The Fall of Hive Hunger-Prime

by Jordan179

Chapter 2: In the Royal Bunker

5. Hospital

When reality returned to Compound, she thought for a moment that the bombardment had ceased.

Then her eye followed the line of the intravenous feed coming from her left foreleg to the bottle-bugs on the rack above. The clear-bellied organisms were shaking slightly, and in a manner having absolutely nothing to do with either their own life processes or Compound's own. The whole arrangement was acting as a vibration amplifier, like an earth-penetrating sound sensor, and the shaking was coming from the floor.

The war was still on. She had obviously been moved to a lower level of the Hive, shielded by perhaps hundreds of yards of solid stone from the hell Equestria was unleashing on them far above. She was safe right now from anything but a direct earthfire detonation -- and, if she was down at the lowest levels of the Hive, from that as well.

In Secrecy is Safety, she thought bemusedly. The Equestrians did not know where she was. In Safety is Survival. As long as they did not know where she was, they could not kill her.

No, that's not quite right, she realized. The Equestrians had not known where she and her team were in the spider hole, but they had almost buried them alive with their heavy guns. And if she was still in the upper part of the Hive, she could still be smashed by an earthfire bomb.

There was a lot of glowmoss on the ceiling, and though to Pony eyes it would have been dimly lit indeed, to her own great orbs it might as well have been full daylight. Far more comforting than full daylight, of course -- the surface meant danger, while the Hive meant safety.

She heard a stentorian snore. A very recognizable snore. She turned her head and smiled to see the big familiar form of Carry, folded into a sleeping posture on the floor to the right side of her cot. He had obviously fallen asleep watching over her. She wondered if Cowl was anywhere around.

A moment later her question was answered as Cowl poked his head through the flaps of the curtains around their compartment, a tray held in his mouth with three lidded, wide-strawed bowls balanced on top of them. "I got some chow ..." he started to say around the tray, then "Hey! Compound's come to!" In his excitement he almost dropped the tray, but caught it at the last moment in his aura.

"Mmpf?" Carry came sleepily awake, then his face lit up as he saw Compound sitting up to regard both of them. "Compound!" He surged to his feet, almost filling his side of the small compartment. He reached forward, and for a moment it looked as if he was about to fall on her, but he moved with his usual grace, always surprising to see in a ling so large, and put his right foreleg delicately upon her, almost a feather-light touch across her ventral surface, gently stroking her.

She folded herself around Carry''s foreleg, happily hugging it. She felt better than she had in weeks. They were out of the spider hole, out of the collapsed tunnel, they were safe -- perhaps only for now, but that was more than they had been for a long time. This was a moment of happiness, and she had to snatch at each little moment of happiness, for that was all that remained of her life other than suffering. Once there had been a future; now death was closing in; but for this moment she was warm and dry and safe and surrounded by her friends.

Not to be left out, Cowl put the tray down on a table and went around Compound's other side. In the process he got tangled in her IV tube and nearly yanked it out.

"Ow!" said Compound.

"Sorry," said Cowl. "Clumsy."

Compound made sure the tube was secure at both ends. "It's okay," she told Cowl, reaching out for him with her left foreleg and pulling him into the hug. "You're my Cowl. I love you as you are." All three embraced.

"So, what did you bring?" she asked the Clerk.

"Green-orange," he replied.

Changeling broths varied: not much by the standards of other races, but each Hive had a standard menu of flavors, each with slightly different constituents and nutrients, which its denizens came to know and love. Or at least like. The Field Infiltrators always claimed that the Enemy knew how to cook much better foodstuffs, and sometimes brought back samples by way of demonstration. Compound had tried some Equestrian field rations. She thought them rather dry and spicy by her standards. But then, she supposed, the Equestrians would have thought their broths very bland; it was one of the things on which the Captive-Nurses had always had to cloud the Captives. When there had still been Captives, that was.

Of course, the quality of the ingredients had gone way down since the heady months when Changeling armies had been overrunning Equestria. Now, there was no more flow of plunder coming back to the Hive; indeed, with the Hive besieged by the Equestrians, the Hive had to rely entirely on its own fungus farms, and that food source was also thinning as the supplies of fertilizer for the fungus ran out. They had been reduced to the point where much of the protein in the broth was coming from their own corpses. It had been weeks since Compound had been in charge of tracking the Hive's supplies, but she still tried to keep abreast of the situation, as best as she could in the Provisional Swarm.

So it was with some trepidation that Compound took the bowl and put the straw in her mouth. She sipped.

Flavor exploded all over her tongue and scent against the roof of her mouth. This was better than anything she'd tasted in the last year! As an expert on supplies, she could identify most of the vitamins and other constituents that surged into too-long malnourished body. The drip was feeding her water, salt and glucose, but Changelings had stomachs, albeit small ones by the standards of most races, and she needed more than mere chemical energy. This was more than she'd known in so long that she literally trembled in delight.

She was feeling better in another obvious way, as well. The love-starvation, a condition she had become so used to over the last month, had lifted. They must be feeding me fluid from the love-pool as well, through that IV. Medics could do this, though she was surprised they had bothered to waste any love on anyling as unimportant as herself.

Around her Carry and Cowl were making delighted noises of appreciation.

"This is great!" Carry finally said.

"Sunstroke!" swore Cowl, "They sure eat well down here! Almost worth what we had to go through to get here."

Compound took her mouth off the straw long enough to ask the obvious quesiton.

"Where are we?" she asked. She'd never been in this part of the Hive at all, not even when she'd been a respected Theoretical Infiltrator, and certainly not since being demoted to a mere Supply Coordinator.

Carry tried to say something, but it came out muffled around a mouthful of mush.

"What?" asked Compound.

"We're in the Royal Bunker," said Cowl, answering for him.

