Catherine the Great

by Scarheart

4. Help!

Their study of the human anatomy began as soon as Frank and Beatrice were placed gently upon the couch. There were some complaints of having to lug unconscious bodies around the house, it being inhabited by what were apparently fainting adult humans. It was suggested that, perhaps, they were a subspecies that inherited this specific trait. The changelings arranged them as comfortable as possible on the couch, each parent with a head on an arm rest. There was a discussion as to how to arrange their feet. Did humans tangle their hind legs? Did they space them evenly? Why did they cover them? What was that horrible smell? There was heavy sniffing involved to determine from where the smell was coming from. The results were less than ideal.

“Why is it,” complained one of the changelings, a female who had yet to select a name for herself, “that noses run and feet smell?” There was a rumbling of agreement. “The human species seems to be upside down!” This confusion was shared by more than a few of the changelings who listened to her.

Catherine fretted over her mommy and daddy. Gordon stood behind her, testing out his newly acquired body. Since he had absolutely no experience as a biped, he sat with his rump on the carpet. Walking had been impossible, but he refused to revert to his normal self. Fingers, he discovered, were magical. Especially the thumbs!

After the confusion and mild panic from watching the two adults collapse like two bags of potatoes, the changelings sprang into action. The good news was that Mommy and Daddy would be fine. The changelings promised Catherine that her parents would be all right. She showed enough trust in her new ‘subjects’ to pat Speaker on the head and make him pinkie promise on the wellbeing of her parents. There was a collective gasp from the changelings, but they acquiesced to her request.

It had already been a long morning for the newly minted Queen. Once her parents were made as comfortable as possible, the changelings witnessed the girl crawl up alongside her mother and curl into an unhappy ball of miserable. Her feelings were raw, as to be expected for such a young queen. Or was it? This was as new an experience for them as it was for Catherine. The changelings felt them and were amazed at how rough and unpolished they were. In stealthy silence, the gaggle formed a circle around the couch as the girl snuggled in. A blanket was sought out and found in a nearby closet.

Eyes filled with wonder marvelled at the construction of the house, the off-white walls, and the pictures hanging in what appeared to be chronological order. It did not take more than a few moments to realize the photographs were time capsules, catching moments of familial joy and accomplishment. Mother Chrysalis had never taken pictures. She never even put drawings on the refrigerator back at the hive. It was built with a combination of comfort and efficiency in mind.

For the first time, the changelings drank in their surroundings, wings buzzing in a soft manner, stirring the air. Changelings could feel the temperature of the room. They preferred a moderate climate. They did not mind the slight humidity. It was reasoned through the collective that the insides of the abode made for a comfortable living arrangement. There was no panic, no sense of urgency beyond the concern for their hosts.

“Let us see where we are,” whispered Speaker. It was unnecessary to speak, but he was the speaker and had taken the word for himself. He spoke for the collective, after all. “Brothers and sisters, we are in uncharted territory.”

“No duh,” muttered a changeling in the crowd.

Speaker glared at him even as there was tittering. “Nevertheless,” he went on with a huff, “we must come to understand these humans.”

“Hoomans,” corrected another changeling.

“Some kind of bean…”

“Who, man?”

“You, man!”

“Pod people!”

“We’re more alike than we thought!”

“Mother said she picked me from the cabbage fields. I’m special!”

Speaker ground his teeth then clicked his fangs. “If you would, please, focus!” He had noticed this disturbing trend as of late. When they had been around Mother before, in their old lives, the spontaneous blurting had never happened. It was vexing. Mother’s mind had guided their thoughts and encouraged certain actions, while discouraging others. Here, there seemed to be a lack of direction. It also felt right, somehow. “Our new Queen has been given our link. She is growing. We must not give her too much. We still do not know how fragile her mind is. She has accepted us. She must be kept safe and unharmed at all cost. We have searched for far too long—”

“Three weeks.”

“Three tendays, plus one!”

“I should have had a V8!”

The changeling hissed, working his jaw. It clicked and popped, reflecting what he was feeling. This was becoming irritating. Why the sudden blurting? It had grown in recent weeks even as the small group of changelings spent more and more time away from Mother’s influence. Was this what it was like to have minds of their own? “Focus, my bothers and sisters,” he sighed in a worn down, weary voice. His eyes fell upon his Queen and her family. Sleep looked like a good idea. It had been a long night and an even longer day.

There were many changelings who did not have names yet. Speaker, and the others who did, felt bad. Was it guilt? Or did they just want their fellow changelings to also know the joy of having a name for themselves? Was it guilt? Maybe. Some emotions were still quite alien to changelings.

