“Isn’t that enough?” Thorax asks in that thin, wheedling voice of his, halfway between concern and awe at the stacks of full-sized preservation units surrounding him. Each comfortably holds an entire ram, or two of the smaller ones if they are crammed in.

“No,” Ocellus whimpers, shivering at the frigid air of the freezer. She does her best to embrace the chill, the biting cold helping her maintain the proper attitude as she assembles the components for the next one. Bands of thin steel encircle specially treated wooden planks, each slotting into place with a thick line of black sealant coughed up by Chrysalis’ specialized and recently spawned nymph. It always goes easier if she can see every piece, touch them together, to know how they will interlock and connect and form the lattice around which she will add her essence.

“It’s a lot,” Thorax states as Pharynx drags the latest limp body into the room. He checks the tag, copying the information down onto their master sheet and then onto their weekly report. “Too much?”

“No,” Ocellus repeats with a weak shake of her head.

“It’s more than we’ve ever made before,” Thorax comments as Pharynx roughly deposits the ram into the most recently finished unit. “And you did it by yourself.”

Ocellus merely grunts, focusing on her latest creation. If changelings are good at one thing it’s copying; she crafts each preservation unit identical to the others. That makes it easier, like wearing ruts into a well-traveled road that push and guide when she might otherwise falter. She takes a deep breath, measures out a portion of her essence like so many drops of hemolymph, and pours it into the waiting container. It’s not painful, per se, but neither is it pleasant to watch a part of herself seep into and stain the newly forged container a vivid pink, the same as her bright wings.

Her task complete, the light blue changeling - now a touch duller than before - struggles to her hooves. “How many more?”

“One,” Pharynx answers, his cold demeanor starker than the freezer. “Though your question is ambiguous. She has wisely culled her flock of unnecessary males. One remains.”

“Pharynx,” Thorax admonishes with a hearty glare. Ocellus might be glad for him standing up for her if she didn’t agree with the assessment.

“What?” Pharynx follows the flick of Thorax’s head to Ocellus. “Why would you think I am referring to her? She has shown an appropriate dedication to the hive and its industries.”

Ocellus perks up, a warmth spreading from her core that reaches her extremities; that is quite possibly the highest praise she has heard the dark green changeling utter, aside from his unwavering veneration of Chief Architect Chrysalis.

Thorax notices this as well, as he shoots her a beaming smile. “So she’s done?”

“Her duties are complete. But ours remain.” Pharynx nods at Ocellus before leaving.

Thorax looks at her with a concern she finds patronizing, though not completely unwelcome. “Good hunting tonight,” he encourages, winking before following his brother up the stairs.

Ocellus’ mouth purses to a thin, hard line as she wearily drags herself out of the Abattoir carrying saddlebags with two of their ready-made meals that hadn’t sold, plus as a precaution one of the scintillating blue bottles (resignation, not the most flavorful but filling) Pharynx siphoned out. Sadly, the changeling’s unlikely praise is no substitute for rest and a thick, warm meal. The evening sun overhead casts long shadows, ones she wants to slink between and hide inside instead of trudging along the path where anypony might see her. She dares not fly, that would make her fatigue all the more obvious with her languid pace and the strong possibility of a light breeze blowing her off course. She stumbles up the gentle slope to the basement of the four-story Carrot House, her whole body aching.

None of the foals are home, most likely hanging out at the Cider Barn until dinner is ready. Applejack flits from stove to oven to fridge, hard at work cooking in the kitchen - by the smell, fritters, hay fries, wheat bread, and apple pie - and raises a questioning eyebrow at the changeling’s arrival.

“Welcome,” Applejack greets, her smile stained with confusion. Normally, given her diet, the changeling takes her meals alone; before their transformation, on a ‘date’ of sorts with a single pony. “Didn’t expect ya to be comin’ round tonight. Should Ah pile on a plate for ya?”

“Might want to make an extra two,” Ocellus returns with a wry attempt at humor. “I heard Spoiled Rich will be joining us.”

