Not every changeling managed to retreat back to Queen Chrysalis' Hive. Now stuck in Equestria, what are they to do?
When Queen Chrysalis was defeated, not every changeling successfully retreated back to her Hive. Badly injured, either body, or mind . . . or both . . . the abandoned survivors have been struggling to do just that: survive.
Almost two years later, they have gradually banded together, forming a new Hive in the process. For, by now, they have been away for so long that they're no longer part of Queen Chrysalis' Hive. Exhausted, wounded in heart and soul, and starving, they just want to have a home.
Can they find, or make, one, in Equestria?
(set approximately near the beginning of Season 5) (Based upon reader input, comments, and critiques, expect a major expansion revision sometime in the future)
Winter wrap up might have officially occurred five weeks ago, but the temperature was still quite brisk, especially this late at night . . . or, well, this early in the morning, depending upon a pony's perspective, that is.
The time was just two hours past of midnight, and it was incredibly dark at the location in question, that particular point being roughly halfway between Ponyville and the Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle, and upon the path —well, avenue (by now) possibly more of an accurate description— connecting the two.
Overhead the cloud cover was heavy, the sky almost completely concealed behind the thick, quilted puffballs that lazily drifted in the gentle breeze. The Weather Patrol would, of course, need to catch up with them come the morn, to chivvy them back to their starting points once more, grumbling the entire time about the required, specified breezes that necessitated such repetition. Adding to that kvetching, of course, was that the proximity to the Everfree Forest virtually guaranteed that some of those clouds would become independent-minded, and go wandering off on their very own, leaving the crew with the task of requisitioning additional clouds to make up the slack.
Not even Luna's moon could penetrate that obscuration, although now and then a shaft of dazzling argent lanced through the infrequent, and completely random, overhead breaks in the cloud cover. Even more infrequently did they illumine the crystalline construction of the Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle itself. Of course, when that did happen, scintillations dappled the exterior, twinkling and sparkling with a seeming life of their own.
Down at ground level, the light breath of air coasting the clouds high above was a barely-felt zephyr, which did nothing at all to disperse the thick, heavy scents of rich earth, recently-mown lawn, and abundant flowers of all types, colors, and descriptions. Granted, the majority of those blooms were tightly budded up for their night-time slumber, but their intense fragrance still permeated the air about them.
Unless the target of a shafted lancet of moonlight, Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle was completely dark, simply an enormous looming sable structure against an even deeper, darker backdrop of nighttime gloom. Off in the distance, where the winding, linking avenue terminated, was the sprawling, cosmopolitan, large village —or small town, take your pick; although, since the appearance of Princess Twilight Sparkle's Castle, “town” was quite likely to be an inaccurate description in the not-so-distant future— of Ponyville. It, too, appeared as a (mostly) dark blot on the landscape, albeit one that clung to the ground rather than lunge upwards towards the heavens as the castle did. Scattered about where the occasional lantern or lamp, or even a gleaming window backlit by drawn curtains or shades. But those sources were few and far between and, more importantly, at such a distance as to have absolutely no impact on the deep, deep darkness at that aforementioned spot along the path between village and castle.
High overhead, it seemed as if one of the clouds had shivered and, in the process, shed itself of several pieces of its blackness. Down, down, down those small segments descended, not lazily as one might expect from, for example, drifting snowflakes or falling leaves (or discarded cloud fragments, for that matter), but with seeming intent and purpose . . . had anypony been awake to have noticed said descent and, having then done so, pondered the matter with the gravity such a happenstance deserved.
However, since there was nopony present (as all sensible ponies were sound asleep, snug in their beds) those black-upon-black blots continued their slow, stately descent in complete and utter silence and nonobservance.
Within a few minutes, those barely-detectable splotches against their parent clouds resolved as six quite distinct —albeit still formless— shadows. Another minute or two longer, and those formless shadows were formless no longer. Before a definite recognizance could be formulated or speculated, those six shadows had landed, the light yet distinctive buzzing of their wings ceasing as perforated limbs gently flexed as they absorbed the landing impact.
Six changelings now stood upon the path, their black chitin barely visible against the pitch of night that surrounded them. Six pair of light blue, compound eyes softly gleamed in the night, but only for a moment, as once all six were securely settled with their landing each of them carefully hunkered down, limbs folded beneath their bodies, as they then closed their eyes, at which point they simply became six black blots upon the path.
[everyling remembers the plan, correct?]
{check}
|check|
\check\
<check>
There was silence . . . which made sense, because none of the six was actually vocalizing. Several long seconds passed, then there was a soft, audible, not-a-throat-clearing cough.
[everyling?]
>oops! sorry; I thought we'd all be dead by this part of the plan. so . . . what comes next, again?<
There came a light 'ching', as if a hammer had smartly rapped a hollow metal jug.
>ow<
The other four softly chuckled a moment, their understandable tenseness lightening a bit from the badinage of their companion.
[now . . . we wait. I'll take first watch]
For all that she resented the necessity for sleeping —seeing as that subtracted from time better used for study and research— Princess Twilight Sparkle was not a morning pony. As much as she loved her (former) teacher and (still-current) mentor, Princess Celestia, Twilight cringed at the thought of having to be cheery and wide-awake at the depraved brink of dawn. And imagining being responsible for actually raising the sun —and, thusly, creating said dawn . . . and, therefore, being required to be awake and conscious for aforementioned raising— was enough to give her the screaming meemies.
So having one of her guards come bursting into her bedroom without even a prefatory knock wasn't something enjoyable. And when said guard was yelling in a shockingly loud voice . . .
“Changeling army! There's a changeling army outside!”
The sun had just peeked above the horizon —the moon having just immediately descended— when all six of the changelings abruptly winced, blenching at the sudden, intense waves of panic and outrage emanating from the direction of the castle. Considering the distance was several hundred yards, the intensity of those emanations didn't bode well for the near future.
>oopsie?<
*ching*
[stand fast everyling. we always knew this was a possibility. just hold fast.]
Barely a minute later and the huge, golden double doors flew wide open, as a mob of mostly-armored guards erupted from within, a glowing alicorn leading the charge, her wings spread wide as she half-flew, half-galloped. Several of the pegasus guards peeled off, heading up and out towards Ponyville itself, while the remainder partially fanned out, keeping their princess as the tip of the charging spearhead.
>i think I left the gas on back at the hive<
*ching*
Hooves thundered, wings hummed; Twilight felt her breath growing short and tight as she charged towards the army of changelings threatening Ponyville . . . well, towards the group of them . . . small group . . . extremely small group . . . extremely small group, just standing there . . . well, huddled there, close together . . . tightly huddled, braced now, not at all threatening . . . and holding a standard . . . a standard with a white flag fluttering in the gentle zephyr of dawn.
From run, to gallop . . . to canter, to trot . . . decelerating until finally walking, then stopping several yards away, barrel heaving with both exertion and residual, clinging panic. Twilight folded her wings as she struggled with conflicting emotions, as her guards fanned out and surrounded the six changelings who simply patiently waited, all but one of them hunkered down and resting atop their folded legs.