Compound was startled. They were just Provisional Hive Defense Swarm Warriors, at least officially. They should have been in either a Warrior or a Worker hospital -- certainly not in the most sensitive part of the Hive, in what amounted to a luxury facility reserved for the Queen and her most important lings themselves. Even when she'd been a Theoretical Infiltrator, she wasn't allowed down here -- she communicated with the Queen and her advisers by sending them messages by Courier.

"Wait," said Compound, "have I been promoted?" After years out of favor, the very notion seemed surreal.

"I think so," Cowl said. "I heard from one of the Medical Workers that the High Queen Herself said that you were to get special treatment. That she had some kind of use for you."

"Oh," said Compound. She did not know how to react to this. Had High Queen Hunger finally decided to take her advice? All Compound's predictions regarding the course of the war had been basically fulfilled, save for the parts that had turned out worse than even she could have imagined. She supposed she was due some recognition for this. Still, it seemed a bit late for it, now.

Another thing occurred to her.

"Not that I'm complaining," she said, looking at her two friends, "but why are they letting you guys stay with me? Does the High Queen have a special use for you, too?"

"That's my doing," said Cowl proudly. "I made sure to tell everyling that we were your staff. I'm your chief secretary, and Carry's your general assistant."

"I have a ... staff?" Compound asked wonderingly.

"Well, as far as they're concerned, yes," replied Cowl. "And between you and me, the Hive's getting really shoddy with the waxwork. Wasn't like this in the old days when I was in my old cocoonicle. I couldn't have gotten away with it back when things were running properly." The ex-Clerk practically sniffed in disapproval of the poorly-handled bureaucracy, even though this alone had enabled him to achieve his ends.

Compound laughed at the absurdity of it all. Here, at the end of all things, when the Hive was being pounded to pieces by an implacable and vastly-superior foe, what bothered Cowl was that the clerks were failing to keep proper track of their personnel records! She mused on this a moment. To each ling the task appointed, she thought, quoting the familiar aphorism. Cowl's task had been shuffling records, so of course he would perceive the local Cataclysm now descending upon Hive Hunger-Prime in terms of the disruption of proper procedures.

And I see it in terms of logistics, Compound realized. How does Carry see it? She glanced at the big, amiable face above her own, and briefly considered asking him. He wouldn't understand the question, she realized sadly. There's a mind behind all that muscle, and there's certainly a good and loving heart. But he's not a deep thinker.

That was the Infiltrator's perpetual problem, that they were so much smarter than normal lings, than anyling in the Hive save for the Royals themselves. It was why so many Field Infiltrators had emotional problems, even became Love-Locked on their foes. The culture and the Ponies of Equestria offered them so much more, intellectually, than they could ever hope to find in the Hives.

Not my problem for much longer, thought Compound. Soon I'll be part of the broth. But no, she realized with a shock. I won't, because there'll be no Hive and no Cooks to make the broth. Again she felt cold at the thought, not merely of her own death, but of the death of All.

The presence of her friends warmed her. They might not be her intellectual equals -- Cowl was more verbally-adept than Carry, but was every bit as limited in his horizons. Cowl dwelt in a world of waxwork to be taken in, filled out and passed on; while Carry in a world of physical objects to be picked up and moved and put down. Neither required much real intelligence.

They were both good lings, though. She was glad that they'd be together now, together at the end. Maybe it wouldn't logically matter, when the ceiling finally fell in under an Equestrian bomb, or shrapnel from a grenado diced them into meat-gruel, or they were all burned alive or asphyxiated by liquid fire. But it still mattered, somehow. She wanted to die in the company of her dear friends.

Which reminded her.

"Thank you, Cowl," she said, reaching out to gently touch his face.

"You're welcome," he said automatically. Then "For what?"

"You kept us together," Compound explained. "By making you and Carry my staff."

"Oh!" said Cowl. "Um, it just seemed like the thing to do."

"It was the right thing to do," emphasized Compound. "And you did it. On your own initiative, when I was unconscious. You did well."

"Oh ..." Cowl glowed in the infra-red Changeling equivalent of a blush. "Um ... heh ..."

The curtain twitched open. A Medic looked into the compartment.

"Ah, Theoretical Infiltrator Compound, I see that you're doing much better," she said. She looked at the wax tablet. "Love-starvation, overchanneling, general physical malnutrition, some minor fractures and bruising. Some love in the IV, some bed rest, your friends have already gotten you some food, very good." She stepped into the chamber. Her horn glowed slightly as she began palpitating various parts of Compound with her aura. "Ah yes, you're regenerating nicely. All you need now is time to heal. I'm releasing you for sedentary duty." The Medic smiled at Compound, looked at her two friends. "They were with you all day. Slept in here. You must be a very good leader -- you have a very loyal staff!"

"The best," replied Compound, quite honestly. But her mind was whirling around what the Medic had just called her.

Theoretical Infiltrator, she thought happily. I have my old job back. Queen Hunger wants my advice.

Maybe her last days weren't going to be too bad at all.

6. Memories

The Medic disconnected Compound from the intravenous feed and passed her an assignment chit. The chit specified her new quarters and workstation, and authorized her to either house her staff with herself or in the Royal Bunker's Worker Pool, at her discration. It also told her her shift.

The Hive Mind was still shaky, but it was now again able to perform simple functions, such as timekeeping and internal mapping. A quick query told her why: it had been disconnected from the exterior sections of the Hive. That meant that any Warriors still manning the guard stations and the gun turrets were now on their own -- if there in truth were any left. Central command of the battle-front was now limited to communications by Courier.

Compound had been trained in tactics, so she knew what this meant. The Hive's active defenses were weakening. The guns would fall silent, one by one, as the horribly-accurate Equestrian fire took out one position after another. The Workers would collapse the exits, the Engineers would mine all the approaches, they would do their best to keep the Hive free of intruders. However, the Equestrians had plenty of their own equivalents of Workers and Engineers, and of course Warriors, supported by a plethora of weapons of which the Hive's own Warriors could only dream, and in numbers essentially-unlimited, compared to the pitiful thousands of Hunger's Warriors still available.

