Slipshod idly wondered who was more surprised by the turnout for the princess’ first ‘class’ on Friendship. Certainly there had to be more than a few department heads who were feeling just a little put out by what must have represented a significant depletion in their staffing. Of course, promises had been made that anypony who’d asked to attend would be allowed to do so―within reason, one assumed. Though, given the shoulder-to-shoulder packing of what should have been a suitably spacious aerospace hangar for the whole crew of the DropShip―as well as ponies from the Rockhoof and the Galloway―perhaps that was an erroneous assumption on his part.

The stallion wondered who the poor unlucky sod was that must have been running the bridge for the WarShip all by themselves, given the attendance that he was seeing. Seriously, this was less of a ‘classroom’, and more of a ‘lecture hall’. Even then, none of his lectures at the academy had been this massive.

On the other hoof, none of his lectures had been proctored by Chrysalis herself.

These ponies―and a great many other creatures as well, he noticed―were being given the opportunity to hear right from the mouth of their long lost and now returned princess. How could any of them not want to be in attendance? Heck, they were being given the chance not just to listen to their princess, but to actually have some of her wisdom imparted to them!

So, yeah, the hangar was packed alright. Despite everything that had been done to make as much room as possible. Of course, the fighters could only be moved around so much. This hadn’t stopped a significant number of creatures, especially those who could fly, from perching on top of them. Even the catwalks above them were packed. Probably in excess of the recommended weight limit, Slipshod suspected.

For the first time in almost a week, Slipshod found himself feeling grateful that he was a changeling and, oddly enough, that everypony else knew about it. He’d managed to successfully argue that he be allowed to walk around in his earth pony form, as that tended to not provoke the very visceral reactions that the crew experienced upon merely seeing a changeling. However, this agreement had been reached with the understanding that Slipshod was not to use any other form besides his natural or earth pony ones. Doing so for even a split second would see him thrown in the brig for the remainder of their trip to Clan space.

His image had also been shared among every creature on board all three vessels, to alert them to what he really was. This seemed to undermine a lot of what Slipshod had hoped to accomplish, if he was being honest. The suspicious and hostile feelings being directed at him every time he passed a creature in the corridor were hardly what he’d call ‘ideal’, but in this moment they seemed to be a minor blessing as the ponies near him were more than willing to compact themselves even more uncomfortably in an effort to be as far from him as physically possible. This left the stallion with a ‘buffer zone’ of sorts even in the otherwise crowded hangar.

This was presumably also appreciated by his ‘chaperone’, a green-eyed thestral mare who refused to give him her name. Or the time of day. Or even a slightly annoyed grunt. Slipshod would have sworn that she was just straight up mute, except that she was perfectly willing to talk with any other member of the crew that approached her.

His musings were interrupted by the sudden hush that fell over the crowd, every head suddenly facing in a singular direction. Slipshod was in the far corner of the hangar, about as distant from where the princess’ dais had been set up as one could be―the changeling was hardly about to be given preferred seating, after all―so he had trouble catching more than a brief glimpse of her flowing mane. His brow raised slightly. He could have sworn that it had been much shorter the last time he’d seen her. Huh.

While he might not have been able to see her very well, the sound system which had been set up at least meant that none of the attendees had any trouble hearing the alicorn as she began her presentation, “my little ponies, and every other creature who has stood with us, I can’t begin to express how thrilled I am to see so many of you interested in learning about Friendship! I know that together, we will be able to drive out Chrysalis and restore the Celestia League!”

This announcement was met with raucous cheering from everycreature in the hangar. Hooves stomped and clawed hands of all types clapped. A chant soon materialized, gaining volume and vigor until it was finally being echoed by all: “death to Chrysalis! Death to changelings! Death to ComSpark!”

Slipshod wondered if his coming here might have been a mistake…

Though it wasn’t much consolation at the time, it didn’t look like this had been quite the reaction that Twilight had been going for. It took her some time, but eventually the purple alicorn was able to quiet down the chanting and make herself heard over the crowd again, “while I certainly appreciate the, um...enthusiasm, I also need you all to understand that our focus shouldn’t be on ‘death’ to...anything, really. It’s not about destruction, it’s about restoration―rebuilding what was lost. About helping the creatures suffering under Chrysalis’ machinations.