The single, standing changeling, who was also the one holding the flag standard, finally slowly gazed about, those unnatural, unblinking compound eyes giving Twilight the willies. He —She? It?— silently observed the guards massed about, a third fully armed and armored (those being the ones currently on duty this shift), the remainder in bits and pieces —or none at all— as they'd hastily answered the emergency summons to arms.
It was an unusual group, to be sure, for Princess Twilight's guards haled from the length and breadth of Equestria. There were, of course, earth ponies, as well as pegasus and unicorn ponies. But there were also crystal ponies, personally hoofpicked by Princess Cadance. And there were also thestrals, who had accepted their reassignment here by their personal liege, their Lady of the Night; doing so with mixed feelings, being torn between extreme pride and honor at that selection, yet sorrowed at no longer being her sworn vassals.
The silence was eerie, broken only by the heaving pants of the ponies and the jingle of metal and creak of harness. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Twilight blurted, “Why are you here?” Motioning to the white flag she demanded, “Are you surrendering?”
The standing changeling focused his/her gaze on her. She rocked back, startled, as it spoke, for until now the only changeling she'd ever known to have spoken was Chrysalis.
“We are here to parley, and open negotiations, between Princess Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship, and Refugee Hive.”
The hallways echoed with the clip-clop of multiple bare hooves, and the metallic ringing of shod ones; familiar sounds indeed. It was the jarring, bronze-chiming changeling steps that sent goosebumps rippling along her skin.
Well . . . to be honest —and Twilight always strove to be honest with herself— the way the changelings’ ringing steps echoed and harmonized was actually rather pleasant. Unfortunately, the inescapable fact was that those mellifluous, ringing chimes came with changelings attached.
A small armada sailed along the corridors, as if a majestic galleon headed to port. The changeling negotiators were in the middle, the lead changeling carrying the standard at ease, the wooden staff resting back and over a shoulder. Twilight was still extremely suspicious, Queen Chrysalis’ attack still very vivid and fresh in her mind, even though two years had passed. But there was something about these six, something that troubled her. Yes, they were pacing along, looking proud and assured, but she could also dimly sense strain; fatigue bordering on exhaustion; a fragile, desperate hope barely being buttressed by that pride.
As the group stepped into the throne room, Twilight found herself hoping to keep this meeting a hushed affair for now, at least until she had a better idea as to what was involved. Before she could take her seat, and even as the guards were streaming to the sides, to take (hopefully unnecessary) defensive postures, that hope was dashed.
Literally.
“Say what?” Rainbow Dash screeched as she flew through the doorway, her entire body radiating hostility and battle-readiness. “Changelings? Here? Lemmee at ‘em!”
Twilight was still in the process of (somewhat successfully) settling the agitated pegasus down when Applejack stormed in, as ready for a fight as Rainbow. Two was certainly not better than one, especially when those two kept agitating each other, with both spoiling for a fight.
She felt ready to cry when, in short order, first Rarity and then Pinkie Pie trotted in, albeit more sedately than Applejack and Rainbow Dash had. “Quiet!” she called out; well, yelled, to be accurate, which startled both her friends and her guards.
The changelings, however, simply stood there, facing Twilight’s throne, resembling onyx statues.
“Sit!” she commanded, angrily thrusting a forehoof at her friends and then at their seats. “Now!”
“Sheesh Twilight,” Rainbow grumbled, “You don’t hafta yell, yanno!”
“So . . . whut’s the deal Twi?” Applejack asked, once she’d taken her seat.
“I don’t really know,” she admitted. “Except that they seem to be ambassadors of some sort; from somewhere called “Refugee Hive”. At least that’s all I know for now.”
“Yeah,” Rainbow derisively snorted. “Ri-iiiight. Sure they are!” she mockingly winked. “Spies are more like it. Preparing the way for another invasion.”
A headache was starting to throb deep in her head. The problem, at the moment, was that while Twilight couldn’t at all disagree with anything Rainbow was either saying, or feeling, Twilight was now also the Princess of Friendship. So, unless and until they were proven otherwise, she was obligated to, at the very least, listen to them as impartially, as objectively, as she possibly could.
The changelings never moved, simply remained standing there.
Twilight glared Rainbow into surly silence, then shifted her gaze to the silently-standing changelings. “You stated that you are here to parley, and open negotiations, between myself, and Refugee Hive; correct?”
The standard-bearer spoke up, with that peculiar dissonance Twilight had heard once before, from their evil Queen. “Yes, your Highness, that is correct. We have been——“
“So where’s this ‘Refugee Hive’?” Rainbow aggressively blurted out in interruption. Twilight felt like gritting her teeth, and was seriously contemplating having the hostile pegasus escorted out, but a quick, furtive glance around the room showed that Rainbow Dash was only asking what virtually everypony else was thinking.
“Rainbow Dash,” Twilight quietly spoke. Once she had her attention, Twilight pleaded, “Please. I beg of you. Please wait until I get answers? Please.”
Huffily ruffling her pinions, Rainbow subsided, although pink eyes continued aggressively glittering.
Returning her gaze back to the changelings, Twilight courteously addressed the standard-bearer again. “Please. Continue.”
As if there had been no interruption, “We have been selected to negotiate on behalf of our Queen——“
“Queen??” This time it wasn’t Rainbow Dash. Or, more accurately, it wasn’t just Rainbow Dash, for both Rarity and Applejack blurted out in surprise and consternation.
Twilight’s stomach was starting to churn. Her day had started with being jolted wide-awake, rapidly rousing from peaceful slumber into a state of combat-ready panic. She hadn’t any coffee, her head was painfully throbbing, she was (so far, anyway) throttling down her dread and dismay of facing changelings again, and finally the fear that, perhaps, yes, as Rainbow Dash was accusing, this was just a trick, a ploy, of Queen Chrysalis.
“Our Majesty, Queen Tabula Rasa,” the spokesling continued, “is desirous of having a peaceful, mutually accommodating, relationship with Equestria.” Ignoring Rainbow’s derisive snort the spokeslink went on, “She is hopeful that Her Hive may be peacefully integrated into Your Kingdom; if not as an allied nation, then as citizens.”
Rainbow choked back a retort as Twilight threw up a hoof at her. “Tell me more about your Queen, and this Refugee Hive.”
There was an almost imperceptible pause; Twilight tensed, expecting prevarication. But her eyes rounded in shock at what was actually said.
“To begin with, Your Highness,” the spokesling began, “we wish there to be no misunderstandings. No unfounded assumptions. Queen Tabula Rasa has commanded us to hide nothing, and to reveal everything. So, to start, Refugee Hive consists of those changelings that were too injured, too wounded, too weak to have retreated back with Queen Chrysalis. Yes,” the spokesling forged on, ignoring the gasps that susurrated in the throne room, “all of us were part of the attack on Canterlot.”
Twilight struggled to contain the fear, and the fury, that roused in her. How dare they!
