> The Incredibly Valuable Contract of a Sellsword Changeling
>  by Comma-Kazie
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> An Unusual Assignment
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The entrance to the hive was well hidden, barely more than a cleft in the rock. It was fitting, in a sense. If this one had not come to the hive before, it would have had no idea what to look for. 

This one checked the letter in its hoof, its eyes glancing to the signature one last time before tucking it away in its saddlebags. Chrysalis, the Old Mind called itself. No, she called herself. This one still couldn’t wrap its head around the sheer arrogance of so casually giving out her name or using words such as ‘I’ or ‘me’ in self-reference. No properly bred Infiltrator would ever use such terms outside of those closest to them. Names had power, and special meaning to the Free Minds; sharing a name with those that one didn’t trust intimately cheapened it, and put the one sharing it at risk. This one would no sooner parade its name than spread its hindlegs to passersby.

A quiet presence in a nearby tree shook this one from its reverie. The subtle shake of one of a tree’s upper limbs was the only sign that this one was not alone. As this one walked through the cleft and away from the sunlight, it felt less like the proverbial fly entering into the spider’s lair and more like a filly stumbling upon a dragon’s horde. It briefly wondered how many other beings had passed by this rock face, ignorant of the dangers waiting just beneath their hooves.

This one reached out with its senses, feeling rather than seeing its kin hidden in the shadows. This one recognized the chittering which sounded from one dark corner to another for the gibberish it was—white noise to confuse intruders, to disorient and create paranoia. The sound of many throats calling out but making no words. This one could hear more: a faint hint of an echo resonated through this one’s head, the vestigial trace of a connection to the hive mind severed so long ago. 

Alert.

One voice. No doubt a forward sentry, hidden somewhere in the shadows. It gave no sign of its presence at all as this one passed, but with the warning given, other voices soon joined in and spread word of this one’s arrival.

Alert.
.
.
.
............................................................................................................................................Alert.
.
.
.........................................................Intruder alert.
.
.
................................Alert.
.
.
...................................................................................................Intruder alert.
.
.
.
.
Alert.
..........................................................................................................................Intruder alert.
...............................Intruder alert.
Alert............................................................................Intruder alert.
.....................Intruder alert..........................................................................Alert.
.............................................................Intruder alert.
..........Alert...............................................................Intruder alert.
..........................................................................................Alert.....................Intruder alert.
........................................................................................Intruder alert.
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...............................................Query: clarify nature of intruder.
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...............Assessing...
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.
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..............................Non-Hivemind changeling detected.

This one waited until it heard the subtle clattering of hooves on stone—quiet enough that an ordinary traveller would mistake the sound for a pebble falling from the ceiling. But this one was hardly an ordinary traveller. “The Old Mind has business with this one,” it said. “She reached out to this one in Freeport.”

This one could sense the growing interest in the drones’ collective mind. It idly wondered whether they were more intrigued by the presence of a Free Mind, or whether hoof-traffic was light enough in this region that any kind of intrusion could stir up the hive.

........Non-Hivemind element detected.
.
............................................................................Confirmed: non-Hivemind changeling inbound.
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................................................Query: hostile element?
.
..................Unknown. 
.
................................................................................................Free Mind in vicinity.
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..............................................................Unknown. Assume hostile.
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Negative; it claims business with the Hivemind.
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..................................Query: verify claim.
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.....................................................................................................Confirming with Hivemind.
.
.
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............................Its approach is confirmed.
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........................................................Verifying: non-Hivemind changeling’s approach is confirmed.
.



.
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Security protocols bypassed.
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.......................................................................................Access granted.
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............................Clearing a path.
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.......................................................Query: does the non-Hivemind changeling require a guide?
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.
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.....................Negative; it knows the way.

Even as this one forced the drones’ chatter from its mind, this one nearly staggered at the force of the Old Mind’s teasing invitation. The experience was not unlike standing in a river: most adults can withstand individual drops from individual voices, or even a series of drops. When faced with the entire stream, however…

This one entered the hive’s lair. Dark shapes flitted throughout the cavern just outside of this one’s field of vision; its composite eyes gave this one a wider field of vision than most other creatures, allowing it to see additional drones gathering behind. Still, the true scale of the threat posed was in the muted buzz of chitinous wings, as still more drones moved into position. This one doubted that they were gathering as a precaution: in truth, the Old Mind could have easily killed this one long before it set foot in these caverns simply by sending a wave of drones to dispatch it—or if the Old Mind thought this one a more considerable threat, assumed control of a drone and dealt with this one directly.

More likely, the show of force was to remind this one which party was in control. An absurd notion, as this one held no illusions as to who played the role of the fly entering the spider’s web, yet this one suspected that the Old Mind valued its show of power. Control was one of the few things she valued almost as highly as food, likely more than ever after losing control of her Infiltrators. 

As this one made its way further into the caverns, a faint green glow gradually replaced the daylight. The glow came from a kind of lichen this one was not familiar with, possibly one the Old Mind herself had bred.

Soon, the presence of drones became too dense for the shadows to hide. As it progressed, this one noticed curious blue helmets on some of the drones—chitinous, much like the blue keratin which protected their backs, but far less widespread. Was the Old Mind experimenting with individuality again?

This one could not help but wonder if more of its sisters would free themselves from her control, or whether she had actually succeeded this time. It was even possible that she had merely made the changes for appearances’ sake, and this one was the first to see them.

