Collateral Damage

by Jordan179

Chapter 3: Storm Over the Everfree

The sky ahead was darkening, and not with oncoming evening -- the Sun was still easily a couple of hours from setting, that was one of the benefits of these long summer days. Briefly, Falcon remembered the fun he'd had at the Summer Sun celebration last month: Raspberry had finally been old enough to take out with them, and she even understood some of what she was seeing around her; Blackcherry had had a great time, being her Daddy's happy little Cheerliee; and Strawberry had giggled and cuddled with him as if it had been one of their dates during that month of whirlwind courtship. Falcon loved the Summer Sun Celebrations -- it would be three years to the next Equestriad, maybe they'd go to whatever city Celestia was visiting for that one -- he'd seen her do the full Equestriad ritual once when he was in his teens, and it had been a spectacle he'd never forget. It had made quite an impression on him: he'd already been interested in the Traditions but that was what had convinced him to actually join the Guard.

He wished he was still a young stallion now. That short rest with the Professor hadn't really been enough -- it would have been, back when he'd been a teenager, but he was now more than three decades removed from that magic day he'd seen the Sun rise right behind Celestia as she led it over the horizon, golden light shining through her supernally-lovely rainbow mane onto the awed multitude, including his barely-out-of-colthood self. Now he was middle-aged, and his wings ached with each beat.

And he still had altitude to gain, if he was to reach Canterlot early enough this evening to fly back to home and Strawberry and the two little ones before the next day. He was facing four choices, none of them good ones.

He could set down, wait for the storm to pass. But the storm didn't look to be passing, it looked to be building, as if malign forces were gathering against him, unseen but too close to his course. If they did that, they wouldn't be in Canterlot until tomorrow morning, and he could kiss his chances at regular military contracts goodbye. Orange Streak was his friend, but he was only a Captain. Orange would shake his head sadly at this proof that his old buddy was no longer up to the job, and there would be no Realm coins to pay for a comfortable retirement with his love, or the educations of his two littler loves. He rejected that alternative.

He could cut east, but that led over more of the Everfree; the ruined city and old castle and Rambling Rock Ridge, and how did he know that the storm wouldn't spread there? Again, he wouldn't impress the Night Watch with his time -- it wouldn't be as bad as trying to wait out the storm, but it wouldn't look good on the books. He might get future contracts -- but probably not. And he certainly wouldn't be seeing Strawberry until the morning. He dismissed this route as a ghost-image of Strawberry's face, flushed with lust and love, passed before the real scene in his inner vision.

There was the westward route, over the gorge and the eastern White Tails. That would get him to Canterlot losing only an hour or two. He could still see Strawberry, though he'd be a little late getting home. He would probably get a few future contracts, but he wouldn't impress them with his speed. He weighed this option -- but he really wanted to make a splash. He wanted to found a successful courier business, one that could support him and his wife in their retirement, leave a major pile for his family when he was gone. He knew that he would probably predecease Strawberry -- it had been the fate they'd both accepted when they'd fallen in love, aged 39 and 16. But he wanted to ensure she'd be all right when he was gone -- sometimes she could be a little bit immature, a little bit helpless before the buffeting of fortune's winds, even now at 26 years of age. He loved her so dearly, but he wished she could be more self-reliant.

The vision of a middle-aged Strawberry, alone and in need, decided him on the fourth alternative.

He turned to Professor Soar, and started with surprise. The scruffy scientist was already flying close beside him, and his crossbow was already out, as if the stormclouds ahead had made him nervous. Soar was staring at him with an odd fascination -- almost hunger -- obviously, Soar felt great need of protection at this moment.

"Whoa," said Falcon. "You're close -- no, don't veer off, we need to talk." He pointed ahead at the dark clouds massing before them. "Okay, I'm sure you see that storm. Typical for the Everfree -- unscheduled and nasty. The one good thing about it is that we're less likely to run into the beasties -- most of them won't want to fly either. Except, of course, for those who actually like storms -- there are enough of those that we'll still want to stay alert and frosty, and keep our weapons ready for whatever decides we might be dinner."