“That is a goal that will not be accomplished solely through violence. We need to instead rely on the Elements of Harmony, and hold ourselves to their ideals. Everypony knows what those are, of course? May I see a show of hooves and hands of who can list the elements?” a sea of limbs shot up into the air, “fantastic! You there; can you tell us one?”

“Devotion to your Clan!” a young dragon announced loudly. A chorus of other creatures echoed their assent.

Twilight seemed to sound a little less sure, however, “um...well, I suppose that is a kind of loyalty, yes. Er, can somecreature tell me another? You?”

“Sacrifice for The Cause!” a mare shouted, receiving another smattering of agreeable outbursts.

“Generosity...right…” a pause from the princess, almost as though she was afraid to receive the next response, “anycreature else?”

“Respect for fellow Trueborns!” this seemed to be met with the loudest cheers.

“What-borns? Was...was that meant to be ‘kindness’?” the alicorn faltered now. Clearly this was not going quite the way that she had anticipated, “I’m almost afraid to ask what ‘laughter’ is―”

“Find joy in domination!”

“Of course,” Twilight sighed, “well, it looks like today is going to be an...enlightening day for us all. Perhaps I started going about this the wrong way,” she admitted, “who wants to hear a story?” as expected, there was a great deal of cheering from the crowd, “great! Our story begins many centuries ago, long before there was a Celestia League. In fact, there wasn’t even a unified Equus yet!

“Long ago, in the magical land of Equestria…”

As the last of the Clanners finished filing out of the hangar, Slipshod looked in the direction of the purple princess. She was speaking with the cobalt dragoness and a few other high-ranking officers, and looking quite satisfied with herself. The changeling frowned. It was obvious that she’d felt her first ‘Friendship Seminar’, or whatever, had gone swimmingly.

However, she wasn’t an empath.

The general mood had certainly begun positively enough. The Clanners were overjoyed at the prospect of hearing from their princess, and had been eager to hang on her every word. They’d been proud to demonstrate their understanding of the ‘true principles of the League’ to her and bask in the praise that would surely follow for holding fast to those ideals which the Harmony Sphere had obviously forgotten about.

Of course, that praise hadn’t been as forthcoming as they’d been expecting. Likewise, the story of how Princess Twilight had come to meet her friends and their missions to spread the Magic of Friendship to the far corners of Equestria, and then the rest of Equus, had also not seemed to be what they were hoping for. Insofar as the alicorn seemed to be a lot less...aggressive than was the general mindset of the crowd.

Slipshod got the impression that these creatures had been anticipating a Princess Twilight who would be much more forceful in her advocacy.

Twilight wasn’t the only one who’d been pursuing records over the last week since leaving Capinses. She’d given him access to some of the archives as well. The reading had proved a welcome distraction from...well, everything. He certainly hadn’t had much else to do in the quarters that he’d been assigned, and while he was technically permitted to roam about the DropShip―an order from Twilight that he was fairly certain had not been entirely well-received―the changeling wasn’t about to do so. He could sense the revulsion of the crew every time one of them walked past the door to his cabin. He had no desire to experience any more of that first-hoof than was necessary, thank-you-very-much.

So he had read.

Twilight had been doing research as well, he had come to understand. However, five centuries was a lot to catch up on, and decisions had to be made on where to start. Presumably, in anticipation of resuming her role as the leader of the Celestia League-in-Exile, the alicorn had focused her attention on the political climate and historical events. Topics that would help establish a foundation for whatever briefings she anticipated having with Princess-Regent Flurry Heart prior to the official transfer of power back into the hooves of the purple alicorn.

Slipshod, meanwhile, had sought out other topics. Perhaps this was more of his changeling nature guiding his thought process, but he’d looked into sociological information. He wanted to know how the Clans thought, and how they functioned. Because it was immediately clear to him that it was nothing like the Great Houses of the Harmony Sphere.

His findings had been...enlightening, as well. Slipshod actually found himself wondering if Twilight had read any of the same topics that he had. Probably not. She was far too calm for that to be the case, given what he knew of her. The alicorn had certainly not remarked on the odd appearance of the crew.