The truth of the matter would have to wait for another time, as this one arrived at the antechamber. It was more than a little surprised: it had expected … it was not sure, in all honesty. A leviathan mass of keratin and malice, maybe, or perhaps a bloated, corpulent pouch of eggs with a head attached somewhere on the mass. What this one saw instead was a lithe, sinewy figure—a little taller, and with cat-slit pupils rather than proper compound eyes, but still not too different from itself. By pony standards, she was … beautiful, in a way.

Fascinating.

“Ah, my faithful mercenary. So good of you to join me.” The flood of minds converged into one solid voice again, though much more subdued that the original greeting.

“This one has received your notice,” it said shortly. “It admits its curiosity.”

“It's just another job, for you.” The Old Mind stretched herself out and made herself comfortable on her makeshift bed, flicking her wings and tail seductively. A lesser mind would have been easily distracted. 

“Clearly not. The Old Mind does not grant audiences casually.”

She smirked. “Your kind always were too smart for their own good. What I have in mind is a special task.”

“The Old Mind is plotting, and would send this one out as a vanguard?” Curious. 

“Yes, precisely.” The drones surrounding the Old Mind seemed to deflate; some allowed their wings to droop, while others narrowed their eyes in what this one could only call annoyance. “I need your services. I suppose you'll want your usual pay?”

This one tried to raise eyebrows it no longer had—an annoying oversight, leftover from its last assignment as a griffon thug. Still, it was intrigued that the Old Mind would offer such a steep price so readily. She enjoyed haggling with those she hired, making a game of the cat-and-mouse teasing as she alternately charmed and intimidated whatever hapless fool until they settled on a price. 

“This one would be a poor mercenary to agree to terms before hearing more of its assignment,” it stated. 

The Old Mind grumbled to herself. “This is no ordinary task, little mercenary. My children are hungry, and numerous. They need to feed. Not the mere scraps we can obtain undetected, a proper meal.”

This one was not able to hide its surprise a second time. It understood that this antechamber wasn’t much more than the tip of the iceberg, but a ‘proper’ meal for even the smallest hive would leave entire cities as little more than ghost towns. Any prior softening of a target population would require that this one reconnoiter structural defenses, supply stockpiles, and the size and makeup of the local garrison. All of this could easily be gathered from less expensive operatives, or friendly townsponies oblivious to the oncoming storm. 

“This one is intrigued. It assumes that it will be compensated properly for spearheading an invasion of such a scale?”

A nearby drone idly shrugged, in congruence with the Old Mind as she casually waved a hoof. “I can offer double your usual rates, plus a substantial bonus if my plans come to full fruition.”

This one perked its ears, listening very intently.

“You will be engaging in a long-term infiltration of a hostile nation,” the Old Mind began, “until you can get every single scrap of military intelligence you can find. When my children attack, our victory will be swift and devastating.”

“The Old Mind is confident in her victory. This one wonders what other provisions are in place to assure its success.”

“I have the numbers to win by brute force, if it comes to that. I would prefer not to lose too many of my children, though.”

That in and of itself wasn’t terribly surprising. A gestalt consciousness such as the Old Mind becomes less intelligent every time ones of its members dies—not by much, but a large body count would leave it cognitively diminished until it was able to repopulate its hive. While the members of a hive could largely tend the drone larvae from hatching until adulthood, as they do not require devoting time to psychological development like a pony foal or griffon cub, but breeding a new army takes time. Still, the Old Mind was nothing if not careful, and this one doubted that it was the only resource in place. 

The fact that the Old Mind was actively taking casualties into account was more telling. More and more, the scale of the impending invasion began to take shape in this one’s mind: only large cities could offer a major challenge to a full hive looking for a feast, and none of those existed on their own as city-states like Freeport. The use of such an expensive asset for a long-term project meant that she was planning to recoup her losses by a large enough factor to make such an expenditure seem trivial.

A faint green glow interrupted this one from its thoughts; the Old Mind had produced a contract and quill from … somewhere, and presented it for inspection. This one accepted the document and shifted forms in a flash of green fire. Unlike normal drones, Infiltrators could fashion their own forms to some extent rather than merely copy an existing body. Any form it took was limited to its own size, and it was further limited to only the six limbs it already possessed. As it was, this one shifted its eyes from their natural compound to something more suited for the poor lighting. The antechamber shifted into sharper focus, bringing the ambient light into sharp focus. The contract before it was largely complete, likely prepared in advance.

This one once wondered what she used in place of ink. Briefly. There are some discoveries in life that this one regrets.

With a grimace, this one pushed that memory away and focused on the parchment before it. Most of the terms and conditions from this one’s previous work remained in place—terms of payment and method of delivery to this one’s accounts in Freeport were in place, though she had deliberately left the amount to be paid alone for the time being. Standard protocol, considering the length of the contract. The better part of ten minutes passed before this one reached the specifics of the assignment. By and large, it would be a standard infiltration: identify and replace a target—this one assumed that it would somehow manage such a rigorous task—and use its position to reconnoiter, and report back to the Old Mind periodically.

Two parts of the contract in particular stood out to this one. Its eyes went wide when it saw Canterlot was the intended target. Intriguing. The Old Mind’s hive had to be massive for her to put the Equestrian capital in her sights. 

As for the other stipulation… “This one may have to assume the role of a parent in its work?” This one curled its lip in disgust.

The Old Mind shrugged. “Most high-ranking military officials have children already.”

“Distasteful.”

Several drones sighed throughout the chamber as the Old Mind rolled its eyes. “You want more pay for that part, then?”

This one certainly would. “It will require a fifteen percent increase in base pay already offered, and this one would have some idea of its promised bonus.” 

