The easternmost barn on Sweet Apple Acres looks much like the other barns that sporadically dot the apple orchards. Plain, unpainted wooden walls made from second-grade apple wood (their finest makes barrels and repairs to the main two houses). A red roof with sturdy hexagonal shingles nailed down in strips. The large double doors, sliding, face west and are currently left open in a way that might seem accidental, if anypony was to look. Yet the truth is more secretive than sinister; the various herds the changelings belong to might know they are leaving, but they don’t know exactly where they go or what they do. Old habits die hard and all that.

A solitary changeling makes her way from one red-studded canopy to another, staying mostly concealed and off the main path. The sun sporadically glints off her light blue chitin, pale pink wings currently folded inside her darker pink elytra. She scans this way and that, never ceasing, a cautious advance likely unwarranted but instilled from years of practice.

“Hail, comrade!” booms Pharynx from a hidden alcove as she silently slips inside the barn. The dark green changeling snaps a hoof to his muscle-bound chest, two loud raps echoing in one of the elite guard’s brasher salutes. At the same time he crouches, ready to pounce if the proper reply isn’t received.

“Hey, comrade,” Ocellus replies in a subdued whisper. She nervously scratches her left foreleg against her right, an infiltrator’s masked greeting. She never cares for the flamboyant displays the elite guards prefer, finding them just as intimidating as they are intended to be. After all, a changeling who announces their presence so loudly has to be able to back it up.

Pharynx’s gaze quickly turns back to the open door, waiting for the verdant remainder of their small clique. He stands at attention, ever on duty, even when the Everfree Forest isn’t even in sight.

“Hey, Pharynx?” Ocellus ventures, drawing a brief glare from the elder warrior. “I-I wanted to ask. Maybe after we’re done?”

“Yes?” Pharynx snaps, frustrated at her timidity. “What?”

“Could you teach me some of your, um, favorite hoof techniques?” Ocellus gulps as she steals a glance to the south and the forest that lays beyond the orchards.

“Ah!” Pharynx bellows, straightening up even more. His scowl morphs into a fangy grin, reminiscent of their illustrious leader. “Thinking of taking a more active role in defending your hive?” He resolutely nods. “A glorious pursuit! Most admirable!” He ceases his praise as a tall, light green changeling walks in. His hoof thumps against his chest twice. “Hail, comrade!”

“Hail, comrades,” Thorax replies in his thin, wheedling voice. His hoof thumps against his chest twice, yet fails to get the resounding echo of his brother. “What’cha talking about?”

“Defensive techniques,” Pharynx responds brusquely. “Assuming flight isn’t an option. And a battle morph is unavailable. Or too expensive.” His querying glance gets a nod from Ocellus. He rubs his taut belly with an unadulterated grimace, as though any hindrance to being at peak performance is to be tolerated only under the most extreme of circumstances and forcibly removed otherwise.

“Ooh, yeah,” Thorax says, lovingly stroking the more prominent bulge of his belly. “I’d hate for anything to happen to this little filly!” He sighs happily, then twists his head to look at Ocellus. “Do you know who from Bravo clique is coming? I heard they were splintering after Cercus got tapped to go to Klugetown.”

“Hey!” admonishes Pharynx. When Thorax doesn’t look appropriately cowed he continues with a harsh scowl, “That’s poor opsec, soldier! You can’t leak critical information like another clique’s circumstances! We can’t reveal information under duress that we don’t know!”

“Leak?” Thorax says, raising his eyebrows as he pointedly scans around the room. Ocellus returns a blank look. “Who are we hiding from? It’s not like everyling won’t know.”

“T-that’s true,” Ocellus stammers. Old habits die hard, and even the tiniest scrap of the former infiltrator’s plans being revealed sets her forelegs quivering. Or just the fact that she knew all the members of Bravo clique when she was only ‘supposed’ to know the leader. “I told Kevin she could join us.”

“Urgh,” Pharynx grunts out, rubbing at his head in the vain hope it might forestall the migraine. “At least I won’t have to worry about her trying to ‘improve the ambiance’ with pretty vines and or anything ridiculous like that. Not every room has to be fit for breeding!”

“That doesn’t stop Doug,” Ocellus claims with a grim smile, rubbing at her belly.

“Another one?” exclaims Thorax happily, kneeling down. “Did it work?” He smiles, bending low and resting his ear on her belly. “Con-” His joy fades as he listens, pulling away slowly. “Um. Congratulations.”

“What?” demands Pharynx, immediately concerned. “Is something wrong?”

Ocellus shies down. “N-not wrong. But she’s not a foal.” She twists away, avoiding any eye contact.

“Ah, yes,” Pharynx states, losing his imperious demeanor. “The mission Quee…” He stalls on the word, obviously disgruntled with the change in title. “...Chief Architect Chrysalis gave all of us. Ingratiate ourselves to the ponies in every way possible, becoming invaluable and inseparable allies and partners. The first corollary being that bearing their highly-valued young will cultivate favor quickly and intensely.”

“A-and I’m not fulfilling that mission,” Ocellus whimpers. She stays twisted away even when Thorax runs his hoof over her back. “Even the special dispensation I got from Chief Architect Chrysalis to keep trying just made things worse! They’re all going to think I’m just in it for the changelings! I’m going to be the one changeling cast out for being a failure!”

“You’re not a failure,” Thorax reassures, stroking harder and hoping the extra pressure will help. It doesn’t seem to make a difference. “You’ve been helping out around the farm, and they like that! I-I’m sure it will happen!”

“Hmm,” Pharynx mutters. He stares at the floor, his features slowly tightening as he considers. “Would more time at the Abattoir take your mind off this and thus alleviate the problem?”