"Can we climb over the storm?" asked Professor Soar. "It looks possible."

"I don't think we can get completely above all the clouds," Falcon said, surveying the skyscape with a practiced eye, "but yeah, higher up there's less of them and we can go between. Now, I'm sure you know, but we don't really want to go too close to them, cause they're building up a charge and we've got metal. So I'm going to lead the way, find us a safe passage, and you're going to follow. Close behind, though, I don't want us losing each other over this forest, specially not in a storm. Did you get that?"

"Loud and clear," said Soar. "Don't fret none -- I'll obey orders." The last phrase was said with emphasis.

Falcon was glad to see that the Professor was taking the situation seriously.

Falcon led them over dry ground, still shimmering with the warmth of the afternoon. They rode a thermal up until they could rise no higher without expenditure of energy. He took them into a long, shallow climb as they approached the Everfree itself. In Falcon's mind was the lay of the land, the position of the Sun, the maps he had memorized until they were as familiar to him as the countours of his own anatomy. Since they were to dare the dangers of the storm, he wanted to cut as straight through the forest as possible, maybe jag left a little so that they'd come out over Ponyville, then fly straight to Canterlot. Before they even reached Ponyville, they should be able to see Mount Avalon directly -- the peak was huge -- and navigation would become foal's play.

Occasionally he glanced back at his companion. Professor Soar was keeping up nicely, sometimes coming a bit too close but never straggling. Since Soar at no point was risking an actual collison, Falcon decided not to make an issue of the tailgating. Soar was flying strongly, not only matching but actually exceeding his altitude, so that he spent most of his time aloft above and behind Falcon, his crossbow out to watch over his wingmate.

Glad we're on the same side, Falcon thought wryly. I sure wouldn't want a foe high on my six like that. He remembered a desperate duel with a flight of Griffon bandits northeast of Baltimare, almost thirty years ago when he'd been but an Ensign. Wow, I sure was excited to be in my first real air combat, so excited I forgot to be scared. The fear had come later, after he was safely back at base, when his knees had buckled and his body started shaking all over, and his compassionate sergeant, Hailstorm, had draped a wing over him and led him to a chair, then gotten him a flask of some fluid whose presence was supposed to be strictly forbidden on an active Guards post. He shook his head wonderingly. Was I ever really that green?

He occpied himself with such thoughts of the past, of his military service and, occasionally, of the softer and sweeter life he had made with Strawberry and their fillies. Then the clouds ahead loomed, the ground ahead greened, and tall trees rose up below. The time for dreaming was gone.

They were over the Everfree.

***

Princess Ceymi's attention was firmly on Falcon Punch as he led her through the maze of clouds. Or led him ... it was always a difficult moment, even for an Infiltrator as experienced as herself, when her own goals and those of the cover so severely diverged.

Normally, in her mind, Ceymi was whoever she was pretending to be. That was the easiest way to avoid letting the mask slip. Ponies were far from stupid, and although they had a useful tendency to trust, to see what they wanted to see, an Infiltrator who made the mistake of imagining them a race of morons would have a short lifespan. Worse, her Hive might be threatened with exposure. Part of Ceymi, the part that stayed outside the masquerade, always remembered that she was in enemy territory, difficult as that might be to believe when she was enjoying home-cooked meals and love freely given as Starry Eyes, visiting home; or other kinds of love and friendship from Starry Eyes' many Pony friends all across Equestria.

A list that had included the Pony whose form she was presently wearing.

That was exciting, she remembered. Listening to Thermal Soar rant about the "buzzies," over a glass down at the saloon, not knowing that he was talking to one. I was young then, it was all so new to me, walking among the prey, tapping their love directly instead of from the pools.

I should have taken him back then, she reflected. But he was so interesting to talk with, once he stopped going on and on about us -- about me, both as Tootsie Pop and as myself glimpsed a moment later. Why did I let him go in the first place? She'd been scolded for that, doubly because his panicked flight had made it obvious that he'd seen her in her true form. Of course she never dared admit to anyling that she'd actually warned him in the first place.

