//------------------------------// // The Upper Tuna Tree // Story: Short Changeling Heroes // by PegasusMesa //------------------------------// “Testimony from captured changeling workers suggests that a hive’s queen is revered with near-deific honor; she is born to rule, fed from birth on special royal jelly, pampered by a veritable brigade of nursemaids, and educated by the finest minds the hive can muster. She is then subjected to a series of life-or-death trials to assure her fitness to rule, so that by the time she assumes the throne, so they claim, she is a master philosopher, a seasoned military tactician, and a legal scholar. Efforts to place spies in actual changeling hives, however, have thrown some doubt on these assertions; our current belief based on confrontations with the changeling race is that the Queen is simply whichever changeling is tallest, and that changeling workers are bullshitty little liars.” ~Excerpt From The Audubon Guide to Equestrian Fauna The sharp clack of hooves on marble echoed through the otherwise silent halls of the Equestrian Intelligence Agency as Canary Trap trotted purposefully towards his boss’s office. Held aloft by his magic, the field operations chief carried a thick brown manila folder packed to bursting with pictures and notes. He wheeled to the right as he reached his destination, a heavy, ornate oak door, which said in large golden letters, “Dead Drop, Director”. Canary Trap knocked curtly and peered around the corner of the partially opened door. “Sir?” The director glanced up and grinned. “Trap!” he bellowed, gesturing gregariously, “C’mon in! What’ve you got?” Canary Trap dropped his folder on the director’s desk with a resounding thud. “She’s back,” he stated simply. Dead Drop stared at his breathless subordinate uncomprehendingly. “Who?” He put down his pen and sat forward in his plush, upholstered chair, interest piqued. “Ah.” With a heavy swallow, Canary tugged at his collar. “Chrysalis.” The name set Drop back on his haunches. “What?” he barked. “How?” “Two of our agents spotted her infiltrating Ponyville and assuming the identity of the princess.” Dead Drop leaned back and shook his head in apparent wonder. “You’re shitting me. What’s she done this time?” “So far, nothing much.” Canary Trap adjusted his glasses as his boss flipped through the pictures. “She’s run up a pretty extensive tab at the local bar and been involved in some, uh”—He shifted, adjusting his gold eyeglasses—“some fairly risque stuff. Sir.” One of Dead Drop’s eyebrows shot up. “Details.” “She, ah, tried to make out with one of the princess’s friend’s older sibling.” Canary pulled a wrinkled piece of notepaper from the folder and glanced at it. “A stallion named Big Macintosh. It went, uh, pretty poorly for her.” The director waved a hoof in understanding. “So, what’s she after? Doesn’t she realize that Princess Twilight doesn’t really have anything to do with the running of the state?” He paused to consider a picture of Twilight’s doppelganger squeezing one of the real princess’s toothpaste tubes from the middle, her muzzle twisted in a manic, malicious cackle. “And even if she did have an important role, anybody important knows where Princess Twilight went—she wouldn’t be able to fool any of them.” “Well, frankly, Sir, we’re not sure what her intent is, here,” Canary said with a shrug. “We can’t make any sense of it.” Dead Drop harrumphed and leaned back in his seat, steepling his hooves. “So, what should we do about this?” “Well, Sir, honestly it’s just Princess Twilight, so…” Canary shook his head helplessly. “Ah. Yes.” Dead Drop glanced at the folder, then pushed it back towards his subordinate. “You’re right. Good. Keep watching her. Let me know if any of this starts to make sense.” “Alright, my good brosephs, I think you all know why I called you here.” In his tiny, dimly lit burrow, Drax dropped a heavy cardboard box onto the ground. Slisk and two other changelings, squeezed onto a small, sagging couch, jumped at the loud crash that reverberated through the small space. “I, for one, have no idea what you want with us,” one of the changelings said. “Yo, I straight up told you why, Phillip,” Drax said, putting his forehooves on the box to use it as a sort of podium. “I can’t do this planning shit by myself, so—” “Um, excuse me,” the other changeling huffed breathily, earnestly waving a chubby hoof high in the air. On his chest was plastered a sticker that read, Hello! My name is Blizik! “I was under the impression that there would be jelly, here.” Drax glanced down from his perch. “Yo, like, I’m gettin’ there,” he grumbled. “Yeah, there’s gonna be jelly, but we gotta do a thing first, um”—His eyes darted to the sticker—“Blitzkreig.” “Dude, tell them about the upper tuna tree, with the princess,” Slisk added helpfully. “Brah, don’t be dumb, it’s an offertunity,” Drax said with a scowl, “and I’m going to tell them about it in just a sec, so stick to the script, yo.” “I’m just sayin’, dude, like—” “So, like, are you two ready for the, uh, buzziness”—Drax cleared his throat, throwing a savage glare Slisk’s way—“bwizz-ness offertunity of a lifetime?” Slisk looked down at his notecard and read, slowly and deliberately, “I know that I sure am, my fried!” “Friend, yo,” Drax hissed. “Dude, it says ‘fried’, no