I arrived on the Cumulonimbus in something approaching a royal manner. Two Enclave soldiers stood at attention as I touched down. I landed gracefully, standing tall and proud like a proper changeling queen, my mane blowing in the steady wind of the cloudship’s flight. Echo touched down just behind me, following like some royal attendant or guardian.

This was the first time I had seen a cloudship up close, and while the Cumulonimbus was battered and scarred, she was still an impressive vessel. I had landed at the edge of what had once been the hangar deck, prior to it being mostly crushed in. Metal had been peeled away or beaten down to make a flat landing, and a gaping doorway led into the ship. The matching door lay against the wall beyond, its edges jagged and drooping where the Loyalists had blasted their way through it.

The soldiers looked us over, practically radiating suspicion despite their face-concealing helmets, until one of them jerked their head to the side. “Follow us. Commander Hail Burst is waiting for you in the CIC.”

I cast a glance back to Echo--she gave me a tight frown in reply--before following the soldiers through the door. I had to duck my head. Even with their country led by alicorns of impressive size, the corridors were built for regular ponies.

The inside was poorly lit, with walls missing panels, pipes and wiring exposed, and support beams badly warped. Most of the lights were broken or missing, and a scattering of mismatched lights were added in various places to keep areas from being plunged into darkness. The faint creaking and groaning of metal made for a constant background murmur, as if the ship itself were moaning in pain.

As we turned the first corner, it was even worse. The walls were thoroughly peppered with scorch marks and craters, especially along the far end of the hall. Ash had settled into nooks and crannies, while a few larger clumps on the floor were partly scattered by the passage of hooves. Despite the signs of carnage, bloodstains were infrequent, but not absent. The volume of magical energy weapon fire had left few corpses.

The changelings crewing the ship must have mounted a hasty defense here as soon as they realized what the Loyalists had done, and while they had apparently put up a good fight, the effort had cost them dearly.

The signs of combat continued throughout the ship, but more sporadically. I made a conscious effort to avoid stepping in the scattered ash, knowing that these were the incinerated remains of what had been people less than an hour ago, but it was hopeless. The ash had been tracked all over the place; Loyalists and Serenity changelings alike had far more pressing matters to consider at the time.

We went deeper and deeper into the ship, and even with my head held low, I had to crouch to slip under the occasional low-hanging, badly-patched length of pipe or some dangling wires.

The pegasi escorting us didn’t say a word. We would have walked in complete silence, but Echo still had some concerns in mind.

“I still can not believe you would be so incredibly reckless,” she said, scowling as she followed along behind me. “I know you understand how important your life is to both of our plans. You jeopardized everything we are working towards.”

“Not everything,” I said, playing the serene, dignified queen. It’s a hard act to pull off without seeming aloof, especially with Echo being the closest present analogue. I tried to keep Ephema pictured in my mind. “It would have stopped Serenity from getting the megaspell. It would have saved lives.”

“Ponies survived hundreds of megaspells,” Echo shot back. “They will survive one more. I understand that you hold certain ideals, but those ideals will hardly matter if we can not improve the situation of ponies beyond this meager struggle to survive.”

“On the contrary,” I said, putting on a hint of a smile, “those ideals are how we can improve the situation, for ponies and all other people.”

She gave a tired sigh--I have to admit, it was possibly a little cheesy--but fell silent, sulking the rest of the way.

Finally, after a maze of grim, dimly lit passages, we passed through a pressure door and into a room tall enough that I could raise my head, my jagged, queen-like horn not quite touching the ceiling. The room was packed with terminal stations, screens, and rows of indicators. Some were destroyed, and there were extensive signs of repairs and reinforcement, including a large beam that had been welded in place in the middle of the room. Only a few of the consoles were actually crewed, while Hail Burst stood back, her helmet removed, eyes scanning the displayed information. Other pegasi crewed a few of the many stations, calling out back and forth as they checked over the systems.

She turned to me a moment later, eying me just as severely before giving a curt nod. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you,” I replied with a courteous nod, before putting on a more serious expression. “Before we continue, a question. When we met in Rust, who was the first of us to speak to you?”

She blinked, expression tightening for a moment, but she snorted before jerking her head toward Echo. “She was. Wait, no. She was the first one we saw. That was Dusty that called out, wasn’t it?” She frowned. “Satisfied?”

“Yes, thank you. And I’m sorry that I had to ask, but the dark and isolated passages of a damaged ship seem like the perfect place to pick off a pony for impersonation. I’d advise you to conduct some brief interviews with your ponies. They--”

“Already taken care of,” Hail Burst replied. “You’re not the only one to think of that.”

I nodded. “Again, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be stepping on your hooves. You said you have prisoners?”

“We do,” she said, relaxing slightly. “Three, to be precise. All wounded. Not a single changeling surrendered. I get the feeling they’re not going to talk, either, but I thought you might take a shot.”

“I’ll certainly try, but you’re right. The chances of them telling me anything useful is slim. I might be able to discern some information through indirect means, but I doubt I’ll get much. Actually, I think I have a more likely source of information.”

“And this would be?”

