Chrysalis rolled her eyes down to the smaller changeling standing before her. What was his name again? Ah, yes, Bait. Damn, she should’ve known that off-hoof, but it had been yet another night spent tossing and turning, waking up screaming without knowing why, her sheets and bedclothes drenched in sweat. Her hoof went from propping her head up to rubbing along the bridge of her nose. She needed a break. No, better yet, she needed a decent night’s sleep! But the duties of the crown meant she wasn’t going to get the former, and the nightmares meant she was probably never going to get the latter. So where did that leave her? Stuck right here, in the Crystal Throne (made from solid crystal, just to make it that much less comfy and her life that much more miserable), listening to the daily summary of flagged reports from her forces throughout the Empire, just one in a thousand similar meetings she’d have to sit through that day.
“My Queen?” The small changeling sitting on his haunches at her hooves asked, a scroll hovering open in front of his face.
“Hmm? Yes?” She asked, perking up suddenly.
“If you wish, we can take a break now. You seem a bit…tired,” he replied, the chitin over one of his eyes scrunching up in the universal sign of concern.
“No, no, this is important,” the Queen waved a hoof in a slow, embellished movement, the universal sign of boredom. “Continue.”
“Well,” Bait reopened his scroll, scrunching his eyes up as he scanned it to relocate his place. “Ah, only two more items! Almost done, my Queen!” He reported happily.
“Wonderful.” Then we can move on to the advisory reports demanding love we haven’t harvested, and the generals requesting reinforcements we don’t have, and the quartermasters demanding supplies we can’t produce, and…
“It seems we’ve gotten complaints from a few ponies of their loved ones disappearing in the night, never making it home.”
“Ugh,” Chrysalis rolled her eyes. “They’re probably lying dead in a gutter somewhere, either mugged by one of their fellow ponies or sucked dry by some soldier who couldn’t control himself. Happens with every occupation.”
“Yes, my Queen, of course.”
“And that last item?”
Bait bit his lip and sighed. He opened his mouth, started to say something, then quickly looked away, still nibbling at his lip.
“Oh for pity’s sake, out with it!” Chrysalis barked impatiently.
“R-right, sorry,” the smaller changeling stammered, taking a moment to recompose himself. Clearing his throat, he stood up tall and spoke in a deep voice that boomed off the room’s walls. “My Queen, there have been casualties overnight.”
“Every military campaign has those too,” she grunted, waving a hoof dismissively. “Guerrilla warfare. We can expect to lose a few hooffuls more before this is all over, I’ll wager.”
“Yes, my Queen,” Bait nodded as he bundled up his scroll. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed in the kitchen.”
“Of course,” the Queen waved him off. “Please send the next changeling in.”
Bait turned to go, his head hunched as he trudged along. Chrysalis arched an eyebrow as she watched him tread over the plush carpeting leading out of the room. She knew that look all too well. Her father had worn it as he paced the carpeting in his study, a tobacco pipe clenched in his thin lips, his eye patch laying on his dark-oak desk, and some terrible problem facing their swarm drawn up on his blackboard. Of course, that was when her mother had been alive, before he…
The doors slammed open, nearly falling off their hinges from the force of the blow coming from the other side. Princess Luna stood in the doorway, her hind hooves raised mid-buck. She slowly lowered them and strode across the room towards the Queen, a half dozen changelings clinging to her neck and pulling back with all their might, another two latched onto her tail. They might as well have been trying to stop a freight train for all the good it did.
Standing up from her seat, Chrysalis glared at the Princess and levelled her horn, finally forcing the Alicorn to halt in the center of the room. The pair glared at one another, Chrysalis through the glow of her horn, Luna with her head held high. The changeling grinned knowingly, though her heart had practically leapt into her throat with the raw display of sheer strength. With a grunt, Luna flicked her tail, and the small, familiar form of Bait went flying right over her head and landed at Chrysalis’s hooves, plopping alongside one of the guards she’d assigned to the dungeons.
“H-hello again, my Queen,” he said sheepishly, blinking to keep his head clear. “I know you said to send the next changeling in, but the Princess was rather…insistent.”
The changeling at Bait’s side bolted to his hooves and saluted, chest thrust out. “Apologies, your majesty. The Princess broke free during the routine draining of her containment cell’s stasis goop. There was nothing we could do.”
Chrysalis nodded to her subjects, then turned her attention to the Alicorn standing before her. She eyed the goop binding Luna’s wings and the dot still glued to the tip of her horn and shook her head, the knowing smile turning into a knowing smirk. “Looking for a rematch, Princess? It would be a bit one-sided without your magic or your wings, don’t you think?”