Again, maybe it was a ‘changeling thing’ too that he’d noticed it.

They were too similar. Bone structures, fur follicle spacings, limb and body ratios. While subtle enough features to most, he supposed, his natural eye for such things noted that there wasn’t nearly the variation that there should have been. Two many ponies had the same cheekbones. Too many griffons had the same clawspan. Too many dragons had the same nape ridge pattern. It was uncanny―unnatural.

A few hours of reading had proved him to be correct on the matter. These Clan creatures had a phenomenal eugenics program in place. A significant portion of their population―and nearly all those who served in the military―were artificially produced. It appeared that, early on in their strategic thinking, the exiles had concluded that they’d never be able to ‘outgrow’ the Harmony Sphere. In terms of population, they’d always come up short, meaning that they’d always be fighting a numerically superior enemy force when they finally took the fight to the Sphere.

Thus, it had been decided that, if they couldn’t have quantity on their side, they’d need to make sure they fielded a superior quality of soldier instead. So the exiles had been screened, and the best genetic profiles from among them selected to be further tweaked and modified in order to create ‘ideal specimens’.

That was just the physiological side of things. The sociological side was debatably more eerie. Certainly from a pony perspective, Slipshod assumed. To him, it wasn’t quite so foreign a concept.

The Clans appeared to have a ‘caste system’. One that wasn’t entirely unlike what existed in changeling society. From birth, creatures were assigned to various societal functions. Some were raised to be soldiers, some engineers, scientists, laborers, farmers, etc. Clan citizens didn’t get to freely choose careers the way that Sphere citizens did. They did the jobs that were chosen for them. That they had been effectively born to do based on their genetic profiles.

Not unlike himself. Slipshod had been born an infiltrator. He’d known that his purpose would be to assume an identity and further the queen’s agenda in the Harmony Sphere since he was a larva. So he could see the merits of such a caste system. He doubted very much that Twilight would though. Caste systems seemed like something that would irritate her more delicate sensibilities.

In any case, the changeling found himself doubting very much that the alicorn would be as optimistic about ‘restoring the Celestia League’ as she currently was once she discovered that those ancient League ideals regarding Harmony and self-fulfillment didn’t even seem to exist in the League-in-Exile anymore either.

Slipshod’s thoughts were interrupted by a spike in irritation coming from behind him. The golden earth pony glanced briefly over his shoulder at his thestral escort, noting her blatantly annoyed expression. The path out of the hangar was now completely clear of traffic, and she felt that it was long past time for him to make his exit as well so that he could be taken back to his quarters. He sighed and trudged out into the corridor beyond.

The stallion started to turn left, which would take him to his quarters, but then hesitated for a moment. This earned him a second psychic assault from his chaperone. Still, the changeling cleared his throat and looked to the thestral, “can we...swing by the Galloway? Please?”

The gray mare scowled, but a moment later jerked her head to the right, in the direction of the airlock leading to the Rockhoof’s docking collar. Likely she suspected that, if she refused his request that he’d just ‘whine’ to Twilight about it and cause trouble for her and her superiors. He wouldn’t have, if for no other reason than because he had absolutely no inclination to antagonize these Clanners than was absolutely unavoidable. The crew might be under orders not to harm him, but ships in space were simply dangerously places as a general rule. Accidents happened.

Sometimes changelings took wrong turns and went tumbling out of unsecured airlocks. Who could really explain how those sorts of things happened?

Honestly, what if his death wasn’t played off as an accident? What exactly was Twilight going to do to the culprit? Summarily execute them? Hardly. She’d pout, and yell, and angst...and then try and teach them ‘Friendship’. Meanwhile he’d still be dead.

Twilight’s grace wasn’t keeping Slipshod alive, not really. It was the fact that he was less of a pain to deal with alive than getting chewed out for killing him would be worth. It was in his best interests to keep it that way too. So he did his best not to ruffle any manes he didn’t have to.

He just...he hadn’t heard from a single member of the Steel Coursers since being dragged away. It was...weird.

Slipshod kept suitably quiet and demure during the entirety of their trek out of the Clan DropShip, through the docking collar of the WarShip, and up to the airlock leading to the Galloway. It was currently closed. The stallion reached out to a panel near the airlock and depressed the chime there.