“PipBucks,” I said, raising my leg to show my own. “Every changeling that wasn’t in power armor should have one, and they are a wealth of potential intelligence. I’d like to get a copy of the data contained on every PipBuck that can be found. I may not be much as a combatant, but I have experience in data intrusion, cryptography, and intelligence analysis, and I believe I can contribute more effectively toward our joint cause that way.”

Echo snorted. “Good. You have a troubling propensity for getting yourself into dangerous situations. The further we can keep you from the fighting, the better.”

An opportunity presented itself. I gave Hail Burst an uneven smile. “Apologies for Echo. She’s taken issue with some of my recent actions.”

Echo’s voice didn’t boom out at full volume, but it was certainly elevated in that tight space. “You were shooting at a megaspell with a machine gun. I know you understand their danger. If you or Dusty had managed to hit it, you would have all been killed.”

“Probably,” I said, slowly nodding, “but we had to do what we could to stop them. Our wagon was the one that got closest. As much as I’d rather not, we had to take the shot.”

“You would not have survived a megaspell detonation at such close range,” Echo said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I have intimate experience with their destructive potential. You would have killed yourself.”

“But not you,” I noted. “My hive would still have a future, and your own goals would merely be delayed, not destroyed.”

She frowned, glaring at me for several seconds before grunting. “You are the singularly most frustrating individual I have ever spoken with.”

Hail Burst had been eying me in silence, taking in our conversation, but she finally gave a faint snort of amusement at Echo’s reply. “You’ve certainly got that right.” She lifted a hoof, waving to the door. “Come on. Prisoners are this way.”

“Thank you,” I replied with a gracious nod. “To get back to the subject of PipBucks…”

“We were already collecting them to get what intel we could,” Hail Burst said as Echo and I followed her, with the pair of guards bringing up the rear. “I’ll get you a copy of the data we pull off them.”

“Thank you,” I said, ducking my head as we exited the room.

While extensive damage had rendered the Cumulonimbus a maze of collapsed and blocked passages, Hail Burst navigated the ship with ease, leading us through halls, stairs, and the occasional room. Every space had some unique damage: walls creased their whole length by the tremendous impact of the crash, floors replaced with crudely welded scrap, wires and cables routed through doors that could no longer be shut. The variety of damage and destruction was impressive, and made the fact that the cloudship still flew all the more amazing.

Finally, we ended in a dead-end hallway with a single sealed door. Hail Burst came to a halt, turning to face me. “We don’t have a proper functioning brig, so we’re keeping the prisoners under guard in here.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “They’re all in the same room?”

“They are,” she said with a nod. “Not ideal, but we’re short on ponies, and I wanted to keep at least two ponies watching them at all times.”

“Good,” I said, giving a nod that was made much more awkward by the low ceiling. “Changelings can be slippery. I escaped from inside their hive because they assigned only a single individual to watch me directly.”

She frowned. “I think I’d like to hear the details of that story, though it may have to wait. Right now I’d like any insight you have on keeping these prisoners secured. What capabilities do your people have that might aid their escape? What kind of magic? What should we look out for?”

“The most obvious is our shapeshifting,” I said. “It’s not limited to pony forms, or even to identical mass, as you’ve no doubt noticed from me. The exact capabilities of any changeling will depend on their skill, but assume any changeling should be able to transform into anything ranging in size from a newborn foal to a buffalo. This includes inanimate objects, or facsimiles of such, although I personally find the experience to be… unpleasant.

“Then there’s the standard range of other magical capabilities. Telekinesis, light, and conjuring fire are the only other universal abilities, but they’re fairly versatile, especially in combination. Offensive bolts of magic are relatively common, too. Changeling magic is also apparently capable of mental domination and limited teleportation, though I’m only aware of a single individual in all of history to have ever possessed those skills, and she was a queen.” I frowned for emphasis. “Which isn’t to say they couldn’t possess such skills, just that it would be very exceptional.”

“I see,” Hail Burst said, wearing a frown of her own. “Let’s just hope they can’t do that. Anything else?”

I considered that for a long moment before replying. “Just the obvious: don’t trust anything they say. It’s unlikely that you’ve captured proper infiltrators, but there are many professions that benefit from training in deception techniques.”

“Changelings are good liars,” Hail Burst said, giving me a flat stare. “Somehow, I think I’ve picked up on that.”

I gave a short chuckle, cracking a smile. “Which ironically means I haven’t done such a good job of it.”

She paused. “I can’t even be sure if that’s a joke or not.”

I gave another amused snort. “I’ve been shot, blown up, thrown around, came very close to being incinerated by a balefire megaspell--”

“That was your own fault,” Echo reminded me.

“--and I have a crack in my carapace that’s been a literal pain in my side all day long. I could use some stress relief, and humor is good for that.”

“Yeah, you sound like a barrel of laughs,” she said with a shake of her head, then lifted a hoof to gesture back the way we came. “The first door leads to a vacant room, if you want to use that for interrogation.” She stepped up to the door, knocking twice before opening it. “She’s here.”

A voice acknowledged her, and she turned back to me. “I’ll leave you to it. The Rangers are bringing aboard the last of the wounded. I’ll either be in the sickbay or CIC when you’re done here.”

“I’ll let you know what I find,” I said. “One last question. Approximately how many of Serenity’s changelings were on the ship? And approximately how many were killed?”