Luna’s eyes blazed with righteous fury, an ancient battle-thirst awakening in those night-blue pools. Chrysalis fought back the urge to wince and cower under the stare, keeping both her smirk and her magical defense up. For a few minutes, they stared one another down. The changelings remaining in the room watched, some biting their hooves with the ferocity of woodchippers sawing through giant redwoods, a couple holding one another in their embrace. The air seemed to buzz with the pure electricity produced by two tremendously-powerful forces meeting one another head-on.
To everyling’s surprise, Luna was the one to look away suddenly and sigh. “No, I came here to…ask you something.”
Chrysalis arched an eyebrow, but allowed the charge to die in her horn. “Oh? And what would that be, just out of curiosity?”
“A…do-over, for last night.”
Chrysalis’s smirk reappeared, and she slunk back to her throne, unable to resist crossing her hind legs and propping her head up on a hoof once she was seated. “Wonderful. I see we’ve grown a bit hungry for real food, eh? That feast from last night still fresh on your mind?”
Luna’s eyes jolted wide open. “You seriously think I came here just because…”
“Very well,” the Queen clapped her hooves, and immediately two of the changelings snapped to attention and saluted.
“Yes, my Queen?” They intoned.
“Give the Princess all the usual preparations for tonight,” Chrysalis ordered. “In the meantime, ensure she is returned to her holding pod. Inform me if she resists in any way.”
“Yes, my Queen,” the pair bowed before leading Luna off, motioning for her to follow. The Princess glared back at the Queen, her teeth grinding together in her head. Chrysalis sat forward in her seat, preparing a little counter-spell should Luna lunge at her. Eventually, Luna let her breath out and bowed her head curtly.
“Thank you, your majesty,” she said before turning to follow the pair out the door. The remaining changelings in the room watched her leave, heaving a huge sigh of relief.
“Well, that was oddly polite of her,” Chrysalis said before turning to the tiny, remaining group. Upon sighting them, she rolled her eyes. “My dearest changelings, you really need to have more faith in your Queen.”
“Ye-yes, my Queen,” the group said.
Bait stepped out and bowed at her hooves. “Forgive us, my Queen, we haven’t your stomach for such…tense situations.”
“Think nothing of it,” she said, the knowing smirk resurfacing. “At least you didn’t discover your homosexuality during those tense moments.”
The chitin on his forehead scrunching up, he turned just in time to watch two of the changelings still holding one another in their embrace suddenly part ways, the awkwardness literally radiating off them like a heavy stench to his changeling senses. “Ah, yes my Queen,” he said with a sage nod.
She sighed, shaking her head as the guards replaced the massive doors. Watching them idly, Chrysalis’s emerald gaze glanced over Bait, who sat where he was with the chitin over his eyes scrunched in thought. The gears were whirring around in his head so fast, a part of her thought she could hear them grinding away as he stood up again to trot off. “Are you sure you said everything that was on your mind, my dearest subject?” She asked searchingly.
Bait paused and looked over his shoulder, his eyes screaming concern. He looked down at his hooves, steeled himself, and frowned. He turned back to his queen, unrolling the scroll again. “Actually, my Queen, since I’m here again anyway…”
Through no fault of your own, she mused.
“…it’s these dead soldiers. I think they’re more than just random killings.”
Chrysalis leaned back in her throne bemusedly, a half-smile alighting on her face. This should be good, she thought. “Really? How so?”
“I…my Queen, I don’t believe the killings were carried out by a guerrilla attack,” he took a deep breath, hoping to get it all out in one go, as if that would make him anymore believable. “I think those soldiers were killed by some of our fellow changelings. I think they saw something they weren’t supposed to, something being carried out by our own soldiers, and they were…”
“Stop,” Chrysalis held up a hoof to silence the small changeling. He gazed up at his Queen with a hopeful little smile on his face, which promptly evaporated under the deadpan stare she returned. “Bait, do you think these things like you thought the Pony Illuminati had infiltrated the hive?”
He cringed and looked away, suddenly finding himself fascinated with a patch of floor crystal. “I-I’ll admit, I may have been premature in some of my conclusions…”
“Or what about a year before that, when I was out with the flu for a week, and you convinced yourself that it was an attempt at poisoning by the Griffon Freemasons?”
His tattered ears folded back, and his height lost a few inches. Nothing could divert his eyes away from that obviously fascinating patch of crystal. “I-I was young…”
“Or how about when you were still a nymph, and you convinced your little friend to help you break into the cafeteria in the royal bodyguards’ quarters to set up…I’m sorry, what was it called again?”