“Acceptable.” It came as no surprise that the Old Mind agreed to the new terms so readily. This one almost felt cheated: the Old Mind could at least pretend to be inconvenienced. “The bonus is simple enough: my children have little use for material goods. There are a few artifacts I intend to take possession of, but as for the rest… I don't really care if you empty out a few bank vaults.”

This one did not miss the insinuation of a scavenger's nature. It would be insulted, if the accusation weren’t so true. Still, a successful attack upon Canterlot would leave this one with its choice of plunder. The spoils of unicorn wealth were legendary even in Freeport; Unicornia had never been sacked, and their wealth had only continued to grow after the Equestrian Civil War. There could very well be relics from before the founding of Equestria, if this one picked through the rubble carefully enough. 

Still. This one was not some petty whorse, to be bought off with the promise of a shiny bauble. This one hailed from Freeport, not Equestria; it had standards. This one had been raised in a culture where those who willingly preyed upon young ones were held in the same contempt as those who attempted to mate with them.

The Old Mind somehow picked up on this one’s objections. “You're a mercenary, and I'm offering you every single bit of wealth in Canterlot I don't have a use for. If you can’t find a way past any moral compunctions, then perhaps I should make a contract with one of your kin instead.”

“Out of the precious few Infiltrators willing to actually work with the Old Mind, only seven of this one’s sisters are capable of such an operation; four are otherwise engaged, two work solely for the ponies of Freeport, and the last recused herself from service when she realized she was with child.” There had also been an eighth, but she ran afoul of this one on an unrelated assignment. This one regrets her demise. “The Old Mind’s options will be limited for some time—possibly years. If the Old Mind wishes for this one’s services, it would remind it that insulting a prospective hireling does not breed agreement outside of the Unicornian courts.”

The Old Mind waved a lithe hoof dismissively. “And I suppose next you'd remind me that most of your kind would gladly betray me to Celestia out of pure spite, I suppose?” 

“Naturally.” This one wasn’t too surprised the Old Mind would think that. Outside of a contract, she held as much love for Infiltrators as the Old Families or griffons did for the White Pony. She had once tried to create more autonomous drones, able to think and operate without her direct intervention. She had done her work too well. The newly freed minds accepted her for a time, then pushed for more. More separation from the hive, more Infiltrators to bolster their ranks … more leeway to second-guess her.

The civil war had been long and bloody. The Old Mind died and reformed more times than in any three other conflicts in her history, until finally, the dissent she sowed within the Free Minds gave her the opening she needed to crush them. Those that remained fled to Freeport, to lick their wounds and learn how to repopulate.

She shared much in common with the White Pony—in truth, more than either would admit. The Old Families’ hatred for the White Pony was even older than that for the Free Minds, and this one blamed its younger years in Freeport for its greater disgust with the White Pony. Rarely in this one’s assignments was it not forced to choose the lesser of two monsters. 

At least this monster paid well. “It will accept your terms, with the added condition that it is allowed to retain whichever foals its work forces it to come into contact with.”

Several drones chittered among themselves, and for once, the Old Mind was visibly surprised. “An unusual request, but no matter. My children will have a rich feast; I can spare a few meals for you as well.”

This one’s lip curled in disgust; even if this one did not actively feed upon the child or children, it would not be able to entirely ignore the effects their love would have on it. Simply being close to them meant that this one would absorb at least some of it through osmosis. Rather than a fast consumption, they would suffer slower, more cancerous effects and wither over time. Young ones who didn’t have changeling DNA in them couldn’t withstand being in a changeling’s presence—not without mental conditioning. Worse, this one couldn’t afford to indulge in that kind of training without blowing its disguise.

It weighed the options carefully, quietly angry at the trap the Old Mind had so carefully laid for it. This one might inflict enough harm to any child it would work with, but the Old Mind could easily choose another agent—one less expensive, but with fewer qualms. Worse still, another agent either wouldn’t think of a child’s fate when the swarm finally descended, or else simply not give it any consideration. The withering death of a swarm feeding was not a kind fate.

If the Old Mind noticed this one’s discontentment, she ignored it. “As you will, the foals shall be yours.” She stroked the chin of a nearby drone, which chittered affectionately. “Adults make far better meals anyway.”

After taking another moment to scan the contract, this one signed it. “This one accepts the Old Mind’s assignment.”

A drone approached, taking the contract and looking it over for itself. This one watched as it took the quill into its porous hoof and signed the Old Mind’s name for her—a perfect copy of the signature on other contracts this one had accepted in the past. Curious; this one had never seen the Old Mind sign a contract herself, but it had always assumed that she did so when large enough sums of gold were involved.

She shared such a singular link with her children. It was a topic of fascination and revulsion to those in the Free Minds.

A pair of drones approached, bearing a wooden chest between them. This one nodded its thanks to them instinctively as it opened the lid and picked a random piece out of the pile. The Old Mind had thought ahead: the chest only contained Equestrian bits, rather than Freeport Denarii or gryphon Talons. It picked up a bit—one of the normal one-bit coins that this one would use frequently while under cover, rather than the larger and more ornate 500-bit coins—and sank its fangs into it. The metal gave under its teeth, and this one nodded in satisfaction. 

It filled its coinpurse as full as it could reasonably could, then closed the chest. As its gaze passed over one of the drones bearing it, this one couldn’t help but notice a tiny flicker of light in its eyes. The quiet sign of its individual consciousness was barely there at all, buried by its link to the Old Mind: a teardrop lost in the rain. 

This one chewed its lip, then turned to the Old Mind. “This one would borrow a drone, for a time.”