“We’re still trying to work that out,” she said. “Judging by initial accounts, I’d estimate they had about a company at most, including the changelings that went after the megaspell. Most looked to be crew rather than soldier, with only basic equipment, though there was at least a squad of soldiers in stolen Enclave power armor. We’re also estimating they took forty to sixty KIA in the Cumulonimbus, and maybe a few more wounded that managed to escape.”

“Thank you,” I said, bowing my head a little more.

She nodded, then turned and walked off.

I paused, taking a slow and careful breath, and stepped through the doorway.

The room had been a bunk room, and sadly no taller than the hall. Most of the furniture had been removed. Two soldiers in power armor stood guard near the door, heads turning slightly to look at me as I entered. Their weapons remained trained on the far side of the room, as if guarding the most dangerous prisoners they have ever faced.

Those prisoners were a trio of changelings, strapped down to the only remaining bunks, and practically mummified in bandages. Two were missing legs, with heavily bandaged stumps where the limbs should be. The third had bandages across her face, covering her eyes.

Only one showed any signs of consciousness. Her breathing was slow and labored, but as her barely open eyes drifted over to me, they narrowed. Even incapacitated, all three showed as hostile on my E.F.S.

I turned to one of the soldiers guarding them. “I see only one of them is conscious.”

“The bugs don’t give up easy,” the soldier replied, her helmeted head remaining fixed on the prisoners. “They fought until they were dead or unconscious, and M.E.W.s don’t give much margin between the two.”

“And their condition?”

“Stable.” Simple and brief.

“Very well,” I said, nodding. “I’d like to move the conscious one to a nearby room for some questions.

“Commander Hail Burst has given us strict orders for the handling of these prisoners,” the soldier said. “You will not be permitted to be alone with the prisoners. At least two Enclave soldiers must be present with a prisoner at all times. Furthermore, the ranking Enclave soldier present has authority to terminate any further contact with the prisoners. Understand?”

Translation: they didn’t entirely trust me, and the soldiers were there to guard against my misbehavior as much as the prisoners’. Some might find that to be irritating or insulting, but I found it strangely comforting. It was a very professional caution.

I nodded. “Of course.”

Our escort led us to the interrogation room, while Echo floated the helpless and wounded changeling soldier into the room, bunk and all. The room itself was another small bunk room, just large enough to not feel crowded with the number of occupants, though not so large that I could stand normally. Instead, I laid down on one of the cots, facing sideways from where Echo was setting down the wounded changeling.

I lay there, head held high, my eyes focused on the wall at the end of the room. I let the silence stretch on, visibly brooding. When I spoke, it was soft and quiet.

“Is there any way this does not end in bloodshed?”

The injured changeling made a weak exhalation that could generously be interpreted as a snort.

I finally turned to look at her. Even lying on the cot, I was taller than everyone but Echo. I could have loomed over her, powerful and terrifying, but I did not. I kept my expression soft and somber. “I know that things are steadily heading towards a cataclysmic battle, but I still hope for some peaceful resolution. I have seen far too many changelings die already.” I paused, and in consideration of our observers, added, “And ponies, too.”

She grunted, teeth gritting for a moment before giving a weak, barely audible reply. “Go… fuck… yourself.”

I frowned at that. “Do you think I’m talking about my own hive? I’m not. Regardless of how this all turns out, I am the only one of my hive in danger. I’m talking about your hive.”

Her dismissive snort had a bit more strength behind it this time.

“Your hive can’t win this,” I said, slowly shaking my head, adding a touch of sadness to my expression. “Your queen is forcing a situation where only one side survives. If we don’t find some other course of action, your hive is going to be wiped out.”

She gave a weak, pained laugh, followed by a grimace, grunting as she sucked in a few shallow breaths. It was a few seconds before she started to relax again, hissing out a quiet reply. “You already lost. We got the bomb.”

“And look at what it cost you,” I said. “You gave your opponent a powerful weapons platform, and lost a hundred changelings in the process. In exchange, you killed less than thirty ponies, destroyed a couple of motorwagons, and got a megaspell that will do you little good. A few more ‘victories’ like this, and your hive won’t exist. That army is going to wipe you out if we don’t find a peaceful solution.”

I might have rounded the numbers a little, but she could hardly know that.

She gave another weak laugh through gritted teeth. “Your… army. Heh. Not… not going to find much of it…”

“You mean the attack intended to take advantage of us splitting our forces?” I said, adding a hint of boredom to my expression; it was a guess and a bluff rolled into one, but all well-reasoned. “I think you’ll find things have played out differently than you imagined, much like it did here.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, then looked away. “Doesn’t matter... We have… the megaspell…”

“And you really think that’s going to make a difference? I think you underestimate these ponies. They won’t make it that easy for you.”

Another choked laugh. “Doesn’t matter. Ponies… ponies are selfish. Now they know we have the megaspell… they either turn around… or we burn their homes. Heh. No army.”

She closed her eyes.

“You underestimate them,” I said, slowly shaking my head in case she opened her eyes again. “I’ve seen them. I’ve fought alongside them. They’re not going to be deterred by that threat. You’ve only got the one megaspell against five major enemies.”

She gave another dismissive exhale.