He cringed again and practically sank into the floor, his body apparently losing the ability to support his head. “A…Bighoof sting, ma’am.”
“Ah yes,” the little half-smile returned, but it was easy-looking, like a mother catching her foal with a hoof in the cookie jar. “Because you thought you saw a mythical creature in there earlier that day.”
“H-he was using the community blender…” he mumbled, barely audible.
“Bait,” she stood up from the throne, descending the steps towards him. “Look at me, please.”
He looked up into his Queen’s eyes, looking like a puppy caught in the middle of piddling on the carpet. She smiled and shook her head, locking her motherly, emerald gaze with his. “You’re an incredibly talented infiltrator, and a highly intelligent changeling. From the beginning, I’ve known what an asset you would be to the swarm: even when you were just a nymph hatching from his gestation pod, I could see some spark of intelligence in your eyes. And what’s more, ever since you teamed up with that ‘Switch’ fellow, the two of you have been nigh-unstoppable! A team with your success rate hasn’t been seen in the swarm for generations!”
“Thank you, your highness,” he squeaked, but kept his head low. He knew just what was coming next; they’d had this near-exact conversation too many times for him not to know. As always, she didn’t pull any punches.
“But,” she sighed. Yep. There it was, the but he could expect every time she talked to him like this. “You simply have to learn to control your imagination! You let it run away with you, and it just ends with you looking like a fool, when you’re not! You know that, right?”
“Of course, your majesty, but if you’ll just let me explain…”
“You do know of your abysmal image within the swarm, right?” She said, unable to keep the pity and concern out of her gaze, which in turn earned the tiniest smidgeon of resentment in his heart, tainting his emotional profile as it radiated back to her own sensors. Still, she didn’t hold back. “Did you know they have a nickname for you?”
He grimaced and broke eye contact, the tiniest growl rumbling at the back of his throat, making his chitin quiver. “The Irate, my Queen.”
“Yes,” she sighed, nodding sagely. “You’re Bait the Irate to them. Not particularly clever, but then, nicknames rarely are.”
“My Queen, if I may be so bold, may I ask if there’s a point to bringing up my past…” his hoof waved in little circles in the air as he searched for the proper word. Finding none, he settled with: “…endeavors?”
“Because of what your ‘endeavors’ have done to your image. My loyal…Bait,” perhaps the rare use of his name was just what she needed to finally break through to him and drill the message into his head. “You’re one of the most intelligent changelings of your generation, if not the most! Your cunning and cleverness in the field have provided more for the Swarm than I’m sure even you know! And despite all that, despite possessing a mind capable of running circles around every single one of them, do you know what the other changelings see when they look at you?”
His eyes fell and his ears folded back again, the anger raging in his gaze petering off to a tiny flicker. “Bait the Irate,” he muttered.
“Bait the Irate,” she nodded. Maybe this time, the lecture would stick. Perhaps this time, he would finally start showing off the Bait she knew, the one who could finally silence those changelings who snickered and pointed in his direction every time he passed by in the halls. She put a hoof to his chin, lifting his face to peer up into hers. “Isn’t it about time they got to know the real Bait? The Bait that’s one-half of the greatest infiltration team seen in generations?”
His cheeks flushed a little touch of green, his gaze darting away bashfully. A part of her expected him to kick a hoof against the ground with a little “Aw, shucks…” for how cute he looked. Instead, he shrugged out of her grasp and turned to her, his eyes begging. “But my Queen, I’m sure of it this time!”
She sighed. “I should beat you senseless for your idiocy,” she mused under her breath, turning back to her throne, her hoofsteps echoing in the massive chamber.
“My Queen?”
“Very well, because you’re so very insistent, and because of your incredible success record, I will give you this,” she said, plopping right back into the throne (and suppressing the wince that came with dropping one’s rear end onto a cold seat in the morning). “Bring me something solid, any shred of proof that proves there might be something behind your theory, and I will not only listen, I will give you a team composed of the changelings of your choosing just for investigating this matter to your heart’s content, along with the free time to do just that.”
His face lit up like Las Pegasus on doomsday, the corners of his mouth nearly touching his eyes. “Yes, your highness! I’ll get right on it!” He turned to dash out the door, ready to leave dust clouds in his wake. “You won’t regret this! I’m gonna blow this whole thing wide-open!”
“One caveat, before you leave!” She called after him, giving him pause.
He halted right in mid-air and looked over his shoulder at her, a forehoof stretching towards the door. “My Queen?”
