Four Comrades

by General_Pankow

Chapter I: Homecoming.

In this chapter, there will be four sharp jumps in perspective without warning, please keep that in mind as you read and come across one of these moments. There are also footnotes explaining certain information at the end of the text, which you may refer to at any time. And yes, there is no fighting or combat in this chapter, only our four comrades' brief return to peaceful life.

The cyclopean spires of the Vraks hive were visible from the windows of the railcars, even though they were a quarter of a day's travel away from it. Forests surrounded Vraks on three sides, but they could not hide the size of that monster of a city in any way.

Artis was lying by the window. Once again, their group was riding in a damn freight car. It sometimes seemed to him that his superiors perceived their subordinates as 'things' that had absolutely no signs of living beings. There was not a hint of a bed or even any of the basic comforts here, instead the changeling soldiers had to sleep on leaky mattresses, mountains of firewood and hay.

At night, the car was heated by metal stoves, and when those weren't working, iron barrels, into which they threw anything that could burn, as they desperately tried to stay warm. The changelings gathered in large groups at the heat sources. From an outsider’s perspective, the sight must have been quite pathetic. The soldiers, however, did not complain. A harmonica was playing cheerfully in the railcar, to the tune of which several dozen voices were singing:

“Im Wald, im grünen Walde,
Da steht ein Försterhaus.
Im Wald, im grünen Walde,
Da steht ein Försterhaus.
Da schauet jeden Morgen,
So frisch und frei von Sorgen,
Des Försters Töchterlein heraus,
Des Försters Töchterlein heraus.
Ta-ra-la-la, ta-ra-la-la,
Des Försters Töchterlein so frisch heraus,
Ta-ra-la-la, ta-ra-la-la,
Des Försters Töchterlein heraus…”

The tune of an old Lictydian song was drawn out by the soldiers' chorus. Artis was not from those lands, but he still sang along with his kameraden, remembering the words hammered into his head by many marches and bivuaks. But then, the tune stopped, the harmonica player started playing another one, and the whole car pulled after him and the songs began to flow again. This could go on for hours, the lungs of the mouth organ's player were clearly in good practice. However, not everyone shared the same endurance, so, as the members of their impromptu choir gradually dropped out, after a while, there was nobody left to sing, and the music stopped.

There were three trains running together in total. They went at the maximum possible speed, but it was still quite slow. The Ferrum Serpentibus, leader of the convoy, was moving slowly. The other two locomotives followed very closely behind. The journey had gone on for about two days already, and today the trains were supposed to finally arrive. Everyone was in high spirits, the songs dragged on one after another, interspersed with cheerful laughter and conversations. When the officers began to enter the soldiers' car, they were greeted almost amicably. In a few hours the convoy would arrive at the hive, and everything would finally be over…

“Artis, why are you so sullen?” Kulex was sitting opposite of the machine gunner in the dense company of his comrades. Reinis, as usual, was located nearby.
"Maybe this all seems fun to you, but I'm not enjoying it as much."
"Why not?"
"I was glad earlier, you see, but now homesickness has broken out in me."
"You yearn for something?"
"Rather, for someone."
"For whom?"
"Family."
"An unprecedented luxury, I want to say. Vraks may be my home, but no one is waiting for me there... no one among my relatives, at least. Hey, Reinis is from the Lictydian backwoods, aren't you Reinis?"
"True". Reinis answered dully, rolling over onto the other side of his mattress to face the interlocutors.
“But, I would much prefer if it you didn't speak of my "backwoods" like that, "proud bienenschtocker", don't try to look better than you are. I am not from the "backwoods", but a respected hunting artel. I am its honored participant, and my father is its honored leader. Mother Queen couldn't afford all those fur coats without our work!”

It was rare to hear so many words in a row from a changeling like Rainis, and it was difficult to answer such an argument. They sat in silence for several minutes. The hulking figure of Vraks hive was getting closer and closer with each passing moment, and the forest began to give way to a wide plain that stretched around Vraks.

"Hey! Musician! Play me something, or I'm going to go crazy with boredom!"
The familiar voice of Agrias rang out in the railcar.
"I can't, Herr Commandant, my own instrument is making my ears bleed, and we have already sung all the songs we know."
"And the political ones?"
"We played those first, so as not to touch them later."
"Why is that so?"
"Come on! The war is over, we are tired of all this."
"That's also true, you don't need them much anymore."
Agrias summed up and went further along the car, looking for his platoon.

"Hello, good people! The situation you have here is, well, frankly, not very good."
"In a tight space, but not in offense!" Kulex replied to the officer, who clearly showed an enviable desire to chat.
"And what about your apartments? How many velvet pillows and Wingbardian dancers are being put on each officer?"
Hearing this, the surrounding soldiers burst out laughing. Agrias, who was in a state of gaiety and excitement, darkened a bit, but did not disturb the general atmosphere.
"We have no better than yours, the cars are still freight cars, so even though we sleep on normal beds, the older officers who are higher by the rank still don't like it. They are walking around as gloomy as death itself."

"Herr Agrias?"
A new voice cut in sharply, and everyone else fell silent. Agrias turned around. There stood Hauptmann Gint, with his usual impenetrable mask in the place of a face. His glasses were replaced by a monocle, the injured eye wrapped in bandages, with a long, black bandage on top. The company officer was silent for a while, as if he didn't know how to express himself.
"Hier, Herr Hauptmann!"
"We will be in place in an hour. Do everything you are responsible for, do not let myself and my colleagues down."
"Understood!"
Gint looked at Agrias with his lone healthy eye, cold and dry as ever. Then he turned around and moved to the coupling between the railcars. In the absence of authority, the conversation quickly resumed.

The shrill whistle of the locomotive, the sharp commands of the officers, the brief but stormy bustle of the collectings. They had arrived. The soldiers quickly formed up and went out onto the platform of the Vraxian military station, located in the old arsenal spire, which was so large that it required a separate transport hub purely for its own needs. It saw full capacity only during major strategic maneuvers and the transfer of troops from hive to hive. The station was relatively quiet here at the moment. Their brigade quickly unloaded with great efficiency, and moved to the prepared apartments assigned to them. Trains didn't simply 'pass through' the Changeling Empire- it was not enough to create a schedule, each train had to be received and sent at the exact printed time, to prepare in advance for the reception of goods and passengers, so that there was not the slightest hitch.

There was a lack of space, and a surplus of locomotives, every second would be accounted for. Station service workers and train conductors worked hard, but they enjoyed honor and respect for their work in turn.

The volunteers were given a little time to clean themselves up, and then the whole brigade was raised up and taken to the local platz. There were about two thousand of them, the same number as they had when they left Vraks a year and a half ago.

"Gentle officers and fellow soldiers!" Brigade Commander Juris was standing on a podium, surrounded by senior officers.
"I am glad to congratulate you on the fact that our duty to the Fatherland has finally been fulfilled at this moment. Our brigade will be disbanded here. You will be disarmed and rewarded monetarily, after which you will be given the right to leave the arsenal, and to go wherever you desire. It was an honor for me to command this fine group of soldiers, I am glad to let you all go on a well-deserved rest! Hurrah!"

"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" The brigade responded, with a joyful thunder.
Their weapons were delivered without incident, as they had been transported in separate cars and immediately sent to a warehouse on the convoy's arrival, but unloading and returning everything else took three hours, leaving everybody exhausted. There were missing mess kits, pouches, gas masks, and all other manner of miscellanenous parts within a soldier's kit.

The extra hassle from the missing items caused a storm on indignation on the part of the soldiers, as well as the arsenal's clerks and quartermasters, who eventually announced that to account for the missing items, a fee would have to be put upon the brigade's cash reward. This in turn provoked sharp censure from the volunteers and their officers, when, Brigadier Juris interrupted, with a dispatch from General Larynx, stating that he would personally take on the costs of all lost and damaged equipment, delivering satisfaction to all involved parties.

When all this was over, the volunteers left the arsenal and dispersed to the hotels built around the railway station.

The entire dining room was filled to the brim with Changelings in military garb. The former volunteers were drinking and having fun, saying goodbyes to their comrades. Every hour there were fewer and fewer of them; some of them stayed in Vraks, some went to board incoming trains.

"Well, Kameraden. See you, maybe for the last time."
Agrias was sitting at the table with everyone else, it was the only thing he could say at that moment. The harmonica was playing loudly, some changelings loaded on the merriments were singing loudly. The officer looked at Artis, Kulex and Reinis sitting next to him. They all drank in silence, there was nothing to say. They spent a year-and-a-half side-by-side, and now they were parting to forget about this time, as a nightmare. They understood that they wouldn't see each other again, because they lived in different places and each had a lot of unresolved problems, there was too much to consider meeting again or keeping distant friendships. Each felt two desires fighting within: the desire to forget the horrors of fratricide, against the desire to remember the friendship forged through its hardships, which bound the four of them together.

"Guys, I'll go. I have to go."
Kulex got up from the table. Everyone looked at him in silence.
"Just like that?"
Artis asked in disbelief.
"Yes. There's nothing to talk about, I have nothing to remember, and I don't want to drink. Goodbye. If any of you will be in Vraks, go to housing unit number 274, it is under the jurisdiction of our neighborhood, where I served in the police. I want to go back there, there is nowhere else to go. If you come, maybe you will find it, maybe we will meet, maybe we will chat."
Kulex turned, but stopped abruptly in mid-step.
"I'm sorry for being rude."
With a sudden grin, he spoke one last time, and disappeared among the gray uniforms of former colleagues.
The remaining three watched him go.
"He's fine, but I have two more hours to wait. I really want to go home, I've definitely been buried there. I promised to come back in six years, and I'm coming back in seven and a half, it's not decent of me..."
Artis broke the silence, wanting to defuse the situation somehow
"Artis! Without you, we would all be dead long ago! It wasn't me who should have been promoted to captain, but you. You have rare principles of a changeling, honest, conscientious. It would have been tough without you."
"Don't flatter me, Agrias. I wouldn't have done anything without my typewriter. If you had another machine gunner, for example, at least the guy who... is gone..."
Artis fixed his eyes on the table and paused for a long time.

"When the riot started in the big garrison, I had a choice. Either go for the Reds, or for the volunteers. In my platoon, almost everybody put up the red bows, officers began to get slaughtered, the reds rushed to the warehouses. And I left because I immediately realized that the red brigade was certain death. All the guys were young and stupid, as soon as they heard that the case in Canterlot had failed, they immediately began to grumble, and it ended like that. The first of the veterans arrived and shot them all... But we were from the same conscription, all from Sorif! I feel pity now. We were going on our last year of service, just a couple of months - and it would have been over. They will never return now...
"There is nothing regretful about the reds."
Agrias snapped firmly.
"Well done for not following them. They lay softly, and then they do this... Two words: bandits, scammers."
"Did we fight with bandits at Hurornd?"
Rainis suddenly broke into the conversation. Agrias looked at him, thinking hard, plunged into still fresh memories...
"Who knows?..."
He said quickly and abruptly finished his mug of schnapps.
"I am an imperial officer, I serve my Fatherland, my Queen. I have to fight with those... who I must, and that's all. To be honest, I respect the courage of the Communists. But I can't respect everything else in them. They... They are monsters. A fight with a communist is like a fight with a wild beast, it is no wonder how the Severyanan reds were able to fight off the Equestrians with such ferocity that Celestia herself ordered her generals to retreat. Their kind of folk always been distinguished by their barbaric savagery, and communism has turned them into literal beasts! I should hate them, but I do them justice."
Reinis only responded with a respectful nod, clearly impressed by the officer's speech. Agrias looked at his watch.

