Home Is Where The Hive Is

by TwistedPretzel

Rescue

Rescue

Ah, San Prancisco! One of Equestria’s most beautiful, busy, and instantly recognizable cities! From a murals tour of the Castle district, to world-class museums and the best restaurants in San Prancisco —never mind the many Equestria-famous sites— there are plenty of things to do and see throughout its seven square miles. And whether you’re a wide-eyed tourist taking it in for the first time, or a San Prancisco resident, this city never fails to impress.

Oh. And hills.

Did we forget to mention hills?

San Prancisco was also known as “The City of Hills”, and for good reason. Some of the streets had maximum gradients of 31.5%! While these made for great tourist attractions, they were a copper-plated pain in the posterior for delivery ponies, freight haulers, and the like. Indeed, drivers were required to attend mandatory, specialized training, and carry specific licenses. As well, only specific, and certified, drays, wagons, tankers, haulers, and the like were authorized for use on those steep grades.

Even with all those precautions, accidents still happened.

It was early in the morning, and a team from “Barley & Nibbles” was making a delivery of refined flours to several local bakeries. The flours had arrived the day before at port; had been offloaded, passed customs and inspection, forwarded to their respective warehouses as consignments, and this particular lot was scheduled to be delivered before noon.

There was twelve tons of flour in the freight wagon, individually packed into canvas bags sewn tightly shut, each bag weighing a hundred pounds. Two massively muscled earth ponies were leaned into their harnesses, huge thews strained and trembling as they slowly, so slowly, ascended the hill. They had made this trip hundreds of times before, but, even so, they were utterly focused on their task, well aware that a single moment of inattention could spell disaster.

*YOWL!*

Platter-sized hooves, shod with steel shoes with stud inserts, still went skidding as both ponies reared back, startled as a cat went running like a streak of lightning out of the nearby alley and right underneath their hooves.

*ROWLF!*

In hot pursuit was an enormous mastiff, which was oblivious to everything except the feline he was hotly pursuing.

By itself, the deliveryponies most likely would have regained control. But, unknown to them, last night a delivery wagon’s load had shifted, spilling several kegs of fine lamp oil all over the place. Luckily, the kegs broke on impact, otherwise they would have quickly rocketed down the steep hill, becoming high-speed missiles. Unluckily, however, neither the driver nor his wagon had the necessary licensing or authorization, and so he had hastily departed, without notifying the appropriate authorities who would have properly cleaned up the spill.

Studded shoes or not, their hooves went skidding, already off-balance from the shock and surprise of the twin cat-and-dog assault. When they hit the oil-slicked cobbles . . .

With cries of pain first one, and then the other, slipped and fell. It had happened so fast, and with absolutely no warning, that neither of them had time to activate the emergency brakes.

Like the fall of an enormous, stately forest giant, the freight wagon paused a moment as all forward motion ceased . . . quivered for an instant . . . then started rolling backwards, glacially slow at first, but rapidly increasing speed, dragging the helpless deliveryponies behind as it hurtled down the steep hill.

Down towards the wharves, and the warehouses below.

At the very bottom of the hill sat another delivery wagon, this one full of fabric. The driver was performing the mandatory, pre-climb inspection, and her attention was fully on that responsibility. So focused was she on that obligation that she never even saw the multi-ton freight wagon that impacted hers, driving them both into, and partially through, the warehouse wall behind.

Pumper 12 pulled to a stop ninety hooflengths from the accident, arriving there mere minutes after the incident had happened. Four fireponies leapt from the vehicle, charging towards the horribly mangled wagons. The captain stepped over to the driver’s side, an uneasy feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. This looked bad. Really bad, he thought, watching as his ponies carefully started probing the wreckage.

His mouth went dry as one of them stepped free, then turned to face back towards Pumper 12 and his captain, then made an unmistakable gesture in his direction. Turning to face the driver, heart starting to pound in dismay and dread, he instructed, “Raise dispatch.”

Placing a small, gleaming stone into its receptacle in the communications unit, the stone glowed for a moment before disappearing, the charge it carried sufficient to power communications for about five minutes. “Dispatch, Pumper 12.”