“I don’t want to hear another word of this until you have something solid in my hooves, got it?” She asked, looking him over. “That means no paranoid rants on street corners, no coming to me with half-baked theories about alien infiltrators taking over high-commands’ brains, and especially no taking over half the guard barracks with a spider web of your own goop connecting random newspaper clippings and pictures of griffon politicians!”
“My Queen, with all due respect, that only happened one time!” He screamed, hooves waving in the air in frustration. “Once! And noling has ever let me live it down!”
“Promise!” She shouted sternly.
Placing his hooves on the ground, he sighed dejectedly and bowed his head. “Yes, my Queen.”
“Very good,” she waved him along. “I look forward to hearing from you, my little changeling, but I must get on with the day’s business. Please show the next changeling in on your way out.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Bait intoned, bowing a final time before turning to leave, the massive doors echoing in the chamber as they closed behind him. Chrysalis took a moment to sigh and shake her head, massaging a temple first with the edge of her hoof, then with her magic. Her first full day as ruler of the Crystal Empire was shaping up to be a nasty one. Still, that little meeting with the princess might shape up into something interesting.
She sighed and slumped in her chair. “Do-over my toned, black, flank,” she mumbled under her breath, saving that little bit of urban slang for when she was sure she was alone. Luna was hiding something. She knew something she wasn’t supposed to. Sure, she’d done a decent job of keeping it buried, a thousand-year-old Alicorn Princess had to be at least capable of that, but Chrysalis was a mistress of deception, ruler of a species that depended on misdirection and lies just to survive. She saw the way the Luna’s eyes darted ever-so-slightly off center whenever she attempted eye contact, probably out of fear of what the Queen might see if she was able to get a good look in.
“Alright, Princess. We’ll just see what you have planned,” she muttered, clopping a hoof against her armrest as a signal for the next petitioner to file in. “This should make for some interesting conversation, at the very least.”
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The batter dribbled off the ends of Bait’s hooves, forming little bubbles in his holes as he passively pounded away at the roll. His shoulder raised and bought his hoof down again, like the lever on a slot machine. The batter oozed and bubbled up through his holes, his eyes wide and blank, looking right through it.
“There’s something there,” he mumbled. “I know there is. It doesn’t make sense otherwise.”
“Well, of course there’s something there, silly!” A certain, high-pitched voice squealed behind him. He whirled just as Pinkie wheeled by, pushing a massive cart full of silver trays. She beamed at him, that incredible, sunny smile lighting the entire room. “The batter for those cookies. You’ve been mashing it for fifteen minutes! I think it can go in the pan, now!”
“Wha-oh, sorry,” he hurriedly shoved the lump of dough into the nearest pan, scraping it off the counter with a sweep of his hoof. “I – kinda have some things on my mind.”
“Oh? What kinda things?” She asked innocently, batting her eyelashes at him as she tossed the pan into the oven with a fluid swing of her hips.
He blinked at the display, regained his mental footing, and scowled, praying she hadn’t really discovered his growing attraction for her. “As if you’d really be concerned,” he hissed, trying his best to remember that he was a changeling tasked with The Swarm’s protection while she was an Element of Harmony tasked with thwarting their attempts at survival.
“Mmh…maybe I’m somewhat concerned,” she replied thoughtfully. “You ARE one of the better assistants I’ve had, after all.”
“Oh…” his scowl turned into a disbelieving frown. “Really?”
“Well, yeah! Those holes are perfect for aerating the batter when it’s being molded and worked!” She sang, and to emphasize, she grabbed one of his hooves and shoved it into yet another bowl of batter, stirring it. “See? You’re a natural whisk!”
“Huh, never thought of it that way,” he said, absentmindedly staring at his forehoof as the batter bubbled and blooped through the holes in it.
“Plus, there’s the fact that you’re really, really smart, and whatever’s got you puzzled, it must be a doozy!” She replied, that impossibly bright smile lighting up her face the entire time.
“I guess that’s true,” he replied, turning to the counter and grabbing another mound of batter to disguise the green blush crawling over his cheeks. He worked as he talked, kneading the batter in his hooves as his gaze wandered over it. “And it is. A doozy, I mean.”
“Well, out with it already! Inquiring ponies want to know!”
He grinned back at her, suddenly mindful that a few razor-sharp teeth would inevitably be visible in his smile and subconsciously covering his mouth with a twist of his shoulder. “Okay, it’s about last night.”
She rolled her eyes at him with a playful smile. “Baity, it was a one-night stand; don’t read too much into it!”