The calm smile vanished from the Old Mind’s face in a heartbeat. “Choose your next words carefully.” 

This one took a step back from the drones carrying its payment. The one that had caught this one’s notice glowered, even as the whisper of its inner self flickered in its eyes. This one offered its enslaved kin a brief, pitying glance. “This one has formulated a plan to embed itself within the White Pony’s ranks.”

The Old Mind’s eyes narrowed. “If your plan is persuasive, I might allow you to use a drone. It would remain under my control at all times.”

This one wondered whether she suspected it of plotting to bring the drone to the Free Minds, or whether assuming direct control was her preferred way of doing things. 

The closer of the chest-bearers hissed angrily, forcing this one to take a step back. “This one would use the drone as a distraction, and lure the target into an ideal location for an ambush. This one and the drone would attack the target, subdue it, and then hide it away to begin the infiltration.” This one shrugged, casually glancing around the chambers; the number of drones emerging did not sit well with it at all. “The Old Mind would then be free to reclaim her limb at her leisure.”

All around the chamber, hoofsteps echoed as drones closed ranks around this one. This one stepped back again, preparing to shift. It wasn’t sure what, if any, form it could take if it really needed to defend itself against an entire swarm.

A griffon, maybe? Or a young dragon?

For that matter, it wasn’t even sure it could finish the transformation before it was attacked.

A cacophony of screeches rang out, echoing in the caverns as this one’s ears swung in all directions, trying to track which were closest to it. The Old Mind didn’t quite hide her cheshire grin as she watched. No, she wasn’t watching—she was directing them, helping them toy with this one before they struck.

She held up a lithe hoof seconds before this one was prepared to shift. Drones hissed angrily, but backed away. 

“Your proposal is acceptable.”

This one quietly breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t think the Old Mind would so readily waste a valuable resource in annoyance … but then, the Old Mind had nothing if not time. It doubted that waiting a decade or two for a replacement of this one’s caliber would be more than an annoyance.

This one took a moment to steady itself before speaking. “The Old Mind is sadistic as ever.” Another reason to spirit the pony’s younglings away. She would tear a foal’s mind apart just for amusement, to say nothing of study. Feeding could last for weeks.

“If you failed to realize the hazardous nature of that request, that is your failing.” This one could swear it could hear the drones’ laughter in its mind. “If not for our long and mutually profitable arrangement, I would not have allowed you a chance to explain.”

“Were it not for the Old Mind's history with this one, it would not have come at all. She shares much in common with the White Pony.” This one paused to reflect on the odds, then retrieved an Equestrian bit and threw it to the Old Mind. It took a small amount of pleasure in seeing genuine confusion on her face as she caught the coin. “This one does not claim to be unbiased. That is its wager for the Old Mind against the White Pony.”

The Old Mind chuckled. “Is that so?”

“This one finds itself in agreement with the Old Families’ views.” This one shrugged, then tossed her another coin. “For luck.”

The predatory grin returned to the Old Mind’s face. She reached beneath her perch and casually plucked out a ruby the size of an apple. “And for your luck.”

This one accepted the gem most graciously and left without another word, the two drones following behind it.





Proper infiltration on a scale this large is a tedious step-by-step process, and was something that only grew marginally easier with experience. Although this one wasn’t stupid enough to trust the Old Mind completely, this one was pragmatic enough to accept any resources she offered—tentatively. A list of potential targets for replacement had been prepared ahead of time, which this one put to good use. Ordinarily, this one would have followed up with its own network of contacts to streamline the process, but it had relatively few sources this far north of Freeport. The Old Family had sent a few ponies to Canterlot several generations ago to solidify trade, but this one did not think they would be in the know when it came to Equestria’s military.

As a result, weeks passed before this one had everything in place. Of the possible targets, Colonel Steady Advance was out due to his transfer to Westmarch, while Captain Steel Shield was laid up in the hospital; this one learned that she had been wounded in the Dark Pony’s return from the moon. Even though she had been luckier than some of the ponies under her command, the damage to her spine meant that she would probably have to retire and focus on her recovery. Three others on the list weren’t high enough in the ranks to have access to the kind of information the Old Mind would need.

That left two targets: a Major and a Lieutenant Commander. While this one would have preferred the quality of intelligence a Lt. Commander could lay hooves on, it quickly scrapped the idea. An officer that high up would have regular contact with the White Pony; it was wiser to minimize contact with her as much as possible. She has powers far beyond this one’s comprehension.

With the target settled, the next stage of this one’s assignment began. It actively began following this Major, Nimbus Gust, in various forms, only rarely taking the guise of her family or underlings. Gathering information was tricky enough, but sifting through it was the real challenge. This one lost track of time as it pored over its ever-growing portfolio—a collection of hearsay, university admission documents, Equestrian Guard records, and much, much more. It wasn’t a question of what was important. Everything this one came across regarding the Major was important, from her decision to retain a command at a company level when she could have pursued a more lucrative rank, to her second daughter—a filly who had apparently been born to replace an older child who had deserted her commission and disgraced their family several years ago.

Interesting.

In a move that surprised this one, the Old Mind put the drone to extensive use. This one would talk to the drone as it worked, listening to itself as its sister stood stock-still, as if awaiting input. Needless to say, this one nearly jumped out of its exoskeleton the first time the drone replied; the Old Mind chuckled to herself, then let this one resume its work. 

More interestingly, she followed the spirit of her contract rather than merely the letter. More than once, this one was distracted from its research by a flash of green light as the Old Mind overtook the drone, only to disappear for days at a time before returning and releasing control. One time she trailed the Major to an alternate home in a nearby town, while in another instance she announced that she had found a location to store a prisoner. In a third, to this one’s mild surprise, she brought back a small keg of hard apple cider.