“Come on, Pharynx,” Thorax wheedles, only getting a contemptuous scowl in return. “She needs more than a distraction!”

“Agreed!” Pharynx frowns as Thorax huffs. “What? You heard the Chief’s message. She’s not getting kicked out. She just has to be useful. She can be useful working. She is useful working. I don’t see what the problem is.” He turns his head up with an aloof sneer.

“The problem is that you’re not taking her feelings into consideration,” Thorax growls defensively. It wouldn’t be the first time the two turned their philosophical disagreements into a physical confrontation, even in their new forms, and he can feel his body gearing up to tumble.

“I-it’s okay, Thorax,” Ocellus interrupts, quick to step in. “He’s just trying to help.” She turns to Pharynx as Thorax grudgingly sighs. “But I don’t think more time working will help, because we don’t have enough to do.”

“Ah, yes. A lack of product.” Pharynx nods, short and sharp. “Perhaps another venture into the Everfree Forest? Unless you wish to make more units.”

“You saw how worried Fluttershy was when we came out with that cockatrice,” Thorax counters. “Even if-”

“-But we took the proper precautions!” Pharynx speaks over Thorax, ignoring his heated grunt. “She didn’t fuss after she saw we gouged the eyes out, did she?”

“No,” Thorax returns, short breaths failing to control his temper. “But she still cried, like she knew his mother.”

The two changelings stare at each other, fangs baring and tongues occasionally flicking out. If either hisses a challenge they would tackle each other, Thorax’s slightly greater size a close match for his broodmate’s skill and practice.

“It’s, just,” Ocellus says, her voice enough to distract the two from their obstinance. “Making those preservation units tires me out. It’s easier if we work together, but I know you’re worried about taxing yourselves.”

“Don’t remind me,” Pharynx says icily, only to reach a hoof back to his elytra and pull a small black scarab from the purple wing-cover. He sighs as it buzzes again. “Speaking of taxing.”

“Again?” Thorax says with a considerable amount of worry laced with curiosity. He pulls out a scarab of his own, as does Ocellus. “Ready.”

The three changelings concentrate as they set their scarabs on the floor. A green glow comes from each that coalesces into a ring above the three, an image of their Chief Architect inside. She grins as she looks down at her three changelings, opening her mouth.

Before Chrysalis can get a word out a masculine voice pops up from behind her. She looks incredibly unenthused as the white-furred Storm King pops up next to her, leaning into her head to stare at them. “Hey, that’s way cooler than mine! I’ve got to use this magic pool of water. The connection is horrible, and I can never tell if it’s on or what direction I’m supposed to be looking! Once, I went through my entire battle plan, only to find out that my lieutenants couldn’t see what I was drawing. Then the spell dropped. We still won, of course, but have you ever had that sinking feeling when you see half your fleet peel off in the wrong direction?”

“No,” Chrysalis nearly spits out, “because my forces are not commanded by a cretin.” She tries to push him away, only for the entire view to shift upwards as if the transmitter is being picked up and twisted this way and that. They see brief glimpses of the ponies from Ponyville, a good number of other creatures, and a rapid transition between the floor and ceiling. Thorax gags at the change in perspective, the other two faring little better. “Put that down!”

“But it’s so cool! I just want to-”

“No!” Chrysalis’ scowling visage reasserts itself, if briefly. “Is Sweetie Belle there?”

“No, Chief!” Pharynx belts out, tapping his chest twice.

“That’s Chief Architect,” Chrysalis corrects mirthlessly, only for her image to change to the Storm King’s. “Stop it!” she calls, the whole thing shaking. “If I promise to make you your own set, will you leave me alone?!”

Without warning the view spins rapidly, far faster than any ‘ling could rotate. Ocellus shies down and covers her eyes while Thorax drops to a knee, holds a hoof against his chest and controls his breathing. Pharynx stands straight, clenching his stomach, while a green aura surrounds the image. Once again Chrysalis appears, looking slightly disheveled, and she gazes down at her changelings with a fang-filled frown.

“What?” she demands, as the two slowly come to attention.

“Chief Architect!” Pharynx bellows, covering for his comrades. “I believe I have a new training regimen I would like to instate, as well as an interrogation technique!”

“Submit it in writing. Now, I have a…” She sighs, poorly concealing her contempt. “Priority buzz for Sweetie Belle. Find her, quickly, all three of you. Reserves authorized, should you need to supplement. Any questions?”

The three exchange nervous glances. Breaking into their dwindling love reserves for a message? It would have to be a long one to necessitate that. And important, for Chrysalis to give away their communication method to not only the ponies - in fact, they would be surprised if she hadn’t told the Princesses about their long-distance abilities - but to the other creatures of the Council.

“Well?” Chrysalis demands impatiently.

It takes Ocellus a moment to realize the other two are waiting for her to respond. It makes sense, now that she thinks about it; Sweetie Belle is a member of her herd, after all.

“No questions, Chief Architect,” Ocellus states, starting to feel the drain of the connection. “We’ll buzz you as soon as we find her. Alone?”

Chrysalis frowns, briefly. “Any she wishes to accompany her may. Let her know it will not be… private. ‘Cac’ out.”

The green ring tightens into a singular point, leaving a trail of green sparks that fade into nothing.

“Um,” Ocellus starts, trying to process what just happened. She shoots her comrades a nervous, if somewhat upbeat, smile. “So, who wants to get the popcorn? I know where she keeps the blubber, but it can get a little salty.”

“Ugh, I hate tears and sadness if they aren’t fresh,” Pharynx says with a bitter scowl.

Next Chapter: Ch. 31 - Izaro's Turmoil, Part Two Estimated time remaining: 27 Hours, 13 Minutes