That first intense rush of lust from him must have addled my brain. Direct from the source -- I'd never known that before. There'd even been love in there -- Thermal's nothing if not warm-hearted. For a moment, I saw him as a fellow ling, one who was about to get into trouble with the teachers, and I acted on impulse. Madness!

Then, later, when I met him as Starry -- I was more experienced by then, but lust had never tasted quite as good from anypony else. I wanted to taste his friendship too ... even his love. It was easy for a young explorer to arouse the protective impulses of an older rock hound, to win his friendship -- and then more. All Masquerade, he was never more than prey, she told herself, but the energy was never greater. His love was so intense that I only had to tap a little of it to be filled. If only it could always be so easy. And it made him happy.

She remembered a conversation she'd once had with a Pony -- Goldie Pie, she'd been named -- who called herself a "Friend of Paradise," who had painted for her a picture of an impossible world of love and joy and laughter all the time, a World That Was Lost somewhere in impossible directions of Time, but that could come back, someday, if enough ponies believed in it, and were kind to one another. Goldie Pie had been a middle-aged mare, blonde mane already starting to gray,

"A world where Ponies can be happy all the time?" Ceymi had scoffed -- at that moment she was trying out a new mask -- an Earth Pony she'd invented called Fire Wheel, who was a strolling juggler, traveling from town to town entertaining the crowds. That kind of love had been limited per Pony, but a whole audience could make a lot of it. "Just by being kind to each other?" Typical prey delusion, she'd thought, Soft, weak, turning away from the harsher truths of life. You'd never find Changelings believing any such nonsense.

"Yes," said Goldie, unshaken by Fire Wheel's scorn. "You'd be surprised what's possible with a little kindness. Consider yourself."

"What about myself?" challenged Fire Wheel, who had always been a rather confrontational sort of Pony, lovely but boisterous, well-suited to be a strolling entertainer. "I haven't found that much kindness on the road. I come into town, put on a show, and take their money. Purely selfish on my part, and on theirs -- they want to see my show."

"Ah," pointed out Goldie, "but consider what you are doing. You travel from town to town, and you put on a show. You give your audience joy, improving their lot, and they give you love in return. Each of you is expanded, neither diminished. The sum of your interaction is positive for both of you. It can always be like that." She stared intently into Fire Wheel's eyes, and though Fire Wheel simply stared back, the Ceymi within trembled in terror.

For something great and wise, impossibly ancient and intelligent, seemed to be looking back out her through the eyes of that kindly middle-aged mare. Did it know what she really was? If it did, she felt horribly certain that it would not let her kill Goldie, that it could snuff her out in an instant if she tried anything so rash.

"Some Ponies, maybe," she said. "Not all Ponies. We can't all live like that." Even in the extremity of her fear, Ceymi was too professional to outright reveal that she was no Pony at all, not to a being that might after all be bluffing her.

And then the strange mare said something that she remembered only too well, that still sometimes haunted her dreams, whether in mask or at home in the Hive.

"All Ponies," insisted Goldie. "Even those of the Lost Kinds. Paradise does not discriminate against any who come to It with love and good will in their hearts. "By this token shall ye know Me." And her eyes seemed to glow, though Ceymi could not remember with what color, or even if it was any color at all.

And Ceymi staggered before the purest, most intense love she had tasted, then or now. It was immense and wide-spectrum, every kind of love there was -- though maybe a little thin on the lust. In an instant it filled her to capacity, and the surplus spread across the town, attenuated but almost visible in its effects, for as she cast her eyes about frantically looking for an avenue of escape, she saw the other Ponies around her sigh with happiness, unaware of its origin.

"What ... what did ..." Fire Wheel ... no ... Ceymi ... at that moment they were one and the same babbled.

