• Published 27th May 2017
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A Shift In Gears - BlackRoseRaven



Octavia Melody takes in a grievously injured Changeling and helps it find a new life in Equestria. A story about finding friendship, and finding yourself.

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Who Was, Who Was Not

Chapter Five: Who Was, Who Was Not

Moonbeam huffed a little as she hiked up the trail heading into the mountains, nervously looking back over her shoulder at Ponyville. It wasn't really that far away yet: she had only been walking for thirty, forty minutes now, and she thought that if she galloped back it would take her less than half the time to get home.

But it still made her nervous to leave the village, even if Octavia had made the suggestion that she take a little walk out to where the original Moonbeam had lived. 'Original' Moonbeam... that made her feel a little bad. Both because she was 'Replacement Moonbeam' and because she had no idea what had happened to that poor mare...

Guilt. That was a familiar emotion by now, but Moonbeam took a breath, holding it for a moment before she let it whoosh out, breathing the guilt out with it. All she could do was shrug it off and keep going, and figure out her own life. It wasn't like she had really replaced Moonbeam, after all: the fact she was a Changeling was a badly-kept not-secret in Ponyville. Ponies just... looked the other way, she thought. No one really used her name. And while they had been wary around her at first, she got along well with most of the village now.

At first, Octavia or Vinyl had always been present when she'd gone out into the village, and secretly, Octavia had kind of liked that. They had distracted and reassured their fellow ponies about Moonbeam's presence... well, and she had enjoyed having a guide, someone who she could talk to, who she could follow or defer to when things got confusing for her.

It was the funny little things that made her confused, too, like being asked if she wanted an apple or an orange. As a Changeling, there had been a right answer, and that answer was whatever the pony she was disguised as had preferred. Changelings weren't supposed to have preferences of their own, after all. But now Moonbeam wasn't sure what she wanted: apples? Oranges? Pears?

All she knew was that she wanted to find out who she really was, and she just hoped that Octavia was right and this would help her figure that out.

Moonbeam crested the sloping path, and smiled a bit as her eyes locked on a small house in the distance, at the top of a set of cliffs: a cabin that had been converted into a little homestead. There was an untended garden at one side of the house, and a squat tower that stretched only a little above the roof.

She studied it for a moment, then reached back and awkwardly adjusted the little pack on her back, shouldering the equipment she was wearing into better position. Octavia had warned her that it might be a little dangerous for her to travel alone, so she had put together a pack of supplies for her in case anything happened, as well as had her take a rifle with her.

Guns were a Luciferin invention, and Moonbeam thought they were part of the reason Octavia was so pessimistic all the time. They allowed ponies to protect themselves, but they could and were also misused by bad ponies... not that bad ponies wouldn't misuse anything else they got their hooves on. But Moonbeam understood it was both more complex and more simple than that: no matter what you did or built, when you saw someone take what you made and turn it into something it wasn't supposed to be, it was upsetting. And Moonbeam thought it was both a moral issue and a very practical issue for Octavia: the earth pony would be just as upset seeing somepony using her prosthetic devices as a... a prop for a table or something as she would be at seeing it used to hurt someone else.

Well, almost. Maybe that was a little uncharitable for her to think. Octavia was a good pony: she just also very much liked things to be the way they were 'supposed' to be.

Moonbeam smiled a little at that thought: she guessed that meant she really was lucky, since she didn't really 'fit in' to any of Octavia's plans, she imagined. But here she was: being taken care of by ponies, being taught what it meant to be a pony, being protected and watched over by two ponies who she just sort of stumbled into the lives of. No, even less than that: Octavia had found her and saved her and given her a new life, when she easily could have just walked on and left Moonbeam another casualty of war in Canterlot.

These ponies were all such good people. It was almost embarrassing for Moonbeam to realize that, how they dwarfed the Changelings in their ability to feel, the way they worked together and reached out to one-another. Sure, they didn't have the training that Changelings did, they didn't have the leadership or the schedules or selflessness, but they had a natural unity that far outclassed the obedience drilled into the Changeling drones.