“Pumper 12, this is Dispatch. Status?”

Taking a deep breath, the captain passed along the instruction to his driver/communications pony.

“Dispatch, Pumper 12 . . . on site, at location . . . strike the rescue box.”

The graveyard shift had just headed off, while the morning shift, with yawns and groggy looks, settled in for the morning.

*Beee boop . . . boop beee . . . beee beee*

There was instant silence, complete freezing in mid-motion, as the tone belled.

“Rescue 5 . . . multiple vehicle accident, with injuries and entrapment. Pumper 12 on location. Intersection of Vine and Harvest.”

Instantly six figures bolted to the brass pole at one corner of the floor, leaping out, grasping it between fore and hind legs, and sliding down to the lower floor. In well-practiced moves that resembled a choreographed dance they then dashed to the racks, slipping on specialized, protective —and highly visible— turnout gear, followed by close-fitted helmets with flippable goggles, before dashing to the middle of the floor . . . and the peculiarly-inscribed geometric design there.

Five of them stood on the outer points, all looking towards the center where the sixth member stopped.

[equipment secured?]

{check}
|check|
\check\
<check>
>check<

[location visualized?]

{check}
|check|
\check\
<check>
>check<

[ready on three . . . two. . . one . . .]

In a lurid green wall of fire, the six vanished.

Three minutes after dispatch had been notified, several hundred feet in the air came a startling bright green flash over Pumper 12. Six seconds later, and five of the just-appeared forms streaked towards the wreckage, while the sixth landed by Pumper 12. “Captain, I assume command,” came a buzzed, discordant, formal statement.

Instead of looking aggrieved, the captain of Pumper 12 looked relieved. “You have command,” he just as formally replied.

Two of the five dove right into the wreckage; moments later came the rapid-fire sound of hail striking a tin roof; a minute later and the other three then dived in as well.

By now, a not-so-small crowd had assembled, keeping a respectful distance. They weren’t there to gawk at disaster, however. Instead they’d come, one and all, in response to the signal flare that still hovered above, that Pumper 12 had launched as soon as they’d called dispatch.

They came to broadcast love.

Twenty minutes later and the last of the three victims had been extricated, encased in glowing-green cocoons for their transport to the critical care trauma center. As the last one was loaded onto the awaiting ambulance, the supporting crowd let out a loud cheer.

“Captain . . . you have command,” came a tired-sounding buzz.

“I have command,” he replied. That, of course, meant overhaul and cleanup were now Pumper 12’s responsibility . . . and neither he, nor any of his fireponies, were at all begrudging that. Not now. Not ever. Ponies that would have died in the past were now regularly saved . . . and sometimes at the cost of their rescuers’ lives.

So, no. There was no feeling of being dumped on, the dirty work left for them to clean up. In fact, it was an honor to assist in any regard, even if that meant simply cleaning up afterwards.

Gazing at the slowly dispersing crowd, he knew it was the same with them.

Ling was tired, but it was simple fatigue, and not at all starved hunger, no matter how fast, how furiously, they had all expended resources. Tired, light blue compound eyes wandered across the small crowd of ponies, each one there for one reason, and one reason only: to feed them love, and keep their energies topped.

“Daddy, when I grow up, I wanna be a rescue parachangeling!”

Ling turned about, spotting the small unicorn filly who was gazing up at her father, who, in turn, was fondly gazing down at his daughter, proud and pleased as punch with her. As ling paced over, her father caught sight of his approach, and, as he directed his gaze towards ling, his daughter noticed his attention shift. Following that in turn, she softly “oooohed” seeing ling stop before her.

Lifting up ling's leg, turning the bottom of ling's hoof upwards, ling spit a small glob into it. Before it could harden, ling's horn gleamed. The blob shimmered . . . flattened as well as rounded . . . becoming a disk.

“For you,” ling buzzed, holding out a small badge with the engraved words around the rim, “Honorary Rescue Parachangeling”.

Squeeing, smiling fit to burst, she jumped up and down. “Daddy! Daddy! Look!” Her father indulgently smiled down at her, then gazed at ling, silently thanking him with his eyes for a gift that he knew his daughter would treasure forever.