"The train to Vesalipolis will only come early in the morning. Reinis and I will go together, he will get off at Lyctidia, and then he will go on by himself from there. It's already late, I need to sleep, and I've had a decent drink... Good luck to you, machine gunner. I hope your family will be happy to see you. Goodbye."
Agrias got up and left, leaving only Artis and Reinis at the table.
"Goodbye, Kamerad."
The latter said firmly, as something glittered in his eyes like a cold emerald. The machine gunner could only nod deeply in response. Artis spent the rest of the night bored and waiting for the train. Finally, the time came, and the changeling left, taking his simple belongings with him, leaving the table completely empty.

---

The civilian train to Soryth looked nice and comfy compared to the freight car. In spite of the late hour, the main Vraxian station was crowded: changelings were hurrying to catch trains, footmen could be seen carrying luggage, there were newspaper sellers, merchants of everything possible were everywhere. Whistling, noises, hubbub, shouts of touts. The life force of a hive two-million changelings strong was beating in this place around the clock. Artis presented his documents and took his place in the train car. There was a lot of fuss around: relatives, friends, and loved ones were saying their goodbyes to passengers, train employees were checking tickets.

"Hello, please present your ticket."
The controller's pleasant voice rang out. Artis looked at her and took out his ticket. The controller marked the ticket with a special machine- in earlier times the train workers would create the holes using their fangs.
"Are you from the army?"
"Yes, demobilized recently. Going home now."
"Have a nice ride."
The guide smiled, flashing her long, sharp teeth.

Artis was traveling in a budget reserved seat, the main passengers on these trains were usually simpler changelings. The former soldier quickly noticed a small company forming around him. They were officials from Sorif traveling from vacation. Three Changelings returning from Lyctidia. The train woke up, puffing lazily as it began turning its pistons and moved forward. The motley spectacle of the packed station became more and more colorful and indistinguishable as the car gained momentum. So the hive itself ended, the train left for the plain around Vraks. The moon shone brightly, silvering the snow-covered fields and the crowns of the distant forest. The bustle of the station quickly disappeared. The passengers were getting ready for bed, the wheels were running smoothly and quietly.

The journey lasted quite a while, going on for nearly three days. The train stopped at several major stations along the way. As passengers got off, new ones came on to replace them. Artis occupied himself with conversing with his fellow travelers, trying to find out how things were going in his home hive, and in general, what was happening in the area. The clerks admired his military appearance and shared with him the major news they'd learned on the road, but they ultimately did not have too much to offer, as they were from another spire and did not see much of life beyond the paper stacks of an office desk. And so the time passed with jokes, conversations and card games. The landscape outside the window changed little. There were fields and forests, occasionally villages, towns, or minor hives would appear for a change, but much of it not of any special note. On the last day of the journey, Artis could see Sorif looming on the horizon.

The field around it was already looking more like a forest tundra: it was a stark, white landscape for most of the year, though there was always a brief respite when yellowish grass would timidly spring up for a time. To be frank, few landscapes were more depressive. Artis remembered the dense forests around Vraks, the houses of neat little villages whited with snow and plaster that he came across along the way, the villagers calmly going about their business, so unfamiliar and not understanding of the fussiness and quickness of the bienenschtockers. There was life and civilization there, compared to now, a terrible wilderness outside the window, the peace and stillness of which was disturbed only by trains. Nevertheless, the changeling felt a kind of warmth from knowing he wasn't far from his small home region. His fellow travelers seemed to share in the warmth, leading to a lively conversation between them and summing up their travels with one another. The trio had visited Vesalipolis and Lyctidia, saw enough of the local beauty and came to the conclusion that it was "Almost like ours, but ours is better". In the train car, preparations for disembarkation were already in full swing: beds were being cleaned, suitcases were being prepared, there was a loud tremor. The hive's hulking form was getting closer and the train was due to arrive very soon.

Artis quickly finished with his laundry, collected his simple duffel bag, washed up, put on a military jacket which he had perfectly ironed the day before, and threw his infantry cap on, wearing it on one side in the famous fashion he had seen other soldiers do sometimes. While his fellow travelers were fussing around carrying heavy suitcases, the servicebug was already ready to go. He had the look of a discharged soldier: proud, dashing, cheerful. Here they drove into the Sorifian railway station: the locomotive gave a welcoming signal, in response to the joyful shouts of the greeters at the station. There was a screech of the brakes and the train began to slow down. There was fortunately no stampede in the railcar, as its passengers quickly and in an organized manner disembarked onto the platform.

Artis and the three clerks stepped onto the platform's black cobble floor. They were met by relatives, a young drone threw herself on the neck of one of Artis' companions. The former machine gunner warmly said goodbye to them and left, disappearing into the crowd. It was a bit crowded here, but at the same time it felt completely clear and freeing, in a completely different way. Artis felt so good here, it was so nice to breathe this air! It had been a long time since he had been at this station, it seemed to him that it was not he who had left, but another, younger and innocent, Artis. An Artis who had seen neither blood, nor death, nor the severity of fratricide. Now he felt ten years younger, he was fresh, happy, the page of his life had turned.

The old foundry spire was really old, but relatively low. There was a Bih Soryth Foundry here, and several residential blocks for workers. It wasn't the best place in Soryth, but the population never complained about it. If someone had a problem, the neighbors would help without hesitation, and the authorities weren't indifferent to their subordinates.

"Good afternoon."
The elderly concierge looked at Artis through the thick lenses of his glasses, trying in vain to remember him.
"Excuse me please, I do not know you. Present your documents."
"How can you not know? I'm local, I'm from this block!"
Artis was perplexed. He had been scurrying around the giant hive for several hours in search of his block. They paid attention to his uniform, but how many soldiers like him were being released from service at this time?

"Okay, fine. Here".
The concierge read the papers carefully, then looked at Artis.
"Oh, is that you, Herr Artis? I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you in your military uniform. You've been gone for such a long time, your mother was worried."
The Changeling smiled kindly.
"Come on in, please, your relatives await."
Artis nodded gratefully and passed on.

The residential block of the Changeling hive was a cross between a city block and the halls of a floor up in some high-rise building- the passages between the apartments were like winding urban streets and alleys. Artis' home block was a "sleeping" one. The workers here were busy taking a break from work, so there was usually no one on the "streets". There was also a catering establishment here, where the workers of the BSFF gathered after their shifts or celebrated some common memorable dates. Artis' gaze slid over the door numbers, searching for his own. Finally, he found it. The old green door with the number 141/120/109. Artis knocked timidly, leaned his ear against the door and began to listen: it was quiet inside. Everyone must have been asleep. However, he soon heard footsteps approaching. Artis' breath got caught in his throat, he froze in anticipation.
The door creaked and opened... There she was, wrapped in a gray robe, with tired half-closed eyes. After seeing Artis, his mother could not believe her eyes for a while.

"Son?!"
She asked in disbelief. Artis nodded silently. His mother fell into her son's arms, the collar of his jacket quickly became soaked with her tears. This silent scene lasted about a minute. Finally, she parted from his chest.
"Come in, get some rest from the road."
She could barely say these words, choking on the tears that welled up in her eyes.
"Tomorrow we will arrange for a holiday for everyone."
"Mother... I don't even know what to say..."
"You don't have to say anything! Come on, get some sleep from the road!"

The small apartment of Artis' family was not the most grand, but it was always clean and tidy. In the darkness, Artis couldn't see, but he could feel it with his whole body: he was home, finally he was home! Stepping softly on the floor, he found himself in the room where his brothers were sleeping. Their snoring could be heard very clearly, but Artis could not hear his father's snoring, maybe he was at another night shift? Okay, he didn't want to think about it. The Changeling walked to the back of the room, passing his brothers' beds. Their dark silhouettes in the twilight looked more impressive than Artis remembered, during his absence, they probably already completely matured. Here was his corner, his bed. Almost nothing had changed since that fateful morning when Artis' family received a summons to the army. He took off his military uniform and laid down. White, carefully washed sheets, obviously a recently purchased mattress. All of this was clearly set up in anticipation of his return, for which there must have been less and less hope as the days passed. The changeling wrapped himself in a blanket and fell into a swift, sweet sleep, thinking of the fact that his life was just beginning.

When morning came, sunlight entered the room through a light hole. Artis woke up. For the first time in all these years, he realized that he had woken up satisfied. There was a lively chatter coming from the kitchen. Apparently, everyone else had already got up and was eating their breakfast. The changeling got out of bed. Someone had put his military uniform in the closet, but that was alright with him, he didn't even want to touch it anymore. He put on a simple shirt, trousers with suspenders, and a round cap, a simple outfit for most of the locals. That was all he needed now. After washing up and getting dressed, Artis went to the kitchen. After completing such a long journey and getting a sound night's rest for the first time in years, he wanted to eat, or rather drink, because rarely did the emotional essence have a solid consistence. He took a few steps down a small but cozy corridor until he come to a door with a curtained glass, behind which he could hear his brothers' voices. It creaked open…

"Oh, look at that! Look who came to join us! Come on, sit down. Tell us everything."
The voice of the older brother, who was the namesake of Artis, was the first to speak. The rest of his brothers fell silent and waited. Artis Jr. sat down at the table and took a sip from his glass. Oh, finally, this was not some diluted ration of love essence, but something more worthwhile. The kitchen had hardly changed since his departure, the only difference Artis noticed was that it felt oddly empty. The former soldier remembered the noisy company of his brothers and sisters, who could not physically get along in a small apartment. Now there were only three of his brothers and an elderly mother left. The others scattered around the world in search of their fate. The changeling took another sip, and began his story.

"Well, what can I say. I served in Vraks, at the garrison. At first, I was glad that they didn't send me to the border or somewhere even worse. We were cruelly drilled there, but a hive is a hive. I serve for a year, I serve for two, nothing special, routine, but then rumors began to spread among units..."

"What were the rumors about?"
One of the brothers asked.
"You're asking? Of course they were about how our queen messed up in Canterlot..."

"Artis, be careful!"
The previously calm mother exclaimed.
"Every wall has ears and eyes here!"

"Dear Mother."
Artis replied with a gentle smile.
"The walls of our barracks really had ears, and many of us had problems with it... So, they grumbled, but it seemed like nothing. Discipline was maintained, everything was fine, or at least it seemed from the outside. It all started when we were forbidden to write letters home. Your messages have also stopped being sent to us. Around this time, I disappeared for you, so if you know what started then..."

"Do you think we don't know? They wrote about it in the newspapers, and it almost started with us."

"No, brother, you don't know. Newspapers are newspapers, but I saw with my own eyes how soldiers wore red bows, how the police were crushed and how officers and officials were hanged on anything that could support their weight. There were a lot of our fellow people. They say that the rebels, specifically from our block, distinguished themselves."

"Who would do that? Those guys were good, honest, and hardworking. Why did they need to put on red armbands?"

"You understand, they put a choice in front of everyone there, and they put it straight: either you are for a riot, or for the authorities. They may have had a cause to rebel for, but it's impossible to understand what they did afterwards. At first I didn't understand anything at all, and then my company also rebelled, went to beat the officers. What about me? I left them, I don't remember why, probably out of fear. It was happening there..."
Memories came flooding back to Artis. He lowered his head and stared at the glass with the unfinished essence. They looked at him with lack of understanding but clear interest.

"And where did you go?"