Applejack’s eyes widen like a rampaging Ursa Minor is coming to dinner instead of their longest business partner. “W-what?!” She whirls around, peeking inside the oven with the vain hope that the mundane meal has transformed into a sumptuous spread the Rich mare would deem acceptable. She grimaces when it hasn’t. She rips open the fridge, then the pantry, grabbing anything and everything that might substitute for hors-d'oeuvres that take hours to prepare.

Ocellus chuckles as she watches the stack of cheeses, crackers and fruits grow. She places her saddlebags next to the table, brief relief at having one less thing to carry. “She’s not that bad, is she?” Thorax never says anything negative about his lead mare, but he never complains about anypony, the syco.

Applejack huffs. “It ain’t that Ah’m worried ‘bout her makin’ a scene. More like…”

Her ears flatten as three hard, impatient knocks come from the front door.

“‘S’cuse me.” Applejack gamely trots across the room and pulls the door open.

Spoiled Rich stands there, long pink nose aloft as though afraid that by pointing down she might gather a speck of dirt on it. The pearl choker around her neck embodies its name, tight to the point where it shows off every breath; it matches the short-sleeved lace dress that covers most of her barrel and leaves her cutie mark exposed. Her smile can’t quite lose the sense of haughtiness, threatening to curl to its natural smirk.

“Evenin’,” Applejack greets with a jocular smile, shuffling to the side. “Welcome to our humble home! Ocellus was just tellin’ me ‘bout how you were plannin’ on eatin’ here.”

Spoiled Rich spares the arctic blue changeling behind the table a look just as cold. “Indeed,” she states as she steps inside. Judging blue eyes sweep from one modest furnishing to the apple-themed knick knacks to the board games only partially put away. Her attention turns away with palpable distaste, her tongue clearly bitten into submission. “I trust I am not too early?”

“Dinner’s still cookin’, but it’s never too early for a friend to come over!” Applejack grins as she trots to the counter, a flick of her tail gathering the food and spreading it on the dinner table. “Anythin’ Ah can get for ya? We got juice, cider, milk, water, or Ah can get somethin’ harder from the cellar.”

“Cider would be wonderful.” Spoiled Rich offers an overlarge smile as she takes a place at the table next to Doug’s chair, ignoring the snacks.

Applejack raises an eyebrow but nothing more as she brings a pair of chilled bottles. “How’re things at the school? Students keepin’ ya busy?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Spoiled Rich lets the mask slip as she shakes her head, using a sip of cider to stall and regain her composure. “Many of the students - especially our international ones - have had appalling educations. If they received any at all.”

“Really?” Applejack gasps. “Twi’s mentioned some troubles, but…” She glances at Ocellus, the obvious question on the tip of her tongue.

“I took a crash course in Equestrian society,” Ocellus answers, not minding sharing. After all, Chrysalis ordered them to divulge any information, secret or otherwise, from before their joining. “That meant civics, higher mathematics, and law, enough to pass as a guardsmare. But everyling knew the basics, we made sure of that.”

Applejack slowly nods, then turns back to Spoiled Rich. “Which ones are givin’ ya the most trouble?”

Spoiled Rich slowly relaxes as she swirls her cider, chewing over her words. Ocellus can understand being reluctant at sharing, especially since the student’s troubles could reflect negatively on the teacher. “Smolder the dragon and Gallus the griffon. Neither received any formal education; in fact, I discovered neither could read Equestrian after they failed their first test.”

Ocellus’ eyes bug out, as do Applejack’s. Noling would be so neglected!

“They hated the remedial course I put them through, but it got them up to speed.” Spoiled Rich takes another sip of her cider, scowling. “They would be better served in a separate class, able to cover more foundational topics the other students have long since ingrained, but Sparkle insists on keeping them together.” She blithely shrugs. “At least they have other members in their study group who are excelling, who are keeping them on track and on pace.”

“Ah guess that’s good to hear,” Applejack says, still recovering from hearing about somecreatures not being taught to read.