As if aware of the emotions that bluntness engendered, the spokesling just stood there, again resembling a statue.
“An’ did ye do thet willingly?” Heads turned, surprised eyes looking at Applejack. The farm mare was just . . . looking . . . at the changelings, a very intense, focused look at that.
“Willingly?” the spokesling thoughtfully repeated. “That . . . is an interesting question. Although changeling subjects of a Hive Queen do have free will in most things, when it comes to a direct command from a Hive Queen, free will plays little to no part. One just obeys.”
“And if your Queen Tabula Rasa commanded you to lie? To lie about your true intentions?” Twilight quietly asked.
For an instant, six sets of membranous wings disharmoniously buzzed. “Then we would lie,” the spokesling admitted.
Rainbow yelped, slamming a hoof down. “I told you they can’t be trusted!”
“Simmer down Sally,” Applejack chided. “It’s kinda stupid t’ admit thet when lyin’ ‘bout it would work better fer ye.”
The outraged pegasus was about to argue that when she paused, considering with whom she was speaking: Applejack, the Representation of Honesty. Huffing, she sat down again, forelegs crossed in silent aggression.
“We were scattered to the winds,” the spokesling continued. “with no idea what had happened. One moment, it seemed, and Queen Chrysalis was broadcasting victory and triumph, commanding us to feast, to satiate our hunger . . . and the next?”
“We had no idea where we were, or what had happened, or how to return home. Our connection to the Hive, to Queen Chrysalis, was gone. Just . . . gone.” Twilight’s eyes rounded at the anguish, the despair, the pain, she heard in that simple word. “A changeling . . . is nothing without Queen and Hive. Nothing. When that happens, death is usually swift and sure.”
“So . . . why didn’t it?” Rarity softly asked. “Happen, that is. How have you managed to live?”
“There were ninety-two of us eight months ago,” came the quiet words. “Now we are fifty-eight. Fifty-eight changelings who were fortunate enough —or cursed— to have supped on pony love before disaster overtook us.”
Sharp inhales and hisses echoed in the chamber at that. The spokesling continued, his tone firmer. “We should all be dead by now. But although we are all starving, we have so far survived —not because of the energy of pony love fuel . . . but because of the hope and promise which that awakened and aroused.
“And because of that promise, that hope, Queen Tabula Rasa and her subjects have no desire to reestablish ourselves as subjects of Queen Chrysalis again. Not that we could,” the spokesling admitted. “For since we have been lost to Queen Chrysalis —She no longer knows us— she would have us killed rather than reclaiming us.”
“So it’s ‘any port in a storm’, huh?” Rainbow Dash sneered. “You can’t go home, so you’ll take what you can get? Oh, and that’s assuming this isn’t some pity-party story designed to snooker us as you play scout and spy for Chrysalis!”
Voices began stridently clangoring, bickering and arguing back and forth, with Rainbow Dash’s accusations overriding all. “C’mon Twilight!” she pleaded. “This is just another sneaky trick! They’re just trying to invade us again!”
A sudden buzzing of membranous wings, sounding like an angry hive of hornets, cut though the clangor and brought everypony to a halt. Although the changelings hadn’t moved a whisker, there was something about their posture that felt . . . coldly angry.
“Invade you?” a different changeling spoke up, the discordant rasp of voice sounding . . . contemptible and derisive. “Invade you,” was repeated. “An interesting word choice,” was contemptuously declared.
The new speaker turned to face Twilight, and, as that changeling moved, so did the remaining five, forming a geometrically-perfect pentagram centered on the replacement.
“Princess Twilight Sparkle,” the new spokesling addressed, “we understand that you are a lover of knowledge. Therefore, we are offering you a priceless opportunity —that of changeling history and culture— that noling such as yourself has ever been privy to learn. As such, it would behoove you to take good notes . . . and to keep others quiet, for we shall not repeat this again.”
The guards were already tense when the changelings had shifted position, and now this changeling’s speech was bristling everypony, for it was clearly contemptuous in its tone. Yet, one look at the Princess of Friendship’s expression, and everypony instinctively knew that mumbling a single word, even under the breath, would draw fury down on that unfortunate’s head.
“Many hundreds —nay, several thousand— years ago,” began the tale, “Changelings lived in Hives of one Queen and perhaps twenty to thirty subjects. There were thousands of Hives, and each and every one was devoted to survival. At that time we changelings were true predators,” at that the narrator hugely yawned, and there was no missing the display of long, curved fangs. “And our fangs were no mere decoration. We did not harvest love . . . we drained life. We were ambush hunters then, and our prey was anything alive.
“As the centuries marched on, hunting became more difficult. No few of our prey learned to recognize changeling hunters, and quite often we became the hunted instead. Our prey —instead of roving about, being nomadic and thus more easily ensnared— started forming groups. Small at first, but, as they evolved, larger and larger. And there was cooperation both within groups and amongst them. Cooperation, however, was not the changeling way: competition was.
“Two thousand years ago, the Changeling race was almost extinct. Between internecine struggles and the growing civilization of our most nutritious prey, we were a dying breed.
“And then came Queen Khrysos.”
All six changelings reverently buzzed at the mention of her name.
“Queens do not hunt. That is what her subjects are for. But her Hive was so depleted, her grubs so starved, that she, herself, left her Hive to hunt. And in doing so became the Savior of all Changelings. For Queen Khrysos somehow discovered the secret to Changeling success: How to shape-shift . . . and how to feed on emotion rather than life.
“No longer did we need to ambush prey and drain them of life. Now we could associate at will, find sources of emotion —love in particular; such a very strong, very nutritious emotion!— and harvest that food, that fuel, and leaving the prey unharmed; none the wiser.
“Within five hundred years we had a thriving civilization. With sufficient food, we, too, learned the benefits of cooperation and camaraderie. There was over two thousand Hives, and, although most of those were quite small, there were six Hives consisting of over eighty thousand changelings each.
“There were more changelings then, than there are ponies in Equestria today.
“There came a time, oh, many, many hundreds of years ago, when Spring arrived after a long, cold winter. Winter is a difficult time for changelings.” Five sets of wings nervously buzzed for several seconds. “For, you see, we do not handle the cold very well. Heat, yes,” the narrator lifted up a foreleg, obviously stressing the many perforations there. “Our bodies are designed for surviving heat. But cold?” There was a small pause. “The colder it gets, the more lethargic we become. And when it is cold enough to freeze water . . . we become paralyzed.”
The speaker turned and gave Rainbow Dash a hard, flat look. “To kill a changeling quickly, you simply need to make it cold.”
Returning back to Princess Twilight, the speaker continued. “Queens are very cautious about sending scouts and harvesters out at the beginning of Spring. Sudden cold snaps are not unheard of. But by the end of winter there is great hunger. Love is not something we can store, not like bees do with honey. And, back then, Hives did not store prey, keeping them as ready food sources. So by Spring the Hives are close to starving, and Queens have difficult decisions to make.