Pacing back to ling's squad, ling felt a wash of emotion as ling recalled the last few years. Who would have ever believed, ling reminisced, how far we would come in just those few, short years?

Oh, it hadn’t been smooth running always. For instance, there were still a lot of hard feelings between the Hives and the Crystal Empire. Well, to be scrupulously accurate, that acrimony only flowed the one direction. Still, ling couldn’t blame them for that.

Truly surprising had been Princess Celestia’s forgiveness. That might have, perhaps, had something to do with Princess Twilight and the Element Bearers’ unswerving support behind Queen Tabula Rasa and her changelings of Refugee Hive.

What had absolutely stunned everypony had been the stance Queen Tabula Rasa had officially taken regarding Hearth’s Warming: what was done . . . was done. The ponies then had been oblivious; admittedly, even if they had known, that might not have deterred them. But if ponies and changelings truly wished to live together in peace, it was best to start with a clean slate.

No. No, it hadn’t at all been easy. But noling could have imagined a time when a pony wished she could be a changeling.

Or a time when Hives would be intermingled with towns and cities all throughout Equestria.

With an unstinting source of love, Queen Tabula Rasa was breeding at a furious rate, seemingly determined to repopulate the changeling race on her own. No changeling that left to relocate to another Hive was ever truly lost to her; yes, there would come a time when their allegiance must shift to their own Queen, when she finally ascended. But, no longer would every Hive stand on its own.

Each Hive owed allegiance to its Queen . . . or future Queen, in most instances. They, in turn, swore allegiance to Queen Tabula Rasa, who, in her turn . . . had formally allied her Hive, her changelings, and thus all changelings in Equestria, to Princesses Celestia and Luna, as the Diarchs of Equestria. Changelings, by law, held dual citizenship: to Hive and to Equestria.

Ling suspected, as time implacably rolled onwards, that even those distinctions would eventually fade and vanish. Ling often wished for just that. Ponies had so much to offer changelings. But changelings had so much to offer in return, too.

The crowd had mostly dispersed by now. In the beginning, it had been difficult being a rescue parachangeling. One could quickly —and dangerously— deplete oneself if not careful. But it had sometimes come down to a grim choice: lose the victim, or try and save them. Ponies had still been very leery of changelings at the time. But as more and more stories circulated about the miraculous rescues, the death-defying risks, the heroic efforts, that the rescue parachangelings undertook on a regular, daily basis . . . as more and more ponies became eyewitnesses to those rescues . . .

Phillydelphia and Baltimare had been the first two cities that had distributed Public Service Announcement flyers educating ponies about rescue parachangelings. Mixed amongst the articles was a small blurb that described how they used internal energies in their work; that, quite often, and especially during a difficult rescue, or when stabilizing a badly-injured pony, a rescue parachangelings could literally mortally drain themselves dry, requiring love to keep from being lost.

Nothing in those flyers specifically said anything about volunteering to supply love at an emergency scene.

Suddenly, ponies that had felt impotent, helpless, at accidents or incidents when ponies lives were in danger, could do something to assist after all.

They could feed, and thus support, the rescue parachangelings.

Something that had once disgusted, and frightened, ponies —changelings feeding on love— quickly became a badge of honor. Did you read about that horrible accident in Manehatten? Well, my brother was there, and he helped supply the rescue parachangelings there!

And once that floodgate had been opened just a crack, there was no stopping it.

Reaching ling's squad, ling softly smiled as ling ceased ling's ruminations.

[everyling ready?] ling started.

Everypony and everyling froze as Pumper 12’s communication started sounding tones . . . and sounding . . . and sounding.

Faces turned grim as they knelled on, knowing that something very serious had just happened somewhere in their home of San Prancisco.

The fireponies of Pumper 12 locked eyes on the rescue parachangelings as their tone sounded at last.

“Tanker 7; Tanker 15; Tanker 22; Truck 15; Truck 21; Ladder 3; Ladder 6; Medic 8; Medic 25; Rescue 5; Rescue 8; Hazmat 3. Building collapse; location Baker and Needle. Multiple casualties. Multiple entrapments.”

Immediately the rescue parachangelings took their positions, five of them arraigned around their central commander.