“Galloway bridge; this is High Gain. How can I help you?” the earth pony mare greeted in a very professional tone.

Slipshod couldn’t help but smile upon hearing a familiar voice again, “hey, High Gain! It’s Slipshod!” Silence greeted him. The stallion’s smile faltered as the seconds without a response went on. The frequency was still open, he noted, the comms tech simply wasn’t saying anything to him.

He let out a disappointed sigh. He supposed that shouldn’t have surprised him really. He’d just...sort of hoped, was all, “I...just wanted to check in with you guys. See how you were doing,” still no response came, but he pressed on anyway, “I also wanted to say that I’m sorry. About what happened to Flechette. He was a good pony. He didn’t deserve that,” a wan smirk curled the corner of his mouth, “I’m sorry about other things too.

“Not that I expect to be forgiven. I’m not here for that. I just…” the stallion stared at the panel as he fumbled for the right words, and finally just abandoned trying to come up with them. He wasn’t even sure what he’d expected to get from this anymore. He wasn’t a part of the Coursers anymore. The stallion was fairly positive that, from their perspective, they’d just as soon as forget that he ever had been.

And he couldn’t fault them for that. He’d used them. Lied to them. He wasn’t their friend. He shouldn’t expect to be treated like one.

“Nevermind.”

He started to turn away, but caught himself once more and looked back to the comm panel, “hey, in my quarters―assuming everything wasn’t just set on fire already,” he tried to add a bit of levity to the aside that―might―have been an exaggeration, “there’s a bottle of Appaloosa Estates? That, uh...that was meant for Valkyrie. Cookie gave it to me. So, maybe make sure it gets put with her personal effects in storage or something? Just, you know, don’t destroy it―if you haven’t already―it’s not mine. Not really.

“So...yeah. Sorry. Bye.”

Very aware of the fact that the exchange represented a patently pathetic excuse for a ‘conversation’, Slipshod closed off the channel and turned away from the door, heading back for the Clan DropShip and his quarters. Just as he turned back into the docking collar, he managed to miss a step and stumble, catching himself on the frame of the airlock before falling all the way to the ground. The thestral had made no effort to help him, “I’m fine,” he assured her anyway as he straightened back up, massaging the fatigue from his eyes.

He needed a nap.

Squelch was massaging her temple, trying in vain to will away the headache that was coming on. It was her own fault though. The pain was the result of combining against-medical-advice quantities of caffeine and an attempt at understanding advanced medical and physiological concepts far outside of her grasp. She wasn’t a doctor, and if there was anything that the last few days had taught her, it was that never could have been one either.

“One more time,” she insisted, wincing as the ache that seemed to be coming from her protesting brain itself suddenly spiked in intensity, seemingly at the mere thought of having to make another attempt at comprehending the subject of her investigation. She popped a pair of pain-relief pills―ignoring the unhappy expression on the face of the other unicorn in the room as she did so―and washed them down with a generous gulp of coffee. The frown increased slightly in intensity.

“You realize that too much caffeine can cause headaches, right?” the ivory-coated ship’s physician admonished his employer.

“Which is why I’m taking the pills,” the sage green mare grumbled back, “now explain it to me one more time: why didn’t you notice Slipshod was one of those...things?”

Doc Dee sighed and shrugged, gesturing at the contents of the former Courser ‘Steed pilot’s medical file which were splayed across the briefing room’s table, “because there was never anything to notice,” he insisted, “his vitals were always within normal range for an earth pony his age, every x-ray showed every bone exactly where it was supposed to be, every blood test―of his very red blood―showed perfectly normal results,” another anemic shrug, “nothing to suggest that he was ever anything other than a perfectly average earth pony stallion.”

Squelch’s forehoof tapped the table in agitation as she scowled at the repeated answer from the medical pony, “there had to be something that wasn’t right,” she insisted, “because that creature I saw didn’t look a damn thing like a pony at all!”

“Ma’am, frankly we don’t know a thing about changelings, or how their ability to mimic other creatures works. I’m led to understand that it is, at its heart, a magically-based transformation, correct?” the mare nodded, “which means that there’s the chance that it could be a genuinely complete transformation. No different than if I were to take your datalink and transform it into...say, a teacup.