Moonbeam thought about this a little as she made her way up the path towards the homestead, but the closer she got, the less she was able to distract herself with her thoughts and the more nervous apprehension wormed through her stomach. She bit her lip, then shifted worriedly before she finally halted some ten feet away form the front door, staring at it both yearningly and fearfully: there could be so many answers behind that door. Or maybe she would only find more questions and more regrets...

Moonbeam shifted on her hooves, and then she took a slow breath before she stepped forwards, carefully grasping the handle and turning it. It clicked, unlocked: but of course it wouldn't be locked. You only locked a door when you had something to keep safe, or you meant to come back.

The Changeling quietly slipped in through the door, lowering her head a little: she felt like an intruder, and this felt so much worse, so much more perverse, somehow, than the fact she had assumed Moonbeam's form: it wasn't like she could hide the fact she wasn't actually Moonbeam with her prosthetic limbs, after all. And maybe it was a little scary, too: this was the mare she'd taken over the life of, who she'd 'become' and who was... well...

Moonbeam shuddered a little: she didn't want to think about it. And that, of course, made her feel even guiltier, but she forced herself to shake as much of that as she could off, taking a deep breath before she let the door swing closed behind her, letting her eyes slowly rove through the dusty interior of Moonbeam's home.

It was pretty, and well-organized: the signs of struggle here and there made that neatness just stand out all the more. Moonbeam began to step forwards, then flinched as she stepped on something that cracked beneath her hoof, drawing it sharply back before she looked down and saw that she had stepped on a piece of stained glass: a broken piece of a broken window that was scattered across the floor.

Moonbeam looked around: none of the windows of the household were broken, but she quickly noted a small rack filled with other stained glass pieces. She carefully picked up the larger section of broken windowplate and awkwardly fitted it back into the rack, studying it for a moment before she looked around again.

Sparkling ornaments hung from the ceiling, glimmering with their own light: that was why even with the curtains pulled, it was still bright enough for Moonbeam to see. She could see a lot of glasswork, from stained glass to decorations to fancy glassware, but there were also strange, glowing pictures here and there on the walls...

Moonbeam blinked as she noticed what looked almost like a stain on one wall: it was a tarry black, the outline strangely familiar, with a bunch of speckled holes beneath the vague shape of a... Changeling?

Moonbeam did a double take before she realized what must have happened: a drone had been blasted by Moonbeam's magic, and it had left an imprint on the wall, almost like a paint splatter. She studied the stencil intently for a few moments, then looked around at the glowing objects, the painted beacons on other walls, and she wondered if maybe this was part of why the mare had been chosen in the first place.

Changelings didn't just take ponies at random, after all: if they just wanted ponies, there were always plenty of travelers and vagrants and outsiders to kidnap. No, they tried to lure in and capture ponies who could infiltrate deepest into pony society, or they took ponies with abilities that would be useful to the Hive.

Changelings couldn't perfectly mimic a pony's abilities, but they were certainly capable of imitating most of their talents and magic: it just came with the territory of what they were. Furthermore, the longer they spent studying a pony and their abilities, the more accurately they could mimic it.

She imagined that a pony like Moonbeam, who clearly had some kind of control over light and luminescence, would be extremely useful to the Changelings and their operations. She had picked up a few of Moonbeam's tricks herself – enough to make it seem like she had a grasp on her own special talent, at least – and while they were mostly party tricks, she imagined that if Moonbeam was still imprisoned in the Hive, by now a team of Changelings had likely mastered the full range of Moonbeam's abilities and converted some of them to work in conjunction with the Hive's own particular magic...

Changeling beacons, passing secret messages through light... who knew what other abilities Moonbeam's talent could offer the Hive, if adjusted and played with a little? Changelings weren't like ponies, after all. Ponies were born with innate abilities: Changelings had to work for everything, developed skills, not talents. But unlike the ponies, they were able to develop their skills very quickly, and could learn the basics of just about anything.

“Jack of all trades, master of none.” Moonbeam murmured as she made her way across the room, hesitantly opening the door at the back. It led to a short hallway, with a staircase leading up and a few doors off to either side. Further inspection revealed a closet, a bathroom, a tiny little kitchenette, and a small bedroom that looked like it had gone unused for a long time... probably even before the Changelings had arrived to take Moonbeam.

The original Moonbeam, Changeling-Moonbeam thought.