“That Spring, the Hives waited a goodly time, to assure the weather would remain warm. Then the Queens sent out their scouts and harvesters. All of them.”
“Several days later, without warning, with no reason to expect it, a blizzard struck our land. Within an hour there was a foot of snow blanketing the land, with howling winds and blinding sleet. It caught our scouts, our harvesters, away from their Hives, away from shelter. Within minutes they became lethargic. Within an hour they were paralyzed. Awake; conscious, but paralyzed. Fully aware they were dying, and nothing they could do about it.”
The speaker’s voice took on an uglier rasp. “And their Queens could only listen as they died, their mindtouch remaining in contact with their terrified scouts and harvesters, hearing them die . . . feeling them die.”
“Every scout, every harvester, died. The Hives, one and all, starved. Virtually all the Queens went insane, or catatonic, unable to handle the mindtouches of hundreds of their subjects helplessly dying and being powerless to save them. For while it is true that a changeling lives to obey their Queen, it is also true that a Queen exists to serve her subjects and to see to their survival. Within two years there was but a single Hive left.”
It was utterly silent in the throne room, it felt as if everypony was holding their breath. A soft sob at the doorway caught their attention, as Fluttershy, looking horrified and distraught, stood there, tears streaming down her face and muzzle.
A chorus of gasps echoed as the speaker proclaimed, “That Queen . . . was Queen Chrysalis.”
The speaker now turned, fully facing Rainbow Dash. “You ponies celebrate that every year.”
“What!?” the pegasus snorted in derisive laughter. “You’re nuts!”
Twilight, and a few others, however, started getting a sick look to their faces.
“Tell me, Rainbow Dash,” the speaker almost spat, “when you earth ponies, pegasus ponies, and unicorn ponies fought and squabbled and destroyed your original homeland, did any of you bother worrying if your new land was already occupied? I mean, before you started squabbling again and brought an unseasonal blizzard that blanketed everything.”
Rainbow Dash just sat there, frozen, mouth hanging open.
“So, tell me, Rainbow Dash,” the changeling repeated, “Which one of us is the true invader?”
The sudden snap of the parlay standard shocked everypony. “Refugee Hive is located at the far end of Ghastly Gorge. Look for the tree shaped like a dragon’s paw. Partway down the cliff at that point, in the shadow of a huge boulder, is the entrance. You don’t even have to do anything. Everyling, including Queen Tabula Rasa, sacrificed almost all of their energy to us, so that we would have the strength to travel and parlay.”
At that the broken halves of the standard was hurled to the floor, the pieces stopping just before the horrified alicorn.
“This parlay is over.”
Before anypony could say, or do, anything, a wall of lurid green flame shot up around the six changelings . . .
A bright, lurid ball of green fire silently erupted high overhead Ghastly Gorge, and, as it vanished, six changelings now hovered in a loose circle. They silently hovered there, wings lightly buzzing as they station-kept their position.
[i . . . i handled that badly. i let Rainbow Dash] #flash of intense anger# [get under my chitin and anger me]
#feelings of reassurance/understanding#
|we all knew how unlikely this could be|
{they hate us; even before exposing ourselves in Canterlot, there were always whispered rumors, and fear and hatred of our kind}
#agreement#
There was no need for vocal speech, for changeling communication was virtually instantaneous, crystal clear and unambiguous. Granted, most everyling except for the strongest —and Queens, of course— were limited in range, usually no further than within the Hive itself.
There was no need for names; not when you knew with whom you were communicating simply by the “taste” of their mind.
There were no ways to hide emotions, not when you communicated on such a deep, intimate level. Which meant that —again, with the exception of the strongest (or shrewdest), and, of course, Queens— it was virtually impossible to lie to one another.
[what do we do now? i fear I have buried all our corridors behind us]
>?< #puzzlement# . . .
>!< #urgency!!#
With absolutely no warning, save for a bright flash of curious perplexity immediately followed by blinding, fearful urgency, one of the changelings took off in a streak of green fire . . . before flashing out.
Rainbow Dash floated very high up, perched atop a wispy yet-still-concealing cirrus cloud. Down in front and below were six hovering changelings. Hah! Found you! she exulted. Granted, it was a bit of a hollow victory, as they were positioned exactly where they said their evil lair was located. The moment the jig was up they’d ran like frightened chickens, and as soon as they had, Rainbow had leapt up and zoomed after them, leaving everypony behind in her dust. Twilight had urgently called out after her, but Rainbow pretended she hadn’t heard.
Waiting for the cavalry to arrive —not that she needed any such thing; she was Rainbow Dash!— she kept a close eye on the up-to-no-good group. I wonder what they’re plotting? she broodingly pondered. Now that this scheme has been uncovered? Ah-HA! she crowed, as one of themabruptly streaked off, disappearing in a lurid line of green.
All boasting notwithstanding, Rainbow Dash truly was a superlative flier, with truly daunting somesthetic, kinesthetic, and spatial awareness. With only half a second to see that changeling streak off, she had already instinctively calculated the three-dimensional vector, speed, and likely destination of the departed insect, shifting her head and eyes to target that point. And as she did . . .
She almost threw up.
Her gorge heaved in horror as she spotted a tiny figure falling from the lip of the chasm, hitting a rock and then spinning into space . . . freefalling towards the bottom of Ghastly Gorge which was hundreds of feet below. Excellent eyesight was also part of her pegasus heritage, and in harmony with her already-prodigious skills, her vision was also exceptional . . .
Snapping into clear focus was the unmistakable sight of Apple Bloom pinwheeling into space, a look of unbridled terror on her face.
Even before all of that had truly registered, Rainbow Dash was already in motion, wings extending and beginning a downwards sweep even as legs tensed for a lunging launch. But Rainbow was already mentally crying out in impotent dismay. As fast as she bragged she was —and she actually was that fast, so perhaps that wasn’t boasting after all— Rainbow knew she’d never make it in time. That she’d have to witness the death of her dear friend’s little sister, right before her eyes . . . because she was too damn slow.
That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.
Rainbow had barely begun her descent, when a bolt of shocked surprise actually had her wingbeat falter a moment. There was a vivid green flash halfway down the yawning chasm, and abruptly a changeling there now.
The next few seconds were a blur to Rainbow. Yet, blurred or not, they also remained deeply graven in memory, as vivid at her death as it would be all her life. Time took on that eerie duality that emergencies always did for her: seconds seemed to race by, at the same time moving glacially slow. As before, again her unparalleled spatial awareness ticked courses, vectors and speeds in her mind, calculating both Apple Bloom’s pinwheeling freefall with that of the high-speed, purposeful flight of the changeling. And with the brutal, unfeeling and uncaring, bitterly cold logic of maths, Rainbow Dash could see the intersection point . . . within the wall of Ghastly Gorge.
She actually cried out when, somehow . . . somehow . . . the changeling rolled onto its back . . . matched Apple Bloom’s rate-of-fall . . . enveloped her in its arms, nestling her against its chest . . .