Were this one not so distracted at the time, it would have been shocked at how involved the Old Mind was. As far as this one knew, she hadn’t handled things personally, or even by proxy, since she created the Free Minds.

Perhaps her own abilities had grown over the centuries. Disturbing.

Eventually, this one had enough information to start. It and the Old Mind waited for an opportunity to strike; openings in the Major’s schedule were few and far between, and as far as this one could tell she was as devoted to her work as she was to her family. This one decided that the switch would have to take place in Ponyville, the small town where her elder daughter lived. Guard presence there would, obviously, be lighter than in Equestria’s capital, allowing for more flexibility for an ambush and, this one hoped, a longer response time from the local Guards if worst came to worst. With that worked out, the biggest problem was waiting for her to visit her estranged daughter’s town.

This one caught a break so sudden it almost missed it; the return of the Old God of Chaos didn’t last long. True to its nature, the Old God’s simple presence threw everything into mayhem. The drone lost control of its ability to shift its form—at the same time, it seemed, that the Old Mind lost her ability to release her control of the drone. This one admits that it had a lot of fun watching the Old Mind struggle to control her borrowed body as it randomly shifted forms. Though, her predicament would have been more amusing to watch if this one’s ninety-bit wine hadn’t turned into water halfway through the show.

More importantly, though, the Major’s first-response unit was sent in. It was an after-the-fact deployment, due to the unpredictable effects of the nature the God of Chaos—to say nothing of its quick defeat at the hooves of a recently rediscovered magical superweapon. Mostly, they were deployed to contend with the aftermath, no doubt quelling initial panic with a mixture of immediate aid and temporary martial law. This one and the drone followed as quickly as reasonably possible, settled into the town … and then resumed waiting.

This one was closer to its strike—much, much closer, but now that the planning stage was over, things had become much more dangerous. The plan had been set in motion, and it was only a matter of time before something went wrong. This one held no illusions about the risks, either; everything had to go right, within a margin of error, period. 

The window of opportunity was closing fast: with the crisis presented by the God of Chaos averted, the need for quick-response units like Machwing Company was over. A large portion of the eighty-pony company had already returned to Canterlot, and this one had reason to believe that the few that hadn’t left, like the target, had family in the area. Even taking family into account, their duties would only give them a few days’ leeway.

This one and the Old Mind had trailed the target at a distance for the first few days, each taking the forms of dozens of ponies and passing her at random intervals, getting a feel for her schedule. It was … admittedly, nothing out of the ordinary for a military pony running disaster relief: rise early, brief the ponies under her command, coordinate with the local authorities about the day’s rebuilding efforts, then make her rounds to oversee the various tasks before returning to her home.

The target’s schedule had an extra activity that set her apart from most of her remaining colleagues: a trip to the local school to pick up her daughter. While this one still had its reservations about working in close proximity with a young filly, it also saw the immediate benefit: this one would have a small window when the target was alone. With the illusion of security restored to Ponyville, the target had begun travelling on her own to pick up her daughter. It was little more than a ten minute walk, but it was better than trying to ambush her in the air. Luckily, she seemed tired enough by the end of the day that she saved what little energy she had for flight until after stopping by the school.

This one doubted that she was wearing out; quite the opposite, though this one could hear the target’s measured breaths from several pony lengths behind as it followed her down the street. Chains and plates clanked rhythmically as she trotted away from her subordinates, towards the alleyway she knew offered a shortcut through the town. This one had taken the form of an earth pony stallion—one it had seen in Canterlot, to avoid the risk of passing its doppelgänger along the way. 

She looked back. Training pushed back the instinct to try and hide from this one’s target—an odd instinct, for something that could readily change its disguise, but still one that could get this one killed. It breathed a sigh of relief when it noticed that she was looking past this one, back at her subordinates. This one continued on its way, taking the opportunity to advance on her without raising any suspicions. 

Whatever had distracted her quickly passed, and she shook her head and continued on. When her back was turned, this one quickly checked its surroundings; though occupied, the streets were relatively clear for the time of day. After the target, the next-closest pony was an orange earth pony in a strange hat, unpacking a wagon full of barrels—and she was the better part of a block away.

Fortunate.

The target reached the junction and turned down the alleyway. This one followed, taking care to not let its hooves fall silent. The target spared this one a glance, but continued on her way, apparently thinking that she was not the only pony aware of her shortcut. 

A crash and a groan drew the target’s attention; she stiffened, ears perked as she followed the sounds of a pony in need. 

“Y-you heard that too?” This one’s eyes went wide, taking a step back.

The target bought the facade beautifully. This one could hear the quiet, annoyed sigh at the idiocy that came with civilians when they found themselves faced with actual risk. She didn’t reply, but followed the sounds down the alley. 

This one shot a quick glance over its shoulder to make sure that the alleyway was still deserted, then tentatively fell in step behind her. It followed her to find a young unicorn mare caught beneath a collapsed scaffold next to a half-repaired shop; she looked to us, quietly clutching her chest. This one could see a large purple bruise, steadily growing beneath her amethyst coat. 

“Damn, she’s bleeding internally.” The target hurried to the young mare and pulled the shattered wood off of her. Armored hooves cradled one of the mare’s forelegs and gave it a small, comforting squeeze as she checked her over. “Hey—hey. Look at me. Can you tell me your name? What happened?” 

The mare looked up at her, her mouth struggling to form words. “Huh… hel.. help me..”