He turned to her, a blush heating up his entire face for everyone to see. “What in Equestria are you…” he drifted off as he saw the joking smile on her face, a giggle rising from the back of her throat. Suddenly, he couldn’t help but smile and snicker along. “Alright, yeah, good one.”
“The look on your face,” she laughed. “Priceless!”
“Funny, yeah, I know. Anyway, last night, some changelings were killed.”
Her laughter stopped immediately, her face flicking from bubbly happiness to sympathetic remorse so fast he’d be surprised if she didn’t have a couple masks hidden somewhere, ones she could switch between fast as lightning. “Oh, I’m so sorry…”
He blinked at her in confusion, then waved her off. “Oh, it was noling I knew or anything. Just some random bugs that got shanked.”
“Oh,” immediately, the sympathetic concern turned into confusion. Seriously, how did somepony have so much control over their expressions? “Wow. Um…okay, what happened?”
“Supposedly, they were hit by pony rebels, but I don’t buy that. Not for a second.” His gaze hardened, turning serious. “Some things just don’t add up.”
“Such as?”
“The way they were killed,” he replied, rummaging into a junk drawer with a free hoof and pulling out a file covered in rubber bands, thumbtacks, and some of the other assorted detritus that seemed to inhabit all junk drawers everywhere. He started shuffling through the file as he talked, flipping pages as fast as he could. “Right…here!” He held up the picture he had been searching for in triumph, showing the bodies lying in the middle of one of the Empire’s many roads. The crystal street was covered in their blood, drying in the rising sun. The bodies stared blankly into the sky, mouths agape, eyes wide, as if in horror, the fangs that once looked so intimidating now glinting in the sun as a set of objects, no more threatening than a knife without a hand to wield it.
“You see? You see what’s happened here?” He asked enthusiastically.
Her face twisted, turning green as a hoof raced to her face. “I see a couple of bodies.”
“Oh, right, sorry,” he quickly shoved the folder back into the drawer. “I forget not everyone spends their nights looking at autopsy photos for evidence of alien abduction.”
“Silly goose, it’s not changelings they abduct! It’s Zebras!” She giggled, a hoof batting at his shoulder. “Zebras are the ones that have the most serotonin in their brains to power the Zartaxan thought-shields!”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“What?”
Shaking off his stupor yet again, he continued. “Anyway, it’s how these changelings were killed that’s got me: stabbed in the carapace, up close and personal.”
“Ahh,” she waved a hoof at him to continue. “And regular, old, terrorist ponies couldn’t pull that off because…”
“Because they were stabbed so precisely!” Bait insisted, his hooves waving dramatically. “Not just that, but the blades travelled upwards! Whoever did this had to practically be on top of them before they attacked! Now, could a couple of ponies get that close to a pair of soldiers?”
“Maybe they got the drop on ‘em?” Pinkie suggested.
“That might work if there was just one body, but what are the odds that two ponies could attack simultaneously, hitting so fast and so precisely that they caught both soldiers off-guard at the exact same time?” He shook his head. “No, they trusted whoever did this to them, enough to let them practically walk right up and slide a knife in between their ribs.”
Pinkie shuddered. “That’s awful, somepony you trust betraying you like that. I know it happens, but still,” suddenly, she gasped, realization dawning on her. She sprang into the air, suspended a few inches off the tiled floor by her own surprise. “Waitasecond! The only one a changeling soldier would trust to get that close would be…”
“…another changeling soldier,” he replied, nodding in affirmation as she drifted back to the floor. “Exactly. You see? That’s why these murders have me so concerned. Something is happening within our own ranks, and not even the Queen knows about it.”
“You should tell her, then!” She pointed out.
“I tried, she didn’t believe me,” he sighed, turning back to slam his hooves into the batter.
“What!? How couldn’t she!? You’re a super-smart guy!”
“Heh, yeah,” he sighed, thankful that she couldn’t see him blush yet again. “Thing is, I kind’ve got this…history of bad hunches.”
“Oh, really?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, I don’t have the most reliable reputation for level-headed behavior in The Swarm.”
“Shoot! A guy like you!? How bad could it be?” She said, waving a hoof dismissively.
“Well, there was that time when I booby-trapped the old changeling graveyard to be ‘zombie-proof’,” he replied with a grimace, slamming another hoof into the batter. Even he had to admit that particular burst of paranoia had been ill-conceived from the get-go: especially when Deacon Chicklet had shown up leading a full procession, expecting a nice, quiet burial ceremony for the widow who lived in the hive next to him, and instead nearly getting a flamethrower in the face.