“And when they fight past your defensive forces, and they will, then they’ll be right on the steps of your hive.” Her eyes had opened, so I raised a hoof, gesturing around. “And you’ve already seen how easily these ponies can storm a confined interior environment like this. You had a perfect defensive position, and yet, how many of your fellow changelings died trying to hold them off?”

Another weak snort. “Engineers. Your ponies sure look good fighting crew with basic weapons… no armor. Heh.” She managed a weak sneer. “I heard the explosion. How many did we get?”

One of the Loyalist soldiers shifted a hoof slightly, the first reaction I’d seen them give since the interrogation started.

“Only a couple,” I replied, while silently noting how the term was frequently used in a much more vague manner than its strict dictionary definition. “And I saw the scorch marks on the walls. Magical energy weapons are impressive armaments for mere engineers. That’s hardly basic weapons.”

Her sharp-toothed grin was marred and contorted with her pain, but it conveyed the right emotion. “Should try the soldiers. Then you’ll see. Then you’ll die.”

“Considering the number we shot out of the air so recently, it seems you’re overestimating them.” I gave a mild shrug. “The power armor was interesting, I’ll admit. Though I’m afraid your hive just lost a good twenty sets or more.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Got ten times that. Maybe more. Your army dies.” She grunted, laying her head back again, eyes closing. “Wish I could watch.”

I paused a moment, considering her, but finally turned away. “Echo, could you please return her?”

As Echo levitated the changeling, one of the Loyalists spoke. “Done already?”

“She’s not going to give us anything more useful,” I said, rising to my hooves once more, with all the awkwardness of the low ceiling.

A minute later, the prisoner was safely under guard in the makeshift brig, and our escorts led us up a flight of stairs and through the maze of corridors. Soon after, we reached the sickbay. It wasn’t a single room as I had imagined, but an entire section of the deck with multiple rooms. We passed a group of Rangers heading the other way--Two Bits gave me a smile and a nod--and entered the main ward, full of ponies.

When looking over a room filled with twenty wounded ponies and four armored pegasi trying to treat them, I would have expected to describe the scene as chaotic, but what I found was as orderly as you could imagine. A few of the ponies were breathing hard, jaws tight in pain, but neatly tucked into medical beds. Some of them had IVs hooked up. The pegasi were calm and professional, and already making use of scavenged Serenity PipBucks to diagnose their patients. Even the half dozen cots brought in from other sections were neatly arranged into the scant available space, and gave room for the less severe cases to rest and await treatment.

Hail Burst stood at the edge of the ward, looking over the scene. She didn’t react as I stepped up beside her, so I spoke up, softly. “Commander.”

“Queen Whisper,” she replied, a frown touching her lips. “It was a bloody day. Still, far better than it could have been.”

There was a thump of a door opening in the back of the ward. Soaring Heart, and some pegasus I only vaguely recognized, wheeled out a gurney with an unconscious patient. Two of the armored pegasi went over to help, easily transferring the pony into a bed.

“Okay, who’s up next?” Soaring Heart asked. His voice was exhausted, but he didn’t show it.

The armored pegasus beside him replied. “Over here,” she said, nodding her head towards the opposite bed.

The ponies in armor helped move the groaning patient into the gurney, while Soaring Heart quickly clasped a PipBuck around their remaining foreleg. He was already rattling off instructions to the pony assisting him as they wheeled the patient out into the adjacent room.

Hail Burst watched them go. “Bit of a step up from combat medic, but Soaring’s been handling it well.” She shook her head, then looked to me. “Come with me.”

She led me out of the sickbay and into a neighboring and unoccupied compartment, which looked to have been about twice the size before the ship’s crash landing had smashed in the far wall. Inside, with the door shut, she turned to face me. “Your interrogation didn’t last long. I’m guessing it went as expected?”

“Only one was conscious,” I said, taking the opportunity to lie down and give my neck a rest. “She’s under the impression that the balefire bomb is to be used as a deterrent. A threat that if the army doesn’t turn back, they’ll incinerate their homes.”

She frowned slightly. “So no surprise there.”

“There’s also a good chance that Serenity is taking advantage of our absence to attack the rest of the army, though I couldn’t say for absolute sure. The forces you faced on the Cumulonimbus were mostly not soldiers and had what she considered minimal weaponry. Proper soldiers will be more well-equipped. They also have upwards of two hundred sets of power armor, though that number has a very wide margin of error. I’d estimate the actual number at between one hundred and one hundred fifty.”

Her frown deepened. “That’s a lot.”

“It is concerning,” I said with a slow nod. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t give you an accurate estimate of how many of those are Steel Ranger armor and how many are pegasus armor. I haven’t seen enough of their force to make that guess. At best I could say that a minimum of about ten percent of their armors are Steel Ranger models. Probably more.”

“Hopefully more,” she said. “Steel Rangers pack a lot of armor and firepower, but they can’t fly. They’ll have to use skywagons for rapid mobility, and they’re down one of those.” She silently pondered that for a moment before shaking her head. “Anyway, their deterrent. Do you think it’ll work?”

“Sandstorm’s out for blood. If anything, I think the threat would just piss her off more. Gemstone is small enough that a balefire bomb is no more of a threat than a couple squads of power-armor soldiers, so this doesn’t really change their situation. And while I imagine you dislike the idea of them using the balefire bomb on Enclave citizens, it would be the hardest target for them to strike, and I get the impression that this threat will not deter you.”