“All right,” he announced, forcing himself to straighten up. Speaker popped his neck and set himself for the task at hand. “We are tasked with not only protecting our Queen, but the Queen Mother and the Queen Father.”

“What’s a Queen Father?” asked a voice somewhere in the throng. At least the speaker was moderating her voice so only sensitive changeling ears could pick them up.

Speaker nodded towards Frank. Frank was drooling. “That is the Queen Father. He is the father of the Queen. Hence, he is the Queen Father. Got it?”

There was an awkward moment of silence. “Not really.”

“Let’s just call him Daddy. The Queen does,” suggested Kevin. He lept up onto the back of the couch and padded on nimble hooves from one end to the other. The changeling stopped when he was above Catherine and tilted his head from one side to the other before glancing back at Frank. Frank was still drooling.

“Who is our father, anyways?” asked Jon, now curious.

“Mother never said,” replied Speaker with a shrug. “There was that rumor about the tree and the pond and bones, but I think she was just trying to get us to go to sleep.”

“Daddy was a potato,” the changeling from the cabbage field said, “and he only had eyes for Mommy.”

There was always that one special changeling...

Angela, meanwhile, had moved right up to Beatrice’s face and was studying the woman’s features. With a hoof, she rubbed her own chin with studious determination as her magic flared in her horn. Humans were new and this was about as close as she would ever get to one. As her horn flared, so did her eyes. It was important for changelings to understand new species. It was a matter of survival. Physically, changelings were weak and their magic was subpar. However, they were nature’s perfect imitators, if nature was a twisted, evil magical thing born from the hatred and greed of a dark queen with delusions of adequacy.

The female changeling shook her head. It wasn’t nice to think of Mother in that way. If it weren’t for Chrysalis, then there would have been no Angela, she reasoned reasonably, and with good reason. “I have scanned Beatrice. I have a basic concept of the hooman female anatomy. I am going to practice my silly walks. Because bipeds.” Honestly, how did the minotaurs do it?

Her wings blurred, lifting her from the carpet. Smiling down at Catherine and her mother, she went to glean this new information. If Gordon could turn into a human, then by golly so could she! “Girls, with me!” she announced, a bit too loud for Speaker’s taste as he winced.

“Shh!” he shushed through his fangs, glaring at her.

He was ignored as his sisters followed Angela. Gordon went to follow, still disguised as Catherine. He had no idea about how locomotion worked on human legs, but he was game to try. “Bollocks!” he cried in Catherine’s voice.

“Shh!” hissed the changelings at him.

“Stay with the boys, Mr. Gender Bender,” said Wesley. He was still staring at Frank. His eyes never left the man. Good old Wesley. When told to watch something, he did just that until told otherwise. “He has stubble. Do hoomans all have stubble? Ponies have stubble, but it is hidden beneath their fur. You can’t see the stubble because of it. Does having bare skin make them cold? Is this why they need so much clothing?”

“Shh!” Exasperated glares and copious stinkeyes were hurled at Wesley.

“Not paying attention,” he whispered like a mouse sneaking past the cat.

“Just,” Speaker hissed, trying very hard not to explode on his brother, “just keep quiet. Scan him.”

“Already did it.”

“When?”

“First time he fainted.”

“Why didn’t I notice?”

“You were too busy hogging love from the Queen.”

Beneath his chitin, Speaker flushed. He did feel fuller than he had in a long time. His ears splayed out, then flicked. He glanced at his brothers and ire crept up from them, slapping his own emotional receptors. This elicited a wince from the changeling selected by the others to speak on their behalf. What was he, a senator?

“All right, all right. We will establish hugging shifts to make sure everyling gets their proper share of hugs.”

Reggie asked, “What if the Queen favors some over others?” He had been quiet since chapter two. Which meant less than an hour. Which meant he still talked too much. Maybe it had to do with the slight nasal quality in his voice.

“We are changelings. We can modify our original purpose.” Speaker waited with a patient air as Reggie worked out his reply in his head. He could almost hear the gears turning.

“...How is looking like Mother going to help us?” asked Reggie. He blinked with quick, successive bats of his eyelids, his brain still churning. “That would mean…”

A changeling next to Speaker opened his mouth. Speaker jammed a hoof into his opening maw. “Wait for it.”

A lightbulb  went off over Reggie’s head. “Oh! We can turn into each other! That’s”—Reggie frowned, paling beneath his natural armor—“creepy.”