“Aw, that isn’t so bad!” She said. “Zombie preparedness is a pressing issue, y’know?”
“Yeah, I know! I mean, better safe than zombie chow, right!?” He waved his other hoof about in frustration, this time spraying a few flecks of batter around. “Try to tell the rest of my swarm that, though! I’m just lucky my Queen likes me enough to give me the benefit of the doubt every now and again!”
“Not this time, though?”
“Well, she promised me my own investigative team if I could prove without a doubt that something is going on,” he replied, grumbling again, a hiss growing at the back of his throat. “Thing is, I’ve got nothing! Just all the usual hunches that everyling is used to dismissing as crazy anyways! If I just had a motive here…”
“Hmm,” donning a deerstalker and pulling a bubble pipe out of thin air, Pinkie’s eyebrows hunched in concentration. “That is quite the conundrum you have there, my dear Watson.”
“Who in the hay is…ugh,” he sighed, suppressing a smile at the cartoonish way she started pacing back and forth on the kitchen tile, her shoulders hunched and a hoof scratching her chin in thought. “Nevermind. I’m not even gonna ask where you got the pipe and hat.”
“Elementary!” She replied, her eyes sparkling mirthfully. “Now, all that remains is to find yon means for criminal activity!”
He squinted at her and turned his head sideways, as if that might make some sense of the mare before him. “What?”
“A reason!” She clarified with a roll of her eyes. “I don’t think changelings just go around killing each other! Wait…do they?”
“Not usually,” he replied. “But I see what you’re saying: a motive.”
“Now, in my experience, sometimes creatures kill each other for money,” she said, a hoof gesturing pointedly to a chalkboard, which now had a dollar-sign drawn on it.
Wondering when she’d had the time to erect a chalkboard and procure some pink chalk, then realizing that wondering about it would probably just drive him mad, Bait shook his head. “Changeling soldiers would never carry much currency with them into battle, and bits are only handy to infiltrators anyway. Naw, I can’t see money being the motive.”
“Then that brings us to another possibility,” with an embellished swoop, she pointed back to the chalkboard, which now had a couple crude stick-figures beneath the dollar sign, which in turn had been X’ed out. One of the figures held a knife as it crept up on the other, the remaining pony completely oblivious to the impending threat, as evidenced by the little smiley face it had for a head. “Revenge!”
Bait scratched his chin. “That could be a possibility. A changeling pissed another one off in the past, and that changeling waited for some invasion or another, knowing the deaths would be passed off as regular war casualties.” After thinking for a while, he frowned and shook his head, eyes squinting with thought. “But then why mess things up? Why not make it look like a pony’s magical attack, or something that wouldn’t raise suspicion? And why just leave the bodies lying out where rebels would have strung them up as an example to others? And why two of them? If it was just one changeling, how could he have gotten them both so easily? No, this was done in the heat of the moment, with little to no pre-planning. The only reason it worked so well was that the ones behind it knew how to kill someone, and their targets didn’t suspect a thing.”
“Then that leaves one possibility,” X-ing out the picture of the two ponies, she whipped up a new picture with a single stroke of the chalk, this one of somepony in a mask with a bag of ill-gotten bits over their shoulder. “Crime!”
Bait scratched his chin again, the fact that he’d just watched her draw a somewhat complex picture with one swoop of a hoof never crossing his mind. This time, his eyes lit up. “Yeah! It fits! Someling stumbles on someling else who’s in the middle of something they shouldn’t be doing, and they get iced for it!”
“We’ve got it!” Pinkie cried in joy, the hat flying away as she beamed at him.
“Yeah!” He laughed, rearing up on his hind hooves and pawing at the air in victory, but the excitement was short-lived. He sank back down to all fours. “Oh man, but that’s still not solid enough!”
“Aww, really?”
“Yes, really,” he sighed, green flames engulfing his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was a higher, whinier, more nasally version of its old self. “Oh my Queen, my beloved Queen, I’ve cracked it! Those changelings last night were killed because they witnessed a crime! What’s that? No, I don’t have any solid proof, and no, I don’t even know what kind of crime. Where did I get this idea? Oh, from the pink pony I’m supposed to be holding prisoner, of course! So, how about that task force you promised me?”
Pinkie giggled. “That was really good!”
“Thanks,” he sighed, his voice flicking back to normal as he stared at her with massive, sad, puppy-dog eyes. “But my point still stands.”
“Then we’ll just have to figure out what crime it was,” she replied. “So, you guys are handling the policing of the Empire, right?”