"As a volunteer, with the loyalists. When this all happened, I was already in my last year of service. I'd been smouldering over in the military for four years, and then this conflict exploded as if that time weren't enough."

"How so?!"
His mother's voice came again.

"We were crying for you here, your father already thought that you were dead or struck out with the reds! And you didn't write a single letter to us, and you went to the war?!"
"Forgive me, but otherwise I would have been completely lost. And thank you for coming out of Vraks alive at all. At that time, a whole brigade was formed from guys like me, we didn't fight a lot, I didn't get into any trouble at all, I served as a clerk at the headquarters. There is nothing worth remembering from this time. I am alive and well right now, but many guys like me won't return to their families anymore... I didn't write to you, because it was banned. None of the volunteers wrote home, nobody in the military in general. Our superiors wanted to rein us in so closely, to suppress discontent, but only for everything to turn out the other way around."

"Artis… It's so good that you're back. Things will be happier and easier with all of us together."
His mother looked both happy and sad. On the one hand, she was glad to see Artis, but on the other, something was clearly pressing her, something from the past. She wanted to say something, but did not dare to speak it.
"Such a strong and grown-up changeling you have become, to match your brothers, you all came out quite fine after all, your father would be very proud of you..."
Here she could not restrain herself, and began to cry bitterly. Artis Sr. immediately jumped up to her and began to comfort her, whispering into her ears. The middle brother covered her shoulders with a blanket, and together they helped her walk to her room. The only one left in the kitchen was the youngest, his name was Maris, and he was in damned pain for his soulmate.

"What happened to father?"
Artis Jr. asked him in a hushed voice. His brother answered very calmly.

"He caught a cold, then tuberculosis, he was already old in his age, after all, he had already been serving on the repair team for twenty years. The administration paid us money, and allocated a doctor, but the doctor turned out to be a fool, and father died. The whole block was crying for him. It happened around a year ago."

Artis was completely drooping. It seemed to him that his arrival had only spoiled everyone's life. He remembered the morning years ago when the train took him to Vraks, when the whole family saw him off. It was in the spring, in that happy sunny time of youth, which was now gone forever. He silently took out the money that was given to him at the dissolution of the brigade from his pocket, and put it on the table. There were about three thousand marks there. Maris paid no attention to this.

"Don't twist yourself, brother. It is necessary to work, to earn a living. Everything has gone uphill here since you left: the shifts are shorter, and the salary is good, and they will help if anything is needed. After all, these reds are still right about something. If we hadn't come out then, our superiors wouldn't have cared about us, and we wouldn't have such luxuries. We need to visit the head of the shop today to enroll you in the workers list. You're going to work, aren't you?"

"Of course, but for whom?"

"At the factory, at the BSFF. There is serious industry there, metal is smelted, and you can't just get a job there without education. But we will put you in there anyway, first you will help the elders, then you will slowly learn. This is a good, useful thing. We need money, the Fatherland needs steel."

Then Artis Sr. came into the kitchen.
"How is she?"
Maris asked.
"Everything is fine, she's calmed down."
The changeling walked over to the table and gulped down his mug of essence.
"Well, guys, we're waiting for Alvis, and then we're going to the steelworks, to present their newest employee. So, brother, are you ready?"

"Of course I'm ready."
Artis Jr. finished his drink and got up from the table.
"Let's go now, I want to look around at my home block while we're out."

"Alright then, but there is nothing to look at here, everything is just as it was when you left."

Artis Sr. walked down the corridor to the door. He was accompanied by his three brothers: Alvis, Artis Jr. and Maris. They were as free as birds until four o'clock am. The corridor street of the residential block was not very busy at this time: all the workers were either at the factory or in the dining room, and their mothers and wives were usually busy with household chores at this time. After all, life here was not the poorest and the hardest, there would only be more space...

The older brother knew where to go, and everyone followed him.
The same type of corridors continually replaced one another, only the shapeshifters could navigate this interweaving space, and remember and find the places they needed to go. They passed through several ascents, corridors, and passages. The four did not even notice when they found themselves on the factory's territory. It was always hot and stuffy here, changelings worked in the workshops for twenty-four hours a day in shifts, smelting and tempering steel. But the brothers didn't need to go to the workshop right now, rather to a small office, where there was a lean and young guy like them, but in a higher post. Usually, he was constantly watching the work of his wards, but right now he had some time, and he was sitting in his small closet of an office, leafing through a newspaper and smoking some cheap and frankly disgusting cigarettes, which in huge quantities settled the hives under the guise of expensive, high-quality cigarettes imported from Skyfall.

"Hello, boss!"
The door opened and three figures that were painfully familiar to him appeared in front of the shop head's desk, behind which stood someone unknown. His appearance alone reminded the shop head of six happy years spent in a military camp near Antax, in the pleasant company of ten-meter snowdrifts and polar bears.

"Well, hello, good people."
With some dislike, he replied, spitting out a finished cigarette butt into the ashtray. He looked haughty, but it was clear that he treated the brothers of Artis in a good way.
"Why have you come? Who have you brought?"
He asked with interest.
"Yes, our brother has demobilized recently and he wants to find a job now. Will you accept him?"
The speech was conducted by the eldest of the brothers. Maris and Alvis were just there to provide weight to their proposal.
"Well, it's not up to me to decide, but I can recommend him. There is a problem with the labor force in our workshop, he will be useful. Guys from the army are welcome here. Where did you serve?"
"At the garrison, Vraks."
Artis Jr. asked.
"Some people are lucky..."
The workshop chief answered gloomily, memories of his service came flooding back to him.
"Okay. I'll draw up a description of you and pass it on to my supervisors. Don't worry, you'll most likely be accepted. First you'll do menial jobs, then maybe you'll go higher, okay?"

"As if I have a choice."

"Thinking in the right direction. Good for you."
The changeling folded the newspaper and got up from the table.
"Now, guys, leave me alone. Don't make me think that you are going to rob me or something."

The brothers went out and let the chief pass, he left his shelter and walked quickly to the workshop. Artis and his brothers went in the other direction.
"Well, now consider that you are attached to work. He does not hesitate on these issues."

"And what I will have to do? I'm just from the army. I have no education except school."

"And nothing special is required. The elders give a command — you do it."

"And? That's all?"

"Of course no, this is not as easy as shooting a gun you know. If there's a mistake in something — if they find a defect, they'll beat us with a coin for it, and everyone will be held responsible. You need to go to a technical school."

"And where will I find the time?"

"Calm do-own, you're a young guy, there is no problem. You will study, you will work on small things at the factory. In a couple of years, they will allow you to do more important things, and then the money will appear. You will have a lot of time — eight hours a day of work, the rest is study. The guys and I have walked through this process too, and you've experienced worse, right?
Artis Jr. did not immediately answer, sharply remembering the "something worse" that he had "experienced".

"Well, yes, I agree. Anything else might be more difficult than this."

The brothers returned home, had a quick dinner there and left for their shift. The work for Artis Jr. was not difficult, in fact, he became a loader. The work was hard, but the former machine gunner was no stranger to it. He, along with several dozen of similar young drones, loaded ready-made steel blocks into a freight elevator, which was supposed to deliver them directly to the loading station, to the cars and trains. Somewhere in the distance, work was boiling, there was heat and smog, steel flowed and hardened. Somewhere in the factory were his brothers: all of them were tall, strong, friendly fellows, with the support of their loving mother, a vivid example of a Sorifian worker. The shift ended at exactly midnight. The work stopped, the changelings went on to a well-deserved rest. And so time flowed. Artis Jr. did not feel dissatisfied, he considered himself lucky, because his brothers came to his aid and got him a job that helped him forget the terrible months of fratricidal battles. He studied during the day, carried weights during his night shift, and this suited him, because he could not dream of anything more. The son of a worker and a worker himself, a simple guy from a simple family who does not want to climb into higher matters. He wanted a simple peaceful life, and he got it, for a while...

---

The Vraxian railway station is filled 'round the clock and does not halt its work for even a minute. Twenty-four hours a day, it is packed to the brim, and only a raging sea of heads and torsos ebbs and flows from the huge trains. A typical artery of a large hive. Growing up in Vesalipolis, Agrias did not attach much importance to this scene, he calmly walked forward, cutting through these stormy waves like an icebreaker. Behind him came Reinis, always calm and gloomy. Everyone paid attention to the officer's uniform, and tried to move out of the way, to let them pass. Here was the train they needed to be on. It was a long and luxurious train with a restaurant car and other amenities. Express "Vraks-Lyctidia-Vesalipolis".

General Larynx did not stop showering favors on them, it was not difficult for him to concoct two tickets for Agrias on this train, which ordinary soldiers usually did not take. To refuse such a thing would be stupid and disrespectful to the authorities. The documents were checked quickly, but thoroughly. It was unbearable to talk in such a crowd, the two former army mates were able to come to their senses only when they were finally in their compartment.

"Damn it! Even in the morning it's crowded here!"
Agrias was taking a deep breath, stuffing his backpack under the shelf.

"Risking life and limb driving out the reds for a year and a half, just to become a victim trampled and crushed in a railway station crowd, wouldn't that be a stupid death?"

"Of course, Herr Hauptmann, I wouldn't want to die like that."

“You're a military changeling, isn't this the first time you've endured this?”
“I admit honestly- for the first time. It's better not to go to the train stations without a company of service mates, heh-heh.”

Someone knocked on the door of the compartment. Agrias took out the pair's tickets from his bosom, a conductor was outside the door.

"Hello, please present your tickets."

Agrias immediately presented them. They were in perfect order.

"Everything is fine, have a nice trip."

"And you too, Frau."

With these words, Agrias gave the changeling a look that would surely have caused her to blush if the carapace on her face had allowed it. The conductor nodded silently, and moved with quick steps to the next door. The soldiers exchanged glances.

"A rash act, Herr Hauptmann."

"What's wrong with that? We are from the army, we are supposed to be rash. You don't exactly look like a piouous paragon of virute yourself."

"One word - Vesalipolis."

Reinis said with some annoyance, closing his eyes and falling on one side. He was going to sleep without burdening himself with unnecessary preparations.
Then the door opened, and something brown appeared in the compartment, in a coat and with a large suitcase on his side. The guest stopped to take a deep breath.
Agrias could not believe his eyes for a while. There was a real pony in front of him. All brown, and in brown clothes, he contrasted vividly against the background of gray-black changelings.

"Hello, gentlemanes."
He said with a slight accent. He tried to look calm and stay calm, but absolutely everything was showing strong tension and excitement within him.

"This is what it means to get a ticket on a good train, foreign guests are in every patch."
Agrias thought.
"Good day to you, too, sir. ​How do you like our delightful region?"
Agrias replied with forced politeness, recalling a huge number of satirical stories ridiculing the arrogance of Equestrian "dandies". Unfortunately, they did not ridicule the arrogance of the Vesalipolis "herrs".

"I must admit, I'm terrified"
The pony put his suitcase in a compartment overhead, and he sat down on the shelf where Rainis wanted to fall asleep. Seeing the unusual passenger and hearing his speech, the hunter immediately forgot his plans to sleep and stared at him in true amazement.
"Is there such a terrible stampede in all the large hives? I was only five minutes late, and I was almost strangled! In my homeland, everything is much freer with trains."

"Be careful from now on. Our train traffic is very dense, and, unfortunately, it does not tolerate those who are late. You look so serious, you should hire a special footmane to help you get to the carriage."