She smiled faintly, then she shook her head as she hesitantly stepped into the room. It felt like an intrusion, but she couldn't help but feel there were answers here. The answers she needed for herself, as she studied the room silently.

There were a few photos on the wall, some scattered books – mostly on art and art theory – and some more glass art here and there. Moonbeam opened the drawer in the little bedtable curiously, and found a jumble inside that looked mostly unimportant.

This bedroom wasn't used very often, that much was clear. It wasn't the personal space that she had expected. What did that mean?

Moonbeam tuned and let herself out: the closet had junk, the bathroom was tidy but empty, the kitchenette had a lot of instant meals and noodles, all of them single serving. The owner clearly didn't get much company: likely didn't want much company, either.

The Changeling turned and made her way to the staircase. A metal hoof stroked carefully along the railing before she hesitated, then began up the steps. The stairs rose straight, but then circled upwards until she pressed up against a trapdoor, carefully shoving it open to emerge at the top of that little tower that stretched up above the house.

She pushed up into a room that seemed like half-observatory, half-studio: it was all still very neatly arranged, with one half of the room dedicated to what seemed like an artist's tools, and the other full of astronomy equipment. Or at least, what Moonbeam thought was astronomy equipment.

She looked up at the roof, gazing through an enormous skylight at the blue, warm daylight above. She thought that it amplified the light coming into the room somehow: she knew from the memories she had taken from Moonbeam that it a key component of her art, that she used the skylight like a lens to augment her glasswork with moonlight.

Those memories of Moonbeam's had gradually begun to fade from her mind, however: maybe it was due to the fact that her link with the Hive had faded, or that she had rejected her Changeling heritage, but she was losing the bits and pieces that helped her play the role of 'Moonbeam' and she was instead forming her own memories, bonds, and attachments; it was little wonder the Hive had been so quick to throw her out, she thought bitterly.

But then she shook her head quickly, focusing back on the task at hoof and reminding herself that any Changeling tended to start forgetting their disguise's memories after a while. But you could bring those memories back easily enough by doing little tasks that the subject would do, letting your Changeling instincts guide you and 'becoming' that pony in more than just appearance...

Moonbeam let her hooves guide her, walking over to pick up a plain sheet of glass before she headed to the little worktable beneath the skylight. She set it down, and without knowing what to do or even what she was doing, her magic automatically grasped several tools and brought them in.

She hummed a little as she began to score the glass with the glass cutter, tracing out a basic shape. She smiled a bit, then winced as she pressed too hard, the glass cracking loudly, but the mare only laughed awkwardly as she loosened the pressure, mumbling: “Okay, okay, let the tool do the work by itself...

Moonbeam carefully plugged away with her other tools, and after a few moments, she smiled lamely as she lifted a piece of glass into the air that vaguely looked like an apple. It was ugly and messy and Moonbeam was reminded of the painful truth that Changelings could never do some things as well as their counterparts...

But it served its purpose, Moonbeam thought, as she carefully set the crudely-shaped piece of glass down. She grimaced a bit as she rubbed slowly at her forehead, closing her eyes as she felt a faint tingle of pain before she automatically reached out and grasped a drawer in the shelf, pulling it open.

“She had headaches.” Moonbeam murmured, looking into the drawer with a small smile: some pain pills, but also a bottle of whiskey. Strong whiskey, at that, which made Moonbeam's head swim a little just at the smell. “And she was sad a lot. But she didn't have anyone to talk to and she preferred self-medicating anyway. She was...”

Moonbeam couldn't figure out the word. Strong? Stubborn? Or just apathetic? She wasn't sure. It felt like a mesh of things, surprisingly negative as much as positive... but then again, ponies had always been such complicated creatures.

Moonbeam smiled briefly as she looked slowly around the room, and she saw it a little more clearly now: yes, everything looked so perfectly organized, but there was more of a... a clutter here. Not mess, necessarily, but so much was packed into one place, and there were so many more signs of it being lived-in.

She reached down automatically, grasping another drawer and opening it, and found not tools, but boxes of dry food. The Changeling lifted one of these loose, studying it for a moment: half-empty, out of place, the drawer jumbled with other bits and pieces of food debris. She put it back, then ducked under the desk, and found there were a few books hidden away here, with some dusty personal belongings; a few old pieces of sculpted glass, some jewelry, a wallet and a set of keys.