. . . slamming backwards into the unyielding granite of the chasm’s walls.
Once . . . twice . . . three times! The changeling somehow kept hold of Apple Bloom, shielding her from the worst of the impacts with its own body. Somehow kept —albeit shaky— control of that descent, decelerating the rate until finally spinning to a stop at the rocky bottom, lying on its back, the unconscious filly protectively sheltered in its limbs rolling free once the changeling came to a stop.
Seconds later, with a screeching slide and a rocky clatter, Rainbow Dash skated to a stop. “Apple Bloom!” she cried out, “Apple Bloom!” Dropping to her knees the anguished pegasus did a quick examination. No stranger to injuries —hers in particular, and others as well— she rapidly inspected and catalogued, wise enough not to move her to do so. Scrapes and abrasions; a lump forming at the back of her head; skinned foreknees; slow, steady respiration; limbs looking straight . . .
Rainbow’s eyes widened as she quickly scanned the unconscious filly; they rounded wider as she looked way, way up to the lip of the chasm so very high above. “I . . . I can’t believe that!” she stuttered, voice growing louder with amazement with each word. Turning to face the changeling, strong emotions rocked the usually-brash pegasus. “No way!” she exclaimed. “No way you did that! That was awesome! Huh?” Rainbow tipped her head, trying to understand the low, faltered buzzing of the changeling. Pacing over and standing next to the changeling, Rainbow gazed down. “Are you ok?” she asked, feeling, well . . . yeah, it was a bug, and Rainbow had no love of bugs; not since the horrifyingly near-successful invasion and conquest of Canterlot. But this one had pulled off an impossible save; had rescued Apple Bloom from certain death. Her face furiously blushed, ashamed that she hadn’t even thought to check up on the heroic changeling.
“Youn . . . youn . . . youngling . . . is ok?” Rainbow’s ears swiveled forwards, straining to catch the words.
“OK? OK?! Dude, you saved her!”
Five changelings settled down in a loose circle about the three, utterly silent once their wings were folded.
“G.good,” the changeling softly exhaled. “Good,” came a barely audible whisper.
“Hey! Hey!!” Rainbow felt a surge of dread as the changeling’s eyes slowly lost their inner gleam, becoming cold and dark. It was only then that she saw the multiply-cracked chitin, the liquid shimmer of leaking ichor that the cold, unfeeling ground soaked up like a thirsty sponge. Spinning in place, she stared at the silent statues about her. “What’s happening?” she cried out to them . . . even as she realized, with sinking, helpless horror, exactly what had transpired.
Once after another, each changeling lowered its head, lightly touching the fallen one’s chest with the tip of its snout, a gentle buzzing of wings as they did.
“No,” Rainbow whispered. “Oh, no, no, no!” violently shaking her head in denial. “You . . . you gotta do something! You have to!” she cried out. “Please!” she implored, tears starting to freely flow.
Twilight Sparkle popped into space just about five hundred feet in the air, almost exactly overhead of Rainbow Dash and the changelings that had surrounded her. At the moment she was alone, but she knew that her guards were frantically on their way to support her. She knew she should wait for those reinforcements before doing anything; Princess or not, alicorn notwithstanding, she could be just as vulnerable as anypony else, given the right circumstances. But Rainbow Dash was in dire straits, surrounded by the enemy . . . Twilight tucked her wings in close, like a falcon about to stoop, exactly as Rainbow herself had taught her . . . she gathered Magic about her, its aura dancing along her form, coruscating in a nebula that visibly flickered in the bright clear sky.
Something wasn’t right.
Carefully cupping her wings Twilight spilled air and started braking her lightning descent. They weren’t attacking Rainbow Dash after all. They were just standing there, and . . .
A look of horror spread across her face, as she started another dive, having spotted the prone figures of both a changeling . . . and Apple Bloom.
Wings thundered, dust and pebbles scattered as Twilight furiously backwinged to a stop, and still the changelings just stood there, although their heads did turn to silently watch her. She felt a jolt of shock seeing Rainbow’s face: tear soaked, tears literally streaming down her cheeks. “Twilight!” she choked out, grabbing the alicorn with a hoof and dragging her over . . . to the changeling! Not Apple Bloom!
She could barely make out Rainbow’s words through the sobs. “Twi-twilight! You . . . you gotta help him! He . . . He’s hurt bad. Real bad!” she bawled. “He . . . he saved Apple Bloom. I . . . I cou . . .couldn’t reach her in time. But . . . but he . . . oh sweet Celestia, Twilight! He . . . I don’t know how . . . it was impossible . . . but . . . but he did it!”
It only took one look for Twilight to understand that the changeling was gone; far beyond the reach of any healing, any spell. Rainbow Dash saw the sympathy, sorrow, and regret in her friend’s eyes and, with a loud sob, collapsed, shamelessly weeping.
She still didn’t understand what, exactly, had happened. But the “He . . . he saved Apple Bloom” had been crystal clear. As despicable and detestable as the pegasus found changelings, something truly major must have occurred to have caused that abrupt tack to her attitude. Twilight turned, roughly facing the remaining changelings, about to ask for explanations, but paused.
One and all, they seemed to be staring into the distance.
\there! do you taste that?\
{yes. throbbing pain. fear. exhaustion.}
[surrender. terror. despair]
With the ease of long practice, it took only twelve seconds for them to precisely home in on the source, and when they had . . .
“Hey!” Twilight blurted, as, with absolutely no sign, no warning, the five remaining changelings took off at the exact same second. Wings loudly buzzling they half-galloped, half flew, charging along the chasm’s uneven floor, with Twilight in close pursuit, leaving a deeply grieving, sobbing pegasus behind.
Thirty seconds later and they skidded to a halt, and, as so did Twilight, she had to control the surge of nausea that threatened to spill up and out of her.
There was a large, fresh pile of rubble next to one chasm wall, forming a broad scree. Flicking her eyes upwards she could trace the route those stones —ranging in size from dust and pebbles up through several massive boulders— had taken as they’d fallen.
The same path that Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo had fallen down, as well.
Both were half-buried under loose rubble, although —Thank Sun and Moon!— not by any of the larger rocks. As the changelings loosely semicircled the rubble, Twilight dimly sensed . . . something . . . building. Normally that would have been enough to catch, and thoroughly hold, her attention.
But not today.
Not today when the badly injured bodies of Sweetie Belle —the little sister of Twilight’s dear friend Rarity— and Scootaloo —the orphaned pegasus filly that might as well be Rainbow Dash’s little sister— lay unmoving and unconscious in front of her.
A few seconds later and two changelings lifted into the air, and over towards the precarious rockfall, which was still very unstable. Even during the half-minute since they’d arrived several small rocks, and three much larger ones, had come bouncing down, landing with a dusty crash. “Hey!” Twilight blurted out in warning, but before she could say more, or do anything, she just felt her tongue freeze up in astonishment.
