//------------------------------// // Cabbage versus Destiny // Story: A Pony's Heart // by CTVulpin //------------------------------// Cabbage Patch sat alone on one of the seats in the train, staring out the window at the rapidly moving landscape and feeling very much like a raisin. The rearmost car of the train was a massive boxcar mostly taken up by the Royal Thespian’s stage-wagon, and it seemed like half the remaining space was now occupied by the gelatinous sacs of preserved love energy that Turnip had somehow managed to coax out of her. Cabbage had a hard time believing her body was capable of holding that much inside of her, even given her recent growth spurt. She was grateful that the train was empty save for the troupe and two Royal Guards who had been read in to Luna’s project, because after spitting up so much goo Cabbage did not have the willpower to keep herself at her preferable size. Her thoughts wandered aimlessly as she watched Equestria speed by outside the window. She snapped out of her reverie when Turnip sat down on the seat across from her and offered her a cup of juice. “Barnacle unearthed a cache of snacks and drinks in the front car,” he said. “This might not completely get rid of the feeling of being dried out, but it should help a little.” “Thanks,” Cabbage said. She took the cup and drained it in one gulp. She still felt like a raisin afterward, but it wasn’t as distracting a sensation anymore. With her mind slightly clearer, she picked up anxiousness from Turnip. “What’s bothering you?” she asked. “We should have had more time before the starvation became a real crisis,” Turnip answered. “I know I could have easily lasted the entire trip to Manehatten even without receiving praise and empathy from our audiences, and everyling back in Canterlot should at least have been getting a little sympathy from the ponies attending them. Even a tiny bit of caring along with that nutrient solution they were pumping into us would be enough to keep a Changeling off the edge of death for a couple of months.” “So, what do you think happened?” Cabbage asked. “Queen Chrysalis,” Turnip said with a tone of distaste that caught Cabbage off-guard. “I wouldn’t put it past her to order what’s left of the hive not to feed, just to spite the pony Princesses.” “Whaaaat?” Cabbage said. “Where’d that come from? Geez, I cannot figure you out, Turnip. First I thought you were deliberately trying to starve yourself just to prove me wrong, and that I’d backed you into a corner with our side-deal. Then you tell me that was all an act to test me, and I figure that you’ve always put the hive’s survival ahead of your own opinions. Now, you’re accusing your own Queen of threatening the hive’s safety!” “You think that last contradicts my having the hive’s best interests at heart?” Turnip asked. “It makes no sense,” Cabbage said. “I’ll admit I don’t remember much of my Changeling training, but I do know that the Queen’s primary duty is to care for the hive and direct them in obtaining enough love to feed everyling.” “Exactly,” Turnip said, pointing a hoof at Cabbage, “and Chrysalis has been failing at that for years, no, at least a decade by now. She must be replaced.” Cabbage’s mouth hung open in bewilderment. I don’t know what’s crazier, she thought, that I’m suddenly dealing with a radical revolutionary Changeling, or that I am defending Chrysalis in this conversation! Turnip chuckled. Oh, I’m not so radical, he thought back. Cabbage blushed at her lapse in guarding her thoughts. “Listen, little one,” Turnip said. “You were kicked out of the hive when things were just starting to go bad; you have no idea how bad, how desperate our situation has become. “Ever since our species’ existence was revealed to Equestria after the royal wedding fiasco, I keep hearing ponies say things like ‘Changelings are adaptable.’ You’ve even said it yourself. Ponies seem to think that because we’re shapeshifters and actors that we can adjust to any change in our environment or our prey with ease. Let me set you straight: as a species, Changelings are very set in our ways. When you’ve got an entire race that shares a mental link, old tried-and-true ideas get repeated and passed from mind to mind so much that new ideas get drowned out. The average Changeling isn’t all that creative, really; we just do what we’re told and trained to do. “That’s why we need a Queen. The Queen has the mental strength to override the hive mind and its worn ruts of thought to guide the Changelings to new paths, new strategies for finding and gathering love. In exchange for that direction and guidance, the hive’s devotion keeps the Queen healthy and alive far longer than the average Changeling. Chrysalis has been our Queen for over five hundred years, and that puts her on the shorter end of the range.” “Ok,” Cabbage said, “but who decides when a Queen needs to be replaced? You? Are you three hundred years old too, Turnip?” The Changeling laughed. “Hardly,” he said. “So how do you know all this then?” Cabbage asked. “Or is this just the part of the education I missed out on?” “No,” Turnip said with a smile, “This isn’t information the average Changeling needs to know, at least not directly.” “So, you’re not an average Changeling,” Cabbage drawled. “Can we please get to the point?” “Not yet,” Turnip said sternly. “You don’t have the whole foundation yet. You’re right, I’m not an average Changeling. I am a Lorekeeper. Actually,” he amended with sadness, “I’m the only Lorekeeper to survive Chrysalis’s folly. Lorekeepers safeguard the collective memory of the Changelings, preserving our history, important skills like how to store love and expand the hive, and strategies that Queens have employed and whether they worked or not. Also, we’re the agents of the hive’s will to balance the Queen’s control. “The hive mind may be slow to change its ways without a Queen, but it acts fast when a Queen proves herself no longer capable of guiding the Changelings to survival. Even a Queen has limits to her creativity, after all. When the hive mind determines that the current Queen’s directions have become detrimental to our survival – when we begin to starve for too long and our numbers dwindle – a potential new Queen is born and it falls to the Lorekeepers to test her to see if she has the new ideas that will bring the hive out of crisis, and prepare her to take over if she does.” Cabbage felt a sudden, sour sensation deep in her gut. I do not like where this is going, she thought, carefully shielding her mind from Turnip’s. The sour feeling grew, expanding into anxiety. Cabbage tried to speak, to tell Turnip to stop, or to jump from her seat and run, but for the first time in weeks she lost the battle with her fear and she remained mute and rooted in place. “Chrysalis came into power over five hundred years ago,” Turnip continued, “and introduced the idea of replacing ponies who were already in relationships, when before Changelings were inventing pony identities and forging relationships from scratch until there was love to suck out. Chrysalis’s approach took less time, and a Changeling could stay in one town for years stealing love from couple after couple. After a couple centuries, however, it became evident that we were poisoning our own wells, so to speak. Ponies were becoming more cynical and guarded their emotions carefully, even if they didn’t know why they needed to. Love was harder to entice, and Chrysalis started to encourage the use of hypnotic magics and harsher extraction, but that was only a short-term solution.” “So why didn’t ye consider mutiny until now?” Cabbage and Turnip both gave a start and looked to the other side of the train car, where Barnacle Salt was reclining on a seat with a smug smile on his face. “Ha,” he said, “Maggie was wrong; ye can sneak up on a Changeling after all.” “How long have you been there?” Cabbage asked. “Just walked in when ye were starting your story of the Queen Bug,” the pegasus answered. “Well, to answer your question,” Turnip said, “we couldn’t get rid of Chrysalis until we found a replacement Queen, and the only possible candidate,” he gave Cabbage a meaningful look, “was a half-breed, soft-hearted runt who could barely change her shape and was exiled for being a drain on resources.” Cabbage gulped. “The plot to replace Princess Cadenza at her wedding and invade Canterlot was a disaster, as you well know, and afterwards Chrysalis became more concerned with retribution than with guiding the hive. The Lorekeepers that survived were convinced that a new Queen would appear soon to handle the fallout, but three years have gone by and no candidates have been born.” He smiled at Cabbage. “It seems to me now that that is because the new Queen was already there, out in the world eking out a life among ponies.” Cabbage finally managed to get control of her voice. It came out sounding like a younger version of Trixie, but Cabbage was too worked up to