The Equestrians would probably finish neutralizing all the Changeling guns within the next twenty-four hours or so. They might hesitate before committing their assault troops to the attack -- Equestrians were reluctant to spend lives, and preferred to spent ammunition and magic making sure that the way was as clear as possible before ordering their Ponies over the top. But the order would come. The Equestrians had not lost so many of their own, not advanced this far, to flinch from this last of Hunger's Hives. They cared about their lives, but were nevertheless courageous enough to fight to a decision.

Hunger's mistake had been in assuming that they were too soft and cowardly to turn the tide, but she had been wrong. The tide had turned, and flooded first one Hive after another, and within a matter of a day the first Equestrian troops would successfully carry the outworks of this very last Hive. They would be surprised at how weak would be the resistance: there was no way that Hunger's officers could conduct any real counterattacks with their slender resources. A fighting retreat would be the best they could hope for, and only because of the supreme loyalty of Changeling Warriors.

At some point Hunger's front would break. How soon that came would depend on the exact details of the defense plan chosen, and how well it was executed, and also how well the Equestrians fought. And what new weapons they reveal this time, don't forget that, Compound reminded herself. Every major battle had seen the deployment of previously-unknown Equestrian equipment, and this one would surely be no different in that regard.

A week at most, Compound estimated, based on her very limited data. A week before they blast through whatever barricades we lower at the last, and get all the way down here, and finish us off. A matter of a day or two if they use earthfire bombs to pound the whole hill into red-hot rubble. She sighed, and gazed at her two friends, who looked back at her with complete loyalty and trust. A few days to a week to live. Ah, well. She smiled at them, and was rewarded by smiles in return. That's more time than we would have had if we'd stayed in that spider-hole, even if the tunnel hadn't collapsed. We've gained some more days of life, and that's a victory.

She made her way to their quarters.

They had a whole small chamber to themselves! It was such luxury as she had not known since she had last been a Theoretical Infiltrator. Then she had shared her chamber with two other young officers, like her innocent and eager to serve the Hive as best they could. There had been nymph-like late-night talk sessions, friendship, cuddling -- bonds of love forged by the awareness of their new and bright shared destiny.

Solitary

One of them, Solitary, had been a Long Range Infiltrator, trained to penetrate deep into enemy territory and survive for long periods of time without making much contact even with prey, reporting back at intervals what he discovered at a distance. He had been tall and taciturn, but had cared for his friends even if he spoke little of his emotions. She remembered the wild party they'd thrown for him when he'd been assigned into the field, months before the war had started.

He'd come back, once, after Compound had been disgraced. She'd wanted to see him, he'd been a special friend, but when she set eyes on him as he passed through the Hive, he pretended that she didn't exist. That had stung her as sharply as had her demotion. She'd thought they'd had the sort of friendship that would last until one of them died.

Later, she'd realized that of course the successful young Long Range Infiltrator had wanted to distance himself from a former Theoretical Infiltrator of dubious loyalty. She'd told herself that she had been foolish to try to see him, that he'd only displayed common sense by pretending not to know her. She'd berated herself for her selfishness in risking his career.

Still, it had stung.

She hadn't tried to see him when he came back from his second mission. And from his third mission ... he'd never come back. By then Hunger's armies had been in full retreat, and a lot of lings had gone missing, presumably converted into corpses. Solitary had been just one of the millions, meaning nothing, save perhaps to one little ling who herself meant nothing to the High Queen.

Trapcastle

The other young officer had been Trapcastle, a Theoretical Infiltrator like herself. Trapcastle had been a plump, deceptively lazy ling with a first-class mind, easily Compound's own equal. She had a habit of listening to one at length, then coming out with a devastatingly-brilliant observation that either exploded one's whole notion, or showed one how to expand it into something really amazing.

She was like Compound in her intelligence, very much unlike her in her ability to fit in, to understand politics. Compound envied Trapcastle her smoothness, her ability to navigate the lightless tunnels of bureaucratic maneuvering, to make everyling think that she was on their sides. Trapcastle routinely lied to most lings, but she was always very honest with Compound -- why, Compound was never sure. Perhaps Trapcastle was still grateful for those minor favors Compound had done for her back in training?

She'd been an odd ling. Compound remembered when she'd shown Trapcastle her report, the report that had blasted Compound's own career to ruins. Trapcastle had listened to the whole thing, then simply smiled and told Compound: "You know, the old fogies will never accept this. They'll say that we can just capture their leaders like we did in the last war, and then our armies will overrun Equestria before the Ponies can react."

"But it won't work like that," Compound had insisted. "The Equestrians know about us now. And their technology and productive capacities have been advancing rapidly over the last ten years. We'll lose -- I'm right about this!"

"Perhaps," said Trapcastle, leaning back into her bedding and grooming her head slowly with one foreclaw. "Maybe you are right. I'm just telling you that they won't want to hear this. I'm not sure why I'm telling you this -- maybe I like rooming with you -- but you really shouldn't submit it."

"If you signed on to this ..." began Compound.

"Oh no," replied Trapcastle, waving her foreclaws as if pushing away something dangling from a tunnel ceiling. "I want no part of this. I like my job, and my little comforts."

"But they might believe ..."

"They'll believe what they want to believe," explained Trapcastle. "What you or I say won't dislodge the wax in their crania. What it may do, though, is make you very unpopular with the leadership. Don't you care about that? Don't you care about yourself?" She leaned forward, stroked Compound's chin with one claw. "Look, Compound -- I care about you. I know you're very forthright -- you say what you think, you don't care about making enemies. That's admirable -- but what this does is make you enemies. I've tried to protect you -- more times than you've realized -- but I can't protect you from the ministers. Or the Royalty themselves. You're opposing a policy that's been endorsed by the High Queen herself, don't you realize this?"