Then she realized her mortal peril and bolted, ran from that town as if the Twister himself were at her heels, ready to twist her and all Changelings into something even worse than he had done in the old legends, to turn them into true monsters. For in that flash of love she had glimpsed the possibility of a world without predator or prey, a world of mutual cooperation, a sweetly seductive lie that would turn her whole race soft. The real world could not, must not be like that!

Could the lion lay down with the lamb, save to dine?

She had barely reached the outskirts of the town, gotten into the cover of a stand of trees, when she firegated to the top of a nearby hill, then from there Shifted into her true self and buzzed off into the night sky, increasing the distance between herself and that accursed town and the Thing That Should Not Be that had looked at her from Goldie's eyes, and whispered impossible secrets and promises of love freely given and taken by both predator and prey.

In the intervening twelve years, she had never dared to return to Dunnich.

She wondered if Paradise had somehow contaminated her. She certainly had made every excuse to avoid pressing the issue of Thermal Soar, of reminding anyling, especially the Queen, that there was a Pony out there who had seen a Changeling in her true form and lived to tell of it. She had told herself that it did no harm. Nopony believed Thermal, after all. Nopony even listened to him when he ranted about the Buzzies -- save for Starry Eyes, and that was one of her holds over him. Encouraging his alcoholism just that little extra bit had helped -- she'd mostly done that by ordinary social means, every now and then putting in just the barest touch of her Stare. Mind control is most effective when done subtly and delicately, after all.

She knew she'd hurt him, in ways he'd never even grasped. The part of her that was being Starry Eyes sometimes felt guilty about so abusing a beloved friend and more-than-friend, while the greater self that was Ceymi coldly approved the technique. Ceymi, unlike Starry, was not at all sentimental: even the fact that she favored his seed for her eggs did not create the sort of emotional bond that would have existed had Ceymi been Pony.

What of it? He was prey. She should have taken him twenty years ago, would have taken him if not for that momentary flash of weakness on the Hill of the Stones. Thermal had been given two decades, during which he was only tapped very occasionally and well within his regenerative capacity. Two decades running free, two decades during which he enjoyed the visits -- usually at least once a year, and lasting a week or more -- of his dear friend-with-benefits, Starry Eyes. Two decades during which his keen, wonderful mind was free to explore the real world, instead of wasting away in an endless dream encysted within the Hive, where he should have been.

If he'd lasted that long. The Hive could never keep Ponies alive for their full natural span, even if they were very careful about not tapping them too often, and of course they were not always so careful.

Thermal would even get to live a bit longer. She was a Princess of the Hive -- only one Changeling within that Hive had higher authority than her own, and she could probably requisition him as an emergency supply for special missions. She could even join him in the lovedream. He'd think he was free, enjoying the company of Starry Eyes, sharing love with her. She certainly deserved such a luxury, after a mission as dangerous as this one. There was no sane reason for the Queen to refuse her, or even pay attention to matters so trivial.

Why, if she took really good care of him, perhaps he might live longer within the Hive than he would have done so without. Thermal had a rough and dangerous life as a desert rat -- each year she came back, she saw the visible signs of his aging, signs which gave her peculiar pangs whose source within her she did not care to examine. He needed to take better care of himself. She could make him last longer. She could still have those fascinating conversations with him, feel his touch with her mind, bask in his love ...

But, of course, it had been precisely her addiction to Thermal's love which had resulted in her being where she was right now, about to do what she was right now. Her delusion, she now saw, that love between predator and prey could ever be mutual. Thermal was her victim, she the victor over him, it was that simple. Should be that simple. Why can't I just do what I'm supposed to, without always questioning things. She promised herself that she would raise her broods well, never let those she instructed ever find themselves in her current situation.

She had to kill Falcon Punch.

She'd killed three Ponies before, two of them bandits who had foolishly believed that an explorer alone was easy prey, and learned too late that what they were attacking was in fact a natural predator of their own kind. The third had been sadder: a Pony she'd been cultivating as a friend, who had followed her one day and seen what he ought not to have seen. At least that one had been a quick kill -- it would have bothered her if Shine Spoon had known more than a moment of fear and pain, before she took his life with her beam.