“Silverstream reads perfectly, though her penmareship is atrocious. Claws instead of flippers, from what I understand, combined with a lack of focus bordering on a disorder.” Spoiled Rich sets down her glass with a sigh. “But of all of them? Grubber is the one with whom I have the most frustration and disagreement.” Ocellus and Applejack cock their heads curiously. “The others may be uneducated, and at times insubordinate, but he has a defiant streak that crops up at the most inopportune of times.”

“Defiant?” Applejack’s face contorts itself as she recalls anything she can about the silver-maned hedgehog that could be construed as defiant. “The groveling cupcake hunter?” She chuckles as she shakes her head. “Sorry, partner, but he don’t strike me as the defiant kind.”

“Not as openly as the griffon,” Spoiled Rich acknowledges. Her words are deadly serious. “But his brand of subversion is far more seditious.”

Applejack frowns as her jaw slowly shuts. “Them’s strong words. But ya mean ‘em. What’s he doin’?”

“He derails discussions into topics better reserved for those in academia regarding the intricacies of our Tenets.” Spoiled Rich drains the rest of her cider, thumping the glass on the table. “Not in an introductory-level class where the most common question is ‘why shouldn’t we steal or cheat or lie?’ It becomes frustrating when an insufficient defense - and he is a master at strategically poking holes, not just with his quills - means the opposite position, that of disharmony, seems reasonable.”

“Err,” Applejack says, glancing at Ocellus. She offers nothing. “Ya got an example?”

“Say…” Spoiled Rich chews at her lip as she thinks back. “We acknowledge a mare has a responsibility - a loyalty - to her stallion,” she starts, setting up the scenario. “She should exemplify the Elements in their partnership, holding to her promises, being kind and generous and all the rest.”

“Ah’m with ya so far,” Applejack says, nodding along as Spoiled Rich twirls a hoof around in a tight circle.

“Similarly,” Spoiled Rich continues, “she has a responsibility to her foal. To provide for her the best possible conditions, to give her every advantage she can. Conditional, of course, on the limits of her knowledge and foresight.”

“Ya don’t wanna be too, um, domineering,” Applejack says, offering the pink mare a cheeky grin as she gets a pointed stare in return. “Ya know, gotta let ‘em learn some things on their own.”

“Hence the condition.” Spoiled Rich huffs to herself, having come across as belittling. “Your point is well taken; there are times when the foal’s short term enjoyment must be traded for a harsh lesson learned. And there is also the caveat that no mare is perfect.”

“‘Course,” Applejack agrees with a short nod.

“We are just going over the basics, how those in society should act. But,” Spoiled Rich says with a frustrated growl, “he would ask what happens should those loyalties come into conflict. Often with the implication - though never stated, that would be too easy - that the lesser loyalty should be discarded.”

“Conflict?” Applejack’s face scrunches up. “Ah’m sorry, that’s a bit too abstract for me. Would he make it more concrete? Or is it all academic-like, just hypotheticals and all?”

Spoiled Rich looks Applejack from head to hoof, making the mare a tad uncomfortable. “Say,” she cautiously begins. “You believe Doug to be less fit than Filthy Rich for siring your next foal. To which does your loyalty lie?”

Applejack’s eyes narrow.

“Hypothetically,” Spoiled Rich insists immediately. “I am in no way implying that to be the case.”

“If’n it’s just a hypothetical,” Applejack spits out, obviously agitated at the suggestion, “flip it around. Shouldn’t matter, right?”

“Indeed.” Spoiled Rich takes a deep breath, then walks up and kisses Applejack on the cheek, a short, subservient peck before meekly asking for a huge favor.

Applejack slowly raises a hoof, wide-eyed, gently tapping the wet spot as if she’s not sure if it’s real.

“Would you,” Spoiled Rich asks, acting completely serious, “approve Doug to stud me?”

Next Chapter: Ch. 134 - Poacher's Aim, Part Three Estimated time remaining: 10 Hours, 52 Minutes