"I have to be loyal to the Hive," Compound said, straightening herself. "If we launch this war, the Hive will suffer. The High Queen will suffer. Someling has to let her know about the danger, not just cheer us on as we all run into a furnace and die together. If noling does, we're all doomed."

"But why does it have to be --" Trapcastle sighed, drawing her foreleg back. "I can't be associated with this, Compound. Surely you understand this. I can't be associated with ..." She cast her eyes down, ears drooping. "I'm going to request reassignment to new quarters. We can't know each other any more. I'm sorry, Compound. I don't hate you. I just have to look out for myself. Do you understand?"

"I ... of course," Compound made herself say. She Masked herself as a Compound who didn't care, hoped that she'd done so swiftly enough that Trapcastle hadn't seen it. A flicker from Trapcastle's own mind made her realize that her friend was doing exactly the same thing. Not for the first time, Compound considered that empathy could be less a blessing than a curse.

They said nothing more. There was nothing more left to say. Compound chose to sleep that shift in a common chamber. When she returned the next sleep shift, Trapcastle and her things -- more than most Changelings, even of fairly high caste, possessed -- were all gone. And that was the end of her friendship with Trapcastle. That was the end -- for a long time -- of having friends.

Demotion

Compound submitted the report. It was rejected. She lost her position as Theoretical Infiltrator, was downgraded to Theoretical Logistics. The sort of post one would give an especially smart Worker or Warrior, not normally a job for an Infiltrator at all. Everyling knew what she had been, and the story spread around the Hive of what she had done to deserve this demotion. That she had been a defeatist, almost (the whispers were hushed with horror at this point) a traitor.

She was lucky, of course, to be alive. Compound could have been drained, or ended, or (as the war grew more and more desparate) put right into a Penal Swarm, to be expended against the increasingly-common infernal devices of the Equestrians so that less-Defective Warriors had a chance of closing with the Ponies. Most who had managed to personally-offend the High Queen Hunger would have found such a fate.

Compound could only conclude from the mercy that had been shown her that her exceptional intelligence made her too useful to the Hives to expend in such a fashion. This was not arrogance on her part, but rational self-estimation: she'd always been smarter than most Lings, not just because Infiltrators necessarily were smarter to fulfill their functions, but even among members of her own caste.

That was why her friendships with Solitary and Trapcastle had been so special to her: they had been close to her own intelligence. They could have meaningful conversations. Now, because she had failed to suppress her own stupid ego for the harmony of the Hives, she was alone.

And yet ... she knew she was right. It was difficult to understand how she could be right, when even the High Queen hummed a different song -- was not Her will the expression not only of the will of one Hive, but of many? Did that not mean that Compound was failing to fit in? Yet, there was more than one kind of conformity. There was conforming to the will of the Hives, and there was conforming to the reality that lay outside the Hives. If the Hives themselves failed to conform to external reality, who then was Defective?

The thought was terrifying. Ideally, the will of the Hive -- its perceptions corrected by the very multiplicity of those who were perceiving -- and external objective reality should be one and the same. How could Compound's single mind see something that the Hive had missed? Or could the High Queen herself be -- but no, that thought was treason. Heresy. The High Queen could not be Defective. If a Queen were Defective, surely another Royal would Challenge her for leadership, and win, for the subtle will of the Hive Mind itself would strengthen the challenger, weaken the Defective one, and then a new ling would be Queen, and the Hive would have purged itself of Defect.

Revelation

The thought wormed at her as she lay alone in the very small chamber she was now able to occupy alone -- the one she occupied because noling wanted to be too closely-associated with the possibly-Defective Infiltrator who had been sufficiently useful to be spared for a lesser task, but she still had to sleep somewhere. It tormented her.

Does this apply to a High Queen, she wondered. Would the normal mechanism of Challenge even work to remove one with so much power? This was a situation the Hives had not faced in a very long time. Compound ran her tongue through some very old waxes, ones she should not have even been able to normally peruse, ones that if found tasting might well mean her own purging. They confirmed her fears.

There had been no High Queen since Rosedust, since before the Changelings were even Changelings in the modern sense. And noling -- nopony, the old waxes conveyed, in a shift of language with even more horribly-heretical implications -- had wanted to Challenge Rosedust. She had been removed, not for any Defect, but by the power of the Twister Himself.

There was no way to Challenge a High Queen. Her power was such that she could overcome any single Hive Mind, any other Royal -- any other Queen. She was invincible, and if she was Defective, she could ruin all the Hives in her madness.

When Compound fully grasped the implications of this she had physically fallen, her world reeling about her, the secure pillars of its foundation removed and the whole warren threatening to collapse. Thankfully, noling else witnessed this -- there was the Hive Mind, of course, but to its simple perceptions all that had happened was a momentary fright and fall, something easily dealt with by Compound's own local processing resources, scarcely requiring attention from any other lings.

Shaken, she had fortunately still remembered to cover up the traces of her unauthorized tasting of the ancient memory cores. Her act would have been viewed as desecration -- the only older records of the Changelings had been taken to Canterlot by a Traitor, one of the few Royals of the Hive of Memory to have escaped Hunger's Unification, two years before the start of the Great War. There was literally no worse breach of security Compound could have committed, save handing over those waxes to the Sun Queen herself. Had Hunger known what Compound had done, her fate would have been sealed.

It's only a possibility, Compound had reminded herself, and kept reminding herself every time the terrible thoughts returned. High Queen Hunger could be insane. We might be following a madling to our doom. "Could" and "might" do not logically-equate to "must."

She had returned to her duties, and ceased her delvings into forbidden lore.

Exhaustion

She had tried to be a good Theoretical Logistician. She had mastered every aspect of supply, from planning to production to delivery to evaluation of requests, the whole cycle which kept the Swarms in the field. There was much work which needed to be done, due to the fundamental nature of the Changelings.