Moonbeam carefully picked up the last, the keys tinkling as she examined them: there were quite a few keys here, and while one or two were likely for the house, the rest were too small or too oddly-shaped to be door keys. They also didn't make any memories spring to mind for the Changeling, which meant they were either very important to the original Moonbeam, or just a trinket.

The Changeling guessed the former, and it wasn't something she would have tried to dig out of Moonbeam's memories: as her mission didn't involve a lot of direct interaction with friends or family, she had only learned the basics about Moonbeam, what little she'd need to know to properly fake a normal pony's life.

She started by testing the drawers in the table: the top she found locked, but to her surprise, none of the keys fit. Moonbeam bit her lip as she felt along the drawer, feeling a flicker of memory: there was a trick here, wasn't there?

She jiggled the drawer carefully, then lifted up slightly before she gently tugged forward, and there was a clack before the drawer didn't so much unlock as it came loose. She was able to gently pull it forward, looking down at the pile of photographs and painted pictures that filled the drawer.

She quietly moved her hoof through these, stirring through the contents, feeling all the memories they brought back: pictures of old friends, family, and more, she realized. All of whom were gone now... Moonbeam was alone. That was another reason why they had targeted her, because she was easy prey, because she had few guests and no real links to the rest of the world, but only now was the Changeling really realizing exactly how far that loneliness extended.

She wondered silently if that was why Moonbeam lived out here, alone: she wondered if that was why it was clear no one had been by to check on the mare, even though months had passed. Well, she supposed, since they knew she was a Changeling and she was imitating Moonbeam, maybe all those missing ponies were having their bills, their homes, their jobs temporarily suspended...

Funny, to think about that: ponies were almost child-like creatures, and their societies and culture were very open and giving and trusting, as she had learned, and yet they still paid taxes, had bills, worked jobs. They were neither communist nor socialist, and many of the ponies worked jobs that had nothing to do with their special talents in order to make ends meet. Most ponies weren't born to be fry cooks, after all.

The Changeling picked up one of the pictures on top, studying it: the memories it brought back were foggy. She thought these were Moonbeam's parents, but family memories, in particular, had been extremely hard to extract. She didn't know if that meant there had been some trauma in the past, or it was just a deep, ferocious love that Moonbeam didn't want to reveal, that she'd do anything to protect...

The Changeling mused for a few moments, then she shook her head slowly before she put the picture back. She slid the drawer mostly-closed, then pushed out of the seat, looking around the room, letting the other memories she had taken naturally fill in the gaps.

Something was missing here, she realized, but what? The tools were all neatly arranged, the books were scattered but none were out of place that she could see. The materials were all in easy access and there were no other locked drawers or cabinets; everything was right out there in the open...

That was part of the trick though, wasn't it? Everything was out in the open. Moonbeam was smart, subtle, and secretive, and she kept everything that was important to her close by. And if it wasn't in the trick drawer, then...

The Changeling's eyes roved to a shelf of supplies, studying it for a few moments before she approached. Memories came back: Moonbeam had heard something downstairs. Movement, a sound like someone was there... were these her memories of being taken?

But before she'd gone to see what was happening downstairs, Moonbeam had grasped something, and shoved it into this shelf, where it blended perfectly among the other prepared materials. The Changeling's eyes trailed to this sheet of glass in particular before she gently extracted it from among the other sheets of colored glass, and then she smiled a little as she floated it in front of herself, studying it quietly.

It resonated with her magic when she focused a spell through it, but she was disappointed to find that even if she could imitate Moonbeam's magic, she wasn't able to do it perfectly enough to fool the enchantment on this artfully-designed piece of glass. There was an image of some kind hidden here in what seemed like nothing but a wild pattern of scratches over the surface: when she concentrated her magic, the image came into blurry form, the lines almost seemed to shift and rearrange themselves subtly, but... it was never quite enough.

Still, she was on the right track. She thought that the answer was here – and in a way it was – but it wasn't what she thought it was. She slipped the piece of glass back into the shelf as she turned, making her way back to the trapdoor, following the ghosts of memories as she felt Moonbeam's emotions sing through her body as she traced the steps she had once taken.

