to be treated like changeling assembly lines?"
"Does it matter what they think?" She snapped. "They are under the Queen's command, and by extension ours. They will do what we want, or they will die."
"That is not how we should be governing them!"
"That is how I am governing them. And this is my battle to win, not yours." Protea stood up abruptly. "I have nothing more to discuss." She brushed past the two changelings at the door and marched out of the room.
"The Queen will not forgive you for such callous treatment of her subjects!" Fal called after her.
She turned back one last time. "She will forgive me when I bring the news of victory back."
And like a passing shadow, she was gone.
"Screwball. Screwball, this is the Administrator."
"How are you speaking to me?"
"I installed speakers beside the perimeter cameras."
"Oh."
"Anyway, is it done?"
"It's done. I got all the scouts."
"All of them?"
"I saved one for further interrogation."
"Further?"
"I held a little impromptu session. Was that okay?"
"Yes, very good. Bring him back quickly."
"Right."
The Administrator flicked a switch and settled back into his armchair. "See? It's all been taken care of."
Ician wore a look of deep suspicion. His vulture had adopted a similar expression. "I don't believe anything until I see it myself."
"Hold on." The Administrator tapped the table twice in quick succession. Nineteen images of mutilated changelings flashed across a row of computer screens.
"Those pictures could be edited or just the same scene from different angles."
"You should be more trusting, Ician." The Administrator tutted.
"Don't worry, I believe you." Ician assured him. "If only because I can't see any motive for you to deceive me."
"That'll have to do."
"The question is, did they manage to get any intelligence to their superiors?"
"From what I've heard, they plotted an attack route."
"Excellent." Ician let out an uncharacteristic cackle. "I assume we know what it is?"
"We will soon, once we finish interrogating our prisoner."
He grinned. "Then it's time to advance our pawns. Cover them with our bishops and move our knights into position."
"Play chess a lot, do you?"
"I'm... an adequate player. Personally, I don't like it too much, for a number of reasons. One of them is that it presupposes both sides are fully aware of hostile troop movements."
The Administrator chuckled. "Why do I think the Spies are going to be playing a big role in your plan?"
"I wonder." Ician deadpanned. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see to my victory."
"Your victory?"
"Unless you deny that you'll be doing nothing other than sitting in your chair and watching us with a bag of popcorn in your hand?"
"I'll still be casting the gravity spell for you, won't I?"
"You just need to snap your fingers once. That's all. No effort."
"You're right, of course." The Administrator grinned. "But how did you know about the popcorn?"
"Logical analysis." Ician said. "Not to mention there are at least ten empty bags of popcorn in the bin."
"Ah. That makes sense."
He inclined his head respectfully. "So may I leave now?"
"One more thing."
"Yes?"
"I was thinking... we need BLU and RED to work together if they want to win."
"Definitely."
"But they have so much pent-up hostility between them."
"Yes... in no small part thanks to you."
The Administrator touched his hand to his chest. "You wound me with your accusations."
"No more than you deserve." Ician returned. "Now, what was your point?"
"See, I think it would be best if we start healing these rifts."
His eyes narrowed. "What do you have in mind?"
"Perhaps we should restructure the teams."
"You somehow managed to explain nothing at all. Could you be more specific?"
"It's something I call... team scramble."
"Wait..."
"Right now, the teams are allied. But the alliance only means that they won't try to kill each other, not that they're working together."
"So you want to mix the teams." Ician concluded.
"Yes. We can, say, move the RED Sniper to BLU, the BLU Scout to RED, and... you get it."
"I do." Ician considered the suggestion. "Still, this is an important battle. Can we expect them to work together well enough to win?"
"They know what they have to do. Their emotions won't get in the way of their duty."
"Something tells me you don't believe that yourself."
The Administrator laughed. "Of course I don't. I just want to see the awkwardness."
"At least it'll lead to longer-term benefits." Ician mused. "And since this is your base, even if we're defeated tomorrow - because of your decision, mind you, not mine - we won't have lost anything too important."
"Hey, it's your job to win against impossible odds. Besides, if things go wrong I'm always here to help."
"Popcorn." Ician reminded him.
"After I finish the popcorn."
"Ugh." He facehooved. "Can I just go now? I need to figure out how I'm supposed to break the bad news."
"Bad news?" The Administrator asked with an innocent smile. "What bad news?"
Ician gave him a withering look and marched out the door. "Farewell, Administrator."
The draconequus waited until the door, creaking on its hinges, closed with a telltale click. "Oh, I can't wait for tomorrow."
"Hm... A duel, you say?" Chrysalis examined Protea. Something in her manner was different from earlier - she seemed troubled and uncertain.
"Yes, my Queen." Protea, prostrated before her, murmured in a low voice.
"It might be interesting... but no. I must take time to gather power to myself before I can face him."
"As you wish, my Queen."
Chrysalis decided to broach the subject. "Commander... is something on your mind?"
"Nothing you need to trouble yourself with, my Queen."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, my Queen."
Chrysalis was annoyed. "That's far too many 'my Queen's from anyone, especially a Commander. Why are you so deferential?"
"No reason in particular, my- I mean, uh..."
"Commander, I order you to tell me why you're behaving this way."
"I... uh..."
"Yes?"
"My Queen, did I do something to bring your suspicion upon me?" She blurted out.
Chrysalis frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"According to Commander Fal, you ordered the military council to accompany me on my mission."
"Yes... what about that?"
"My Queen, with all due respect, do you suspect me of being a traitor?"
"You, Commander?" Chrysalis was astonished. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Commander Fal."
"... Of course he would." She sighed. "I might not know much about the internal politics of the council, but I know envy when I see it."
"So... you don't think that I'm a deserter?"
"Of course not. As far as I'm concerned, you're a valuable and loyal Commander. And," Chrysalis added, "unless you do something to change that, it'll stay that way."
Relief was written across Protea's face. "Thank you, my Queen. I feel at ease now."
"As you should be. Now, what about the invasion?"
"It's all sorted out. We've got an attack route. All that's left is to overwhelm them."
"Excellent." Chrysalis grinned. "I can't wait for tomorrow."