In peacetime, a Changeling Hive mostly ran itself, the Hive Mind handling the routine provision of needs through making Workers aware of what needed to be done to satisfy the hungers of the individual lings. There was no need of the more complex system employed by the Equestrians, in which individuals negotiated contracts and shifted metal bits around as claims on the labor of others. Each Hive was a command economy, and a very simple, rarely-changing one.

In wartime this all broke down. Swarms in the field had simple Hive Minds which could only handle the acceptance and distribution of supply or plunder; they did not produce, and were thus entirely dependent upon provision from outside. Somelings had to actually request supplies, others to order production, arrange for their transportation and delivery. If this work were not done, the Swarms might literally starve.

Compound was extremely good at coordinating logistics. It lacked the subtlety of Infiltration, the game of mind against mind to learn what the Enemy wanted kept secret from her. But there was a certain beauty to the task of figuring out what each Swarm needed, would need in advance, in a future whose shape would also be determined by the course of the campaign. Guess right, and everything spun on smoothly, the reward being that one could play the game again and again. Guess wrong, and lings starved, or ran out of the other supplies needed to keep on fighting. Guess badly wrong, and lings died.

Compound rarely guessed wrong. Unlike most Theoretical Logisticians, she was used to taking the plans of the Enemy into account when shaping her supply systems. It was that skill at anticipating what would be demanded because of what the Enemy would do in response to Changeling actions which made her so valuable in her position: valuable enough that, even though the High Command politically despised her, they did not wish to do without her services.

Then the game went all wrong. The Equestrians counterattacked in such strength that no conceivable system of supply could save the Swarms. Lings died in terrible numbers no matter what plans Compound made. She did her best -- more than once, her pessimistic calculations of the Changeling positions a week or month in advance ensured that supply dumps were in the right place for the Swarms to hold and rally upon, instead of being overrun by the Equestrian advances -- but increasingly her best was no longer enough.

It was her own fault, and she knew it. She didn't know how she could have done better, she just knew that she should. Must. And couldn't. She was not enough.

She studied frantically, sometimes kept on working well after her shift, mastered every possible aspect of running Hives. She issued orders, even when they were above her grade, let others take the credit when she was right, and took the blame when things went wrong. She spent the remainder of her reputation uncaring of personal consequence -- she had long since realized that she had no future prospects of any more prestigious position. She had ruined her higher hopes, and now all she could do was give what she could to save as many lings as possible.

She was tired all the time toward the end. When communications between the Hives was cut by the Equestrian conquest of the intervening territories, when logistics were once again simplified to questions easily within the capacity of a single Hive Mind to solve -- when the order came removing her from her post, reassigning her to a Provisional Swarm -- Compound was actually relieved, even though she knew that this probably meant her death, and fairly soon.

The long strain was over. Now she learned simple things -- shooting crossbows, pushing spears, digging and propping emergency tunnels. She was made a team-leader -- an absurdly low rank given her previous experience, but one which meant that all her problems would now be direct, easy to solve, immediate in their consequences. She would decide well, and her team would survive. Or she would decide poorly, and they would die. And she would die.

No more guilt. No more awareness that her mistakes would kill other lings. Compound breathed a sigh of relief when she first realized this. When she failed, she would die, and justice would be served.

And then came the miracle.

Her team mates looked up to her. Carry was strong but simple; he was in awe of her intelligence. Cowl was smart but unused to danger; he was dependent upon her ability to remain calm. They accepted her. They needed her. They liked her. Soon, they loved her.

It had been years since anyling had loved her. Since she had felt she belonged. It had given her such great joy to realize that in this, the last weeks of her life, she was loved, she was really part of something again, not just in the functional and intellectual sense she had known before, but emotionally as well. Compound had friends.

And that made all the difference.

In the last weeks of her life, Compound was once again happy.

7. Relaxation

So now there was nothing to do for more than a full shift-cycle. Compound's orders told her to begin her first shift in her restored role as a Theoretical Infiltrator after four shifts, and before then she would have no way of preparing or even studying for her task, since the very waxes she would need to taste were inaccessible to anyling without special authority, and she would not gain that authority until she actually began her new tasks. Likewise her staff, whose role was of course to support her, could do nothing until she started.

A whole shift-cycle's idleness was an unfamiliar sensation.

Bathing

They went to the baths, of course, and washed off every bit of grit and dust they had accumulated. These were not the common baths of the Hive, but the baths of the Royal Bunker, and the soaps included scented ones plundered from the Ponies back when their campaigns had been more successful. Compound actually remembered when some of those soaps had been found -- a whole warehouse-full of them, which the High Queen had sequestered for Royal usage. Compound had cut the orders distributing them to the Hives, but she had never expected to have the privilege of actually using them.

The Changelings actually made better soap under normal conditions, filled with their subtle bio-technologies, but the Equestrian soaps smelled prettier. There were brushes and applicators, some with markings -- "Property of the Ponyville Spa," read a label on one squirt-bottle. Compound supposed that these had been taken in the sack of Ponyville, two years ago. That town had figured prominently in some embarrassing defeats suffered by the High Queen before She had become Hunger, and consequently She had ordered it burned to the ground.

The Ponies had retaken the ruins over a year ago, of course. As Compound lazily lay in the warm water, she wondered if the Ponies had rebuilt yet, and if the Ponyville Spa was once again open for the Equestrians to enjoy. If so, they would have had to restock their soaps.

These baths were huge and under-used. Instead of being built as one great chamber, their walls were rippled and bubbled into little alcoves, allowing a rare degree of privacy for Changeling structures. This had probably been at the High Queen's command: She had a fondness for luxury rare in Her Kind.