“It would cease to be a pad made up of silicates and circuits and polymers, and instead truly become an object of ceramic and floral designs. Changeling’s may possess an innate ability to do something very similar to themselves.”

“There’s got to be something that can be detectable though,” Squelch said, still sounding annoyed. She rifled through the sheets until she found the one she was looking for and held it up, “what about this?” she jabbed a hoof at a row of numbers, “a little over a year ago you found unusual...what’d you call them? Nero-something?”

“Neurotransmitters,” the stallion corrected. He floated over the indicated test results to look at them more closely. After several seconds looking over the results he sighed at the other unicorn, “this does show an unusual dip in many neurotransmitters during an exam. However, if I am remembering this date right, I did a similar examination of you that day too, and found lower than normal levels.”

“And those levels suggest…?” she prompted.

“Levels this low? The onset of clinical depression, quite frankly,” he smirked at her, “which would have been an unusual thing to see so suddenly in a mare or stallion your age, with no prior history,” the stallion continued, “so I ordered a second round of tests to be conducted a week later just to verify everything before I started prescribing antidepressants.

“However, that was around the time that you and Captain Slipshod...erm,” the physician cleared his throat as he sought out a polite way to phrase things, “encountered marital difficulties―”

“You mean I caught him fucking that New Neighpon whore,” Squelch growled.

“Quite,” Doc Dee cleared his throat, “anyway, you pushed back the followup tests until you two had worked things out―”

“Until the divorced was finalized.”

“―and by the time I did the test again, everything was fine,” the white unicorn stallion reached out with his own telekinetic field and retrieved another sheet of paper, holding it up to the one that Squelch had selected, showing them both to her as he pointed out the relevant lines, “him too. See?”

“So what did it all mean? Why were the levels so low in the first place?”

“Honestly? Given that neither of you had a history of mental issues―” he ignored a derisive comment from his employer as she made an unkind appraisal of Slipshod’s own faculties, “―and nothing has been out of place ever since, I’m left to conclude that these low readings were my fault. Something clearly went wrong with the test. Perhaps a contaminant or an improper calibration.”

Squelch didn’t look very satisfied with that answer, but there was nothing that Doc Dee could do about that and so he simply shrugged, “sometimes tests are wrong,” he informed her apologetically, “that’s why doctors do follow-ups on things like this before we go pumping your body full of possibly dangerous drugs,” the stallion flashed her a broad smile.

“I’m afraid this doesn’t mean anything,” he concluded, gesturing to the test results.

“Fine,” the mare groused, setting aside the papers, “then what can you tell me about that paste the zebras were using?”

“Now that was a lot more interesting,” the physician admitted, “I did some careful analysis of the substance―there was certainly more than enough of it smeared all over my patients,” he added as an annoyed aside, “and tried to break it down into its basic components.

“Ultimately, it amounted to something not entirely unlike ‘bug repellent’,” he said, smirking slightly, “obviously, there was a lot more to it than that, but many of the chemicals present in the paste are also what one would find in pesticides on a farm. However, the paste does lack the potency to actually kill anything much larger than a cockroach.

“It’s worth noting that most common pesticides target the nervous system of insects. My working theory is that the goal of the zebra paste isn’t to actually kill a changeling, but instead disrupt their nervous system enough to disrupt whatever magic conceals them.

“That being said,” the doctor went on, “I don’t think this means that misting ponies with bug repellent is enough to reveal changelings. There were a lot of other substances present as well, most of which I couldn’t identify their purpose,” upon seeing the frown from his employer, Doc Dee held up his hooves in a gesture of helplessness, “I’m not an alchemist,” he said with an apologetic note, “and none of the other ingredients had medical applications, so I’m not familiar with them or what purpose they serve.

“Poisons, I know; because part of my job is treating for exposure to them,” the stallion said but then shook his head, “but if it’s not a toxin or a medication, then I suggest you ask a botanist for their opinion.”

Squelch sighed, “alright, Doc, I get it. Thank you,” they weren’t answers that she necessarily wanted to hear, but that certainly wasn’t the physician’s fault, “I guess I’m just...well, honestly, I’m pissed off. Mostly at myself for getting taken in by that thing,” the last word came out in a growl.