The target hissed again and glanced back at this one. “She’s going into shock. Go back to the square and get help. Now!”

“O-okay!” This one stammered. “I’m going!” It made a show of backpedaling until the target turned her attention away. 

This one briefly worried that this was an actual accident. Even if this one could afford civilian casualties, it preferred to avoid them. 

No time to worry about that now. Things had gone too far—worst case, this one would have to hide a second body. It focused and drew upon one of its innate talents as a changeling, its innate magic producing a globule of sticky phlegm. It spat with careful aim, scoring a hit on the target’s hindleg.

The target’s head snapped around, eyes wide in shock. She remained silent for a split second longer, trying to make sense of everything.

And that was all the time it took. This one spat again, gluing one of her forelegs to the ground. As this one prepared another globule, this one saw movement from the mare on the ground; a small, strange lump formed in its throat that a pony’s anatomy wouldn’t allow. 

This one would have sighed in relief were it not for its viscous mouthful. The Old Mind had played her part perfectly. No complications, no extra bodies to hide.

This one kept the target’s attention on itself for a split second longer, spitting yet again. The target was ready this time, blocking this one’s attack. No matter; this one’s disguise vanished in a flash of green fire, revealing its true form. The Old Mind did the same, revealing the drone under her control 

Though the target’s view of this one was blocked, this one saw her head jerk at the Old Mind’s reveal. She took an instinctive step back, or tried to—the viscous spittle held her hoof and sabaton firmly to the ground. The Old Mind hit the target full in the face with its attack; this one could not see precisely where, but when it heard the muffled cry of shock, it knew that the Old Mind had scored a hit on her muzzle. The target at least wouldn’t be able to cry out for help, though this one suspected she would be more careful to guard her face to avoid having her airway cut off entirely.

Naked steel sang as the target flared her wings defensively, blades at the ready. She quickly began cutting at the spittle holding her hooves to the ground. Damn it, she’d recovered faster than this one had planned on. This one added more phlegm to the target’s hindlegs, holding her in place. 

The Old Mind also set herself to work, throat bulging to bring more and more phlegm to bear. The target lashed out with her free foreleg. The Old Mind gurgled as the armored hoof connected, crushing the lump in her throat. Her eyes went wide in shock as she tried to inhale—and found she couldn’t. She fell back, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe through a windpipe sealed shut by her own phlegm.

Damn! This one didn’t even know that was possible!

The target hit her again, bringing the Old Mind to her knees. This fight needed to end. Even with favorable odds, this one was running a pretty high risk of being caught. With the Old Mind down for the count, this could quickly spiral out of control. This one took to the air, keeping a watchful eye and hoping for a better angle at her muzzle.

Fortunately, the target was still too tangled to do more than try and cut at her bonds. She turned to the wing plastered to her side, awkwardly trying to cut away the bindings. The Old Mind flailed weakly at her hooves, pitifully clawing at her airway in hope of some kind of respite. She looked to this one, then to the target, then back again. Her feline eyes flashed green again, then faded to blue-white. The drone blinked, having all of a second to realize that the Old Mind had released her control. 

The flash caught the target’s eyes. Her gaze flicked to the now-abandoned drone, her attention turned away from the sky for less than a heartbeat. The opening, if one could call it that, was barely there at all.

It was all this one needed.

This one dropped like a falcon, hitting the target square in the back. The crack of her head against cobblestones echoed sharply through the alleyway. The target gasped in pain and shock—or tried to, as this one forced the air from her lungs. 

Under other circumstances, this one would have stopped to admire the Equestrian craftsmareship; the target’s breastplate absorbed most of an impact that this one knew would break a griffon’s back. This one scrambled to get off of the target and reposition itself, but the glue-like phlegm which now held her to the ground also caught this one’s hindleg. Damn the luck!

This one moved quickly to take the target down and end this. This one’s forelegs clamped down on her neck, inching up beneath her helmet and clamping down on the blood vessels otherwise covered by the crinnet. The target’s eyes went wide in realization; her free foreleg lashed out at this one’s head, a blow which this one deflected readily enough. Failing at that, she flailed with the few free limbs she had, banging the ground with her hoof and wing. 

This one tightened its bear hug as much as it dared. It had to balance the need to keep the target alive with the need to silence her; a single glimpse of the fight from a passerby would ruin everything. 

The target continued to flail, her wing-blade screeching in protest against the cobblestone. Every strike was weaker than the one before it, but each one echoed like a thunderclap in the alleyway.

Finally—mercifully—she went limp. This one held the choke for a few seconds longer to ensure that she was not feigning unconsciousness, then let go. It pushed the limp pony aside and twisted, drawing upon its innate magic once more to secrete the dissolvent to its viscous phlegm. This one freed its hindleg from the target’s armor, then hurried to the drone.

The drone was not long for this world. Its blue-white eyes had gone dark; its earlier struggles were reduced to only the occasional convulsion as its muscles spasmed from lack of oxygen. This one racked its mind, trying to remember first aid from its training with its sisters. This one prepared a mouthful of dissolvent, and was about to cut open the drone’s airway when it stopped; there was no indication of how much time had passed during the struggle, no clue as to how long the drone’s brain had been starved of air. Even if this one could dissolve the blockage in the drone’s airway, this one could not be certain it would survive at all, much less with its admittedly limited mental functions intact.

Beyond which, this one could not spare the time. It was a small miracle that the scuffle had gone unnoticed so far, and time spent on resuscitation with the drone in its natural state only increased that risk. Even if it were in a disguise, this one knew that medical responders would try to bypass the blockage by cutting directly into the airway, much like this one had initially intended to try. While a disguised body would be more vulnerable to blades, it would still bleed green ichor.