Compound and her team took advantage of the privacy to play, something normally in very poor form for Changeling adults in public. Cowl started it by diving and tickling them with underwater wave patterns, and Compound responded by splashing him when he surfaced, so that he spluttered, while Carry let forth great hooting laughs. Cowl retaliated with his own splashing, and soon all three of them were churning the water into foam, giggling like small nymphs at the absurdity of their own actions. Finally, Carry swept the both of them up in his great load-lifting forelegs and planted them on his back, then swam through the deeper sections, his mighty limbs easily keeping his head above water as he carried them like some sort of boat.

They stopped suddenly when they realized that they were not alone -- a Cleaning-Worker had paused in her labors by the poolside to stand stock still, staring at the cavorting Changelings with a look of utter disbelief. The small ling looked as if she wanted to ask them what they were doing, but didn't dare.

So Compound answered her.

"Good Worker," she said, deadpan, "I am conducting tests in the potential use of Lifters as amphibious assault vehicles. What you have seen is of course secret, and you must not speak of it to anyling. Service to the Hive!"

"Service to the Hive," repeated the Cleaning-Worker automatically, but did not entirely lose her skeptical manner.

They marched out of the pool into the drying room, and once they were around the corner started snickering, making it all the way into the chamber before they actually fell down in helpless laughter, sinking against the wall. Carry put his forelegs around both of them, and cuddled Compound and Cowl until all three recovered.

"Ah," said Compound, "we can't keep on doing this kind of thing in public, or everyling will think us mad."

"Yes," said Cowl, "our insanity is of course secret, and must not be spoken of to anyling."

That statement may have been a mistake, as all three of them began laughing again.

"Aw," said Carry, "you guys are great. I'm glad we're still together."

"Same here," said Cowl.

"And me," said Compound, rubbing her cheek against Carry's barrel. "I can't think of a better way to end."

"What end?" protested Cowl. "We're safe now -- we're in the Royal Bunker."

"Sure," said Compound, smiling at her two friends. "We're as safe as anyling in this Hive."

Which was even true. Literally speaking.

"I'll keep us safe," vowed Carry, holding them tightly.

"You will, big ling," said Compound, enjoying his embrace. "You will."

They left the baths. As they did so, Compound looked back at the great pool. It was empty, only the water-purification system should have been disturbing it. Yet, every now and then, the water rippled, as if some sort of vibration from the walls was disturbing its surface. Which was, of course, exactly what was happening.

She wondered what hell the Equestrians were now unleashing against the upper Hive. But she said nothing to spoil the mood of her friends.

Eating

The main eating hall was occupied, unlike the baths. It was spacious, but there were a a dozen or so lings in there, including some rather high ranking ones. Not the High Queen, of course -- She would normally dine alone, or with a few ministers or favorites for company -- but various officials of the Hive or Swarm, some of them Subcaste Chiefs. They outranked her, of course, and far outranked her staff.

So Compound and her team were somewhat subdued as they took their bowls of broth and cups of liquid love and dined. The broth was even more excellent, by the lower standards of this last year of war, than had been the hospital food. It was decent even by prewar standards. The love was of course very dilute now -- supplies were running at least as low as Compound had predicted when arranging its distribution had been part of her earlier job -- and it was cut with synthetics which Compound knew assuaged some of the love-hunger but provided no real empowerment. There must be very little love left now, if this was what was being consumed in the Royal Bunker itself.

Compound was for the first time in months not love-starved, because she had received the previous IV drip. Nevertheless she was hardly flush, and she gratefully sipped up every drop of her cup. She was quite hungry for physical nutrient, however -- the love-energy worked best with actual matter to speed her regeneration -- and she was quite glad to eat her bowl of broth. Cowl and Carry, of course, had been on very short rations for many months before the tunnel collapse, and they drank their love greedily and with great satisfaction.

"I wish we could get seconds," said Carry mournfully.

"It's against the rules," replied Cowl. "I saw the sign on the counter."

"Yes," Compound affirmed. "We don't want to risk causing a scene in here. There are some important lings here," she said, surveying the patrons, "and -- oh crap." She had just spotted a very familiar face and set of carapace markings.

"What's wrong?" asked Carry.

"What did you see?" asked Cowl. He'd noticed the focus of her attention. He started to turn,

"No!" hissed Compound. "Maybe she hasn't noticed -- oh no." The very famliar face was looking directly at her. "She's seen me." She sighed in resignation.

"Who is it?" queried Cowl, looking nervous.

"An enemy?" asked Carry, his face darkening. "I'm not gonna let anyling hurt you ..."

"Thanks," replied Compound, smiling slightly at Carry's loyalty. At least I have true friends now ... "But I don't think you can protect me from this foe. And she's not really a foe," she explained. "More of an old friend. Well, ex-friend."

She looked up again. The face was staring right at her. The expression was one of indecision. Oh, why not, thought Compound. No point in being petty now. Why carry grudges when it will all be over so soon?

Compound smiled, waved.

Many expressions chased each other across the other's face. Then she got up, took her tray over to their table.

"Hello, Compound," the other ling said. She was not as plump, nor as comfortable as she had been before. Her face was worn by worry lines, her appearance somewhat less well-groomed, as if her life had been even emotionally-harder than Compound's own since they had last met. Still, Compound would have recognized her had she been even more profoundly changed. "How have you been?"

"Sometimes better, sometimes worse," Compound replied easily. "This place beats an adit spider-hole. And how about you, Trapcastle?"

8. Warning

"Living," stated Trapcastle. "Which is more than can be said for many. Most of our old friends are dead," There was a haunted look on her face. "Solitary ... he never came back from his last mission ..."

"I heard that," affirmed Compound. "I had hoped that ... well, I've been out of the loop the last couple of months. Maybe he's a prisoner?" Despite everything she could do to suppress it, short of Masking, her voice rose a bit with hope on those last words.

"Haven't heard so," said Trapcastle.

Compound's heart sank.