At that moment, a fourth passenger entered the compartment, it was a changeling this time. He looked pretty exhausted, so he didn't show any interest in what was happening, just perched on his shelf and fell asleep.

"The fact is that I only look wealthy."
The pony smiled, but it was a nervous and strained smile.
"My father squandered the entire inheritance of my family, leaving me a few pennies. I earn money by photography. I travel around the world, take pictures, then sell them to newspapers, the revenue varies greatly. I can afford to stay in high society, but not all the little things."

"Are you a photographer? Interesting. And what did you find in Vraks, did you really decide to take photos of our secret military factories?"

"Dear Celestia, of course not!"
The passenger said with a grin, apparently having guessed the irony of his interlocutor.

"I was interested in something else here, I photograph sights and beauty, and not some muggy workshops with phthisis-infected serfs. I was at the top of the main spire, the view really is spectacular from up there. So much to look at and shoot."

"And how do you like the local gentlemanes?"

"I didn't see any gentlemane here, they were all accountants, corporate employees, and officials. A dry audience, cold to the arts..."

"For the gentlemanes and the arts, you have to go to the capital, there we have complete order with both, it's sickening to look, to be honest."

"I can't understand you there, sir. Apparently, now your passion for the uniform speaks in you, which I do not posess. Just think, after so many shocks, your officers are still raising their voices..."

"The voice of our officers is stronger than ever, you can be sure of that. We saved our Queen and protected our homeland."
“Protected? It seems to me that we defended ourselves first of all..."
The Equestrian looked at Agrias with some reproach and gloating, like a constable who has just caught a street thief by the tail.

"These ponies are so arrogant!" thought Agrias gloomily.
"Ah, you still can't get enough of that case from five years ago... I must admit that I do not know a single detail of these events, but I am sure that our people did not lose face and came out of it with honor, all the rest is shameful rumors and speculation that denigrate our people and our wise Ruler."

"I also do not know anything, and I will tell you that a lot of slop was poured out on Her Highness after these events, too. In general, I suggest not to stir it up. Our powers are extremely cold to each other, that is true. But I see in you a patriot of your country and I consider myself such for mine, so I don't see any reason and sense for discussions."

"The right decision, there is no war yet and there is no prospect of any in the future, and we have nothing to show aggression for if there are no reasons for it. By the way, "
Agrias pointed to Reinis.
"This is my service mate and friend, a very well-deserving changeling. I can safely say that I owe him my life."

The Equestrian casually looked at Reinis, who had already calmed down and was simply watching the conversation between the two intellectuals.

"He was very surprised by my appearance, I would also be surprised if I saw a changeling in my homeland. Are guests from abroad very rare for you? There are a lot of foreigners in our port cities."

"Our griffon allies are not attracted by the cold and sultriness of the hives, there is nothing much for ponies to do here, the deer showed up once, but we sent them off with bayonets..."

During the conversation, the passengers did not notice how the train started moving and left the hive. Outside the window, the standard changeling landscape was already stretching: forests, fields, small and large villages coming across every kilometer. This was no longer a border wilderness, the train was traveling through the heart of the Empire, its most populated and inhabited lands. The Equestrian looked out of the window and stared thoughtfully at the landscape for a while.

"After all, if we really think about it, then your kind are not so different from mine. Only you have discipline and order. As one gentlemane with whom I drank yesterday told me:

"The army and the people in our country are almost the same thing." I heard about what was happening in Vraks a few years ago. Monstrous bloodshed and cruelty, but at least look at the train station from which we left, did you notice signs of desolation, devastation? In our country, after such a war, the city would have died out, but you recovered quickly, disciplined, like ants."

"So we are ants, what can I say?"
Agrias smiled broadly for the first time during the conversation.
"And your new acquaintances could have condensed it. The riots then scared a lot of people, maybe they are still afraid. I will not disclose classified information, but I know how everything really happened in Vraks."

"I believe it willingly. Well, let's not talk about it. I am more interested in the intellectuals of Vesalipolis. Are you involved there in any way, maybe you can introduce me to someone?"

"Oh, unfortunately, no. During the years of study and service, I have not had a chance to visit the high society of the Capital, but I know that most of our creative Beaumont lives there. Queen Chrysalis once attracted talents from all over the country, and now they have settled there. I can't guarantee it, but in the Upper Quarters you will definitely find many gentlemanes with a delicate disposition and a thick wallet."

"What about Lyctidia?"

"I've never been there. Reinis can tell you, but he is a rural changeling and has been there only a few times."

"I went with my father to sell furs. My father is a hunter, and so am I, I've been in the business since I was fifteen years old."

"A very sharp shooter!"
Agrias interrupted his comrade. Reinis was not against it, on the contrary, he was pleased that the words were said for him.

"Lyctidia is a good hive, they pay a decent price for good fur. and I don't remember anything bad about the place at all."

"It's a pity that the train won't stay there for long. It's good that I will at least be able to look at Vesalipolis in full."

"Why don't you stay for a longer time?"

"I can't, unfortunately. There is not much money left. From Vesalipolis I will have to go straight to Hjortland, and then I will take a steamer and settle for a while in Vanhoover. You see, my fate forces me to wander. From one city to another, there are balls and routs everywhere, and I have to beg to appear at least occasionally at them."

"And what heights have you reached in photography?"

"I did everything to get the most I could from it. I am known and appreciated in the editorial offices of newspapers, a considerable part of the headlines of the Equestria Daily is my work, although my authorship is not indicated there. Photography is a subtle and beautiful art, especially when working with a miniature camera. I managed to get hold of one, a wonderful thing, honestly!

"Maybe you will concoct a couple of cards for our "Jäger"?"

"I don't know, maybe. The question is the price, in Vraks I have already received many generous awards from various kinds of gentlemanes. Let's see how much your editors will offer."

"I don't understand these matters, but I doubt that you will be so rich in the Capital. You will surely find competitors."

"It's more like colleagues here. I won't be there for long, I doubt that I will have the opportunity to work, although maybe a couple of photos of your capital will be in demand in our newspapers..."

"I think it will be. Vesalipolis is... ‘Urbis er orbi’. ‘The city and the universe’, as they say about such places. And they owe it entirely to our Queen. She turned it into a real capital, no worse than your Canterlot."

"Canterlot is a city of contrasts, where brilliance and poverty are intertwined."

"As in any capital in our time."

"The fish is looking for where it is deeper, and the pony is looking for where it is better. That's what a northerner told me when I was in Princessyn."

"Were you there, too? Interesting. And how has everything changed there?"

"Yes, not particularly and cardinally, to be honest. In the city center, you can still find expensive restaurants and shops, as well as gentlemen living the high life. There they are now called "nepmans", or something like that. I spent a good amount of time there, although a policeman was assigned to me, and he followed me around wherever I went. It's good that at least they did so honestly, and not from drive-bys and skulking windows and alleys.”

"Well, clearly, I thought it was much more difficult to get there."

"The Communists want to show that everything is good in their country and even better than in Equestria. Therefore, they are not against inviting the press, though they are allowed to photograph only what is needed, that which shows their regime from the best side. Surely they have their own skeletons in the closet, I have heard a lot of talk about hunger, abuse of the authorities in their villages, once even such a strange word flashed by... "collectivization". Well, rumors are rumors, you know that yourself. Fear has big eyes, and the local elite has endured it oh so much."

"The Communists are our enemies, which means that any bad rumor about them should be believed."

"Even if it's a blatant lie? Your uniform speaks in you again, Sir Agrias."

"Alas, it is so."

There was a long pause. The same simple view was flying by outside the window. No one noticed that it was already time for lunch. After a quick and simple meal, the conversation resumed again. They talked about everything, whatever came to mind, so as not to get bored. Reinis changed his tradition and did not sleep on the train ride, listening to and watching the interlocutors, occasionally inserting his own comments, usually on the topics that he understood himself. The pony talked about his travels in Equestria, and other countries. Agrias mostly listened and commented on these stories. So the day of the journey passed, in the evening the express was supposed to be arrived in Lyctidia.

And sure enough, by nine o'clock pm, the express was already entering the Lyctidia railway station. The usual fuss began, as each person disembarked, someone waiting to board took their place in the cars. Reinis was also about to get out, but Agrias did not accompany him, so as not to provoke confusion in the dense flow of passengers.

"Good-bye, Herr Hauptmann."

The hunter simply said, and left the compartment without wasting any excess time. Soon, from the window of the car, his silhouette became visible, breaking through the boundless crowd. Agrias watched him in silence until he finally disappeared among the endless multitude of changelings. After waiting for the passengers to pass, Agrias went to the window of the railcar and watched for a long time an inconspicuous silhouette in military uniform, familiar to him, receding and getting lost among thousands and thousands of figures. At some point, it seemed to him that Reinis turned around, before disappearing forever into the maelstrom of the station turmoil. Then something clicked in his ear. Agrias turned around and saw the Equestrian with a camera at the ready. He had just captured the station from the train window.

"This spectacle has its own beauty, if you are not in its epicenter..."
The pony said thoughtfully, and returned to the compartment. The officer had nothing to say to this. His companion was a kind fellow, although he pretended to be a prim gentleman. The train stood on the platform for a few more minutes, taking in late passengers, and then moved forward again.

A lull gradually settled in the compartment. The Equestrian climbed up to the top shelf,
where his quiet snoring soon began to be heard, and another changeling took Reinis' place. He immediately fenced himself off from his fellow travelers with a newspaper. Did he read it, did he sleep, or did he watch from behind its pages? It was hard to tell. The Imperial Gendarmerie did not assign policemen to foreign guests, its methods were much quieter and more delicate.

"So, as far as I remember, my vacation lasts about a week. And what should I do there for so much time? Most likely drink, walk and make acquaintances, as all honest officers should. A stupid pastime, but it can help in career growth, maybe I will meet my fellow students... " Thought Agrias, falling asleep. Tomorrow he would be already there, in the hive which he praised so much. Well, he would have an opportunity to refresh his youthful memories.

The hive stood among dense forests, towering over them with its pyramidal spires. Great, powerful, as if glowing from within, Vesalipolis was beautiful. All the Changeling hives were a gloomy pile of gray and black towers, and only the capital sparkled with white spires that grew hundreds of meters into the sky. Ten million souls were huddled in and around these walls, the heart of a mighty country was beating here with indomitable force. Vraks and Lyctidia seemed like tiny villages compared to this huge, real "City and Universe", which had no equal in the whole world. Agrias was fascinated by the landscape that opened before him. He was filled with admiration, joy, relief and pride that he was born and raised in this great place. The camera shutter clicked again. The pony did not miss a single opportunity.

"You... see?"
The officer asked him with some excitement.

"I see. Only one place in the world can compare with this sight."

"Are you talking about Canterlot?"

"Yes. Canterlot is a great city, an eternal city. Time has no power in it. Vesalipolis has increased relatively recently."

"It is so."

The train sped past the mighty factory buildings, whose chimneys tried in vain to compete with the tall spires. Production had gradually been moved from the capital to the district field. New factories were not built in the spires themselves, but in the vicinity of the hive, attracting workers and forming settlements around them. These were the first sprouts of the Changeling cities that Chrysalis wanted to relocate the population of the hives to. Now the train was already entering the Vesalipolis Railway Station.

"Sir, I doubt that I will not lose you in the coming crowd, so I want to say goodbye to you right away. And yes..."
The pony was somewhat embarrassed.
"I just realized that I have not introduced myself to you during this time. My name is Oswald Brownie, and I do not know why you need this name now."