These memories had been recent, and yet the Changeling had considered them unimportant, because they told her what she already knew about: what she'd failed to realize, however, was that while she knew the Changeling team had captured the pony after a brief struggle, she had been blind to Moonbeam's side of it, and how much that told her about the mare. But they were coming back now, in force, and now they were teaching her things she hadn't even imagined she could learn.

She relived what Moonbeam had gone through: the fear and yet the anger and the determination that she had felt as she made her way down. Flashes of bad memories that the Changeling could feel, but the meaning of were hidden from her sight: they were just like sharp knives, piercing her brain, both making her want to shrink back but also drive forward.

The sense of having a home, that this was her home and she wasn't going to be driven out by anypony, and she wasn't going to hide, either. She was going to fight because she had never fought before, and she was all alone out here anyway, and there was nowhere to run, nowhere to go.

She only had herself.

Moonbeam had always only had herself.

The Changeling pushed open the door, gently: Moonbeam had barreled into it, shoulder first. She'd startled the Changeling team, even as well-trained as they had been, but she had been shocked by their appearance, and lost that chance to strike, to maybe scare them off.

But when the Changelings had moved, self-preservation and fury had leapt up and Moonbeam had blasted one of them with her magic.

Moonbeam looked at the stain on the wall, but now her memories filled in more of what had happened: the Changeling being slammed against the wall, screaming like it was dying! But no, it had only been shocked and stunned and almost pasted to the wall by the blast of magic.

The other Changelings leapt at Moonbeam: one of them took another bolt of energy to the face, but it was much weaker, barely stunning it. She wasn't fast or ready for the tackle from the other one, either, and it knocked her back into the wall, the mare gasping before she kicked reflexively out.

The Changeling was knocked off, and Moonbeam scrambled away. She lost her bravado, her anger, to panic and fear. She was scared. She didn't know what was going on. Her pony-instinct was taking over in the face of these monsters that were coming after her, and three were so many more than one and they had predator's teeth and they reeked like the earth and they had twisted, monstrous bodies-

She fired off several wild blasts of magic as she tried to make a run for the exit, but it was the worst thing she could do. It let one of the Changelings tackle her from the front and the other get behind her, grabbing her and pinning her down. The moment they had her held down and under control, the Changeling knew it was over.

Moonbeam had been sapped of energy: dangerously weakened, the Changeling thought, because the others had been almost as scared of her as she had been of them. It was funny to think about: the only real difference between them and ponies, she was learning more and more, was that they didn't understand their own emotions, so they substituted training for feeling. But things still slipped through, like how they overdrained this poor unicorn because they were afraid of what she might be capable of, even though she hadn't really hurt more than a Changeling's pride.

The Changeling stood in the middle of the room, looking slowly back and forth before she gave a faint smile: that was Moonbeam. Fearless and yet afraid. Angry, rash, but who liked everything in order. A little controlling. Who put on a hard face but was as scared as any other pony and sometimes didn't follow through with her promises.

Ponies were complicated things, and the new Moonbeam realized she had done a poor job of imitating the old Moonbeam. Maybe that was why the other scouts had always seemed so exhausted, and the drones who had taken over ponies local to Canterlot were always complaining about how hard it was to keep up their disguises. Even Queen Chrysalis hadn't really been able to do a great job imitating Princess Cadance, if she remembered right.

Moonbeam lowered her for a moment, thinking quietly to herself. She was entirely different from the Moonbeam she had seen in those memories. She wouldn't go rushing into a situation like that. She didn't think she was that brave. Being selected as a scout had seemed exciting at first, but then actually serving as a scout like she had... it had been hard. The ponies had been so nice. She didn't really want to hurt anyone, or even upset anyone.

The Moonbeam who had been hadn't really cared as much about other ponies or their feelings, though. She, Changeling-Moonbeam, had been opening up, and was striving hard to learn all about ponies and friendship; Pony-Moonbeam had locked herself away and given up on all that. It made her feel sad. Just how could a pony turn away from all of that?

What had happened to Moonbeam in the past?