“Your impression is correct,” she said, her voice perfectly even.

“Which leaves only Mareford. They’re a professional force, so I don’t expect intimidation to work well on them. I don’t know Two Bits well enough to make precise judgments of his mentality, but he does take Dusty’s word seriously, and he was one of the few pushing for going with us. That said, it was a narrow thing getting them involved in the first place, and those soldiers’ duty is first and foremost to protect their homes. I think they’re likely to stay, but I’d like it to be a more sure thing. There are too many unknowns.”

“And even if their threat doesn’t work, they might just use the bomb on the army itself,” Hail Burst noted. “I don’t suppose you got any information that could help take it off the table?”

“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “Unless she was secretly the captain, I doubt she would have any idea about where they’re taking it, and even if she did, I doubt she’d let that information slip. I’d like to go over whatever data we can get from their PipBucks to see if they contain any useful information. If that doesn’t turn up anything, the best I could do is make estimates about where it would make sense for them to hide it.”

“Okay,” she said. “Assume you don’t get any useful information. Where do you think they’d put that bomb?”

I frowned, thinking on the question for a moment. “It depends,” I said, and lifted my PipBuck-clad foreleg. “About how far can one of these broadcasters reach?”

She looked down at it. “I’m not sure. If it’s anything like ours, maybe thirty miles line-of-sight. But that’s topside. Perfect conditions. Down here, I’d say line-of-sight might get you fifteen, twenty tops. Less in bad weather. Down in the dirt you’ll be lucky to get five.”

“Then that gives us a couple of slightly higher-likeliness areas. Someone would have to make the decision to actually deploy it, so there’s a chance it’s being kept within about twenty miles of either the changeling leading the defensive forces on the surface, or the hive itself. If this Queen Chrysalis is anything like her namesake, I expect she’d want to be the one to decide on its use, which would suggest it’s hidden near or in her hive. Then again, if she’s anything like her namesake, she’d probably also want to lead any attack herself, which would suggest it’s being kept near any intervening forces.”

“Mmm.” She frowned again. “That sounds like a lot of ifs, maybes, and guesses.”

“An unfortunate reality of my profession,” I said with a wry smile.

That drew a single faint chuckle from her. “Mine too, I suppose. That said, I’m not sure that helps us any.”

“It might not,” I said with a shrug. “But it does give us a potential vector for further action if the opportunity presents itself, and something to look out for.” I paused. “But the more I think on it, the more things don’t quite line up.”

Her gaze sharpened, eyes fixed attentively to me. “How so?”

“It’s not much of a deterrent if your opponent doesn’t know your intent.”

She paused. “And I don’t suppose they’d expect us to infer that threat from their actions.”

“It’s possible, but it seems sloppy to me,” I said. “Which means we need to return to the army as swiftly as possible. If Serenity does not deliver some form of ultimatum, then it would suggest they intend to use the megaspell on the army itself.”

Hail Burst grimaced. “And if they’re holding a condensed position to defend against a concentrated attack…” She considered this for several long seconds before her expression hardened, taking on the look of authority. “The Cumulonimbus is under-crewed, while the Trotsen force is small and under-gunned. Separated, we would be vulnerable to attack. We have only a few more hours of daylight. I do not expect the Trotsen force will be able to travel effectively at night, and we do not have the capacity to carry their motorwagons.

“Queen Whisper, I need you to get the Trotsen force moving with all urgency. The intent will be to cover as much ground as possible tonight and set out first thing in the morning to rejoin the army as soon as possible. I will be dispatching a messenger immediately to pass this intelligence on to the main force.”

She abruptly turned her head, reaching into a compartment. When she drew back, she was clutching a datastore, holding it out to me. I took it in my magic.

“That contains all of the data we retrieved from the recovered PipBucks. Hopefully you can make some sense of it while we’re traveling.” She ended with a firm and decisive nod. “Good luck.”

I bowed my head in reply. “And to you.”

She turned, opening the door. “Show Queen Whisper out,” she said, already breaking into a trot. Then she activated her radio, her receding voice echoing strangely from my earbud. “Firefly to CIC, immediately. Repeat, Firefly to CIC.”

As the guards motioned for us to follow them, Echo stepped forward. “That will not be necessary,” she said, and we vanished in a flash of purple.

We were moving in less than half an hour. The conversation with Axle was so simplistic in its mechanics that I could have predicted the entire course of the conversation, if not the specific words. I told him we needed to hurry to return to the army, and he countered that he had several damaged wagons that he wasn’t going to further damage for my needs, demonstrating his position of strength to his ponies by refusing me. I state that the main army, including Sandstorm, was under attack, and he angrily tells me I should have just said that before yelling at ponies to get those same wagons moving right now, having made my idea his own.

I might have found the entire charade annoying if it didn’t get me exactly what I wanted. Instead it left me pondering whether Queen Whisper should exhibit any signs of regal pride that might have just been slighted, or if I should maintain the professional Infiltrator practicality of real-Whisper. Both had their benefits, after all. Pitfalls, too.

But seeing as I had six captured PipBucks--I had returned the one Skim had laid claim to immediately after the conversation with Axle--I quickly settled on “real Whisper” as a way of shelving those thoughts and starting on something far more exciting.