With a rapidity reminiscent of hail striking a sheet metal roof, the two hovering changelings began . . . spitting. Faster than the eye could follow, globule after globule of lurid gooey green flashed out, striking both scree and rock face. And as they did so, Twilight started perceiving both pattern and purpose, both of which were confirmed moments later as one of the silently observing changelings spoke up.
“They are architects,” ling explained with a raspy dissonance as he watched them at work. “They are responsible for expanding Hives by boring into stone and creating new corridors, as well as maintaining their structure. As such,” ling paused as he followed the progress, “they instinctively —and very precisely— sense both structural strengths and weaknesses. That,” ling gestured with a perforated foreleg, “is how weaknesses are shored and strengthened.”
Within a minute the two changelings had shored up the unstable areas, their, well . . . spit, she supposed . . . had solidified within seconds of striking, bonding so strongly it rendered individual pieces of rock into a singular, solid mass.
No sooner did they land —looking greyish, exhausted and drained, dropping to the ground the moment wings were folded— then a third changeling approached the two badly injured fillies. That changeling took a moment to examine and appraise, and then its horn started glowing. Twilight choked back a blurt of outrage, forcing herself to remain a bystander —for now, anyway— as first one, and then the other, filly was encased in a translucent greenish cocoon.
“That one is a conserver,” ling explained. “Conservers are responsible for preserving and maintaining a Hive’s food source,” ling matter-of-factly explained.
Twilight smothered the outrage that blossomed inside at that, fully understanding what was meant: a conserver would be the changeling responsible for cocooning captured ponies that were subsequently stored in a Hive, to have their love drained from them on a daily basis. She wanted to be furious . . . but couldn’t, not with the history lesson she’d just learned so fresh in her mind. Why shouldn’t changelings look at ponies —the race responsible for invading their land, claiming it for themselves and, in the process, destroyed their civilization and came close to driving them into extinction— as a source of food?
No sooner had the conserver finished then the remaining changeling buzzed forward, next to one of the cocoons. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” ling apologized, “but I will be needed now.” With that, he positioned himself at the other cocoon.
“Sweetie Belle!” Twilight jerked, hearing Rarity’s near-hysterical cry. Glancing far up at the chasm’s rim, Twilight had a moment to notice her fashionista friend standing there, along with a host of guards, before she winked out, reappearing next to Twilight. “What have they done to you?” she screamed, as her horn ignited in a terrible blinding glare.
“Stop,” Twilight made herself calmly say, a calm backed up by the incredibly strong magic shield she clamped down around her friend, smothering Rarity’s burgeoning spells before she could cast them.
Furiously stomping a forehoof, the enraged unicorn, feeling betrayed, turned on Twilight. “How . . . how . . . how dare you!” she spluttered.
As unicorn guards started winking down, and pegasus ones gliding, Rarity jerked around at hearing a familiar, yet unfamiliar, voice. “They . . . they’re trying to save them,” Rainbow Dash said, her voice thick and clogged, eyes bloodshot and rimmed in red from weeping, her cheeks and muzzle absolutely soaked.
Rarity started to reply, still aggrieved and furious, but those emotions slithered to a stop when her pegasus friend, in a stronger, determined voice, declared, “Apple Bloom would be dead except for one of them. He died saving her,” and again tears started flowing. “And I think —I know— he was sacrificing himself to save her. A changeling, Rarity,” she was freely weeping again. “A changeling died. To save a pony. A little filly.”
As outrageous as that sounded, the stunned unicorn never, not for a moment, doubted. A trembling forehoof lifted to her lips as she watched . . . as she truly looked . . . at what the changelings were doing . . . and why.
Sniffling, Rainbow Dash was looking about as well. She saw the three collapsed changelings, and fear —an emotion she wasn’t accustomed to feeling— grew inside her. Not fear for the badly-injured fillies. Not fear of attack. Not fear of betrayal.
Fear for the changelings, who lay there, light blue eyes dimming, barely breathing, normally gleaming black chitin a dusty dim grey.
Just like the changeling who died for Apple Bloom had looked.
Rainbow Dash suddenly remembered one of the last things they’d said before disappearing in a burst of green fire: Everyling, including Queen Tabula Rasa, sacrificed almost all of their energy to us, so that we would have the strength to travel and parlay. Looking down at the prone, motionless figures, Rainbow suddenly understood. They’ve burnt themselves out. They’ve used up everything they had . . . for Sweetie Belle and Scoots.
Closing her eyes, Rainbow thought about Scootaloo, her little sister in all but formality. She remembered her bravery, her zeal, her zest for life and adventure, her refusal to let her disability define her . . . she remembered how all that made her feel.
She reached out to the love she had for Scootaloo . . . brought it to the fore . . . stoked it . . . blanked out everything else about her but that love . . . and then imagined that flowing out of her . . . funneled to the starved and dying changelings.
It took Twilight longer than it should have to realize what Rainbow Dash was doing, but she could be excused for that delay, as her concentration was queasily focused on what the remaining two changelings were doing. Thankfully, the translucency of the cocoons made it difficult to see clearly, but, even so, she could perceive some of what was happening.
Disregarding potential internal injuries, Scootaloo had been the worst injured, with a simple fracture to the left foreleg, and a compound fracture to the right hindleg, along with a possible skull fracture and concussion.
The last two changelings had positioned themselves just in front of their respective cocoons, before settling down, lying upright atop folded legs before closing their eyes. Horns softly glowing, barely perceived even in the semi-shade of the chasm’s depths, nothing seemed to happen at first. But then Twilight noticed that the fillies’ respiration started easing, shifting from pained and labored to slow and regular. Their expressions changed, as well, altering from unconscious agony and easing to drowsy peace. What made her queasy, however, was when Scootaloo’s injured legs started visibly glowing —well, not exactly her legs, but there was definitely a gleaming aura surrounding the injuries . . . and not just glowing, but shifting.
Twilight had seen fractures set before, but this . . . this was different. Scootaloo’s face never changed, remaining relaxed and peaceful, not even a halting catch to her breathing. It was as if she were heavily sedated. That was when she became aware of her surroundings again, and realized what Rainbow was most likely doing.
“Rarity!” she hissed, catching the distraught unicorn’s attention. “Do all you can to remember the love you have for Sweetie Belle,” she instructed. “And, once you do,” she gestured with a forehoof, “let that flow from you, to them.”
Not fifteen minutes ago, such a statement would have been met with disbelief, anger, fury and a sense of betrayal. But now?
Within minutes the three collapsed changelings were back on their perforated legs, gazing quite oddly at Rarity and Rainbow Dash, both of whom were oblivious to that scrutiny, as their eyes were still closed.
In the meantime, Twilight had sent one of the pegasus guards back, not to the Castle, but to the hospital instead, with the message that three fillies were badly hurt and would need air transport back to the emergency department.
The two changelings taking care of Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo remained at their post, stopping only when the emergency medics, along with the air transportation Twilight had requested, arrived. There were quite a few askance looks exchanged, but, as everypony else seemed at ease . . .
