The Zathura was deceptively calm. Indeed, appearances alone might have led an observer to believe that the ship was just leisurely traversing the space between a primary and its destination planet like it had done a thousand times before in a thousand other star systems during its life. Most of the corridors weren’t even filled with all that much traffic as members of the crew kept to their quarters and tried to get what rest they could in the intervening hours.

Judging by the overall emotional climate on board the DropShip, Slipshod found himself questioning the quality of whatever rest was being had. Strictly speaking, the changeling acknowledged that he should probably be getting some as well. It was unlikely that there was going to be any significant time to do so after they rounded the moon, after all.

In the end, he’d probably just have to settle for stopping by the clinic and grabbing some sleep aids off of Cravat. Before he did that though, there was one other pony that he wanted to talk with.

While much of the ship might have felt deserted, the one area that most certainly wasn’t was the ‘Steed Bay. It felt like Mig’s technicians always had something to do on the DropShip, and the massive open bay that took up half of the DropShip served as the hub from which they all operated out of. Add to that the fact that they’d also taken on a platoon of Elementals who had taken up temporary residence in the open BattleSteed stall, and Slipshod found himself feeling like he’d suddenly stepped out onto a completely different ship.

Out of habit, the changeling stallion’s gaze instantly went to the Crystal Cavalier nestled in its stall off to his left. It had overgone a little bit of an upgrade since rendezvousing in Lameduck. While the Dragon Clans had not been able to spare much in the way of BattleSteeds thanks to recent events at Buckwheat, they had still had plenty of weapons, ammunition, and other equipment to spare. Weapons that were far superior to just about anything being used by their Harmony Sphere allies. They’d had some other goodies too, like more efficient heat sinks, anti-missile systems, and more efficient reactors which were significantly lighter than anything being operated in the Harmony Sphere.

Because of the slow trickle of troops making their way to Lameduck as they were mobilized from distant parts of the galaxy, they hadn’t had the time to retrofit every ‘Steed with the new gear. With some of the upgrades requiring the better part of two months to perform, only those ‘Steeds which had arrived early on at Lameduck saw the most extensive improvements. The later arrivals had been forced to settle for having a few of their weapons swapped out with improved variants that afforded them longer ranges.

Slipshod’s Cavalier had received one of the improved reactors, the quartet of medium energy cannons had been swapped out for a pair of pulsed variants, and a state-of-the-art targeting suite had been installed. The latter was certainly quite the welcome addition, as it allowed Slipshod to land shots with pinpoint accuracy on moving targets with hardly any effort at all. The computer did all of the work, factoring in telemetry about both his target as well as his own BattleSteed and creating a leading point of aim for him to use which would guarantee a hit. As long as his opponent didn’t juke suddenly in the intervening fraction of a second between when he toggled the trigger and when the shot hit its target; which was nearly instantaneous anyway.

However, it was Xanadu’s Philomena which had received the manticore’s share of Mig’s attention, the changeling noted. Between the weapon upgrades, the reactor swap, the replacement of the internal structuring with endo-crystalline lattices, and hardened ablative armor, Slipshod assumed that the only part of the zebra’s old ‘Steed that hadn’t been touched was his piloting couch!

The striped equine had certainly seemed to be quite pleased with the changes that were made, and both he and the kirin chief engineer had been of particularly high spirits in the days after Mig had revealed the refurbished ‘Steed. The changeling had found it very ‘filling’ to be around the pair, to say the least.

Conversely, Twilight’s ‘Steed hadn’t received all that much attention. Even though her Rainbow Dash was arguably one of the older BattleSteeds in the galaxy―both in terms of design age and the age of that particular ‘Steed specifically―it wasn’t nearly as ‘out of date’ as one might have suspected. Likely owing to the fact that many of its components had been ‘beyond’ what would have been considered the ‘pinnacle’ of technological achievement at the time. However, as part of Twilight’s endeavor to curb further conflict, the schematics for those technologies had not been distributed and all other ‘Steeds of its class scrapped after the battle with Tirek. As a result, even after a few hundred years of advancement, much of the technology developed by the League-in-Exile had really only just caught up to what Twilight Sparkle’s engineers had originally come up with, before her efforts to roll things back once more had gone into effect.