"Very nice, my name is Agrias zu Gardis. Don't look for my last name, it is a common one. I am sure that in this place you will find more than one thousand of my full namesakes."

The officer chuckled. The wheels of the train made the last slow turn, and stopped. The passengers began to disembark. Everything happened quickly and in an organized manner, otherwise a terrible stampede would have started. Here, in these giant buildings of railway stations and bus stations, all the disadvantages of living in hives were manifested. Being a few minutes late could cost life or property, during rush hour, train stations turned into seas of changelings, and rush hour at train stations lasted around the clock. In these seas there were currents, whirlpools and a few quiet backwaters. Nothing was required of travelers except punctuality. The station crush equalizes the changelings, more than once it happened that even high-ranking officials were suffocated in the crowd, and only loyal lackeys saved them from their absurd fate.
Oswald was right, in the confusion of the surging crowd, his brown coat disappeared irrevocably.

Agrias felt it for the first time in many years... loneliness. Everyone around him was hurrying about their business, they were not interested in another officer who had served on leave. Where are his comrades? Where are his classmates from the school, where are Artis, Reinis and Kulex? It was difficult to give an answer. For sure, everything was definitely better with them than it was now. For about an hour, Agrias struggled with the crowd, moving among the passengers of his train. Finally, it was over. After passing the most crowded areas and going out to where it was freer, everyone was relieved. It was not customary for Changelings to ride trains in beautiful clothes, such as dresses, fur coats or hats with feathers. All this was shamelessly chattered, torn and irrevocably disappeared in the turbulent whirlpool of the people. A lot of high-ranking officials and rich people were traveling with Agrias on the train. When they came out into the open space, they took a deep breath, examined their emphatically ascetic attire, paid off their lackeys who helped them make their way through the crowd, and immediately hired new ones to carry their luggage. The light-blue uniforms of police officers, trying to maintain at least some order, flashed everywhere. Their job was to help the lost or suffocating in the crush, of which there were many. Needless to say, they did not always have time.

So, Agrias found himself at home, clearly realizing that the next few hours will be unforgettable. After a hasty meal at a local hotel and rechecking his documents, he went in search of his apartment block.

From the inside, the capital seemed even bigger and more monumental than from the outside: wide flights of the highest stairs, elevators, giant corridors of residential blocks, more like pedestrian boulevards. Agrias spent a long time climbing the high spiral staircase leading to the very top of the main spire. His family lived in good prosperity, due to the large savings and a serious pension of Agrias' father. There was a time when he lived side by side with numerous brothers and sisters, but there were probably few left in the parents' nest: almost all went to school, and then left for other blocks and other hives. Not all of Agrias ' brothers and sisters chose a military career, his father did not want this. One or two heirs to his business was enough for him, as was customary with Changelings. Fortunately for him, these wishes came true, and now the young and proven Hauptman, his beloved son, triumphantly returned to his native penates. The apartment block in which the Agrias family lived was a completely different sight compared to the modest working commune at the BSLF factory. It was a well-maintained area, where the life of high society was in full swing. There were expensive restaurants and clubs, all sorts of serious offices and other important places. Solid and affluent changelings lived here, as a rule each having a government title or officer rank. The local apartments were large and expensively furnished, and the blue uniform of a policeman flashed here as often as an expensive suit or dress.
After presenting his documents, Agrias found himself at the block. He hadn't been to this place for several long years. Some came here only for business, feasts and participation in social life. For others this block was a hateful den for fattening rich people. For Agrias it was a small homeland in which he was glad to be. After a short search, he found his door. It was already late at night, but Agrias knocked anyway.

"Excuse me, who are you?"
The young doorman stared at the officer in amazement, it was clear that his sleep had been shamelessly interrupted.

"Poor Ancides, what happened to you while I was gone?" Agrias thought, measuring the newcomer with his eyes.
"I am the son of Herr Agrias the Elder."
He answered with restraint.
"I serve in the army of our Queen, so I was issued a vacation, I decided to visit my native souls."

"Oh, it's you... Herr Agrias has been waiting for you very much, but now he is asleep, like everyone else."

"All right, now let me through. And yes, this is the first time I've seen you. What happened to your predecessor?"

" I don't know, maybe he quit...
The doorman looked down, as if trying to hide a lie.
"Come on, the hour is already late, sleep will not hurt you."

In the semi-darkness, the apartment seemed strange and completely unfamiliar. Agrias Jr. had not been here for many years, although he corresponded very actively with his relatives during his times of study. The doorman did not show him around the apartment, preferring to fall asleep again on his stool besides the door. The officer's footsteps were quiet, his hooves sank into the thick carpet. Here was the living room, in the semi-darkness it looked mysterious and strange. Finding a sofa, Agrias lay down on it, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

Five o'clock struck in the morning. The light mines had not yet let the rays of dawn into the room, but Agrias felt that dawn was already rising somewhere. Just like the day it all ended. Life was already awakening in the apartment. Here it always began according to military regulations. Here a lady came into the room with a broom in her teeth, and immediately froze in amazement. The broom fell out of her teeth, and then Agrias was able to recognize her as his older sister Agrynnis. He was confused, looked at his hooves — they were all covered in road dust. The room was covered with a carpet and the officer left a clear trail of dirty prints behind him. Realizing the full horror of his situation, Hauptman immediately automatically jumped up and stood at attention. Now he looked not like a combat commander, but like a cadet who fell asleep at his post.

"Eh, I'm sorry... Fraulein..."
There was no answer, the sister stared at her brother with all her eyes, not even knowing what to do now: to be amazed at his wonderful appearance, to kiss him to death or to scratch him for a soiled carpet.

"Agrias... Agrias!!"
She threw herself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug. There were tears of joy in the eyes of both of them. The father and mother appeared in the doorway of the living room, but they did not interfere, watching their children from the side.

"Let's go to breakfast, today we are honoring a hero!"
Agrias the elder said with his usual share of pathos. His words did not go unheard, and soon everyone was sitting at the table. Only his father, mother, Agrynnis and the doorman lived in the apartment, who was also allowed to sit at the table with everyone. He looked like a young man, but he was rather pathetic. His name was Cluss. Today's breakfast turned into a modest family celebration.

"Son, why have you been missing for so long?"
His elderly father, a retired officer of the Royal Army, asked.
"What happened to you in our dashing time? You had a chance to fight, didn't you?"

"I had a chance, Father. But it's impossible to find something worse than this war. I got into the thick of it, into Vraks."
After these words, the table fell silent. Everyone here knew what was going on in this long-suffering hive, knew about the fate of officers and ordinary citizens.

"What was there?"

"Everything was, everything."

"I see... You had a tough time there. But, I see that you earned not only grief, right?"

"That's it, Father. I was promoted to hauptmann, and immediately gave me a vacation. The brigade was dismissed to their homes. I will get a uniform and shoulder straps soon."

"This is commendable, there is nothing to say. And what was the reason for the promotion?"

"For surviving."

Agrias frowned at the memory.
"There was a case near Hurornd, just a week and a half ago. We finished off the last red detachments. That's where I distinguished myself. I raised a platoon to attack when half of the officers were mowed down by machine gunners. Eh... And it's scary to remember, but then we did it, and nothing! We gave them a hard time, though, but they bled us too. Our platoon was saved by a machine gunner. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be sitting here with you.I remember now, we said goodbye literally two days ago. His name is Artis, from Soryth, a good guy…”

"Was he awarded somehow?"

Awarded? For what?! Everyone should forget about this quickly, not rattle their medals. Rat war! A shameful war! May there never be such a war in our Homeland again! To make changeling kill changeling! The Communists betrayed the Queen, they should be fought not only in our country, but also around the world, but what a defeat we suffered that we almost fell into this abyss after the Severyanans!?

" ... When the Aquelian king was defeated by Grover I, he wrote to his wife: "Everything is lost except life and honor.". With Chrysalis, everything turned out the opposite. She actually lost nothing, but her honor in the eyes of the people was undermined."
The father answered his son's words thoughtfully. Everyone at the table listened to them, practically without touching their essence.

"We've patched up this gap with our bodies, Father. I hope we have made a sufficient sacrifice to restore peace and order."

"I hope so too, Agrias. When I was young, I fought for this country to be born. You fought for its survival. You, me, every soldier and officer of our army are the flesh and blood of our state, its driving force and the only hope of it. Neither merchants, nor officials, nor spies and gendarmes will achieve such power over the fate of the Fatherland as we have achieved. Their strength is in the royal favor, in the golden mountains, in the fear of the sheep of their shepherd. Our strength is in our courage. Not a single corporate and crookshaker shed a single drop of blood and sweat for the sake of the Fatherland, but our blood and sweat flowed in stormy rivers, our bodies covered the earth with a stormy carpet of blue and red flowers... That's why we have the right, because we gave the most, and did not ask for anything in return... Okay. Let's talk about deals."

"What deals?"

"You won't be here for long, will you?"

"That's right, Father. According to the instructions of General Larynx, I will go to serve in the Vesalipolis garrison."

"Oh, your general is cruel, I knew him, and I saw him when he was still a colonel... There are all sorts of fools in the capital's garrison helipads and other rabble. They carouse at the first opportunity, training at the lowest level. I see these dolfs every day — it's disgusting to look at. There is hope for Trimmel however, he was recently appointed commandant. They say he is held in high esteem by the Queen herself, and many other things are said... But everyone agrees on one thing: the guy is young, but he is brave and smart. At his age, he managed to publish a volume on the art of war. Interesting, they say, a lot of fresh thoughts."

"And how is my graduation class doing there? Surely someone was lucky to settle in the capital."

"Most of them were lucky. I've been to an inn, and I met them there. They're waiting for you."

"Well, I'll have to please them. How do you live here? Who went where?"

"Who goes where. The younger ones-to Lyctidia, the middle ones - to Ditrysium. You're the only one who went to the junker school, but your sister stayed here. We live well, not poorly, occasionally we have guests."

"What about Agrinnis?"

"Agrinnis is engaged, she has a fiance here. One of the young officers. Don't worry, I checked him out. He is worthy of her hoof."

"That's good. And you?"

"Your mother and I are no longer in those years. We live, we monitor the apartment, Cluss helps us. Sometimes we visit someone, sometimes someone visits us. Sometimes I go out, sometimes I just go to pubs in search of the people I know."

"And how are things with our library?"

"Everything is fine with the library. I can give you the task of getting a particular volume of Trimmel. Personally, I am interested in getting acquainted with it."

"I will get it, I will definitely get it. My future supervisor needs to be pleased..."

"You think right, Herr Hauptmann. Therefore, I want to remind you of the main rule. I went into the apartment — wipe your hooves! We aren't on passing yard or on field here!"

Agrynnis suddenly intervened in the conversation, which caused the most active approval. Agrias Jr. did not like to laugh at himself, but he took his sister's jokes very positively, especially after a long separation. After this remark, the conversation continued, Agrias briefly and without much detail told how he fought in the volunteer brigade, everyone listened without asking questions and without subjecting these words to condemnation, then the changelings began to eat essence, and soon breakfast was over. After that, everyone went about their business. Agrias Sr. went to read in his bedroom, Agrinnis and her mother decided to continue the fight against dust that had begun. Cluss had to help in this case. Cleaning in a large and empty apartment is not a very pleasant thing, but it is necessary to observe decency. Agrias Jr. sat in the kitchen for a while, thinking about what had been said. Finally, he got up, recovered and went to solve the accumulated questions. What happened to the old doorman? How are his former classmates doing there, and who is his sister's fiance? He had only come to his home for a week, and he wanted to find out how things were going here.
Cluss was working in the hallway, stoically performing monotonous but necessary work. When Agrias Jr. appeared in the doorway, the doorman did not notice anything.