This one shook its head. The Old Mind had been decent enough company after the initial meeting—even if it was only out of investment in the contract, as this one suspected—and her presence had been an unexpected bonus. 

The drone’s death was inconvenient. This one had hoped that the Old Mind would be able to spirit the target away, back to the cocoon prepared for her in the cave. It was a construction unique to this one and its kin which could sustain her for days or even weeks, until this one returned to interrogate her when the need arose. Without her help, this one would have to do that on its own. This one realized that it had not asked the Old Mind how she planned to take the target away discreetly, and kicked itself for the oversight.

Still, this one never went into the field with only one plan. Looking around, it saw a cart half-full of refuse near the back entrance of one of the shops. It wasn’t yet full enough that the owner would take it out to burn the contents in a slash pile, but there was still more than enough for this one’s purposes.

It started by loading the drone’s cooling body first, then hurried to unstick the target from the ground. Her armor was lighter than this one expected for plate mail, though it was still heavy enough that this one almost dropped her the first time it tried to haul her into the cart. That task accomplished, this one used its phlegm to hogtie her limbs and muzzle and then bind her to the bottom of the cart. It made certain that she wouldn’t even be able to flick her tail in distress. This one would have to take her out of town itself, and it could not afford the risk of her making a sound on the off chance she came to prematurely.

The drone’s body disappeared readily enough, but there wasn’t quite enough garbage in the cart for the extra bulk the target’s armor added. This one shifted forms in a burst of green fire, assuming the form of a tan stallion before it scrambled to a neighboring refuse cart for more. The smell of garbage quickly seeped into this one’s fur as it covered the last of the target’s armor. This one didn’t really pay it any mind.

Once the camouflage was in place, this one hitched itself to the cart and double-timed it. It could only afford so much of a delay before the target’s absence became conspicuous.





The cart had proven easy enough to hide. Ponyville was all but surrounded by trees, and this one had been fortunate to find a small, secluded grove not overly far from the ambush site. Relatively speaking, anyway; it had still been a ten minute trot to the edge of town, and another ten to get far enough into the woods that nothing would stumble upon the cart by accident. 

This one hastily rolled in the grass to try and rid itself of the smell of refuse. It wasn’t quite on par with a dip in a river, to say nothing of a proper bath, but this one suspected that nopony would give give a second thought to a pony with a little odor, especially after spending a summer day in the middle of a rebuilding effort. Once it was done, this one assumed the target’s form and took to the skies, mentally reviewing every scrap of information about the target it could. 

This one had to make sure everything about the disguise was perfect. It was already pushing its luck with how late it was, but the drone’s death had backed it into a corner. 

This one double-timed it to the schoolhouse, going as fast as its wings could carry it. This one silently swore at the timing when it saw only a few figures on the ground. Two young fillies scrambled over a playground--a lavender unicorn filly with a blond mane, and a pegasus filly with the coloration reversed. The schoolteacher, an earth pony mare, watched over both of them from a bench, and she waved to this one as it began its descent. 

“Alula!” the schoolmare called out. “Your mother’s here! Dinky, come on over too.”

“Coming!” the fillies shouted in unison. The mare grinned to herself, and this one did the same as it trotted up beside her.

“I hope I haven’t kept you too long.” This one made the awkward transition to first-pony pronouns easily enough. It decided against offering an excuse; no point in making up a story if none was asked for, and the target wouldn’t talk about work to a civilian anyway.

This one turned back to the mare as she waved a plum-colored hoof. “It’s not a problem. I was already here for Dinky, anyway; Derpy said she’d be running a little behind today.” She stood up and stretched, a thoughtful look on her face. “You know, she usually drops her things off before picking Dinky up. You might be able to catch her at her place.”

Speaking of the young filly, she made her way over with surprising speed, and seemed to be wrapping up a particularly in-depth discussion with her friend about ... whatever it was children talked about. “...an' then maybe you can show me how t'be sneaky an' stuff, 'cause Sparky's been talkin' 'bout this colt in her school, so I wanna follow her an' make sure she's not gettin' cooties or anythin'.” She saw me when she paused for breath and switched gears. “Hi, Missus Nimbus!”

Alula cut in front her her, stopping just in front of me and looking up with a small, expectant smile. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, girls.” A proud little smile helped mask this one’s racing mind. While the target would have happily taken care of them under ordinary circumstances, today was anything but ordinary; this one needed a little more time to secure the cart and its contents. 

The young unicorn approached the schoolmare and hugged her. “Thanks for watchin’ us, Miss Cheerilee! I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“I’ll see you then!” The mare returned her hug gently, then nodded to this one and went on her way. 

The fillies waved and watched her go, then let out a sigh of relief. “For a second, I thought she was gonna say somethin’ about talkin’ t’ Mommy about stoopid division again,” the little unicorn grumbled.

The target’s daughter nodded. “It’s stupid. And hard. Besides, there’s better stuff to study, like history.  Miss Cheerilee barely even mentioned Gale the Great when we talked about the Lunar Rebellion!” She turned to this one. “D’you think you could go ask Miss Cheerilee to spend more time on that?”

“I … actually don’t really have time today.” This one led them to the edge of the street, then stopped short. The list of suitable foalsitters was a lot shorter here than it would have been in Canterlot, and having a second filly in the mix narrowed that down even further. “I’m a little busy with work, so that’ll have to wait—and I'll need you to stay with your sister until tomorrow.” Alula’s sister was the only one this one could think of off the top of its head, but it wasn’t sure if she had plans for the evening. 