Which wasn’t to say that nothing had been done for her BattleSteed. The type-ten autocannon had been swapped out for an ultra-variant of a type-five. While the shells were of a lower caliber, the rate of fire was effectively doubled so it didn’t really affect the overall amount of damage that her ‘Steed could dish out; with the added benefit of being able to hit targets more accurately at longer ranges. Aside from that though, nothing else had really been changed about Twilight’s ‘Steed; just some tuning up and other minor adjustments.

Some of which the alicorn was apparently attending to herself, the changeling noted as he looked out across the ‘Steed Bay and noted the purple mare buried up to her withers in a partially disassembled jump jet. Twilight was engrossed enough in her work that she apparently didn’t notice the changeling walking up to her. Not keen on surprising her too badly, in case she was involved in something sensitive, Slipshod was sure to clear his throat a good way off before calling out to her:

“You missed all the excitement.”

Twilight Sparkle retracted herself from the internal structure of the jump jet, several tools hovering around her head, enveloped in the amethyst aura of her telekinesis. She regarded the changeling for a moment before grunting and returning to her work, “I wouldn’t say that I ‘missed’ it…” She intoned, the volume of her words amplified by the shape of the bell nozzle that she was working in.

“I just figured that you’d have wanted to be on the bridge with the rest of us.”

“Why?” Twilight replied simply, not retracting herself from the ‘Steed, “I don’t run the Zathura or fly it. I’m not in command of any of the WarShip squadrons or DropShip or fighter wings. What use was I going to be on that bridge?”

All of those were perfectly valid points, the changeling conceded. He hadn’t really been ‘needed’ there either for all of those exact same reasons either. However, he’d still felt that he should be there; if only to offer moral support. Plus, he wasn’t sure that he’d have been able to stand knowing that the ship was going into a battle without knowing exactly what was happening around them. Slipshod didn’t know how other ponies on the Zathura managed to go on about their duties while completely ignorant of how close they’d come to death at any given moment!

The idea that he might have just been sitting quietly in his quarters―since it wasn’t like he had any station to crew on the DropShip during a fight in space―only to be killed in an instant by an unlucky hit on their fragile little vessel from a ComSpark WarShip’s naval autocannon utterly terrified the changeling stallion. That kind of thing pretty much never happened while you were in a BattleSteed. With the rare exception―visions of a limp Parasprite rolling down a hillside flashed through his head―BattleSteeds never went down from just a single strike out of nowhere.

Fights in BattleSteeds were real fights. Traditional combat vehicles, individual soldiers, and even aerospace fighters, could all conceivably be obliterated with one well-placed shot from a big enough opponent. However, under most circumstances, even a Pipsqueak could weather a hit or two from an opponent two or three times its tonnage. Which meant that, while piloting a ‘Steed, you generally knew that death was coming. You had at least some amount of time to acknowledge and prepare for it, if it was something that was going to happen. Slipshod could feel content with that.

But just walking or sitting around on the Zathura until one moment you were just―suddenly―dead?

The changeling felt a cool chill ripple up his spine. “I don’t know if I could handle being where I couldn’t see what was going on,” Slipshod said in response, “Maybe it’s a changeling thing,” he hypothesized, “Being an empath, even if we’re not looking in somecreature’s direction, we still know that they’re there and broadly what’s going on with them. It’s like having passive sensors working for us at all times. We always see what’s coming at us.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” the alicorn acknowledged, finally withdrawing back into view once more. This time, in addition to the tools that she was telekinetically manipulating, a turbine fan floated out as well. Twilight began to measure each of the turbine’s blades with calipers at various points, “I’m pretty used to trusting others to get things done,” she countered.

Slipshod’s eyes darted briefly between the purple BattleSteed pilot and the partially disassembled jump jet, “...Which is why you’re rebuilding your ‘Steed while Mig and her techs are doing…whatever it is they’re doing?”