"Good morning, Herr. How should I refer to you?"

Cluss started up and turned warily at the officer.
"My name is Cluss, I work as a doorman for Herr Agrias... Herr Agrias the Elder, if you please. I get paid..."

"Enough, I don't really need this information. Answer just one question, and honestly, if you can, of course."
Agrias used one of his strictest officer's looks on the doorman.
"What happened to Ancides, the former doorman?"

"He died, I'm sorry for your grief. Ancides was my second cousin,"

"Why didn't you tell me right away?"
The officer replied calmly, but gloomily. His dark thoughts were confirmed, this good changeling had gone. Well, in his young years, Agrias had seen death enough, and looked into her eyes with courage and calmness.

"Forgive my cowardice, I did not know you, I did not want upset you from the road..."

"Oh, you found someone to please. I've seen things that would give you a stroke. I'm sorry for interrupting, I hope that we will get along."
Agrias Jr. was lucky to come home at a time when the soldiers and officers of the Vesalipoli garrison were receiving furloughs. While waiting for the evening, the captain decided to clean himself up, and then start reading.

Yes, he didn't come back home in the best shape, but this would be corrected. After a long bit of work, a completely different changeling looked back at him in the mirror, it was as if he had become five years younger. On long campaigns, Agrias kept track of his condition as best he could, but the situation did not always allow him to do this. Yes, the Changelings had a much easier time with hygiene than anyone else. There was no need for combing the fur, sorting out the feathers, a large amount of running water or other things, a simple wet rag was enough. But for changelings, the dirt sometimes ate into the carapace, and it was not easy to wash it, especially for soldiers in the field, where it happened all the time. With the uniform, things were much better, it was enough to wash and iron it, which Agrias did an excellent job with. He did this alone, thoroughly and carefully, wanting to show himself in the best possible way before the high society in which he had to find himself. Having carefully folded his uniform, the officer put on a dressing gown and retired to one of the rooms in which their own library was located. It would be a while until evening came, Agrias decided to pass the time by doing what he loved.

It had been a long time since he had the opportunity to read what was forbidden by his superiors. Agrias fell in love with Griffon poems and prose with all his heart, he read ballads about knights, kings and warlords, with whom the lands of the East always abounded. Domestic literature could only boast of stories of various kinds of hives and queens, their memoirs and biographies. The rest of changeling literature was just an attempt of copies on Equestrian and Aquelian novels, as well as all the same Herzland epic poetry, to be adapted to the Changeling society. The Changelings are more adept in the art of an ironic pamphlet and a sublime ode, dedicated, as a rule, to Chrysalis. But for such masterpieces, it was necessary to turn to the newspapers, not to the book. Even then, the Changeling press began to turn into a striking sword, poisoned by the bitterness of the annoying Canterlot failure. "Jäger", the largest official Changeling news outlet, and "Equestria Daily", the ponies' equivalent, had long since unleashed a harsh and brutal war in which they fought for minds. On this frontline, the truth was sharply condemned, and lies were extolled, but Agrias considered it his officer's duty to believe in this lie, even though he personally never read newspapers and magazines. Hour after hour passed, and with each line of his own books he read, Agrias felt the darkness surrounding his mind dissipate. It was so good to be here, among the books, as among true friends after a long separation. The officer did not even notice how the time began to run out.

When the clock struck ten, the changeling was already fully armed in apparel. The tunic fit him like a glove, and even though he was a little old in style and had no insignia, he still looked proud, dapper. Moreover, such a look clearly told knowledgeable persons where he served and what he fought for, he whose uniform is old, and has neither shoulder straps nor awards.

After saying goodbye to his family, Agrias went out to the street of his residential block: the hour was late, but electrical street lights were shining brightly, and the streets were full of people hurrying about their business. The Hauptmann felt a sharp attack of deja vu, watching the gallant couples in suits and dresses, monocles and top hats, ladies' hats. He was again shackled by an obsession, this sudden feeling of frenzy, blindness, and deafness, as if a grenade exploded nearby. It was all familiar... and so alien, fake, cloying and stupid. Agrias had just wanted to shine, to show himself to this society of high-ranking people, but only when he came out on the threshold, he realized that he was a stranger here, that those few who had preserved their honor avoided what was going on in theaters, restaurants and salons.

The Hauptmann made it to his destination quickly, remembering the streets well. He met a very different audience there, but they paid little attention to him, rarely even deigning to look at him. Agrias, like a gray mouse, slipped past everyone, only occasionally exchanging brief greetings and gestures of politeness. The "Ant Hill" tavern. He was in the right place, alright. The "Ant Hill" the traditional haven of junkers, which gradually turned into a club for officers. Agrias had been here a couple of times, it was the place where he said goodbye to his comrades before leaving for Vraks. To think, it was only a few years ago...

The "Ant Hill" was modest both from the outside and from the inside, but the essence and meaning of this place was not at all in luxury, for this was the place the officers could expect to take a break from the most severe orders of army discipline for at least one evening. Here students recited obscene rhymes they'd be ordinarily be disciplined for, the piano played high and frivolously, and schnapps flowed like a river. It was a club for initiates, a secret lodge at five minutes to five. They didn't come here right away, and not all of them always came. Newcomers, slow-wits and zealots of the charter were not tolerated here, as well as drunkards and rowdies who disgraced the honor of the uniform, who were sharply condemned here. An evening in the "Anthill" was always like a breath of fresh air for young people who were looking for an outlet for their enthusiasm. The older officers considered this place too stupid for them, preferring to go either headlong into work, or to drown up to their ears in the languid decadence of high society. Here it was always simple and fun.

Agrias pushed open the door and found himself inside. He was surprised when he was met by an attentive silence as opposed to the usual joviality, broken only by one voice, a voice which Agrias recognized immediately. It was Antanas, an unrecognized genius of changeling literature, a constant guest and the soul of the entire local society. Not a single evening in the "Anthill" had been complete without his performances for several years in a row. His poems were replete with irony, satire and ridicule, centered on either the authorities or recent events. No one wrote denunciations against him, even those whom he ridiculed did not condemn his work, because in fact, to some extent, Antanas helped to maintain discipline and subordination, by letting soldiers laugh at their superiors during their leave, rather than directly behind their backs, thereby undermining order. Everyone listened to the poet in sullen silence, catching every word and every sound of his melodious voice. Finally, he finished. The audience exploded with applause and loud laughter, a dense ring of listeners dispersed to the tables of the institution. The Hauptmann, who had just entered, wandered around the tables, looking for familiar faces. Agrias could not recognize his comrades, and this was not at all because of the new beautiful form and maturity. They bore little resemblance either to the military or to those silly junkers: their shoulder belts were too shiny, their tunics fit perfectly, their brand-new caps covered their mirror-polished heads and also sparkled with their silver cords and edging. The Hauptmann looked at them, and before his eyes there were nondescript gray columns hurriedly marching to the sad wailing of a harmonica, under white banners with a three-pronged crown. There were simple and honest guys, kind-hearted and brave-hearted, who walked through the horror and shame with the firm step of a marching formation, with full confidence that their cause was right.

"Guys, look!"
Someone exclaimed.
"Agrias is back!"

The officers began to turn around, talk to each other, someone even threw: "Who is this Agrias?", a statement for which he paid, because there were very few changelings in the "Anthill" who did not intersect with a former classmate at least once. The Hauptmann was surrounded by a crowd of comrades, all the chairs at his table were occupied, even when new ones were brought. He immediately found himself in the center of attention, surrounded by old comrades, and then he recognized and remembered them, the good old junkers of the Vesalipolis school. Immediately, questions began to come in. Agrias answered as well as he could, trying not to lie and speak honestly. He described to his comrades everything that he had experienced, quickly and dryly, as if he were merely giving an official report on his actions.

"In general, there is nothing to remember, except that I have been promoted in rank. I'm a Hauptmann now."

"So, you are our boss now!"
Antanas said.

"Yes, I didn't expect it myself, but Herr Larynx took my survival as a sign of skill and gave me shoulder straps. Now I don't know where I will go with my high rank."

"We know where you'll go, there are new regiments being formed here, so you'll be assigned to them."
One of the officers replied.

"And maybe he won't, the Commandant is a harsh changeling, but a fair one too. We are all green here and we are proud of that, and even though you fought, and you deserved the title, you never went far from us, so you will be with us. You will serve, get acquainted with the authorities and the team, then maybe they will give you a company. The golden times are over, guys. I'll have to work off my uniform. Mark my words! When winter comes, that's when they drive us. It's not always like sitting in a garrison, really! Are we military or what?!"
Asilus, a straight-A student, a principled and straightforward changeling, put in his weighty word. Everyone treated him with silent and sincere respect, recognizing him as an older Kamerad.

"That's right. There is nothing to grab rhoms on straps when the wind is walking in your head!"
Agrias said cheerfully, his exclamation met with a storm of approval. The conversation continued until nightfall, the young hauptmann became the hero of the" Anthill", because it so happened that out of all the several dozen gathered here, he was the only one who got into the volunteer corps.

When everyone had already started to leave, Asilus remained sitting at the table with Agrias. He looked a little strange, as if he was worried and embarrassed to say something.
"Agrias, listen. I want to tell you something. Something serious."

"So what is it?"
Agrias finished his last mug of essence. Now he felt as good as ever, but the mood of his friend made him gather himself together.

"Agrynnis, isn't that your sister?"
The Hauptmann nodded, listening intently.

"So, we are engaged, there will be a wedding soon. Everything is serious, no fooling around.

"Yes, of course, it couldn't happen any other way with you. My father told me about it, and I am proud that my beloved sister fell in love with you. I couldn't have found a better candidate..."
Agrias paused for a long time, looking at the fibers of the white tablecloth that covered the table.

"She is a smart and nice, a rarity these days."

"...You know, Asilus."
Agrias came out of his reverie, his companion froze, listening intently.
" I was kneading snow there for a reason, I've been there in different bindings, to be honest. And so many guys leave, just for nothing, when the machine gun fires - and you can't remember what their name was. And the main thing is that you don't think much about them at first, and then you start imagining that they are all someone's sons and someone's fathers, and that these people are waiting for them at home. And then an officer like you confesses to some Fraulein in love, and everything is fine with you, and then something happens, even if it's sheer stupidity — and you are gone. Your love is left alone. I do not like such sentiments, but this concerns my sister, I would not like to see her bitter tears. So count your life as two, okay? To serve in the army is not a trick for you and not a ballroom waltz, I know this firsthand now, and you agree with me, so take care of yourself, peace and happiness to you both."

Agrias smiled and put a hoof on Asilus' shoulder. The latter took a deep breath, understanding the words of his friend.
"Thank you. Be there, Herr Hauptmann."
He got up from the table and headed for the door. The place was closing. Agrias followed him.

The following days passed easily and calmly: the officer spent time reading books, sometimes he went to visit with his father. In the evenings, he either went to the "Anthill" or listened to his sister playing the piano. After a week, the officer entered the service in the Vesalipolis garrison...