[equipment secured?]

{check}
|check|
\check\
<check>
>check<

[location visualized?]

{check}
|check|
\check\
<check>
>check<

[ready on three . . . two. . . one . . .]

The remaining crowd was loudly cheering, seeing their heroes about to leave on another mission. For the rescue parachangelings, they were off to help save, if it was changelingly possible, everypony they could.

Anypony . . . anyling . . . it no longer mattered. One and all, they were all Equestrians: village, town, city, or Hive. This was their home now.

After all, home was simply where one’s hive was.

Comments

[TwistedPretzel]

Ah . . . The obligatory downvote . . . with, of course, no comment to explain what, if anything, was the reason behind said dislike.

Thank you for that.

[Cross Lament]

And thus was founded International Changeling Rescue, equipped with a panoply of advanced airships and other all-terrain vehicles, responding to disasters and misadventures across Equestria from their secret base in the South Luna Sea. Thunderlings are go! *cue epic 70s adventure music*

[Replica Knight]

Awesom.

[ssokolow]

9462270

I upvoted, and, in just a moment, I'll be adding this to the World-Building folder in my recs group for your creative reinterpretation of Hearth's Warming, but I have a couple of guesses what might have prompted them to downvote:

1. When I came into a story this short, I expected something more personal. It's hard to make this much drama and world-changing feel satisfying in so few words.
2. Having a character sacrifice themself to demonstrate their sincerity is somewhat trite and overdone. (It's too easy and obvious a choice for an author and risks coming across as the mark of a lazy or unskilled author.)
3. The degree to which Rainbow is suspicious feels needlessly emphasized.

In general, it just feels like the story is an abridged-form work... impatiently focusing too heavily on the key events without allowing the reader time for change to flow, then playing the "grand sacrificial gesture" card in an attempt to force the haste to work anyway when toning Rainbow down a little bit and adding a little more text could have made it flow more smoothly.

Depending on how they looked at it, they might have also felt like they just read an Act 1 and an epilogue with Act 2 and Act 3 intentionally omitted.

[Eroraf86]

A magnificent little story of changeling redemption and integration. You, my friend, have just earned a new follower.

[TwistedPretzel]

9463805
There is criticism, there are opinions, there are comments . . . and then there are critiques. I am quite honored, and flattered, at the incisive and detailed critique you have posted. Thank you.

I had reasons for the style, and length, that this particular story was written. At the time, those reasons seemed sensible. However, after reading your critique and meditating on that, I'm afraid I don't really have any "rebuttal". and, having now contemplated on your analysis, I'm not feeling anywhere near the satisfaction about this as I originally had.

I'm sorry if I've disappointed anyone with this. I'm not promising anything soon, but I'll mostly like be working on a major rewrite, and significantly expand things.

[Ri2]

9465486
Just seems rather convenient from a narrative standpoint that they were there just so the Changelings could prove themselves.

[TwistedPretzel]

9465489
About as convenient, perhaps, as Snips and Snails finding an Ursa Minor within walking distance of Ponyville, just so Trixie could show them how she can banish one?

[Ri2]

9465495
That had foreshadowing. The kids just showed up to fall out of nowhere.

[ssokolow]

9464905

And thank you. I try to give critiques as thanks for the free entertainment whenever I'm in a mindstate to pick up on something useful (Far too often, I read fanfiction because I'm too burned out to do anything else) and you'd be surprised how often I get no reply at all.

[tsaukpaetra]

For what it is, this fic is fun! The sense of urgency is definitely there, and the format made show-don't-tell very fluid here.
Using symbols for thought-speech identifiers was unique, luckily they didn't have extensive communications or personal identities or it could have gotten a little annoying. As is, it demonstrates the rapid-fire nature of that communication medium without flat telling the reader (except for that mention).
The rescue was a bit fast paced in the middle there, Rainbow's turnabout felt a little whiplash-y due to the continuity in brevity with the pace.
Anyways, thumbs up!

[Black--Soul]

I wonder what happend to Hive Chrysalis

[Black--Soul]

Beautyful short story.

[Vaguely Demented]

Very nice. Love the touch about hearthswarming.