Twilight paused, noting the sarcasm in the changeling’s voice. She flashed him a lopsided smile, silently acknowledging how what she had just said would appear to contrast with her present actions, “Mig and her teams are preoccupied. Something about the Zathura not being a racing cart and Aileron knowing better than to fly her like one. She’s not very happy with him at the moment.

“Besaides,” she continued, turning back to her measuring, “this isn’t anything critical. I just…needed something to do.”

The stallion was silent for a good while as he watched the mare continue with her ‘busywork’. Despite what she’d told him, he could feel the kernels of helplessness buried beneath the calm front that the alicorn was projecting. She wanted to be able to do more, but knew that she didn’t have the tactical acumen to direct fleet engagements like the ones that they had just survived. Nor was she experienced enough to justify taking command of the ground invasion. That task had been laid at the hooves of creatures who had lived their lives being groomed exactly to conduct this sort of operation. Perhaps none of the three leaders of those Great Houses had ever imagined that they’d be doing so on such a grand scale, but that didn’t detract from the fact that they both knew how to lead forces in combat, and had the trust of their armies.

Twilight possessed none of those things. For all she was an ‘alicorn princess’, her real value didn’t extend much further than just being a mere BattleSteed pilot. A really good pilot, to be sure; but still just one mare commanding one ‘Steed in an invasion that comprised tens of thousands of them. A far cry from being the mare who was once the center of a galactic government.

That being said, “I think you’ve managed to do quite a lot,” Slipshod countered, drawing a dubious look from the purple mare, “No, I mean it! Okay, yeah, sure, you’re not leading this army; but are you really going to sit there and pretend that you didn’t have everything to do with putting it together in the first place?”

Twilight was already shaking her head, “I barely did anything,” she began, “The others―”

“The others have all been sitting on their flanks for centuries while Chrysalis and her changelings did whatever they wanted,” Slipshod interjected dismissively, “Nothing changed until you started pushing for it,” he pointed out.

“Okay, so maybe you didn’t do everything yourself,” the changeling conceded in a tone that wasn’t quite mocking, “But, unless I’ve grossly misunderstood everything you’ve been trying to teach me, isn’t that kind of the point? That we’re all supposed to help out and cooperate with each other? Everycreature playing to their strengths and making up for the weaknesses of others?

“You lit a fire under the Clans and the League-in-Exile. You got the first of the Successor States on board. You came up with the plan to stop the Clan invasion. You disabled the HyperSpark network so we could surprise Chrysalis.

“This invasion is happening because of what you’ve done. It’s perfectly okay for you to sit back and leave it to others to play their part now.”

Slipshod could sense that the alicorn certainly felt a little better for having heard his reassurances, but it hadn’t quite absolved her of those deep-seated doubts completely. Understandable, he supposed. It was probably a lot to ask of somepony who was used to always being at the center of everything to step back and just sort of ‘follow along’ and expect them to instantly be okay with the concept. Even if it was clear that they’d already done a good job of carrying their own weight.

“I guess you do have a point,” Twilight admitted, favoring the changeling with a more genuine smile this time, “I should be grateful that so many creatures are working together and sharing their strengths.” That brief spark of warmth faltered a bit, “I just hope it’s enough.”

It was a lot harder for the stallion to come up with assurances on that front. Mostly because of what he’d seen while sitting on the Zathura’s bridge. They’d lost a lot of DropShips out there already, and he suspected that those losses would only grow as they looped around the moon. Slipshod ran the numbers through his head, and he found himself not feeling particularly optimistic about their chances now.

In the back of his mind, the changeling recognized that it had always been too much to hope that their plan would go exactly as expected. Something was bound to have gone wrong. Something usually did. All they could hope for now was that things hadn’t gone too wrong. He supposed that they’d find out in a day or so.

“Thank you for this,” Twilight said, “I feel a lot better.” There was a brief pause as the alicorn turned her attention back to the jump jet, “I’d better get this put back together and then see if I can get a few hours of sleep. You should think about doing the same.”

“Sleep would be nice,” Slipshod admitted as he wandered away from the purple mare before she noticed that he hadn’t actually committed to the notion of getting any rest. Even if his own elevated anxiety level might have allowed it, the changeling stallion very much doubted that he’d have been able to relax enough through the crew’s heightened worry and fear to achieve anything that could be charitably considered ‘restful sleep’. It was more likely that he’d just end up lying awake in bed for a few hours fending off the refracted anxiety of a hundred other creatures.