---

The Lyctidian railway station was not much different from the Vraxian one. Reinis pushed through the crowd of passengers getting off and entering, trying to find the right way to go. He had never been in such places alone before, and now he was literally risking his life. Changelings angrily called him out, pushed, often curses were heard, obviously addressed towards him. Reinis tried unsuccessfully to get ahead through the crowd, but met strong resistance. There was a real prospect of suffocating in the crush. Then a loud whistle sounded a few steps away, the crowd parted as much as possible, and Rainis felt like someone was literally pulling him out of the crowd. Immediately it became easier, the Changeling took a deep breath, but it was too early to relax.

"Come on!"
The policeman who had rescued him shouted imperiously, and led the hapless soldier away from the station. Fortunately, there were no other accidents.
"Brother, damn you! I might not have made it in time! What kind of stupidity is this?! You're a soldier!"
The policeman was scolding Reinis loudly and sharply, as they gradually approached the exit from the station. Reinis was stupidly silent, not daring or willing to answer.
"Don't be so stupid next time! I won't hold a grudge against you, but there must be order."
The policeman said more calmly, leading the changeling out of the station. His commander approached him and demanded a report. The policeman laid out everything as it was, the chief threw a quick glance at Reinis, shook his head and left on business.

"All right, Herr policeman, don't get mad at me, it'd be better if you showed me a place where drivers drink, I need to get into my home artel."

"Ah, so everything is clear. Go i-in there, to that diner, there are a lot of similar people there, maybe you will find somebody who will give you a lift."
The policeman smiled mockingly.
"Come on, run! So that my eyes don't see you!"
The changeling shouted cheerfully, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Reinis was alone again, but now he knew where to go.

The place was furnished terribly simply, there were not even tablecloths on the tables, the floor was dirty, and there were no waiters at all. Nevertheless, there were a lot of people here. In the light of a cheap electric lamp, black leather drivers' jackets glittered, the drivers were resting after their regular routes. There were also a lot of those who tried to lather up as fellow travelers. It was noisy, stifling, and smelled of tobacco and alcohol, but Reinis did not attach any importance to this. He was worried about another question: what to do next? He wandered lost among the people sitting at the tables, until his attention was attracted by one bug, draped in a white sheepskin coat that stood out brightly... the Changeling immediately recognized this clothing, as well as its wearer. It was his fellow countryman, a hunter.

"Well, for Queen's sake! We can't give so much!" The white sheepskin coat's owner was indignant.

"How can you not, kind hunters? You probably sold the skins for a lot, but you don't want to share them with us?"
The changeling in a black leather jacket was sarcastic, sipping a cigarette and exhaling smoke almost directly into the nose of his interlocutors.

Everyone was already a little tipsy and the conflict could lead to bad consequences. Reinis walked up to this table and threw five hundred marks on it. Everyone at the table looked first at the money, and then at Reinis. The driver shook his head, spat out the bull and whistled in surprise.

"Well, hello, boy. We weren't expecting you here. Sit down, we'll treat you. Well, you helped us out for today," said the changeling in a white sheepskin coat, his name was Kiris. He was already many years old, and he was the closest friend of Father Reinis, his de facto deputy in the affairs of the artel. Like all Lyctide hunters, he was not generous with his emotions, and a kind word from him was to be taken at high value.

With the help of Reinis, he managed to negotiate with the driver, despite all his nonsense and greed. At that time, there were no passenger buses yet, so the people had to get there by trucks. The hive administration did not contradict this, realizing that this was the only way to get from the hive to the countryside. Columns of cars were carrying wood, industrial crops, wool and furs to the hives, in other words, everything that was produced by the peasants. Trucks with essence and fresh press were coming back, and sometimes with something more interesting, for example, with radios, which were considered to be of great value in the countryside. But there were also those Bauern who went to the hive to sell their goods, and bought the things they need, without waiting for a truck to arrive in their village. Such were the hunters from the Reinis artel.

Having had a good drink and discussed the whole situation, the company of Reinis, four hunters and the driver, left the Kneipe and headed for the car park. Another cargo convoy was being prepared there, in other words, a terrible controlled chaos was happening. The hunters helped the driver load the boxes into the car, and they themselves got into the back. After a while, the car was already driving in a dense column along a wide highway. Gradually, some cars separated from the column, and over time it thinned out more and more, as the drivers turned to their routes. The passengers could not see the surrounding landscape from the back of the truck, but there was no problem, because the sight was the most typical: a huge, empty lot surrounding it, a black-white-green shroud of forest going over the horizon. It was the famous Lyctidian Forest - the pride and heritage of Chrysalis' whole country. A large impenetrable forest, a huge source of fuel, wood and furs. But this forest had one more wealth — these are the Lyctidian hunters.

The first jaeger squads were formed in the days when Lyctidia was an independent hive. At the time, the jaegers were voluntary irregular groups of hunters who fought without uniforms and were famous for their accuracy. When Chrysalis united all the Changeling lands under the crown of Vesalipolis, the jaegers turned into regular rifle units consisting of especially well-aimed shooters. Reinis was unlucky not to get into the jaeger unit. As a result of some bureaucratic mistake, he got into the infantry instead, thus ending up in the ill-fated Vraks hive, and then joined the volunteers, receiving a baptism of fire.

"Listen, Rainis. Why are you back so early? It seems that you are not a deserter, you look honest. Tell me, what kind of sedition has happened in the army again that everyone is fleeing from it?"
Kiris spoke first.

"Sedition. And extremely lousy. Did you hear what happened in Vraks?"

"Vraks? Ah, well, yes. The postman came to us, about two or a year and a half ago. And he brought us such a newspaper... A horror, not a newspaper. We read it, then, with the whole artel, the wives were sighing, the husbands shook their heads... A week passed, another, and everyone calmed down a little, and then they we forgot. You know, we don't get enough of any news."

"I know, and I know it well. And there were cases there... Serious, as I can say. And I had a chance to participate in them."

"Will you tell me something?"

"Yes, but what can I tell? It wasn't a war, it was rubbish. I walked for a year and a half, and then we were all dismissed. At homes, of course. They took us to Vraks, formed us up, gave us money, and also gave us a kick in the ass to get out faster."
The youngest of the hunters chuckled, the others smiled only with their eyes.

"I was given a ride to Lyctidia by one Herr officer, his name is Agrias, just an hour ago we were sitting in the same carriage. And it was a good train, for the rich. There was even a pony riding with us."

"You are serious? Which Ponies here, in our lands?"

"I'll tell you which. This herr had fallen in our compartment and began to sharpen the lies with my officer. It's as clever as two professors are talking! And that pony told that he works as a photographer. That he have arranged a business trip around the country, that he wants to earn money from this... He's a fool, to be honest. Educated, but a fool..."
Reinis paused, there was no usual shaking, the car was still driving on a good asphalt road.
"What happened while I was gone?"

"Nothing, we haven't been waiting for you for too long. Everything is as usual. We hunt, we sell to those who will buy. Recently, the barn burned down, and the Old Armis died... Oh, here's another one. Vilnia is getting married, that's why we are in such a hurry. We're going at night, if only we can make it by tomorrow night..."
Hearing this name, Reinis' face changed slightly.

"The first beauty in the artel, you were hitting on her, as far as I remember?"

"I was hitting on her. There was a case. And then we broke up. I've forgotten her name, too..."
Reinis looked down and was silent for a long time.
"Who is she even marrying?"
He asked with particular dryness.

"A woodcutter from a neighboring village."
Kiris replied, looking into the eyes of his younger companion. His gaze was cold, but the old hunter understood everything. - "Don't worry, they are two boots in a pair, they will get along quite well."

Reinis did not respond to this, he was silent in his usual manner.
The hour dragged on for an hour, the villagers only occasionally exchanged the rare word. The truck drove for a long time, occasionally making short stops and halts. The driver turned out to be a good, but rude fellow. Today he had to go into the night, so he treated the hunters badly, who needed to get home as soon as possible. Evening and night were replaced by morning and day, gradually the contents of the body decreased in volume with each stop. Here the truck turned onto a country road, and the car shook violently. A few hours later, the driver stopped at some kind of Vorwerk, everyone realized that this was the final station. The quartet of Lyctidian foresters got out of the truck, and began to help the movers with boxes who poured out of the gate. Having quickly managed with the load, the changelings said goodbye to the driver, and continued their journey on hooves. Firs and pines were already rising all around, but they still had to go deep into the forest. There were many villages, artels and other settlements in the area of the Lyctidian Forest, which could only be reached on hooves in winter. In the summer, a motorcyclist could get there.

Meanwhile, the sun was already beginning to set, and it was necessary to hurry. At first, the changelings walked along a well-cleared path, but then the first low snowdrifts began to come down. The walk lasted about two or two and a half hours, and when the lights of houses loomed in the dense forest palisade, the sky was black again, not even the moon was visible. The snowdrifts soon ceased, so the houses became more distinguishable. There was no one on the street, it was very cold, but the wind was extinguished by the crowns and trunks of trees that wrote menacingly over everything that the Changelings were able to win back from nature. Nevertheless, everyone was freezing. Reinis did the right thing, never taking off his greatcoat during the entire journey.

It was quiet in the houses, but from one of them came stormy chatter and laughter. This was the house of Father Reinis, the largest and firmest, but not superior to all the others. After all, Reinis Sr. was just a "first among equals", and his income did not differ much from the income of everyone else.

"At least we had time for the feast..."
One of Kyris' companions spoke with annoyance.
"That's not a problem, we'll warm up now, and we have the gifts with us."
An ordinary country house in the kingdom of Chrysalis was, as a rule, richer than some Severyan hut or Equestrian farm. In these parts, it was not the city that grew out of the village, but the village grew out of the city. The peasants almost always had business and sufficient personal wealth. In many villages, there were communities that had serious funds and helped fellow commoners in need. Usually they were almost typical one-story buildings with an attic and a basement, they had two or three bedrooms, not counting the large hallway, which simultaneously served as a kitchen, a dining room, and a festive room. Due to the peculiarities of changeling needs, any feast quickly moved from deeds to word, the essence was drunk, and a conversation began. Often, the conversation was warmed up by good old schnapps. They discussed everything, even the Bauers, who were not used to chatter and condemned the "empty nonsense", gave free rein to words at the table. The essence, a moderate amount of moonshine, the pleasant company of fellow countrymen- everything was disposed for a conversation.

Here, too, in the house of the artel head, several dozen voices were buzzing. There were all the hunters from the artel, their wives and mothers, as well as a delegation from the village of loggers: the headman and his three sons arrived, all three were strong and large, handsome changelings, one of them was the groom of Vilnia. All major holidays were celebrated in the house of the head of the artel, and the wedding of Vilnia and Martis, that was the name of the lumberjack, was also decided to be held here. For the Changelings, the wedding was not some kind of sacred and formalized event, even the consent of the parents was not always required for marriage. In the hives, this was limited to a simple trip to the officials, occasionally accompanied by a small feast. In the villages, weddings were celebrated on a larger scale, often by the whole village, with songs, dances and a feast. The travelers successfully missed the first two points of the program, as well as the solemn part of the marriage ceremony. Everyone was satisfied in the end, the bride and groom were very well suited to each other.

Then the door opened, and four people appeared on the threshold: three in hunting sheepskin coats, with bags on their backs, one in an old soldier's greatcoat, burdened only with a duffel bag. Reinis Jr. saw a long table turned across to the door. In the middle of the table sat the newlyweds, to the right and left of them — guests and artel. The changelings told each other stories, discussed the weather and other pressing issues. Jokes were often made, the shifters laughed, especially those who were drunk.