The ivory unicorn stallion nodded sympathetically, “I understand. Slipshod’s nature came as a shock. To all of us,” he assured her, “you weren’t the only one he fooled.”

“But I was the only one he married,” the sage mare sneered, “you know what that bastard told me? He said he did it to feed off me! Can you believe that? He used me as a literal ‘meal ticket’?! I almost shot the fucker. Would have if Twilight hadn’t stopped me,” she grunted in disappointment.

“That is pretty sickening,” the doctor agreed.

Squelch nodded, accepting the physician’s sympathies. Then her eyes wandered back over to the neurotransmitter tests, lingering on the papers, her expression growing more contemplative. She reached out with her magic again, floating up the page containing the lowered levels and looking at the results again.

The doctor raised a curious brow, “what is it?”

“...Twilight says that changeling’s feed on emotions. Would that show up on a test as reduced neurotransmitter levels?”

“Without knowing the precise mechanism that they use to actually ‘feed’ with, I couldn’t be positive, but I suppose that’s possible,” he nodded, “why?”

The mercenary company owner didn’t respond at first, still staring at the test results. If Slipshod was feeding off of her emotions―her cultivated love for him―then it made sense that she’d show signs of an altered mental state. She did remember feeling ‘out of sorts’ last year. She’d assumed that it was just built up stress from running the company. Now she knew that there were more nefarious external factors involved.

That explained her low levels. What she was looking at right now weren’t the results of a test performed on her though. These were Slipshod’s results. His low levels.

If there was a connection between hormone levels and changeling emotion feeding, then it stood to reason that his own levels would be representative of how ‘full’ he was. Did this test suggest that, at the time, he was ‘malnourished’? Was that why he’d cheated on her: because he was starving?

The unicorn shook the train of thought from her head.

Why was she even considering the motivations behind his actions? He was a monster. The actions of monsters, by their nature, couldn’t be ‘justified’. Slipshod wasn’t deserving of her pity, or her sympathy. All that he was entitled to was her disdain.

“It’s nothing,” she finally said in response to Doc Dee’s question, “thank you for your time. I’ll let you get back to your duties,” she stood up and left the room without another word.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the cobalt dragoness said as she took the offered cup of tea. She did so a little stiffly, despite herself. She wasn’t entirely comfortable at the thought of being the one getting served by the princess instead of the other way around. On the other hand, she would have been horrendously out of line to rebuke the alicorn and insist that she couldn’t serve tea if she wanted. She was the rightful ruler of the Celestia League. If Princess Twilight Sparkle wanted to serve tea to one of her officers, then that was her right.

The purple mare smiled warmly as she floated the kettle back to its place on the little hotplate that had been brought up from the galley along with the rest of the tea set, “relax, Cinder. I’m not mad at you,” her features wanned a little at the memory of the events on Capinses, “you were doing what you thought was right for the League. Your heart was in the right place.

“You were just...not taught the right actions,” now the alicorn’s expression cooled even more, “and I’m going to be having a long talk with your parents about why that was. Both of them know better; Spike especially.”

The star admiral was squirming a little more uncomfortably in her seat now. Centuries old, a high-ranking officer in the navy, and yet being faced with the disappointed look of the alicorn left Cinder feeling like a whelp in the midst of being scolded by her mother, “I’m sure that they had good reasons, Your Majesty,” she said weakly, feeling obligated to speak in defense of her parents, “the conflict has forced us to make very difficult choices in order to survive.”

“I understand. I’ve seen what creatures can be reduced to when faced with a terrifying enemy,” Twilight said, nodding her head somberly as she thought back over the many encounters that she’d had during her life with creatures who were dealing with strife in a multitude of ways. The various hypothetical futures that she’d witnessed while chasing Starlight through time, the self-imposed seclusion of the hippogryphs, her own despondency when it looked as though Triek, Cozy Glow, and Chrysalis had managed to conquer Equestria…

If she’d not had her friends by her side, what might she have been reduced to at that moment? What extremes might she have gone to? In her fight with Tirek, she’d unleashed powers that devastated the land and reshaped the world. Something that the ‘old’ Twilight wouldn’t have ever considered doing, but that a furious alicorn brimming with an abundance of magical energy thought was the only chance she had of winning.