Settled into the rear seat of our motorwagon and returned to my natural form, I turned to my collection of PipBucks and the data they contained.

I was immediately interrupted by the intrusion of a very cheerful griffin’s face. “Hey!” Bloodbeak said, showing no sign of impairment from her earlier injury. “What was that ship like? It looks so cool! I mean, it’s all banged up, but still cool. Was it cool?”

I found myself uncertain of how to reply, managing only a quiet “Uh…” for the first few moments. “It… it was pretty trashed in the fighting, and it got kind of ugly in there, but… well, it is still an impressive piece of hardware. Yeah, it’s cool.”

She gave a happy squee, sliding forward until her belly was resting on the back of the seat. That produced a wince and a sharp hiss, but a moment later she giggled again. “Ow. So are you going back up there? Could I go with you? They won’t let me ride in the whirlydingies, but maybe those pegasi would let me look around?” She raised her good wing. “Feathery solidarity! Right?”

I silently glanced down at my equipment and the great deal of potential data I might find on them, and found myself somewhat disappointed in myself. I know, it’s logical and professional, but that doesn’t mean I had to like it: I didn’t trust Bloodbeak. No, she almost certainly wasn’t a changeling spy, and while she was incredibly talkative, the chances of her leaking information that then got to an actual changeling spy was very low, but it was the kind of risk an Infiltrator has to avoid. It wasn’t even a criticism or personal judgment of her. It was simply professional.

That didn’t make me feel like any less of a horrible jerk for doubting the friendly and outgoing griffin smiling so happily before me.

I glanced past her to where Echo sat. “Resting her wings” was the excuse she had given for riding in the motorwagon instead of flying above. I suspected the only reason she was tolerating Sickle’s close presence--and frequent lewd comments--was to guard me. I was her key to a better future, and she didn’t intend to lose me to my own “carelessness.”

“Perhaps Echo could give you a lift?” I said. It was a convenient way of getting rid of Bloodbeak, and I felt a stab of guilt as I thought of it in those terms. It was a practical method of steering another person’s actions, the kind of thing an Infiltrator would frequently take advantage of out of necessity.

Then again, I wasn’t exactly an Infiltrator any more. I was something much more complex, now. As hesitant as I was to use the term, I was the queen now, and I was guiding the future of my hive.

“Bloodbeak, wait.”

Despite the energy of her pleading with Echo, she immediately stopped and turned my way. “Yeah?”

“There may well be some information or conversations here that could be very sensitive, and that we need to keep secret for the good of the army and everyone in general. I don’t want mislead you, but I also don’t want you to feel insulted or excluded. It’s just that there are a lot of lives on the line, and I’d really like to minimize the number of ears hearing this.” I gave a soft, if somewhat awkward smile. “I’d be happy to spend more time with you, but when we’re working on this, I’m afraid we’re going to need some privacy.”

Her head had cocked slightly to the side as she listened attentively and quite seriously. The moment I finished, her smile returned. “Oh, yeah, sure! I won’t get in the way of that. Besides, that’s a great excuse to go on the ship! ‘Queen Whisper said you have to let me on!’ Hah!”

I blinked at her enthusiastically casual response to my serious moral introspection, and I felt a momentary urge to chastise myself for thinking so little of her. I could have dug even deeper into those thoughts, but I instead focused on what she had said, giving a weak chuckle. “I, uh, doubt my rank has any official influence over Enclave personnel, friendly or not.”

“Well it should,” she replied. “But yeah, I can go up and hang out there while you work. When do you think you’ll be done?”

My slim smile faded as I considered that. “I suppose that depends on what I find. I’ll probably be busy until we get back to the army. Maybe… maybe until we’ve dealt with Serenity for good.” I gave a lopsided smile. “If it lasts that long, I’ll make sure to take some breaks from the work. Working constantly all day long just leads to problems.”

“Not to mention it’s no fun at all,” Bloodbeak said, taking on a decidedly sly and knowing look. It was gone an instant later as she flashed a grin at Echo. “See? It’s vitally important that I’m allowed to check out that cloudship. Lives are on the line!”

Echo’s frown grew ever darker. “That is not what she--”

“Lives are on the line!” Bloodbeak repeated, throwing up her forelegs and spreading her good wing in a dramatic flourish before dropping back to all fours and leveling her most wide and innocent grin at the grumpy alicorn.

Echo held her disapproving gaze for an impressive two seconds before sighing and rolling her eyes. “Fine. I will take you to the cloudship just to get you out of our manes.”

Bloodbeak cheered, jumping in the air quite gracefully despite the motorwagon’s rocking. Moments later, they were flying off, with Echo’s magic holding the energetic griffin a safe distance away from her body.

“I like her,” Starlight cheerfully noted, and I couldn’t help chuckling.

With that done, I turned to the data that we had collected. There was disappointingly little, and at the same time, far too much.

Many of the PipBucks had contained a good number of audio files, though only a couple of them matched the collection of thirty six journals I had recorded. I skimmed the audio file names in the first few PipBucks, and almost all were music, or at least titled like music. There were hardly any personal recordings. I played a file titled “Notetoself”, dated just five days ago, and was disappointed when a wheezy sounding changeling simply listed a few scheduling changes that needed to be made to cover an injury.