“Right, but…” his ears perked up once more, a smile cracking his lips. “Pinkie, that’s brilliant!” He gasped, rushing to the junk drawer and grabbing the folder again. “Any crime would be reported! We just have to find something that fits!”
He slammed the very same report he’d given the Queen that morning down onto the table and started scanning it, his eyes darting around methodically. Pinkie peered over his shoulder curiously, watching his gaze do its dance until he slammed a hoof onto the counter in frustration. “Rats! Nothing!”
“Really?” She frowned.
“Yeah,” he replied, shaking his head in frustration. “A few looters, a missing safe that was quickly found in the owner’s basement, a senile old coot who accused one of our soldiers of stealing a pair of glasses that were right on his forehead, and the usual, regular, missing pon-“
He cut himself off, eyes widening in realization. His snout tilted upwards as he scanned the report again. “Missing ponies,” he finished, almost totally breathless, a hoof jamming into the paper so hard it wrinkled under his grip. With shaking hooves, he pulled out the profiles given to him by the ponies who reported the others missing.
“Yeah, missing ponies,” she arched an eyebrow. “Why would that be concerning to you?”
“Changelings can partake in communal stores only,” he explained hurriedly, searching for the profiles he had scattered throughout the bundle of papers. “Hoarding ponies for your own use outside of an infiltration situation is a huge no-no!”
“Really?”
“Think about it: the swarm has been hit by famine in the past, hoarding love just to have it later could be sentencing a fellow changeling to death! Emperor Capane made hoarding ponies during occupation a capital offense shortly before his death in 482!” He replied, seizing the proper paper and holding it up like a winning lottery ticket. “But I think we’ve just stumbled upon a pony trafficking ring!
“Pinkie! I need a map of the Empire!” He gasped, a hoof waving at her frantically.
“Here ya go,” she replied, handing him a crayon-drawn picture, complete with buildings and avenues and even little hat and shoe symbols to symbolize certain stores.
Without pausing to question where in the hay she could possibly have even gotten the crayons, he slammed the map on the counter and started scanning it, grabbing a pen from the junk drawer and praying that it wasn’t dry, unlike so many other pens in so many other junk drawers. “Heartfelt Petalmore,” he read aloud from the profile. “Pony tourist from Manehattan, disappeared on the way from her nightly mandatory donation in the Crystal Palace,” he said, a hoof thrusting into the massive circle that symbolized the palace in the center of the map.
“Reported missing by roommates staying with her at the Embassy Hooves,” he X’ed the small square denoting the famous hotel, then started tracing a path from it to the Palace. “If we assume she took main roads only, avoiding any alleyways or shortcuts, which would make sense, considering she’s a tourist and unfamiliar with the area,” he mumbled thoughtfully. Pinkie watched with excitement as the line grew, weaving around corners and whipping through intersections, not stopping as it weaved its way along until it came to a stop at the gates of the Crystal Palace.
“And now we just look up the intersection of West and Third Ave, where the bodies were founnnnd…annnnd…crap,” he grumbled, circling an intersection that was nowhere near Miss Petalmore’s predicted pathway. His ears folded dejectedly against his skull. Those little snickering voices muttering “Bait the Irate” played in his head.
Pinkie brushed against his shoulder. “Try another one.”
The voices retreated instantly at the sound of the mare’s voice. Confidence returning, Bait whipped out the next profile. “Misty Rains!” He announced, hammering a hoof on the table. “Met with family on the east side of town to ensure their safety, reported missing by said family shortly after midnight, disappeared after setting off for her apartment on the west side…” the pencil traced again, weaving almost drunkenly through the little wax streets and Crayola pathways, his voice building in anticipation as the pencil traced along, before dead-ending at Miss Rain’s supposed destination, never coming near the circle.
Bait slumped in his seat, a hoof rubbing against his forehead. Maybe there was something to those guys chanting “Bait the Irate” behind his back after all. And maybe that’s all he was, good ol’ Bait the Irate. Hey, didja hear what Bait the Irate was up to today? Yeah, the same idiot who almost blew up ol' Trypto's place because he thought his heartworm medication could be used as rocket fuel! Well, today he was ranting and raving to the Queen about another big, evil conspiracy within the occupation corps! I know! The Queen herself! Honestly, why does she even put up with his…
“Wait, you screwed up!” Pinkie said, peering over his shoulder.
“What?” He asked, his thoughts screeching to a halt.
“Look, you said she lived in the Empire,” she explained, erasing the path and wiping away the debris left behind. “So she wasn’t like the last mare: she knew this city, she knew all its little secrets, and I’m willing to bet she had a shortcut between her place and her family’s.”