"But then we don't hear much these days, beyond the Hive," pointed out Trapcastle. "Very few Field Infiltrators left, and it's difficult now for even Infiltrators to move in and out of the Hive. He could still be among the living." She essayed a weak smile, then she once again frowned. "Some of the others ... Orangeshell, Pointleader, Brushleg ... I know they're dead for sure. I saw them on the casualty rolls."

"Sunburn and heatstroke," said Compound, softly, casting her eyes down. "So many good lings gone."

"Yes," replied Trapcastle. "They were good lings, all of them." She looked inquiringly at Compound's companions.

"Oh," said Compound, realizing what she had omitted to do. "Trapcastle, these are my staff -- Cowl, my administrative assistant; and the big ling's Carry, my general assistant. Cowl, Carry, this is Trapcastle, a friend from the old days -- from the last time I was a Theoretical Infiltrator."

They exchanged greetings. Trapcastle told her of the fates of some other mutual acquaintances -- Queensclaw had risen in the Royal Guard, Spearstrike died in the field, Passage at last report had been supervising Engineers in another Hive -- then leaned in and spoke very softly, so softly that only Compound herself could hear.

"We need to talk in private," Trapcastle said.

"I trust my staff with my life," replied Compound, a bit miffed. "We've been through Tartarus together."

"I don't trust them with my life," said Trapcastle drily. "And there's something you really need to know."

Compound considered for a moment, realized that she had to find out what Trapcastle meant to tell her.

"Carry, Cowl" she said sweetly. "I need you to perform some official staff functions. Can you get Trapcastle and myself seconds on the broth and some tea with that? And get yourself some too. And only one load at a time -- we don't want to spill any and look silly on our first cycle in the Royal Bunker."

Carry grinned cheerfully, saluted and got up to get the order. Cowl looked at Compound very suspiciously, but followed suit.

"All right," said Compound to Trapcastle. "You have my attention."

"When you report for duty next cycle," Trapcastle said in a low and even tone, "you will be asked to make some estimates based upon nonsensical premises. Evaluate the actions of Hives already lost and Swarms already surrendered or destroyed, that sort of thing. You must act as if these premises make perfect sense, the Hives are still in the fight, the Swarms in the field."

"What?" gasped Compound in shock. This sounded like insanity, even treason. "Why ...?"

"They've gone mad in there," explained Trapcastle flatly. "Or a certain highest-place personage has -- I can speak no more clearly than that. She wants it that way, they give Her what she wants. Or ..." she mimed a Stare, opened her jaws wide, as if she were consuming an immense amount of love directly from a living source.

"What, Her own officers?"

Trapcastle nodded. "She likes doing it. Reminds Her that She still has absolute power, here in Her last Hive." Trapcastle looked nervously from side to side. "You can't speak of this, Compound. I'm putting my life in danger by even letting you know this much."

"Then why are ..."

Carry and Cowl got back with the first trays, which they set in front of Compound and Trapcastle, and for a moment the two Theoretical Infiltrators were reduced to an uncomfortable silence. Then they departed to get the next load, and the conversation could resume.

"Why are you telling me this?" Compound asked.

"Because I know you," Trapcastle said. "You're honest. Good. Pure."

"Well, thank you --" began Compound, flushing slightly.

"It's not a compliment," said Trapcastle bluntly. "Not in this situation." Trapcastle sighed in exasperation. "This isn't a time for purity," Trapcastle explained. "No time to be a hero. The heroes are all dead or dying. They're gone, like Solitary. You're one of the last really good lings left, Compound."

Compound was still confused.

"I don't want you to die, too," Trapcastle said. "I've tried to protect you -- I diverted more than one suggestion to have you put in the Provisionals long before one finally went through. When that happened, a little more of me died inside. The nymph-hood me, the me who still believed in honor and friendship and Service to the Hive. When the tunnel collapsed ... when you were reported missing in action ..." Trapcastle fell silent for a moment, something dreadful flickering across her face. Then she smiled. "When I heard you had survived, been transferred to the Royal Bunker -- then that you were going to work in the Royal War Room -- I couldn't let you just scuttle in there with your courage and honesty and innocence and wind up victim to a madling. Not after surviving so long. I ... I couldn't let you go out of the world."

Trapcastle's face was earnest, her emotions untainted by deception. As far as Compound could discern, she was telling the truth.

I was the one she never lied to, Compound remembered. Then, with gladness, She never really stopped being my friend! Trap, you old softie, you were just Infiltrating, on my behalf! She felt a great rush of warmth and affection for her fellow Theoretical-Infiltrator.

"My dear friend ..." Compound began, moved in the beginnings of a hug.

"No time for that!" said Trapcastle, but she was smiling. "One more thing. You can't trust anyling in the War Room, except for me, and you can't let on to the others in there that we're still friends. You don't know what it's like in there -- it's like scorpions in a bottle, each one waiting for the other to show the slightest weakness, and sting. It's a nightmare ..." she began, then stopped in shock, covering her mouth. "Oh, and don't say that N-word. I know the highly-placed personage once gloried in the term, but things have changed, in the last couple of months. It could mean death for you, now."

"Sounds dangerous in there," Compound said, half-laughing.

"It is," Trapcastle said, without a trace of humor in her tone. "Oh, Comp, it is. You don't know the half of it."

Carry and Cowl returned, and there was then just the companionable business of eating, exchanging small talk, laughing with Trapcastle over old anecdotes, of the halcyon days before the War, when they were young and life seemed easy. When they were finished eating, they got up to go to their room, and Compound was exchanging farewells with Trapcastle. She had a sudden thought.

"Trap," suggested Compound, "Why don't you come with Carry and Cowl back to our quarters. We can shoot the breeze long into the night, cuddle, play, all be friends. It'd be just like old times, with you and me and Solitary."

For a moment Trapcastle's face looked very wistful, and she seemed about to take the offer. Then she shook her head.