She’d forsaken everything that she’d believe in―everything that she’d been taught―and turned to violence in order to oppose a threat. Had their battle happened in a crowded city like Manehattan or Fillydelphia instead of the wilderness…

However, she’d had her friends to bring her to heel back then. In the wake of Chrysalis’ infiltration of the Celestia League, who had Spike and Flurry Heart been left to turn to for support and stability?

It didn’t absolve them of what the League-in-Exile had become, Twilight knew; but it gave her hope that the damage could be undone, given enough time. The League could be reforged―would be reforged.

“I just…” Twilight’s words caught, as she fumbled for how best to express her disappointment. Finally, the alicorn just sighed and shook her head, “what hurts the most is that it didn’t take changeling infiltrators to do this to us. The League did it to itself.

“And now I’m left wondering, if I’d been around―if Chrysalis hadn’t replaced me, but instead led an open opposition―would I have let the Celestia League fall just as far in order to defeat her? Would I have become twisted into something malevolent, like Luna did? A Nightmare Dusk, or Duskbreaker, or Midnight Sparkle?” the idea sent a shiver through the violet mare as she contemplated the dark prospect. Her greatest role models had hardly been infallible; it would be the height of hubris for her to think that she’d have been immune.

“Maybe, in that regard, it’s for the best that I’ve been away,” Twilight supposed aloud, “it means that a memory of those untainted Elements was able to survive,” it was a hopeful notion at least.

The door chime attracted the attention of the pair, “enter!” Twilight called out. The door to her suite opened a second later, exposing a golden earth pony stallion and his armed escort. The alicorn found her expression soured once more. Not because of Slipshod specifically, but rather the reminders of her failures that his presence reinforced.

“Slipshod, thank you for coming. Please, come in,” she gestured with her wing at one of the open seats at the table. The changeling nodded and stepped through the door. His escort was about to do the same when Twilight spoke up again, her attention firmly on the security pony, “thank you, corporal. I appreciate you bringing my guest here safely. I will call for you when our meeting is done with.

“Until then, feel free to relax as you see fit. It should be a few hours until you are needed here again.”

The pegasus guard hesitated, looking more than a little unsure of himself. It was clear that he was less than thrilled at the prospect of leaving the princess and the star admiral in the company of ‘the enemy’ unattended. Yet, at the same time, there was no denying that he’d effectively been told―albeit in a very diplomatic fashion―to ‘get lost’. Staying put would be tantamount to insubordination at the very least, and outright treason if the matter of his disobedience of the princess herself was pushed to its ultimate conclusion.

So, as uneasy as he might have felt at the prospect, the pegasus stallion resolved merely to salute his superiors and withdraw from the doorway. However, the parting baleful glare he flashed at the changeling suggested that, when he returned, if it even looked to him like a single hair on the princess’ head was out of place, Slipshod might get ‘accidented’ to death on the way back to his quarters.

Twilight noted that it wasn’t just the pegasus who’d been tense at the notion of the changeling being unguarded. Cinder’s claws had started to unconsciously gouge themselves into the sides of her teacup, leaving grooves in the enamel. The dragoness only seemed to notice this when the alicorn politely cleared her throat and offered the changeling a cup as well. The star admiral placed her now empty cup back on its saucer, the scratches turned from view of the others. Though her piercing gaze didn’t stray from their newly arrived guest for a great while.

The alicorn found herself idly wondering exactly how long dragons could go without blinking.

In the interest of easing tension, and sparing Cinder’s eyes from undue dryness, the purple princess elected to get down to the purpose of this little meeting, “now, I know that to say things got off on the wrong hoof between us would be the understatement of the century,” Twilight began, noting the earth pony idly rubbing at his limbs, and the multitude of scars that lay beneath his disguise. He’d assured her many times that he ‘felt fine’, but Twilight doubted very much that any creature could truly be ‘fine’ so soon after suffering from as much pain as he’d obviously been subjected to.