The medic in charge was, however, absolutely stunned when one of the changelings approached her and started providing vitals . . . not just age, height, weight, race, respiration and pulse, the easily observable and measureable, but descriptions in such detail that required specialized medical examination equipment. But a quick glance at Princess Twilight conveyed the understanding that, whatever the changeling was reporting, take that as fact and not speculation, no matter how difficult that might be to believe.
Speaking of difficult to believe . . .
“Ah, Your Highness?” the medico began, “Did I understand you correctly? You want——“
“Yes, I do,” Twilight gently interrupted. Gesturing behind her, she indicated the conserver and two preservers. “They will be accompanying us back to the hospital.”
There was the slightest stress to “us”, but that was more than enough to reassure the medico. If Princess Twilight was also coming along, there was little need to worry about, well . . . changelings.
“Go ahead Rarity,” Rainbow nudged the anxious unicorn. “It’s alright. You need to be with Sweetie Belle.”
“But Rainbow!” her voice raised in astonishment. “What about Scootaloo? Don’t you want to be there for her, too?”
“Yeah, I do,” the usually brash pegasus quietly confirmed. “But first, there’s something important I have to see to.”
While Rarity could not imagine anything that would be more important than Rainbow being there for Scootaloo, neither could she deny the sober, somber determination in her friend’s eyes, voice, and expression. Nodding once, she paced over to the air evacuation transports, watching as both fillies, still changeling-cocooned, were carefully loaded, then secured, aboard, while another group went back along the trail to ready Apple Bloom for extrication and transport, too.
Sorry Squirt, but there’s something I have to do first.
Exchanging hushed murmurs with some of the guards she was most familiar with —and, therefore, more confident of their probable reactions and responses— Rainbow gravely paced over to the remaining two changelings, who watched her, and the guards that followed, with unblinking eyes.
Meeting them eye to eye, without flinching, without any reservation, Rainbow Dash announced, “I understand your Hive is starving. We,” she gestured at the nine guards behind her, “would like to feed you.”
Ah, San Prancisco! One of Equestria’s most beautiful, busy, and instantly recognizable cities! From a murals tour of the Castle district, to world-class museums and the best restaurants in San Prancisco —never mind the many Equestria-famous sites— there are plenty of things to do and see throughout its seven square miles. And whether you’re a wide-eyed tourist taking it in for the first time, or a San Prancisco resident, this city never fails to impress.
Oh. And hills.
Did we forget to mention hills?
San Prancisco was also known as “The City of Hills”, and for good reason. Some of the streets had maximum gradients of 31.5%! While these made for great tourist attractions, they were a copper-plated pain in the posterior for delivery ponies, freight haulers, and the like. Indeed, drivers were required to attend mandatory, specialized training, and carry specific licenses. As well, only specific, and certified, drays, wagons, tankers, haulers, and the like were authorized for use on those steep grades.
Even with all those precautions, accidents still happened.
It was early in the morning, and a team from “Barley & Nibbles” was making a delivery of refined flours to several local bakeries. The flours had arrived the day before at port; had been offloaded, passed customs and inspection, forwarded to their respective warehouses as consignments, and this particular lot was scheduled to be delivered before noon.
There was twelve tons of flour in the freight wagon, individually packed into canvas bags sewn tightly shut, each bag weighing a hundred pounds. Two massively muscled earth ponies were leaned into their harnesses, huge thews strained and trembling as they slowly, so slowly, ascended the hill. They had made this trip hundreds of times before, but, even so, they were utterly focused on their task, well aware that a single moment of inattention could spell disaster.
*YOWL!*
Platter-sized hooves, shod with steel shoes with stud inserts, still went skidding as both ponies reared back, startled as a cat went running like a streak of lightning out of the nearby alley and right underneath their hooves.
*ROWLF!*
In hot pursuit was an enormous mastiff, which was oblivious to everything except the feline he was hotly pursuing.
By itself, the deliveryponies most likely would have regained control. But, unknown to them, last night a delivery wagon’s load had shifted, spilling several kegs of fine lamp oil all over the place. Luckily, the kegs broke on impact, otherwise they would have quickly rocketed down the steep hill, becoming high-speed missiles. Unluckily, however, neither the driver nor his wagon had the necessary licensing or authorization, and so he had hastily departed, without notifying the appropriate authorities who would have properly cleaned up the spill.
Studded shoes or not, their hooves went skidding, already off-balance from the shock and surprise of the twin cat-and-dog assault. When they hit the oil-slicked cobbles . . .
With cries of pain first one, and then the other, slipped and fell. It had happened so fast, and with absolutely no warning, that neither of them had time to activate the emergency brakes.
Like the fall of an enormous, stately forest giant, the freight wagon paused a moment as all forward motion ceased . . . quivered for an instant . . . then started rolling backwards, glacially slow at first, but rapidly increasing speed, dragging the helpless deliveryponies behind as it hurtled down the steep hill.
Down towards the wharves, and the warehouses below.
At the very bottom of the hill sat another delivery wagon, this one full of fabric. The driver was performing the mandatory, pre-climb inspection, and her attention was fully on that responsibility. So focused was she on that obligation that she never even saw the multi-ton freight wagon that impacted hers, driving them both into, and partially through, the warehouse wall behind.
Pumper 12 pulled to a stop ninety hooflengths from the accident, arriving there mere minutes after the incident had happened. Four fireponies leapt from the vehicle, charging towards the horribly mangled wagons. The captain stepped over to the driver’s side, an uneasy feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. This looked bad. Really bad, he thought, watching as his ponies carefully started probing the wreckage.
His mouth went dry as one of them stepped free, then turned to face back towards Pumper 12 and his captain, then made an unmistakable gesture in his direction. Turning to face the driver, heart starting to pound in dismay and dread, he instructed, “Raise dispatch.”
Placing a small, gleaming stone into its receptacle in the communications unit, the stone glowed for a moment before disappearing, the charge it carried sufficient to power communications for about five minutes. “Dispatch, Pumper 12.”
“Pumper 12, this is Dispatch. Status?”
Taking a deep breath, the captain passed along the instruction to his driver/communications pony.
“Dispatch, Pumper 12 . . . on site, at location . . . strike the rescue box.”
The graveyard shift had just headed off, while the morning shift, with yawns and groggy looks, settled in for the morning.
*Beee boop . . . boop beee . . . beee beee*
There was instant silence, complete freezing in mid-motion, as the tone belled.
“Rescue 5 . . . multiple vehicle accident, with injuries and entrapment. Pumper 12 on location. Intersection of Vine and Harvest.”
Instantly six figures bolted to the brass pole at one corner of the floor, leaping out, grasping it between fore and hind legs, and sliding down to the lower floor. In well-practiced moves that resembled a choreographed dance they then dashed to the racks, slipping on specialized, protective —and highly visible— turnout gear, followed by close-fitted helmets with flippable goggles, before dashing to the middle of the floor . . . and the peculiarly-inscribed geometric design there.