His eyes bugged out of his skull. “Yes,” he gasped, seizing the pencil again, scanning the path over. “And-and look! This park! If she cut through it, she could’ve shaved a few blocks off her trip!”
Pinkie watched, a warm smile on her face as the pencil traced through the large, green square symbolizing the park and popped out in an alleyway, flowing back onto the street, tracing along, and dead-ending right in the circle, which he encircled a few extra times for emphasis.
“That’s it,” he gasped, sitting back in his seat, eyes wide. The shock gave way to glee, a joyous smile filling his face. “That’s it that’s it THAT’S IT! We’ve found them!”
Taking her by surprise, Bait shot away from the counter, twirling with the awkwardness of an amateur dancer too caught up in the moment to care. “WE’VE FOUND THEM! WE’VE FOUND THEM!” He announced as she clapped in delight, cheering him on. Taking her by surprise again, he swept her up in his grip, twirling her in an ambling dance fueled by nothing more than his pure joy. “You brilliant, beautiful mare! You’ve cracked it!”
“Heh…” she snickered, a slight tint of rose rising on her cheeks. The twirling stopped immediately. “Um…thanks.”
“Yeah, uh…” he quickly released her, fluorescent green rising all the way up his neck and covering his entire face this time. “No prob…uh…I…should go tell the Queen.”
“Yeah, you do that,” she replied, a forehoof running along her leg bashfully. Still blushing, he wheeled around and knocked over a stack of pans in a frantic dash for the door, sending them clattering to the tile floor.
“Sorry, sorry!” He shouted.
“Don’t worry, just get going! You’ve got an Empire to save!” She called.
Nodding, he hurried out the door, the rest of his chitin turning a light green. She sighed and shook her head as she watched him go, the light rose still teasing at her cheeks as she set to picking the assorted pans up. Then, rather suddenly, she found her entire body encased in rock as he poked his head in again.
“Aww, what the…” She started, pulling at the rock burying her up to her shoulders.
“Sorry, paranoid, can’t let you move, hate me, I know, byeee!” He shouted before rushing out the door again.
As he disappeared around the corner, a small twinge of guilt hit him. Sure, it was standard procedure to immobilize a prisoner while they were unattended, but she had been the key he’d been waiting for to bust this whole thing wide open. The kind, sunny, never-doubtful, brilliant, mildly plump in all the right places key…
He shook his head and poured on a bit more speed, dashing past sentries on patrol on a mad dash to the throne room. I really shouldn’t worry, he figured. She can find somethin’ to entertain herself until I get back, I’m sure.
No sooner did he think this when her voice started rolling up the hall, tumbling through the ears of everyling that got in its path: “WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNN – MILLION BOTTLES OF POP ON THE WALL, ONE-MILLION BOTTLES OF PAAAHHHHHP! TAKE ONE DOWN, PASS IT AROUND…”
He smiled and shook his head while the sentries around him looked up with a queer stare on their faces, first at the changeling attempting to break the land speed record in the Crystal Palace, then at the loud, high-pitched singing that only seemed melodic to one set of ears. Bait paid them no mind, instead turning a corner and bursting into the throne room.
His heart sank at the sight of the empty throne sitting along one wall, shimmering in the light with one changeling scrubbing away at the seat. “Hey!” Bait called, and the changeling, an oddly pretty little mare with solid pink eyes and nubby fangs, looked up at him. “Where’s the Queen?”
“Oh, she’s not in right now,” the mare replied, her voice a little whisper of a hiss he had to strain to hear. “She’s gone to her room to prepare for dinner with one of the VIPs.”
The chitin on Bait’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “A VIP? Like from the main Hive? We have a politician here?”
“Um, no, ‘Very Important Prisoner’,” the changeling replied bashfully. “She’s getting ready in her room, I think it’s…”
“I know where it is, thanks!” He cried over his shoulder, already shooting through the massive double doors and barreling towards the nearest stairwell. As he ran, a grin broke out on his face, partially from the mildly off-key melody ringing in his ears that seemed to add power to his stride, but also because of the impending meeting with his Queen.
“I finally have something,” he gasped with an enthusiastic grin, slamming shoulder-first through the door leading to the next floor and into yet another, crystalline hallway. “I’m coming with what you wanted, my Queen! There’s no way you can deny me now!”
And behind him, the mare sighed, shaking her head as she continued her work. Eventually, the sigh turned into a grin. “Well, at least Twilight was right about the disguise spell,” she mused, chortling to herself as she put the finishing touches on the small listening device she had just installed in the throne’s back.