“However, I also know that it will be of vital importance that the three of us find a way to work together,” she turned to regard the dragoness, “Slipshod represents something extremely important, that hasn’t been seen in a very long time: an unreformed changeling who is opposed to Chrysalis,” the star admiral was unable to suppress her dubious scowl. Obviously, she didn’t believe the claim, but was mindful enough of decorum not to outright contradict the princess to her face, “it’s true,” she insisted, gesturing now to the earth pony, “and I ask that you hear him out as to why. Slipshod?”

The stallion cringed beneath the weight of the dragoness’ animosity. It was palpable. She hated him. Reviled him. He was the embodiment of the antithesis to everything she held dear. She had already resolved to dismiss anything and everything he had to say in her presence, and was only listening now because she felt that she’d been ordered to by her monarch.

Still, this was something that was important to accomplishing what both he and Twilight wanted, if for very different reasons, so he could at least say his piece and let the dragoness draw her own conclusions about his trustworthiness, “I no longer serve the queen,” he began, noting the dismissive snort from the star admiral but moving past it, “not because I’ve ceased to believe in her vision, or because I sympathise with the plight of all the creatures who are suffering in the Sphere.

“I just want her to suffer. The same way that she made me suffer when I was left to die out in the cold, all because my intended assignment got itself removed,” a coolness of its own seeped into his voice as he recalled those first sobering days on Simeron, when the full weight of how desperate his situation was had finally become clear to him. The hunger, the desperation, the fear.

The seething rage at a lifetime of service and devotion being scorned without hesitation.

“To be clear: I couldn’t give a fuck about your League-in-Exile,” Slipshod stated bluntly, drawing a scowl from the dragoness, and a disappointed frown from the alicorn. It seemed that Twilight wasn’t quite the fan of ‘honesty’ that she’d claimed to be, the changeling noted with a mental smirk, “I don’t care if it burns to the ground after Chrysalis is defeated. Just as long as you bring her down first.

“That’s why I’m willing to help you: you’re the only creatures who have a chance of destroying her. And I’m willing to tell you whatever you want to know to help you do that.”

Finally the star admiral spoke, sneering at the earth pony, “you really expect me to believe that you’d turn your back on your queen, just like that?”

“She turned her back on me first,” he quipped in return, unfazed by her skepticism. It was nothing less than he’d expected, after all. Only a fool would have taken a traitor at their word from the outset. Even Twilight had all but strangled the truth out of him initially.

At this, the dragoness started to regard him more thoughtfully. To say that she was convinced of his sincerity would have been substantially overstating things, but she was certainly looking a lot more receptive to the idea that a creature in his position would be willing to work against his former queen. However, “you can’t be the only changeling who’s ever been in that position. Why haven’t we encountered dissenters like you before?”

“At exactly what point during the vivisection process you subjected them to were they supposed to tell you that part?” Slipshod shot back. He even managed to receive the satisfaction of seeing the dagoness looking at least mildly cowed by the snarky rebuke. The small personal victory achieved, the changeling leaned back in his seat and gave a more complete answer to the star admiral’s question.

“What exactly were any changelings like me who managed to survive longer than a month supposed to do anyway?” he asked, bitterly, “if we tried to get the word out about what was ‘really’ happening with ComSpark, we’d be quietly snuffed out and our ravings easily dismissed as crazed delusions in the face of overwhelming counter-evidence provided by every mainstream media network in the Sphere―all of which are effectively under the complete control of loyal Chrysalis agents.

“If I hadn’t run across Twilight, I’d have kept leading my quiet, simple, little mercenary life with the Coursers. I’d have either died in battle or retired in comfort somewhere, never breathing a word about ‘the truth’ to anycreature.

“I doubt any other capstone changeling ever did anything different either,” he said, shrugging, “but Twilight presented me with a unique opportunity that no other changeling like me has ever had: a real chance at getting back at Chrysalis. Maybe the only chance.”

“He’s certainly no Thorax,” Twilight said with a despondent sigh, “but he’s better than nothing,” she looked to the star admiral, “all I’m asking is for you to hear him out.”

The cobalt dragoness grumbled, looking between the alicorn and the changeling as she weighed her concerns. Finally, she let out a resigned sigh, “fine. Let’s hear what you know.”

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