…Maybe not quite that many, the changeling amended as he glanced in the direction of the BattleSteed stall which had recently been co-opted by dragons. Slipshod wasn’t sensing any nervousness from them. Intrigued, the stallion made his way to the otherside of the cavernous ‘Steed Bay.

Squeezing a full star worth of Dragon Clan battle armor into the same volume designed to contain a single ‘Steed had been a bit of an engineering challenge for Mig, but the kirin had come through with a simple and effective solution. The engineer had constructed what amounted to scaffolding within the stall’s area, allowing for five suits of battle armor to be stored on each level. The resulting structure was about as tall as a Big Mac, but as even a smaller DropShip like the Zathura was designed to be able to handle ‘Steeds that big, it didn’t cause a problem.

However, since there was only a single gantry capable of accessing that stall, it meant that most of the tiers of the scaffold could only be accessed by a set of stairs built into its side. Slipshod didn’t envy the pour clansmares who were forced to climb those every time they needed to get to their battle armor and cots.

Squelch had offered to reorganize the DropShip’s crew in order to find enough cabin space to fit the two dozen new additions to their ship’s complement. However, the dragon commanding the small contingent, Lieutenant Keely, had declined the offer, insisting that he and his unit would remain near their gear. Slipshod wasn’t certain if that was just how Elementals did things, or if it was because the dragons didn’t trust Mig’s tech not to mess with their stuff. Likely a mixture of both.

Strictly speaking, Slipshod doubted very much that Mig would have allowed any of her technicians to approach the battle armor anyway. Those suits weren’t any design that the kirin or her ponies were familiar with, or had much idea of how to maintain. They certainly wouldn’t have known how to fix anything if it got broken. As fascinated as the company’s lead engineer likely was about the new technology, Mig wasn’t one to let curiosity get in the way of practicality. If she didn’t know how to fix something, she left the matter to the professionals who did.

Slipshod spotted the charcoal dragon in charge of the group and approached him, “Lieutenant Keely!” the Elemental turned and stared at the approaching changeling. The stallion faltered slightly as he sensed the initial spike of wariness and disgust from the dragon when he saw who it was that had called to him. These emotions were soon overshadowed by deep resignation and he turned to face Slipshod with an expectant expression.

He’d met both Dragon Lord Ember and her consort Spike, as well as their daughter Cinder. All three of those dragons had been of comparable size, standing a little taller than Twilight Sparkle. Intimidating enough for an averaged-sized pony or changeling, but not more so than a hippogriff. Minotaurs stood even taller and more imposing, in Slipshod’s opinion.

However, it seemed that meeting three examples of what he’d assumed had been ‘typical’ dragons had apparently not properly prepared the changeling stallion for meeting these ‘Elemental’ dragons. They easily stood head and shoulders taller than the Dragon Lord had been, and were much broader to boot. They probably weighed twice as much as Ember did, Slipshod estimated. He’d initially assumed that the commanding officer of the little battle armor platoon was just an exceptionally tall dragon; however, it was soon evident that all of the Elementals were just as large as Lieutenant Keely was.

Maybe the other dragons he’d met had just been unusually short for their race?

“I, uh…was just stopping by to see how you guys were doing,” Slipshod began, keeping a pleasant smile on his face in spite of the bitter taste he was getting from the lieutenant’s broadcasted emotions. The changeling stallion got the impression that the dragon officer was deliberately thinking as ‘loudly’ as he could about how much he didn’t care for the changeling talking to him. The ‘Steed pilot didn’t begrudge the Clanner for not liking changelings as a rule, but it still seemed a little uncalled for to be targeting him with that same disdain. Keely had to know that he was on their side, right?

When it became clear that no verbal answer was forthcoming, Slipshod tried again to engage in conversation, “Did you guys need anything? Food? Parts? Tools?” The gray dragon’s features remained impassive as the silence endured, “...An ass de-sticking?” That last little bard at least provoked a slight rise of an eyebrow, but nothing verbal. The dragon officer maintained his wordless stare and emotional barrage for several more seconds until finally turning around the leaving, heading up the stairs to a higher tier of the scaffolding.