I set the audio files aside for the moment. With none showing obvious value from their title, they were too low in information density by time, so they got low priority. Text files were easier to skim for relevant information and I could read a good deal faster than someone could talk. There were also relatively few of them, and even fewer that had been written or modified recently. Most were useless. One had a list of meals eaten with detailed grading as to desirability. Another gave a detailed list of kills of and deaths by various other changelings in simulated battles. One curious file had a date--the day before yesterday--followed by ten blocks of numbers, each of which was seven lines of sixteen characters each. I filed that away for later; powers of two usually meant something.

There were a few, however, that were slightly more interesting. Mostly, these were notes on units in the “current force”, and one of these gave a basic if slightly unclear breakdown:

1 PLT - mobile force
1 - PAP - assault
2 - PAP - retrieve
3 - INF - retrieve screen
4 - INF - assault screen / reserve
Sky 1 & 2 attached for retrieval on ch 3 and 5

2 PLT - reserve / ship (under st)
1 - PAP - exterior screen
2 - INF - delay/reserve

It was information, though I wasn’t quite certain what to make of it. From the context, it was a division of forces. With my rather insignificant knowledge of military units and tactics I could assume that “PLT” stood for platoon, which probably made the following numbers squads. The breakdown seemed to correspond perfectly to the groups we had seen in battle. “Under st” was under-strength, which I assumed noted that the second platoon had half the squads of the first. Sky 1 and 2 were probably uncreative and obvious designations for the two skywagons we had seen. “Ch” was curious. Channel?

“Hey Dusty?”

He looked back from the front seat. Past him, I could see the other motorwagons rolling along at a decent clip, though nowhere near as breakneck as on our way out. “Yeah?”

“The context is a list of the Serenity forces we fought, divided by platoon and squad. Any idea what squad being designated P-A-P versus I-N-F could mean?”

“I-N-F makes me think infantry,” he said. “Don’t know about the other one. Did they only have one or the other?”

“Yes.”

“If one’s infantry, the other might be power armor.” He gave a little shrug. “Just a guess. Can I see?”

“Just a moment.” I took up one of the spare datastores I had, plugging it into my PipBuck to copy the file.

Dusty waited, looking at the array of equipment I had set in the seat next to me. The half-dozen PipBucks had been joined by my entire collection of data stores, a collection of electronics tools, and all my cables. “You building a maneframe back there?”

“I wish,” I said, passing over the datastore. “I’ve got a decent amount of raw data. Extra screens and inputs is good for organizing and comparing.” I gave a dry laugh. “What I wouldn’t give for a simple keyboard right now. How large might a squad be?”

Dusty blinked at the abrupt change of topic. “It varies. Ranger squads are seven, to fit in Pigeon. Regular Militia squads have a third fireteam and give the squad leader an assistant, so they’re eleven. Pretty much anything from seven to, say, fifteen.”

“So… forty two to ninety soldiers deployed here. Even on the upper end, that seems pretty slim for what we saw in Serenity.”

“Saving every soldier for the army, probably,” Dusty said, a hint of grumble coloring his voice.

“Likely,” I agreed, returning to my data.

I dug into the remaining data. There were more force lists, but from their dates and few notes I could gather, they seemed to be describing simulated combats. These did provide one minimally useful piece of information: a few had a level of organization above platoon, designated COY--a strange shortening of “company”, I assumed--which appeared to usually consist of three platoons. Even more alarming was the occasional note of one or even two other companies with other tasks. A quick bit of math and the assumption that those other companies were fully staffed suggested about 400-plus soldiers.

And even more concerning, this was only one side of the simulated mission. I knew from overheard conversations that some, if not all, of their simulations had Serenity’s soldiers playing both sides. I didn’t even know if their simulation could create fictional constructs to fight against. Surely they wouldn’t be fighting the ponies they fed on?

Most of these force lists came from a single changeling, so I searched her PipBuck for more information. I wasn’t disappointed. In a folder labeled “post mission notes” I found three files. Opening the first, I found a rough shorthoof-filled account of a recent simulated combat. Many of the specific terms and personalized notation escaped me, but I could follow the rough course of the battle, where this changeling’s side had to escort a set of heavily laden wagons from one compound to another through an area of dense and rocky hills.

“Dusty. Datastore. You’ll want to see this.”

The moment he removed the datastore from his PipBuck, I snatched it in my magic and plugged it into my own. A quick transfer later, and I passed it back. “Open the file ‘Rocky Road’ and tell me what you think.”

The brief look of confusion and curiosity was shortly replaced by surprise, and then interest. We read through the files together, trying to work out this changeling’s shorthoof, along with me asking for the occasional clarification of a term or abbreviation. Some required a bit more explanation than others; explaining that “BOF” stood for “base of fire” meant little to me without then explaining what that term meant. It was an area that I had no experience in, and needed to learn quickly.

Heck, I was pleased with myself just for realizing what “LZ” stood for, even with its context being so painfully obvious.

I continued searching for more information as we talked, and turned up another interesting discovery: this changeling’s PipBuck had dozens of map files. For those who don’t know how PipBucks work, that’s not just unheard of, it’s outright nonsensical. PipBucks have one map file, and it details the entire world, with the ability to adjust and expand upon it as new information is received. There was no support for multiple map files because they had no purpose.