Did Changelings really take on the personality of the ponies they were supposed to be? Certainly, she thought she'd taken on at least part of Moonbeam: the obvious parts, or maybe the pony Moonbeam wanted to be like, or who she had once been.

But they were different.

Did that mean she wasn't really Moonbeam, and she wasn't really a Changeling, but she was her own... whatever she was?

She bit her lip at this thought, lowering her head for a few moments before she murmured: “I don't know. I want... I want to be me. I am me, aren't I? I just wish that I could learn more about her...”

She stopped, then frowned for a moment, looking uneasily to the side: Changelings rarely killed, she knew. A dead pony was useless to them. But... that was an insane thought. Even if Moonbeam was still in the Hive, she was an exiled Changeling. There was no way they'd let her into their territory, let alone walk out with a prisoner...

If only there was something she could do. But she wasn't either an ambassador or a hero: she had no experience or training negotiating, and if she made some stupid, reckless charge, she knew the Changelings would quickly take her down. She would end up suffocated under the raw number of drones, sapped by an assault team, or simply pummeled by a Queensguard.

Moonbeam shivered a little at this, before she flinched in surprise as there was a buzz of static before Octavia's distorted voice asked: “Moonbeam? Are you there?”

“Y-Yes. Yes, you startled me.” Moonbeam answered, giving an awkward smile as she reached up and touched one of prosthetic limbs: it had a built-in tracking device and walkie-talkie, letting her always be in communication with Octavia. She would never admit it because she was afraid the ponies would find it 'creepy,' but she found it comforting: it was like she was still in contact with the Hive. Not in a bad way, in a good way, but she thought that Octavia sort of understood how she needed a little guidance in her life still.

“Did you reach your model's home?” Octavia asked, and Moonbeam smiled despite herself. She guessed it was true: she had modeled herself off Moonbeam physically, at least, but mentally...

“Yes. I made good time.” she answered softly: she knew that since Octavia could track her position, it wasn't like the earth pony didn't know where she was anyway. But it seemed sometimes like Octavia needed to manufacture a reason to start a conversation with anyone, even the ponies she knew. “I already took a look around and I learned... I think I learned most of what I needed to...”

“Remember that you can bring up your Heads-Up Display to scan for more information, Moonbeam. If you can find a residue of Moonbeam's magic, you can use that to trace her movements as well. There should be enough energy residue left in areas she frequented for you to detect it, assuming her home has remained undisturbed.” advised Octavia, and Moonbeam nodded quickly before she awkwardly tapped at the side of her head, then squinted until her artificial eye gleamed, wincing as readouts spilled across half her vision.

She heard Octavia sigh, and Moonbeam blushed a little before she said awkwardly: “It's still very difficult to use.”

“I know. It's a prototype, still. And your magic pathways are wired a little differently from a unicorn's, so the technology isn't entirely in synchronization with you.” Octavia sounded almost apologetic, and Moonbeam blushed a bit, shaking her head quickly before she looked around the room, smiling a bit at how the glass arts around the room all glowed so radiantly in her vision.

“Oh, no, it works really well. I really appreciate everything you've done for me, honestly.” the Changeling said quickly, and then she blushed a little before her eye settled on the stain of magic on the wall: it glowed in her vision. “Is that enough?”

She heard a faint clicking before the earth pony confirmed: “More than enough... except there are two distinct energies present. This second residue actually seems very similar to yours, Moonbeam... is it from a Changeling?”

“Yes...” Moonbeam hesitated as a strange idea came to mind, biting her lip before she asked: “Is it possible for me to follow both? I mean, both together...”

“Possibly... as long as they remained in close proximity, I can help you set the lens to primarily detect residue from both sources.” Octavia said after a moment, and Moonbeam blushed and nodded, bowing her head a little in thanks before she flinched slightly as her she felt a momentary sting of pain before new readings began to spill across her vision.

She closed her other eye to minimize the confusion between her artificial and natural eye, and she grimaced at the strange trails and vapors she could now see throughout the room, twinkling beneath the light of the glass baubles. She turned and noted that those trails condensed into splotches around the door, the mare striding to push this open before she bit her lip as she leaned outside.

The readings were much fainter out here: she guessed that the changing weather and environment made the traces of energy fade that much faster. But it seemed like luck was with her, and she noted several more splotches around the side of the house, following a faint trail of energy that had possibly been protected from the weather by the overhang of the structure.