But this felt different. Falcon Punch was no friend of hers -- though she had enjoyed her conversation with him: her exploration of his mentality, its capabilities and limitations. He might have become a friend in time; two or three of her masks would have suited him, though she doubted that Strawberry would have been comfortable had she picked Starry Eyes. He clearly liked Thermal Soar, and would have liked him even more had she been under less tension at the time.

However, she had to kill him. Not by choice -- had she been the one ordering this mission, she simply would have taken the corpse and papers along with Thermal, and left but a mystery for the puzzled Ponies of Appleloosa, and a frustrated Falcon Punch arriving to find the Sheriff's office vacant, all the officers at home, and his mission impossible to fulfill. That would have involved little risk, and Falcon would have simply flown right back to his loving wife and foals. Ceymi did not like to kill Ponies, when such death was needless.

Queen Chrysalis had insisted on doing it this way, though. At least she had persuaded the Queen of the importance of getting the papers back to the Hive, instead of carrying them on her to this moment of decision. Should -- by some incredibly bad luck -- she rather than Falcon fall today, Ceymi did not want to let curious Pony eyes pore over a map and directions to the Hive itself.

Why do it this way? "To send a message," Chrysalis had said, which made absolutely no sense, and bothered her even now. The prey should never be sent any message as to the existence of Changelings; Thermal was safely captive; and Falcon Soar but an innocent in the wrong place at the wrong time.

To myself? Does the Queen mean to teach me something? She wondered if her unavoidable sympathy for the Ponies had gone noticed. But I'm the most successful Infiltrator of my generation -- the most successful in the Hive, period, save perhaps for the Queen herself. Why would the Queen care what I feel within my inmost heart? I've never directly spoken of them to anyling Don't my results speak for themselves? Why would she risk me, risk the very secrecy of the Hive, like this?

She could not figure it out, and now was neither the time nor the place. Falcon Punch must die, and his damning cargo vanish along with him. She must obey her orders.

They flew on into a rift between two tall clouds. Golden sunlight streamed almost horizontally through the formation, creating shadowed valleys. The clouds were tall, and down through the rift Ceymi could see dark reaches lower down, litten by lightning-flashes. They flew into a headwind. It was hard going, and all Falcon's attention would be focused on the way ahead.

She would never have a better chance.

Ceymi gripped her crossbow firmly in her hooves, propping the rest against her chest, ensuring that the recoil would not tear the weapon from her grasp. She was a decent shot with a crossbow -- it wasn't her favorite weapon, but it was Thermal's, and part of the plan would be to discredit him by proving him, with this murder, to be hopelessly Lone-Mad. Briefly, she felt a flash of remorse at the final insult she was to wreak upon his memory amongst other Ponies, but she firmly pushed it down. There was no time for weakness now.

She fixed her gaze on Falcon, a predator preparing to pounce on her prey. Best to kill him with the first shot, she thought, and in these winds long range shooting is a bad idea. I'll close to point-blank range, then loose my bolt.

She dived to the attack.

Comments

[Morning Dash]

Not bad...keep em comin

[Jordan179]

4204774

Why thank you -- I'm glad you like it. The Ceymi-ish goodness (evilness? alienness?) is the creation of Phoenix_Dragon and you should really read Without a Hive -- which is mostly about another Changeling, but does have her as a major character in part of it.

[Glazius]

I suppose Chryssi can't afford to have any of her changelings touched by Paradise.

[Jordan179]

4205252

Especially not given what could happen if they -- or worse she -- listened to Its siren song of love.

[Redric Carrun]

but he wouldn't impress the with his speed

*them?

LIstening to Thermal Soar rant about the "buzzies,"

*Listening

You know, Captian Falcon still hasn't been announced for the new Super Smash Bros. game.

Coincidence? I think NO-
Okay yeah it's a coincidence.

Probably.

[FancyFan]

the barest touch of her Stare.

Interesting.
But not quite as much as the member of the Pie family. Pinkie's Granny Pie I presume. That was weird. In the best possible way.