care. “You’re crazy,” she exclaimed. “I get that the Changelings are in a desperate position, and I want to help them, but you’re just grasping at straws if you think I’m a Changeling Queen!” Turnip sighed. “There’s the other reason I’m upset we didn’t have more time: I wanted to break this to you slowly, give you time to come to grips with your destiny.” Cabbage face-hoofed. “And here I thought me having a cutie mark was going to be my biggest obstacle,” she groaned. “Nopony’s going to take me seriously if I go in there claiming to be royalty.” She looked over at Barnacle. “I mean, can you see me in Chrysalis’s place, Captain?” she asked. “Well,” Barnacle Salt answered, “you’d probably do a much better job of it than she has.” “Barnacle…” Cabbage whined. “O’ course,” Barnacle continued, “I’d think that’d be true for anyone. Bit difficult to do worse than nearly wiping out yer whole species.” Cabbage grumbled at Barnacle, and then turned her attention back to Turnip. “Fine,” she said, getting her voice back to normal, “I’ll ask: what makes you so sure I’m your new Queen?” “Your eyes are the first indicator.” Cabbage snorted. “My eyes are the way they are because I’m half pony,” she said. “Unless you were making up that bit about pony-Changelings hybrids being impossible, and Chrysalis is secretly a half-pony herself!” “The reason for the appearance of your eyes doesn’t change the fact that they’re a telltale sign of possible Queenhood,” Turnip rebutted with a wave of his hoof. “More importantly, you’ve demonstrated the qualities a Queen needs: a fresh perspective on obtaining love, a desire to guide the Changelings on that new path, and a strong, confident will.” “If you think I’m confident,” Cabbage grumbled, “then you don’t know me as well as you think.” “Really?” Turnip asked pointedly, “Because you’ve never been anything but confident when dealing directly with me. I’ll grant you have stage fright in front of strange ponies and tend to be submissive with Trixie and Barnacle Salt, here, but around Changelings you’re instinctively regal.” “I’m afraid he’s got a point there, lass,” Barnacle put in. Cabbage whined again at the lack of support from her longtime guardian, and gave in to the urge to be petulant. “Well, I don’t want to be a Changeling Queen!” she cried. “I just want this all to be over with. I’m going to go back and face Chrysalis, show her the love reserves, teach the Changelings how to cultivate real friendships, and then I am going back on the road with Trixie and Harlequin and Maggie and Barnacle Salt, finish creating my impersonation act, and live the rest of my life being as pony-like as I can be!” She crossed her front legs and leaned against the back of her seat with an air of finality. Turnip let the silence linger for a long while, his solid blue eyes locked with Cabbage’s pony-like yellow in a battle of wills. “So you’d rather embrace your pony half?” he asked at last. “Look at your flank, Cabbage Patch. You may be half pony, but even that part of you knows what your destiny is. That is not the cutie mark of a pony that belongs on a stage, providing fleeting entertainment for crowds. You are the salvation of the Changelings, and like it or not, the only way to save the Changelings is to lead them.” Cabbage squirmed in her seat, and then suddenly slid of it onto her hooves and ran out of the car. Turnip and Barnacle Salt exchanged a long look, and the Changeling started to squirm as well under the pegasus’s gaze. “Don’t worry,” Barnacle said gently, “she just needs time.” “I wish she could have had it,” Turnip said. He notice Barnacle’s feelings and gave him a curious look. “You don’t disapprove of what I’m trying to achieve?” Turnip asked. “You’re always so protective of her feelings, I thought that you’d be upset that I’ve upset her.” “Cabbage is like a daughter to me,” Barnacle replied, “and a parent has the right to over-worry about their foals and wish to protect them from everything. But Cabbage isn’t the helpless, starving little urchin I fished out of a trash bin in Clydesport anymore. She’s stronger now, stronger than she’s willing to admit yet.” He laughed sardonically. “Besides,” he said, “if your stratagem actually works, she’s going to outlive me by a large margin and change the world in a big way. I can’t hate a critter who has something like that in mind for my filly.” Turnip nodded in thankfulness, but inwardly he gagged a little. Ugh, please don’t talk like I’m trying to woo her, Salt!