She followed the faint trail around to the back: she thought she was detecting more Moonbeam than Changeling, but there were still glimmers of Changeling aura here and there. That only brought more questions to her mind, though: what was around back that Moonbeam had gone to see so often, and how had the Changelings known about it?

Moonbeam soon had her answer: behind the house, there was a small shed of some kind, the door clearly broken and traces of magic all over it. The Changeling frowned in surprise at this as she approached, studying it intently before she grimaced as memories filled in as well: fainter, though. Scratchier, as she saw Moonbeam fighting the Changelings...

They had sapped her again here. But they had done more than just drain her, they had sedated and confused her, which was why her memories were so fuzzy and indistinct. She rubbed slowly at her head, wondering for a moment why they would do something like that: normally they would just knock out a pony and then take them prisoner. Why go through all this trouble?

Well, the answer was obviously ahead. Moonbeam strode to the shed, biting her lip and hesitating for a moment before she grasped the broken door and pulled it open, then she frowned as she found what looked like an additional workspace. But it was a disorganized, messy jumble, and when she first studied it, all she could see was wild splatters of Moonbeam's energy...

She felt a stinging in her eye, before Octavia said thoughtfully: “Give me a moment to isolate her energy again for you, and... yes. Very interesting...”

Moonbeam blinked a few times, then stared in surprise: there was a large cluster of energy floating above the worktable, and the mare leaned curiously forwards before she murmured: “Moonbeam can infuse unicorn magic into glass... what if that means...”

It clicked for her after a moment: maybe that was why the Changelings wanted her. If they could figure out how to store love in crystals and glass instead of their own bodies and hive nodes, then they would be able to not only store love for much longer periods of time, it would be much easier to move. She'd heard that creating a new hive was extremely difficult: there needed to be a vast supply of love for the Changelings to feed off of in the area, and that often meant drones were swollen to the brim with love: but the longer love was held in a body, the faster it was absorbed. Hive nodes died when they were removed from the hive and their other means of transporting love were incredibly difficult to keep defended.

But if they could store it in something that was easier to move or protect, they could set up a Hive anywhere. Was that part of why Chrysalis had been so intent on attacking Canterlot? Because she wanted to set up a new hive in Equestria, which was rich with love and resources?

The Changeling bit her lip nervously, and then she shook her head quickly even as Octavia asked: “What's wrong? Your neural readings spiked for a moment.”

“I think I know why the Changelings captured Moonbeam. Why she might have been so valuable to them.” the Changeling said slowly, before she shook her head and looked down at one of her metal limbs silently, murmuring: “How much trouble have I caused...”

“None at all. You didn't choose your form, after all, Moonbeam. It was chosen for you. Now before you start blaming yourself, I think you should concentrate on heading back to Ponyville. We can discuss what you found here.” Octavia said firmly, and Moonbeam blushed but smiled a little despite herself, giving a small nod.

“Okay. But I...” Moonbeam hesitated, then she bit her lip before she murmured: “I think I should come back here. Not just to learn more about Moonbeam, but-”

“We can discuss it all tonight, Moonbeam. Come back to Ponyville for now.” Octavia said, surprisingly gentle, and the Changeling smiled a little despite herself before she gave a brief nod, sighing a little before she turned and took a breath, preparing herself for the long trek back.

Back in Ponyville, Octavia leaned on one foreleg, studying the small console in front of her, set up in her little closet. Readings ticked across the screen, but for the moment, Octavia closed the connection, shaking her head before she blinked in surprise as a hoof gently touched her shoulder. She looked back to see Vinyl Scratch smiling at her, sunglasses propped up on her horn, eyes soft as she said: “You can't keep the kid forever.”

“I... I know.” Octavia said grudgingly after a moment, sighing a little. She looked back at the console for a moment, then she shook her head briefly before pushing herself back from the shelf the computer sat on, turning around with a brief smile. “You're in my room.”

Vinyl smiled and shrugged as she turned to leave, and Octavia sighed a little, but then only shook her head and followed after the unicorn with a wry smile. Well, she supposed, even if Moonbeam left, at least she'd still never have to worry about being alone.