Slipshod sighed in defeat as he watched the dragon officer leave, massaging his temple in an effort to ease the headache all of those negative emotions had started to cause. He supposed that, in the end, it didn’t really matter whether or not the group of Elementals got along with him. As he understood things, these Clanners didn’t directly answer to himself or Twilight. The Zathura was just ferrying them to the planet. Indeed, they weren’t even being dropped off at the same location as the ‘Steeds. Once he, Twilight, and Xanadu were deployed, the Zathura was tasked with flying the Elementals further along to regroup with the rest of their ‘galaxy’ or whatever. After that, Squelch was supposed to take the DropShip back up to one of the―hopefully―still-orbiting WarShips in order to transport down additional forces embarked on them.

The changeling stallion was about to turn to leave when he sensed a hint of mirth from nearby. He glanced over and saw an eggshell dragoness sniggering in his direction from where she lay on her cot by one of the suits of battle armor. This dragoness was of the same large build that the lieutenant was, further suggesting to Slipshod that dragons were probably far larger on the whole than he’d initially thought. Upon seeing that her laughter had been noticed, the Elemental waved one of her clawed hands at Slipshod, flashing him a broad grin, “Don’t take it personally. The LT just hates you for what you are.”

She paused for a moment, considering, and then added, “On second thought, I guess that does make it kind of personal. Eh,” she shrugged dismissively.

“Glad to hear it. I thought it was my BO,” Slipshod replied, now wearing a sardonic smile. He didn’t sense the same kind of disdain for his very existence from this dragoness. On the contrary, he was actually picking up quite a lot of positivity and happiness coming from this dragon. However, he was having a difficult time pinning down the source of it. It didn’t feel to him like this dragoness was feeling particularly happy about anything. She was just…happy for the sake of being happy. It was an emotional state that the changeling was admittedly unfamiliar with. In his experience, just about every emotion had an underlying cause. It was extremely unusual for a feeling to be entirely spontaneous.

At least, among the sane…

“Us dragons spend our leisure time lounging in sulfur pits near lava flows,” she said, issuing another dismissive wave of her clawed hand, “Ain’t no BO going to offend our noses. Nah, it’s definitely the fact that you’re the shape-shifting spawn of that Chrysalis bitch.”

Slipshod quirked a brow, “Does that mean that the reason you’re willing to talk to me is because you don’t despise everything about me and what I represent?”

The dragoness flashed another toothy grin in the changeling’s direction, “Don’t get me wrong: I’m looking forward to wiping your whole species from the galaxy. Bring me whatever passes for a baby changeling and I’ll stomp it into mush right here and now,” the amount of pleasure that the dragoness was feeling as she said that turned Slipshod’s stomach a little. Tasting happiness derived from depravity was like biting into a cake that had been baked with salt in place of sugar.

“Sorry, fresh out of pupae at the moment,” Slipshod replied, trying to hide his nervousness behind a smile. He was only mildly successful, which the dragoness appeared to find amusing as well.

“I can wait. This time tomorrow, I expect to be wading through bodies.”

“That’s the spirit…”

“Don’t mind her,” another female voice called down from above, drawing the changeling’s attention just in time to see a golden yellow form fluttering to a stop just about the deck plating before touching down with their clawed feet on the metal surface. The second dragoness didn’t seem to be brimming with quite the same ravoness desire for bloodshed as her compatriot, which Slipshod found refreshing, “She’s just really passionate about her work.”

“Like what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life!” The eggshell Elemental quipped, still wearing her toothy smile. The changeling was starting to wonder if she possessed any other expressive range, since he hadn’t seen her lips close over her teeth once yet.

The golden dragon rolled her eyes, obviously being quite familiar with the personality of her compatriot. Much to Slipshod’s surprise, this new arrival actually stuck out one of her hands in an invitation to shake, “Flux. That one’s Shrike,” from behind her, the eggshell dragoness fluttered her talons in Slipshod’s direction, letting out a chittering hiss through her still-bared fangs.