joke,” Slisk whispered back. He held up the card, but Drax pointedly ignored it. “So, like, I figured out this rad secret,” Drax said, reading from his own hastily scrawled note-cards. “And I want to share this amazing bwizz-ness offertunity with you. For only—” “Hold on—what’s a ‘bwizz-ness offertunity’?” Phillip mimed air-quotes with his hooves. “Brah,” Drax replied, steam fairly blowing from his ears, “it’s when you have a chance to, like, do something really rad and use yourself to make for your future later life to be good for yourself when you go up into the future, yo.” “I don’t think any of those words you used make sense in relation to each other,” Phillip said through a snort. Again, Blizik’s hoof shot into the air. “When are you bringing out the jelly?” “Cut it out with the stupid jelly, yo.” Momentarily lost, Drax scanned his notes. “Er—this dope opportranny. If you act now to kidnap Princess Twilight Sparkle, I can get you into the basement—” “Hold on!” Phillip said. “Why would we go into some pony princess’s basement?” Drax felt the urge to strangle Phillip, but before he could reply, Slisk spoke up. “Dude, he doesn’t mean her actual basement. It’s, like, some kind of metamorphical statement.” “Yeah, what he said,” Drax said, glaring. “It’s a met—mezzo—mentalmo—” “Excuse me,” Blizik said as he threw his hoof up. “You said there would be—” “I know I told you there would be jelly,” Drax snapped, “but, brah, lemme explain, like, there’s a lot of ins and outs here, yo!” “Your mom’s got lots of ins and outs, doggie!” Slisk said with a cackle. “Brah, we’ve got the same mom.” Phillip stood abruptly. “I think we’re wasting our time,” he said, gesturing to Blizik. “C’mon, let’s go. These two are just idiots.” Phillip pushed his way out through the tiny hole that served as the burrow’s door, Blizik right behind him. “Yeah, well”—Drax fought for an appropriate comeback—“at least my name’s not something all pretarded like ‘Phillip’, asshole!” Silence fell over the room for a long moment. “Dude, that was kinda harsh,” Slisk said finally. “Poor guy can’t help his name.” “Whatever,” Drax said under his breath. “Shit, we ain’t got anywhere, yo!” He stomped back and forth, muttering. Slisk stretched out on the couch, now that he had the room to do so. “How do we kidnap a stupid pony?” “So, like, we don’t really have any jelly, right?” Slisk asked. His eyes roamed the tiny room, a search that didn’t take long. “Unless you’re hidin’ some, dude.” “What?” Drax glanced up, preoccupied with his thoughts. “Nah, we ain’t got shit-all. You tapped the last jar last night, yo, remember?” With a labored grunt, Slisk pushed himself to his hooves. “Then let’s go hit up the shop. Maybe some exercise’ll get your brain juices going.” “How ‘bout something with a catapult, brah?” Drax clearly hadn’t heard a word. Sighing, Slisk pulled him out the door as his friend contemplated the aerodynamics of the average pony princess. In his own burrow, one significantly larger than Drax’s, Zubzuk raised a miniscule paintbrush and lightly ran it along a plastic model of a pony soldier. Watching keenly through a magnifying glass, he pulled the brush back to examine his work, then nodded in satisfaction. Just as he moved in again to touch up the pony’s mane, a nearly deafening knock sounded on the door, and he lost his balance. Frantically, he got back onto his stool to examine the tiny model, only to sigh in relief when he saw that it remained unblemished. Again, whoever stood outside knocked on his door. “For Queen’s sake, I’m coming!” he barked, laying his tools down with exaggerated care. He slid his considerable bulk off the stool and landed on his hooves, huffing breathily as he ambled over and pulled the steel door open. Standing in the hallway were two changelings that he vaguely recognized. “What is it?” One of the two stepped forward. “Overseer, we’re here to file a complaint.” “A—a what?” Zubzuk asked, dumbfounded. He had been complained at before, certainly, but nobody had ever actually come to his home to issue a formal complaint. “It’s those two drones who’re always skipping out on work,” the changeling continued. “They told us—” “Stop, stop,” Zubzuk said with a hoof held out. “Who are you, now?” “Ah, I’m drone Phillip”—He pointed at his fellow—“and this is drone Blizik.” “They promised there’d be jelly,” Blizik mumbled, genuinely downcast. Zubzuk stifled a sigh. Just behind him, the very last model he needed to complete his extremely accurate recreation of the Battle of Grim Gorge sat waiting, nearly all painted and just begging for the final touches before it could be placed onto the battlefield. However, when duty calls… “Fine—what is your complaint?” Zubzuk settled in for what he expected to be a long, tedious report. “Uh, yeah, those two guys, they just lied to Blizik and me to get us to help them with their idiotic plan,” Phillip said with a scowl. He scuffed a hoof on the floor of the dusty residential tunnel. “Yeah!” Blizik added in a passionate voice. “We didn’t get any jelly at all!” Phillip nodded his agreement. “Then the one started shilling on about some kind of stupid business opportunity, except he didn’t know how to use any of the words, and—” “Hold up a minute,” Zubzuk said, rolling his eyes. “This sounds like it isn’t my problem. Did they harm you