“Gordon already showed we can adapt as humans in a pinch,” said Kevin, wanting to change the subject. He was a little green under the gills. “By the way, ew, Speaker. Just… ew!”

Changelings hated imitating each other, unless there was a task specifically intended for it. It was one thing acting as decoys, but to actively use each other for personal gain? Nefarious!

Or was it?

Several changelings were beginning to understand; to come to a realization. The discussion, disturbing as it was to their eyes, cast a new, darker light upon their beloved Mother. Several were already beginning to file Chrysalis under ‘She Who Hatched Us and was Definitely Not Mother of the Year Material, Despite Her Lofty Claims, Which is Sad, Considering Our Lives were Lies, but There’s No Point Bellyaching About It, Because That Would be Silly, Wouldn’t It’. Others were still not able or wanting to let her go. Love was a strange thing. For instance, love had hurled thousands of changelings through the air, which proved the ancient legends that it could, in fact, hurt to feel love. Then there was Catherine, who smothered her changelings with spoiling amounts of love, which could lead to overweight changelings and diabetes (possibly).

“All right, all right,” Speaker said in a placating voice, wagging a hoof to console the others. “We’ll put that on the backburner for later consideration. In the meantime, let’s get to know this place, make some food for our hosts, and try not to be the parasites we really are. Gordon?”

“Yes?” asked the chef, perking his ears forward.

“Cook something humans like to eat.”

With a voice full of hope, Gordon asked, “Can I stay in my Catherine form?”

“Is our Queen in danger of assassination?”

“Well, no… I hope? I just feel pretty. Oh, so pretty!”

“Revert to your normal self. You don’t know that body and it’s mildly disturbing to see you as our Queen. Now, get in the kitchen!”

Gordon, feeling snarky and irritable, replied, “Shall I lay eggs whilst I cook?”

“If it will get you to shut up, then yes.”

One hiccup of green fire later, Gordon sulked off into the kitchen, muttering under his breath. A few of his brothers followed who had themselves some experience in cooking. One of them was even putting on a chef’s hat as he put his game face on. “Van Damme,” he could be heard hissing under his breath.

Speaker cleared his throat with a soft cough. Mindful of the sleeping humans, he said, “All right, you lot! We need to get organized and get a better understanding of hoomans. We have moved from observational operations to infiltration and socialization status. Let’s get cracking and learn what we need in order to survive on this world.”

Somewhere, a harmonica was tested. Throats were cleared. They could feel it coming.

“Mi, mi, mi, mi!” chorused the boys.

Angela poked her head out from the door leading into Catherine’s room. She huffed with the spite of an irritated badger, “You just couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Music happens, sister!”

The boys cried, “Yeah!”

Angela rolled her eyes, shook her head and tossed a glance over her shoulders. “Come on, girls! The boys are blaming it on the music again!”

They poured out of Catherine’s room even as the music was tuning itself. There was still time. The changelings mingled, scrambled, and jostled for position.

“What’s the song about?”

“Let’s sing it and find out!”

“I swear, if it’s that small world song, someling’s gonna feel my wrath!”

“I regret nothing!”

Speaker lead off, putting his face right in front of Angela’s until their snoots almost touched.

        He weaved in and around his bothers and sisters, who bobbed along in time with the music. Angela glared at him as only a sister who hated being beaten to the start of a song would be.

        Angela butted in, shoving a hoof into Speaker’s mouth. Her wings reflected her delight as he tried to pry her hoof from his mouth. Instead, he bit down, forcing her to yelp. Still, it was her line and she was not going to miss it for the world. The backup vocals were on point and as flawless as a group could be from using a shared mental link. Go figure.

        Speaker finally spat out Angela’s hoof and shoved her aside. Once again, those not singing lead (or not singing at all) performed their roles seamlessly. The dancing was a sight to see.

        The two siblings glared at each other between beats before they realized they were perhaps being a bit too petty. They threw a holed hoof over each other’s withers, mindful of their wings and mashed the sides of their faces together. Speaker and Angela swayed together to the music. Sarcastic cheers came from the kitchen where those not involved with the song were busy preparing breakfast.

        The song finished with changelings twirling with unbound joy in the air on excited wings in a circle formation around the couch. Two bemused humans were staring at them while the third was clapping in unbridled excitement.

        Frank and Beatrice took a long moment to drink in their surroundings. Where did that music come from? Both were wondering, pondering, and considering.

        “Well,” said the father of Queen Catherine, his eyes blinked in disbelief. “That happened. What power?” He wiped the drool from his chin.