“Charmed,” the stallion replied, his gaze darting between the two as he accepted Flux’s offer and passed his hoof into her outstretched talons. This one didn’t seem nearly as violence-prone as the other. She also wasn’t nearly as large, having a build that was far closer to that of the Dragon Lord and her consort than either Keely or the broad-toothed dragoness on the cot, “Slipshod.”

Shrike let out an amused snort, leering at him, “Isn’t that cute? It gave itself a pony name!”

The changeling cringed at the retort. The dragoness wasn’t wrong; ‘Slipshod’ wasn’t really the kind of name that a changeling would have. However, it was the name that he’d used since leaving Equus, and changing it would have just confused his friends. He withdrew his hoof, eyeing the seated dragoness warily, “I didn’t ‘give’ it to myself,” he countered, “It’s―it was―my cover identity’s name. I just haven’t gotten around to changing it is all.”

“What was your real name then?” Flux asked.

Slipshod very nearly responded, but then thought better of it, “...I don’t much care for the name the queen gave me anymore, to be honest.”

The pair of dragons exchanged looks. The grinning one on the cot shrugged and laid down; while her golden companion looked back at the changeling, “Fair enough.”

“So…” Slipshod began, eager to shift the topic of conversation, “Why don’t you share your friend’s, uh, ‘passion’ for killing changelings?” He asked.

“Because I’m not a soldier; I’m a tech,” Flux answered easily, “My job is to make sure she can do hers,” she jerked a talon back in Shrike’s direction, “Which, somedays it feels to me like her job is to find new and creative ways to break her shit.”

Shrike looked to not be the least bit bothered by the jab from her friend, letting out a hardy laugh, “Can’t have you techies getting bored, seeing as it’s the Elementals like us that get to have all the real fun!”

The changeling cocked his head in confusion, “Wait, you’re not both Elementals?”

This question only prompted another burst of laughter from the eggshell dragoness, “That half-pint; an Elemental?! Ha! She’s just some natborn with delusions of adequacy,” Shrike stuck her tongue out at the golden dragoness, who merely rolled her eyes in an exaggerated display of annoyance. Meanwhile, Slipshod wasn’t sensing any genuine animosity from the pair. This all seemed to just sort of be how they interacted with each other.

Fortunately, it looked like an explanation would be forthcoming for the stallion’s benefit, “There are two kinds of dragons,” Flux began in a patient tone, “There are natural-born dragons―natborns―and then there are Elementals,” the technician gestured to herself and Shrike respectively, “Because dragons live so long and tend to put off the whole ‘family’ thing for decades, if not centuries, it was figured out pretty early on that we’d never be able to grow the numbers needed for an invasion force fast enough through natural means.”

“Even the other races weren’t boinking fast enough,” The larger Clanner chimed in. “Might have been a different story if that whiny bitch’s mother had made it out instead of her. I’m sure the ‘Princess of Love’ would’ve had those ponies popping out foals left, right, and center!”

“So the decision was made pretty quick to use artificial insemination and cloning to help speed up the process,” Flux continued, seeming to ignore the contribution of her companion, “The powers that be then decided that, since they were going to be producing vat-grown batches of warrior dragons anyway, they might as well see what could be done about making bigger and better dragons.”

“Your words, not mine,” Shrike quipped, her brilliant ruby eyes sparkling along with her grin now.

“Normally, dragons only get bigger as a result of GIB―Greed-Induced Biggness. Essentially, the more stuff that a dragon has that’s of value, the bigger and stronger they get. But, with resources being pretty scarce, especially early on, there was no way that enough hordes could be amassed to create suitably powerful dragons. We couldn’t rely on our innate magic to make us big and strong.

“So, the League-in-Exile’s top mages figured out a way to meld unhatched dragons with aspects of the Elements of Harmony. Creating ‘Elementals’,” Flux gestured once more at the grinning Shrike, who pantomimed receiving an ovation from an unseen crowd of admirers.

For some reason, Slipshod found himself a little put off by the eggshell dragoness’ otherwise happy demeanor now. He also realized why he hadn’t been able to figure out what the dragoness was happy about before. She probably wasn’t actually happy about anything. She was just ‘happy’ because that emotional state had been magically grafted into her very being.