"No," Trapcastle said. "It's probably been noticed that I had dinner with you and your staff, but that's acceptable given that we're old friends. But if I play with you -- no, that would be too much, imply too close an alliance. Then I might not be able to help you -- or myself -- if things go wrong."

The reasoning seemed foreign to normal ling nature. Changelings were hard-working; the greatest consolation of their lives was the love felt between friends, the ability to play and relax together when not actually working. Compound wondered how harsh and strange a social environment existed within the Royal War Room. She wondered if she would be able to survive it.

"All right," said Compound, as they got up from their table. "I'll see you around. Maybe someday, when the War's over ..." The statement seemed hollow to Compound herself, and Trapcastle smirked at her, calling her out on it.

"The only sort of lie you'd ever tell," Trapcastle said softly. "To make a friend feel better. I could always see through you, Comp."

"Stay safe, Trap" replied Compound.

"You too," said Trapcastle. "Especially you."

***

Later that cycle, when they were in the sleep portion, Compound lay long awake, comforted by the stentorian snoring of Carry and the more delicate sleep-noises of Cowl on his other side, and she wondered. They were warm and clean and dry; they were resting on a comfortable bed, they had enjoyed their play and expressed their felt-love, free of the fear that an artillery shell would at any moment obliterate them. They were together. They were safe, at least for now.

Were they? For what Trapcastle had told her implied that the Royal Bunker might be a place as deadly as any battlefield, with enemies who did not conveniently show their hostility until they plunged the dagger into one's back. None Shifted, but all false, a mockery of the normal cameraderie of Changelings. All putrid, because rotten at its very core.

I can survive this, Compound told herself. I must survive this. I'll lie, maneuver, do whatever I have to, to protect my friends. She buried her muzzle briefly in Carry's side, drank in the scent of her dear companion, was comforted as he reached forth one claw, gently stroked her, then fell back to sleep.

And Trapcastle, she thought. I mustn't betray her trust. She was my true friend, too, all along -- so much of a friend that she pretended not to be, to protect us both. I'll keep all of you safe, though I don't see how, right now. I'll think of something, she vowed to herself.I should be able to do so. I'm smart enough for us all.

She drifted into sleep, lulled by the low grumbling through the walls of the intensifying artillery bombardment far above.

Comments

[FanOfMostEverything]

And Compound continues to demonstrate just how much better she'd be as Queen. Alas for Hive Hunger-Prime, for it has become the plaything of the mad.

I was wary of Trapcastle at first, but that second encounter has me... hesitantly accepting her. Anyone that political I take with a chunk of salt, no matter how many kill orders they say they waylaid. Still, the picture she paints is a grim one. And Hunger's sudden dislike of the N-word has me wondering if the Crawling Chaos abandoned her after he got what he wanted. Curious...

The sack of Ponyville was one of Hunger's greatest mistakes. She went and made it personal. The poor, poor fool...

Also, "cocoonicle" made me laugh. Some things never change.

Eagerly looking forward to more.

[Jordan179]

5304850

Oh, N-for-Nightmare, but yeah.

Yep. Cowl was a bureaucrat.

[Glazius]

See, this is making me wonder exactly how long the field commanders have been improvising around mad forecasts from central command.

[Jordan179]

5305917

Chrysalis has been growing madder and madder -- starting with when she accepted a Night Shadow to become Nightmare Hunger, but her sanity's been slipping as her plans have increasingly failed, showing her that not even the support of the Night Shadows was enough to bring her victory. She has one last desperate plan for revenge and ultimate victory, which we'll find out in the next chapter or two.

I've both read fiction and non-fiction about Hitler's last days -- is it obvious?

[Diamond Sparkle]

Another really good story chapter from you. Meeting Queen Hunger will be really dangerous, clearly.

[Meridian Prime]

I really don't understand why this has so few upvotes. This is another fantastic chapter, and you're setting up the next one beautifully. I especially love how you've portrayed Chrysalis - it has been a while since I've seen a version of her that feels so menacing. The way you've characterised her (so far at least) reminds me a little of Sauron - both derive their menace more from the dread and fear they inspire in other characters then their actual actions (although said actions ain't exactly nice), and it works wonderfully.

[Unbridled Dolly]

I just realized I never favorited this... I'm glad I found out. Much more interesting than studying for midterms.

[grogar]

good story so far.

[Ardashir]

A very good chapter but these lines made my blood run cold:

There were brushes and applicators, some with markings -- "Property of the Ponyville Spa," read a label on one squirt-bottle. Compound supposed that these had been taken in the sack of Ponyville, two years ago. That town had figured prominently in some embarrassing defeats suffered by the High Queen before She had become Hunger, and consequently She had ordered it burned to the ground.

Makes me wonder how many of the ponies from the show got away, and how many ended up buried in the ruins of their own homes. Like Aloe and Lotus? Did AJ and her family get out alive? I can't see them abandoning Sweet Apple Acres for anything, and even if they did, the grief of losing the ancestral home might have been enough to kill them.

I'm hoping we learn more about this someday from you.

[Basic Information]

... (The shelve I added this to should say enough.)

[Jordan179]

5846267

LOL, yep! And I accept the implicit compliment!

[NicLove]

Before I read this, what is the Gore and Dark tag for ?
And how bad does it get ?

[Foxfire74]

I've been rereading your stories to get me through a few weeks of hard work. Forgot how much I love your world-building, both subtle and overt. Especially for a somewhat alien society like the Changelings', which you make both workable and non-soul-crushing (at least, under normal circumstances).

A highly belated comment: did you deliberately set Compound and Chrysalis up as foils for Twilight and Celestia? One intellectually brilliant underling with leadership potential, one charismatic and manipulative queen. (Less manipulative with a Nightmare running the show, I'd imagine.) It was a neat parallel that jumped out at me. (And Carry maps nicely onto Rainbow Dash: physical prodigy with an enormous heart and...well, a hidden medium or two. I'm not sure the big guy can quite manifest hidden depths.)