or the hive in any way?” “Well, no, but—” “Then go deal with it yourself. Buzz off.” Zubzuk began to swing his door shut. “Wait!” Phillip said as the door closed. “You’re just gonna let Drax do whatever he wants?” Zubzuk’s hoof caught the door and yanked it back open. For a long moment, he stared at Phillip, eyes thoughtful. This had just become much more interesting. “What were the names of these two drones, hm?” “Drax and Slisk,” Phillip answered immediately. “Well!” The overseer stepped back and gestured to his entire room. “That changes everything! Why don’t you two fine fellows come in and have a seat! What can I get you, lads?” “Do you think,” Blizik asked tentatively, “that I could get some jelly, perhaps?” “Dude, so, like, how are we gonna nab this Twilight chick?” Slisk asked as he idly kicked at an empty jar in front of a poorly constructed wooden shack, on which hung a sign that read Jely Stor. The jar skittered across the lot and bounced into the gutter, joining several other abandoned containers. A worker on his way through the shop’s makeshift wooden door cast a dark glare Slisk’s way. “Brah, well, pretty much we’re gonna have to, like, put her in a bag, yo”—Drax paused to take a stiff swig from his nectar jar—“and then, I guess get her back here, someways.” “So what, like... “ Slisk swung his foreleg down sharply, miming a blow. “Brah, oh hells naw!” Drax yelped as he recoiled in disgust. “She’s a lady, yo, you can’t just clonk her on the head like that! You got to appeal to her interests and shit, be all, like, cagey and what have you.” Slisk nodded thoughtfully. “Huh. So, like, a bag full of makeup and shoes and shit, dude?” he said, scratching his chin. “I guess you still got the stuff from your handmaidens course, right?” “Brah, don’t be stereotypical,” Drax grumbled, eyes narrowed. “And don’t bring up handmaidens again, yo, I’m still sore on that.” “Dude, you would have been hella weird as a lady,” Slisk went on. “All, y’know, lady-like and shit.” “Brah.” Slisk didn’t notice Drax’s frown. “Like, you never did explain how all that, like, y’know. I mean, dude, were they gonna take your— “ “Brah!” Drax shouted, shoving his friend. “Yo, do I ask what you do with all the rocks and shit you collect out those holes you love so much, brah? No, I don’t. Cuz that’d be, like, rude and shit, yo. All up in your business and shit, all asking if you got, like, little hats for your rocks and make them be married or whatever it is you do, yo.” “Sorry, dude. I just got, like, curiosities and shit, y’know?” They spent a long moment in awkward silence, until Slisk finally spoke up again. “So, like, what’s Princess Twilight interested in?” “I dunno, word is that mare be all about some science, brah. That’s, like, all she does —it’s her main deal. Like, I heard she lives in a library and reads books and stuff all day.” Drax shuddered at the thought of reading. “So, like, a bag full of science, dude?” Slisk asked. “It could be beakers ‘n bottles ‘n whatever.” “Brah, no, don’t be stupid. You can’t even have a bag full of science, yo, science is a extract concept in this case. You just write it on the outside of the bag— let her imagine, like, all the great science shit that’s in there.” “So she gets in the bag to look for the science and we, like, just snatch her up and carry her off?” Slisk asked. “Naw, that ain’t gonna work, yo. Like, Ponyville’s miles away from here, We’ll have to, like, steal a cart or something, brah.” Slisk wrapped his mind around that. “So we put her on the cart—” “Yo, we should have the bag already on the cart,” Drax said. “Get two birds stoned at once.” “So, like, she climbs up on the cart and we’re all, ‘Here’s a bag of science we found for you, your honor!’ and she just, like, goes in there, dude?” Slisk leaned back and cracked open another jar of nectar. “Well, yeah, brah, cuz we’re gonna be all changed up into her friends and shit.” He reached back for his own drink. “All faking her out with our mad changeling skills, yo. If we’re her friends then she’ll totally be down to look in some bag of science they brought her.” They both finished off their jars, then tossed them into the gutter, where the glass shattered loudly. “Now we just gotta figure out the particulars, brah,” Drax said, scratching his flank. “Like, what her friends look like, and shit.” Slisk grinned widely. “Dude, leave that to me,” he said. “You sure, brah?” “Hells to the yeah, homeslice,” Slisk answered, waving a hoof disarmingly. “I got sources.” Drax’s eyes narrowed. “Who are they?” “Don’t worry about it, dude, I got this. Have I ever let you down?” Slisk patted his friend on the back, and Drax relaxed. “Fine, but don’t drop the ball,” he said slowly. “I don’t want shit blowin’ up in my face because we’re accidentally disguised as her dead parents, yo.” Slisk had his mouth open to answer, but the shop’s door suddenly flew open and a changeling wearing an apron charged out. “What are you two shitsnacks doing out here?” he roared, waving a broom threateningly. Drax and Slisk darted out of range and down the tunnel. “If I catch you loitering again, I’ll have your carapaces for tableware! “Grubby little asswipes,” he grumbled as he moved to the pile of broken glass and began the arduous task of sweeping it up. “As if I don’t have enough problems…”