Then again, it didn’t really matter. As this one thought about it, it realized that any child raised in a military family would treat their parents’ requests like a very polite order. Showing up on her doorstep out of the blue and telling her to put her plans on hold probably wouldn’t do much for her relationship with her mother, but from what this one’s research indicated, her parents’ attempts at reconciliation had largely stopped once her replacement had been born. 

Alula’s ears perked, and her smile grew a little wider. “Yeah, sure! Hanging out with Cloudy is always fun.” She trotted up next to this one, apparently waiting for it to lead the way. It was about to consider the matter settled when her friend came up on the other side.

“Oooh, ooh, could she come home with me instead? We could have a schoolnight sleepover!”

It didn’t really matter either way, so long as this one had the evening free for its assignment. “If that's all right with your mother, then it’s fine with me too.” 

The little unicorn squealed in delight and bolted off, then zipped back a heartbeat later, bouncing in place. “C’mon, let’s hurry! I wanna get home an’ ask Mommy so we can get everythin’ ready for the sleepover!”

The target’s daughter nodded, then turned to this one. “Are you gonna teach me wing-blades when I get back from Cloudy's?”

“It may have to wait a little bit, depending on work, but yes.” Damn. It would be this one’s luck to replace a pony whose special talent revolved around wing-blade combat. 

The unicorn looked back to us, ears perked even as she turned down a residential street. “Oooh, that sounds super-cool! Sometimes I wish I was a pegasus so I could learn neat stuff like that, 'cause my magic's bein' dumb an' takin' forever t'come in!”

“Yeah, but you get magic!” Alula chewed her lip thoughtfully. “But I could learn all kindsa sneaky anti-magic stuff…”

“Ooh, right! You could show me that stuff, an' I'd help ya too, an' then we could both learn t’ be sneaky, right Missus Nimbus?”

“Of course.” More and more, this one hoped that wing-blade combat wasn’t too different from the styles in Freeport … and more importantly, that this one would be a half-decent instructor. The target’s rank as an officer meant that this one wouldn’t have to worry about combat in day-to-day assignments, at least. Still, it was a small favor. 

This one’s wings rustled in agitation, though it was able to disguise the movement easily enough. This one’s skills lay in, obviously, infiltration and subterfuge, not frontline combat. No matter how this turned out, this one would have to humor Alula’s desire to learn sooner or later. Maybe it could nudge her away from direct combat, and more towards its own skill sets? Her family did claim direct descent from the ancient oathbreakers, Shadow and Gale Kicker … perhaps it could encourage her to learn to ‘be sneaky,’ as her friend put it, like her ancestors.

This one filed that thought away for later. Dinky had reached her house, a comfortable, single-story affair, and impatiently waited at the front door. “I'll be right back, 'kay?” Without waiting for a reply, she hurried inside. “Mommy! Are you home yet? Missus Nimbus an' Alula're here!”

After a moment, a grey pegasus mare joined us at the doorway, offering a gentle smile. “Hello, Alula, Nimbus.” This one was impressed with her sense of balance. Somehow, her daughter had latched onto her foreleg in what was either the mother of all foalish bear hugs, or else a very unique take on a krav pega grapple. 

“Hi, Miss Doo!” Alula chimed, smiling to her while staying at this one’s side.

“Hello, Miss Doo,” this one echoed. “I'm afraid something's come up at work, and I won't be able to take Alula home until tomorrow. If I could ask a favor…?”

“Can 'lula stay for a schoolnight sleepover?” the little unicorn begged. “Pleeeeeeeease?”

“Please, Miss Doo?” Alula was, again, more subdued than her friend, but the supplication in her voice was evident enough. This one felt a smile return to its face; whether in Equestria or Freeport, children would always be children. 

This one had to admire the grey mare’s fortitude. She lasted for nearly three seconds under the barrage of wide, pleading eyes. “All right, all right. Go on in and get a snack.”

The fillies cheered in unison. “Thanks, Mommy! Thanks, Missus Nimbus!” The unicorn nuzzled her mother, and then faster than this one could register, let go and attached herself to this one’s foreleg.

By the old gods! The sheer love put out from this filly … this one more fully appreciated the Old Mind’s taste for children. They were a more bountiful feast than even the most optimistic adult.

This one was very, very glad that she wasn’t going to be its child during this assignment. She seemed very open, emotionally, to everything around her. That wouldn’t be a problem in and of itself, but the hug she had given her teacher had left a mild aftertaste. If this one could sense that from a distance, there was no telling what kind of effect she would have on this one, and vice versa. At the very least, this one’s waistline would expand at an alarming rate. Alula at least seemed more tempered—fitting, given her family. The Kicker clan on the whole seemed more prone to stoicism, at least in public. 

This one almost blanched at the ugly realization that it had just found itself wondering which child it would prefer to leech emotions from. Disgusting. It really should have bargained for a larger percentage from the Old Mind. 

The little unicorn let go, making room for the target’s daughter. One again, this one was struck by the night-and-day contrast between the two; the love offered by the target’s daughter was far less … overwhelming, but she made up for it with her focus on the target. She loved her mother dearly, even if they seemed more distant than a mother and daughter would ordinarily be.

This one was afraid that she would feel the strain of this one’s leeching within a matter of weeks rather than months.

This one put that fear aside, and let the target’s—it’s … no. My daughter. This one was fully committed to the role now. That meant immersing myself fully into the target’s mindset.

“I just have one thing to take care of, then I’ll be back for you.” I nuzzled my daughter and hugged her close. “I promise.”