Seeing the newcomers, everyone became somewhat silent. The eyes of Reinis and Vilnia met, the changeling clearly saw how her smile turned into a tense grin, and her beautiful turquoise eyes disappeared, buried in the dark green oilcloth that covered the table. Reinis calmly took off his infantry cap and unwound the scarf, took off his greatcoat and hung it up along with all the other clothes. When the unexpected guests took off their sheepskin coats and sat down at the common table (before wiping their hooves from snow and mud, of course), the conversation resumed. But they were no longer talking about the weather or hunting, Reinis Jr. got into the center of attention.

They started asking him about his service, he answered simply and truthfully, he could not lie to his fellow countrymen. "I got into a situation, served as a volunteer, fought with the communists, and was disbanded ahead of time." There were only new questions in response, and Reinis had to tell what the volunteers had to do during the fight against the Rotfront. Some people probably boasted about it as a hero, while Reinis described it simply, dryly, with minimal details, without boasting or bragging. The answer to him was the silent understanding of the audience. Here, life and death were treated more simply, a hunter who beats a squirrel and a bear in the forest will beat a changeling with the same cold heart, not to mention ponies and deer.

The Lyctidians valued life, and whilethey also regretted the awful need for fratricide, they preferred not to poison their soul with sentiment, pouring schnapps into glasses with sullen fatalism, listening to the story of a fellow commoners who was not lucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would be wrong to hide the truth from these Changelings who were almost relatives, because everyone in the village knew everything about everyone, and the adventures of Reinis would have been revealed regardless, sooner or later.

"In general, so, fellow commoners. Here I have returned to you. Am I awaited?" Rainis finished the story, and knocked over a glass of schnapps with a raid, as if it were ordinary water.

"Well, of course we were waiting for you. Better alive than dead, and sooner or later is not so important. And as for the atrocities, we should not cry about it. You were following orders, so you were right. Of course, it's lousy that such a thing is happening to the people. Well, our Mother Queen has made a mistake... And what will happen next? It turns out that we will have to go out of the forest to war again..."

Reinis' father was just as short, slender, with a black carapace and the same icy emerald eyes. He was not young, he was smart in his own way and simple in his own way. He, too, had served in the army, and he had seen quite a lot. Reinis Sr. was a Lyctidian jaeger, and participated in the companies of Chrysalis against those hives that did not want to submit to her will. It was decided to forget this time, so the old changeling spoke very little of it. Now he was sitting in his place at the head of the table, smoking a long pipe, and he understood that these four years would also go into oblivion, because the people of the Empire should remember only the best times of their country, as well as only the wisest actions of their rulers. The old changeling shook his head and thought for a long time.

The gatherings lasted almost until the morning. With the first rays of dawn, the guests from the village of loggers began to gather for the return journey. Vilnia was leaving with her fiance, and many gifts were given to her at parting. Kiris and his wards especially distinguished themselves by bringing a brand-new radio receiver and a lot of other trinkets from Lyctidia. All this splendor was taken up by the sons of the headman. Reinis Jr. looked at this with aloof calmness, the cold emerald of his eyes cast a glare of reproach and contempt. He calmly escorted the procession to the exit of the village. He and one of the young hunters were assigned to conduct the Ceremony and the loggers, and he agreed. Together they reached the fork, and the two hunters watched the departing guests for a long time. The bride did not even turn around and did not say goodbye to the artels.

"Good riddance to this fool."
Reinis' partner muttered in a half-whisper and spat into the snow.

"Calm down, there is no reason to remember her ever again."
Reinis answered him shortly, and walked back to the houses.
A new day promised new troubles, having slept off and had enough, Reinis quickly entered the craft. One trip to the forest followed another, the extracted skins were sold in the hive or to peasants from neighboring villages and folvarks. Reinis was quite satisfied with this arrangement. It would be righteous to say that he was happy.

---

A lone soldier was moving away from the door of a drinking establishment. Everything was left behind, everything was over. In this place, he had nothing left but the bitterness of memories. His relatives and friends had sank into Oblivion, his comrades in the police had been trampled by the Red Column…

Here he came across some kind of flophouse. Inside, it smelled of dampness, tobacco, and alcohol. Right in the corridors sat and lay drunk changelings. It was the bottom of the barrel. Kulex could have afforded a better place, but he was not used to spending money, and he was not up to it. Having paid off the owner of this institution, the soldier retired to his room. It was a real closet, there was a persistent smell of something disgusting inside, it was difficult to make out what. Kulex locked the door and collapsed on the cot, feeling the springs pop out of the old mattress. The greatcoat served as a blanket for him, the changeling rested his eyes on the wall, on which the green plaster was gradually falling off, and for a long time he could not fall asleep.

"What am I doing to myself? Where should I go now?" He thought, feeling the springs of the mattress dig into his sides. "Back to the police? Maybe, but where else can I go? I served there all my life, but... What if all this happens again?" The thought made Kulex shudder, he remembered everything: the red banners, the angry marches of the striking workers, and the terrible flame of the doomed burning in their eyes. The police were helpless against this monolithic force; if they had at least a hundred machine guns, they would not have stopped them on that fateful day. The chains were broken, the policemen were crushed and torn to shreds. Kulex only miraculously escaped, but that day had left its mark on him forever.

"Even so, I still have no choice. I don't want to die, but no one will ask. It's stupid to be afraid of a fire, if you yourself decided to resist it. I will be useful to the police, I hope ... " On this thought, Kuleks finally became overcome with sleep. Was he satisfied with this thought? Or did the fatigue of the road finally bring him down? He didn't know himself. The sleep was strong, but restless. In front of Kulex, the Hurornda forests grew up, he heard the rattle of machine guns, a furious and desperate "Hurrah", gray silhouettes rising and falling in the blood-red snow, and in the background of all this horror, another nightmare, old and more terrible, thundered: kumach flags, banners and crowds of soldiers and workers:

"Behold them seated in their glory
The kings of mine and rail and soil!
What have you read in all their story,
But how they plundered toil?
Fruits of the workers’ toil are buried
In strongholds of the idle few
In working for their restitution
The men will only claim their due."

Their march thundered, then it sounded like a verdict, inevitable and inexorable. Many officers of the volunteer corps later laughed contemptuously at the desperate struggle of the already defeated and beaten Communist detachments, but the Vraks police officers learned for a long time the bitter lesson taught to them in those terrible days. Then they were attacked as an enemy army, and they were completely defeated. Many of them could not even imagine with what fury and hatred the proletariat could treat the servants of the law. To what despair did the people have to be brought so that the slightest incident could provoke such an explosion? Who was to blame for this? Agitators or corporates who have locked themselves in their high spires and left their defenders to their fate? No one found the answer, and no one was looking for it at all. Everyone was too busy killing to think about such matters. And now the hive has finally recovered from all this, blood was splashed on the kindled flame, and it died out.

Kulex opened his eyes. The restless visions dissipated, and they were replaced by the same decadent atmosphere of a flophouse. The changeling got up, somehow having recovered after his rest. There was no question of hygiene, there was simply nowhere to do it here. Bypassing the drunks who had not yet woken up, the former soldier left this sad place and went out into the hive.

Vraks from the inside looked quite simple and unsophisticated: during the day there were few people on the streets, in elevators and on staircases, because here the factory shifts were usually daytime and lasted 10-12 hours. Rare changelings in simple work clothes reflexively pressed themselves against the walls at the sight of Kulex. The policemen were nervous, constantly looking around and drilling every passerby with their eyes. Kulex wandered around the hive for a while, having learned from the police where the main station is located, and went there. The entrance to the main neighborhood of Vraks was still blocked by barricades, a machine-gun crew was on duty there around the clock. Kuleks had to show his documents to get through, he was also almost completely searched. During all this time, he did not see a single familiar colleague, all around were young faces of recruits, sullen and stupid, afraid of every rustle.

After passing the armed guard, Kulex found himself in front of the police officer on duty.
"For what purpose did you come, soldier? Speak straight to the point, or I won't let you in."

"I want to serve in the police, to be reinstated."

"And who are you, excuse me for being rude?"
The duty officer was only a few months younger than Kulex, but compared to the veteran of the battles with the Rotfront, he was a mere youth.

"I am Kulex, I served in the 210th police department until the beginning of the riots. My exact serial number— 9990 12 1440 101 500. I've graduated from the Academy, served for about a year and a half. I have no awards, no penalties either. Here are my documents."

"Hmm... A serious case. I'll have to go into the archive..."

"You can also go into the garrison one, there are probably documents about the volunteer unit in which I served."

"You will say it yourself, there is nothing for us to pull the military..."

The attendant scribbled something on a small piece of paper.

"Hey, kid! Flutter into the archive, here's a description for you. ​Let them find out if there was such a officer."

"Take sit here for a while, wait. In the meantime, let them find out if you told the truth."

"There's no point in lying to me."

"That's what everyone says..."

The changeling took a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches from the table. Kulex lit a cigarette and took a drag. This rookie felt like a griffon Kaiser here. Some time passed, Kulex did not deign to count it, thinking that this would only increase the fatigue of waiting. Finally, somewhere around the turn of the corridor, hoofsteps were heard. Both changelings perked up, especially the watchman. His pride was blown away like the wind, he immediately rudely stubbed out his cigarette on the table top and began to fan the gathered cloud of tobacco smoke. The sight made Kulex chuckle.

"Who dares to smoke here for your mother's sake!!!"
The officer's stern voice boomed from the end of the corridor. In the blink of an eye, he was right next to the small window of the watchman. The poor newcomer seemed to have shrunk in size by half. He looked at the senior policeman with such pity and fear that the latter did not even react immediately.

"If you do it again... If you smoke at the post again, I will report everything to the authorities, and they will send you to patrol the underhive, do you understand that!?"
"Jawohl, herr Ober-Archivist!"
The attendant blurted out in a broken voice, pulling himself to attention like a spring.

"I don't want to make a spectacle here! Where is your soldier? ​There was information about him, everything is true. I'm glad for him, he was a good cop.

"Come on, boy."
The officer said, a little more calmly, but still with some roughness. Kulex got up and followed him.

"Herr Lieutenant, how did you survive?"
Kulex recognized his boss in the policeman, on that fateful day they were standing in the same chain, the soldier was sure that the old officer was dead.

"By a miracle, probably. We were badly beaten then, some were killed, some were left crippled. You disappeared somewhere altogether. Our neighborhood is no longer there, they have dissolved it, now other people are serving there. They took pity on me, sent me to work in the archive."

They stopped. The chief archivist turned to Kulex.
"Good luck with your work. Now it's quieter here, and you-well done, fought for a just cause. If it were not for Larynx, there would be no order here. You will be questioned now, but this is a formality. Everything is fine with your papers, don't worry about it."

"Thank you, Herr Leutnant. Kulex nodded deeply, almost bowing to the officer. He gave a salute, and quickly went further down the corridor."

During the interrogation, Kulex laid out everything in detail: in which brigade he served, in which actions he took part, he listed all his superiors by heart. His words turned out to be true, and soon he was accepted back into the police, to the same position, but in a different area, calm and well-maintained, located close to the top of the Main Spire of Vraks. With the money received during the dissolution of the brigade, Kulex was able to afford a small apartment. He took it as a great gift that he was transferred here, because there were rarely any incidents in the housing unit entrusted to him. Working as a policeman was not an easy task, but changeling coped with it, and it suited him. He was treated as a veteran and a brave man, although this was only partially true. Time went on as usual, and Kulex gradually began to come to the idea that life was getting better.