That is, no purpose the designer had conceived of, or had considered important. After all, how likely was a PipBuck to end up in some other world?

I have no idea if PipBucks still interacted with their wearer while they were in one of Serenity’s simulations, or if they had been copied over to the PipBucks for later use, but they had created dozens of worlds to fight in.

“Rocky Road” described a combat in the “Motor Canyons region.” One map file was titled Motor Canyons. A quick file transfer to a spare PipBuck, and we had a map of the battlefield to go with our textual description. The world of Motor Canyons was only fifty miles on a side, but this was apparently sufficient for the battle enacted there. The landmarks referenced in the battle let us follow the exact movements of various units. It was perfect.

It was also concerning. Among the many maps were detailed and fairly accurate renditions of more than a dozen settlements, including Mareford, Trotsen, Gemstone, and even a still-intact Rust. A quick check of the main map files showed location tags spreading well beyond the local area, with every PipBuck having the exact same data. They’d been thorough in mapping out the surrounding area and ensuring their soldiers had the most accurate data.

I hadn’t noticed the darkening skies until we slowed. Even with the superior low-light vision of a changeling, the terrain was getting increasingly hard to pick out. The line of vehicles slowed more and more, limping along, guided by the struggling light of a unicorn in the lead wagon.

Soon Axle had given up the attempt, and the Trotsen vehicles started pulling into a loose group. Dusty directed Starlight to park off to one side, while ponies started to dismount, lit by the occasional flashlight or glowing horn. Soon they were setting a campfire. The dark clouds of the Cumulonimbus flickered like a brewing storm, hovering low above our camp.

We kept to ourselves. Dusty checked in with Two Bits, who clarified that the Rangers were being situated in the Cumulonimbus to give extra security, before signing off for the night.

After a brief dinner, the fatigue of the day had caught up with everyone. Eyes were half-lidded, conversation slow. Not that I minded the sparse conversation. I was still going over the data in my mind, even if I wasn’t sure how it would help us.

Dusty called it quits first. “Time for sleep. Who’s on first watch?”

I glanced at the ragged gash torn in the side of our motorwagon, wondering if he was expecting us to watch for an attacking army or suspicious ponies. Either way, I spoke up. “I’ve got enough rattling around in my head, I doubt I’ll be able to sleep yet. I’ll take it.”

“Good enough for me,” he said. “Just remember to actually keep an eye out instead of burying your muzzle in a PipBuck screen.”

Which I realized was probably what I would have done if he hadn’t said so. “Of course not,” I said, giving a weak smile.

“Okay, then,” he said with a nod, stretching before lying out on his side. “Wake me for second shift.”

The others followed shortly after him, while I walked a short distance away, sitting atop a boulder that rose from a rocky shelf. A quick adjustment of my eyes, with some inspiration from owls, and the wasteland opened up before me. Just an hour out from the Pale Sands basin, the rocky hills and valleys surrounded us, looming in the darkness. The view was all shadows and silhouettes, and almost devoid of color, but those silhouettes were sharp in my eyes. Nothing would approach us without me being able to see them.

As my head jerked back upright from its steady descent, I amended that thought: nothing would approach us without me being able to see them, so long as I could keep my eyes open. Even the new knowledge that was running laps in my head wasn’t enough to stave off the fatigue. I needed to do something. I briefly considered listening to the collection of audio files we had retrieved from the Serenity PipBucks, but I dismissed it; I should keep my ears out for anything my eyes might miss.

A minute later, I concluded that, while I couldn’t listen to audio files, perhaps I could still create them. A short internal debate as to whether that would compromise my hearing any less than listening to audio eventually fell on the side of giving me something to do to keep my eyes open, and I started up a new journal file.

Time passed quickly and uneventfully as I quietly narrated my life. Maybe it was the fatigue speaking, but there was something vaguely unsettling about describing events that were ever closer to the present. It was almost ominous, as if some outside guiding force was steadily converging on some point that was drawing slowly, inexorably closer. Soon I would reach the point where there was no more past to record, and where I once had a neatly organized plan for my future recordings, I would be left only with an unknown and increasingly unsure future.

Or maybe I was just really tired and allowing myself to see connections where there was only coincidence, patterns where there was only noise, imagining some guiding hand of fate that brought some sort of purpose and order to everything and which was guiding everything to its desired and likely unpleasant end. Ending the recording with me being shot in the back of the head had possibly led me into a slightly more morbid state of mind.

I considered all of those thoughts for a few moments before cracking a smile and dismissing them. Applied psychology can be quite entertaining, even when practiced on myself.

I trotted silently back to camp and gently roused Dusty. Once he had risen and shaken off his drowsiness, I climbed up into the motorwagon. The seat would be more comfortable than the dirt. Besides, I was apparently a high-priority target. At least there I’d have some armor around me.

And it just coincidentally had my collection of PipBucks and their valuable data. As tired as I was, I wanted to check a few things before going to sleep. One of those things was the substantial amount of spells the PipBucks had been programmed with. I wanted to get a basic idea of what the common Serenity soldier would have available to them.

So I called up my spell compiler, loaded one up, and promptly forgot about sleep as the greatest treasure Serenity could have possibly given me unfolded before my eyes.