Five of them stood on the outer points, all looking towards the center where the sixth member stopped.
[equipment secured?]
{check} |check| \check\ <check> >check<
[location visualized?]
{check} |check| \check\ <check> >check<
[ready on three . . . two. . . one . . .]
In a lurid green wall of fire, the six vanished.
Three minutes after dispatch had been notified, several hundred feet in the air came a startling bright green flash over Pumper 12. Six seconds later, and five of the just-appeared forms streaked towards the wreckage, while the sixth landed by Pumper 12. “Captain, I assume command,” came a buzzed, discordant, formal statement.
Instead of looking aggrieved, the captain of Pumper 12 looked relieved. “You have command,” he just as formally replied.
Two of the five dove right into the wreckage; moments later came the rapid-fire sound of hail striking a tin roof; a minute later and the other three then dived in as well.
By now, a not-so-small crowd had assembled, keeping a respectful distance. They weren’t there to gawk at disaster, however. Instead they’d come, one and all, in response to the signal flare that still hovered above, that Pumper 12 had launched as soon as they’d called dispatch.
They came to broadcast love.
Twenty minutes later and the last of the three victims had been extricated, encased in glowing-green cocoons for their transport to the critical care trauma center. As the last one was loaded onto the awaiting ambulance, the supporting crowd let out a loud cheer.
“Captain . . . you have command,” came a tired-sounding buzz.
“I have command,” he replied. That, of course, meant overhaul and cleanup were now Pumper 12’s responsibility . . . and neither he, nor any of his fireponies, were at all begrudging that. Not now. Not ever. Ponies that would have died in the past were now regularly saved . . . and sometimes at the cost of their rescuers’ lives.
So, no. There was no feeling of being dumped on, the dirty work left for them to clean up. In fact, it was an honor to assist in any regard, even if that meant simply cleaning up afterwards.
Gazing at the slowly dispersing crowd, he knew it was the same with them.
Ling was tired, but it was simple fatigue, and not at all starved hunger, no matter how fast, how furiously, they had all expended resources. Tired, light blue compound eyes wandered across the small crowd of ponies, each one there for one reason, and one reason only: to feed them love, and keep their energies topped.
“Daddy, when I grow up, I wanna be a rescue parachangeling!”
Ling turned about, spotting the small unicorn filly who was gazing up at her father, who, in turn, was fondly gazing down at his daughter, proud and pleased as punch with her. As ling paced over, her father caught sight of his approach, and, as he directed his gaze towards ling, his daughter noticed his attention shift. Following that in turn, she softly “oooohed” seeing ling stop before her.
Lifting up ling's leg, turning the bottom of ling's hoof upwards, ling spit a small glob into it. Before it could harden, ling's horn gleamed. The blob shimmered . . . flattened as well as rounded . . . becoming a disk.
“For you,” ling buzzed, holding out a small badge with the engraved words around the rim, “Honorary Rescue Parachangeling”.
Squeeing, smiling fit to burst, she jumped up and down. “Daddy! Daddy! Look!” Her father indulgently smiled down at her, then gazed at ling, silently thanking him with his eyes for a gift that he knew his daughter would treasure forever.
Pacing back to ling's squad, ling felt a wash of emotion as ling recalled the last few years. Who would have ever believed, ling reminisced, how far we would come in just those few, short years?
Oh, it hadn’t been smooth running always. For instance, there were still a lot of hard feelings between the Hives and the Crystal Empire. Well, to be scrupulously accurate, that acrimony only flowed the one direction. Still, ling couldn’t blame them for that.
Truly surprising had been Princess Celestia’s forgiveness. That might have, perhaps, had something to do with Princess Twilight and the Element Bearers’ unswerving support behind Queen Tabula Rasa and her changelings of Refugee Hive.
What had absolutely stunned everypony had been the stance Queen Tabula Rasa had officially taken regarding Hearth’s Warming: what was done . . . was done. The ponies then had been oblivious; admittedly, even if they had known, that might not have deterred them. But if ponies and changelings truly wished to live together in peace, it was best to start with a clean slate.
No. No, it hadn’t at all been easy. But noling could have imagined a time when a pony wished she could be a changeling.
Or a time when Hives would be intermingled with towns and cities all throughout Equestria.
With an unstinting source of love, Queen Tabula Rasa was breeding at a furious rate, seemingly determined to repopulate the changeling race on her own. No changeling that left to relocate to another Hive was ever truly lost to her; yes, there would come a time when their allegiance must shift to their own Queen, when she finally ascended. But, no longer would every Hive stand on its own.
Each Hive owed allegiance to its Queen . . . or future Queen, in most instances. They, in turn, swore allegiance to Queen Tabula Rasa, who, in her turn . . . had formally allied her Hive, her changelings, and thus all changelings in Equestria, to Princesses Celestia and Luna, as the Diarchs of Equestria. Changelings, by law, held dual citizenship: to Hive and to Equestria.
Ling suspected, as time implacably rolled onwards, that even those distinctions would eventually fade and vanish. Ling often wished for just that. Ponies had so much to offer changelings. But changelings had so much to offer in return, too.
The crowd had mostly dispersed by now. In the beginning, it had been difficult being a rescue parachangeling. One could quickly —and dangerously— deplete oneself if not careful. But it had sometimes come down to a grim choice: lose the victim, or try and save them. Ponies had still been very leery of changelings at the time. But as more and more stories circulated about the miraculous rescues, the death-defying risks, the heroic efforts, that the rescue parachangelings undertook on a regular, daily basis . . . as more and more ponies became eyewitnesses to those rescues . . .
Phillydelphia and Baltimare had been the first two cities that had distributed Public Service Announcement flyers educating ponies about rescue parachangelings. Mixed amongst the articles was a small blurb that described how they used internal energies in their work; that, quite often, and especially during a difficult rescue, or when stabilizing a badly-injured pony, a rescue parachangelings could literally mortally drain themselves dry, requiring love to keep from being lost.
Nothing in those flyers specifically said anything about volunteering to supply love at an emergency scene.
Suddenly, ponies that had felt impotent, helpless, at accidents or incidents when ponies lives were in danger, could do something to assist after all.
They could feed, and thus support, the rescue parachangelings.
Something that had once disgusted, and frightened, ponies —changelings feeding on love— quickly became a badge of honor. Did you read about that horrible accident in Manehatten? Well, my brother was there, and he helped supply the rescue parachangelings there!
And once that floodgate had been opened just a crack, there was no stopping it.
Immediately the rescue parachangelings took their positions, five of them arraigned around their central commander.
[equipment secured?]
{check} |check| \check\ <check> >check<
[location visualized?]
{check} |check| \check\ <check> >check<
[ready on three . . . two. . . one . . .]
The remaining crowd was loudly cheering, seeing their heroes about to leave on another mission. For the rescue parachangelings, they were off to help save, if it was changelingly possible, everypony they could.
Anypony . . . anyling . . . it no longer mattered. One and all, they were all Equestrians: village, town, city, or Hive. This was their home now.