The changeling was sure that his past self would have found this dragoness beyond enticing. She was a psychovore’s dream: a nearly bottomless well of happiness by virtue of the feeling being artificially produced at an intrinsic level. Her happiness was nearly as bottomless as a unicorn’s magic, and in much the same way. He could have lived off of her happiness and love for all of the things around her almost exclusively in a way that wouldn’t have been possible with any other singular creature.

However, he also recognized the drawback: it was an implanted emotion. Which meant that it wasn’t genuine. Life-sustaining, perhaps, but not as beneficial or filling as the real thing. Just as a pony could live off of oats and water as far as calories were concerned, but such a diet was bland and ultimately unsatisfying without flavors and variety. Shrike was the ricecake of emotional meals.

Meanwhile, the Reformed Slipshod couldn’t help but feel a little horrified at the notion of what had been done to this dragoness. Indeed, the revelation encouraged him to push a little bit deeper into Shrike’s emotional state, beyond the ‘happiness’ that was radiating forth from her. It took a little bit of searching, but eventually the stallion found what he was afraid of: Shrike’s anguish and frustration. She knew that she felt happy, but she didn’t know why she felt that way, because she knew that there wasn’t anything that she should be feeling this happy about.

It was like being completely aware of a psychosis that was adversely affecting you, while simultaneously being unable to do anything about it; and knowing that it wasn’t normal. Shrike didn’t want to feel as happy as she was, but was completely helpless to do anything about it. There was little doubt in Slipshod’s mind that this would cause serious psychological trauma for the dragoness in the long term.

If it hadn’t already.

“Bigger, stronger, tougher, and all around better dragons in every way!” Shrike announced in a triumphant tone, her lips spread in that broad grin which the changeling could now not help but see as forced and strained. The sparkle of her brilliant crimson eyes dulled by a hidden plea to be able to express what she actually felt.

The changeling stallion briefly glanced at Flux, noting that the dragoness technician was once more letting out a softly resigned sigh in response to her companion’s boasting. There was no discernable sign that Flux didn’t completely believe the Elemental was being authentic with her boasting. Slipshod wondered now if the golden dragoness genuinely understood the effect that the magical augmentation had had on Shrike―or any of the other Elementals, come to think of it. Likely not, given that she probably possessed little understanding of unicorn magic, or what Flurry Heart’s mages had done to the dragon eggs they’d ‘enhanced’.

“I…see,” was all the stallion trusted himself to say. They were less than a day away from one of―if not the―most pivotal battles that the galaxy had ever known. Now was not the time to go pulling at threads that risked unraveling the invasion to come. It was obvious that, whatever the long-term mental effects might turn out to be, the Elementals were indeed superior fighters. The Clans and the united Harmony Sphere powers were in need of every advantage that they could get just now. Assuming the invasion was successful and Chrysalis was defeated, there would be plenty of time to bring this matter to Twilight so that a way could be explored to undo the magical transmutation inflicted on these dragons.

“Shrike,” a soft baritone announced from Slipshod’s right. The changeling turned his head and spotted what had to be another Elemental walking towards them. The pale teal dragon spared Flux and the stallion a brief acknowledging nod before turning his full attention towards the eggshell dragoness, “Pre-mission brief in an hour. Is there anything you need me to do to help you get ready?”

“Thanks, Pyrite,” she replied, beaming broadly at the more somber-faced Elemental even as she shook her head, “But I’ll be good. Not sure how you’d ‘help me’ hang around and wait for a meeting to start anyway. Unless you can make time go faster or something; hah!” She let out a laugh that sounded much more strained to Slipshod now that he was properly tuned in to the dragoness’ feelings.

“I can look into doing that for you, if it’ll help,” Pyrite offered. Somehow, Shrike managed to level a flat look at the teal dragon, despite her continued broad grin. The other dragon winced slightly and shruggedc, “Right, yeah, sarcasm. Sorry. Just call me if you need anything.”

He turned towards Flux and opened up his mouth, but the golden dragoness tech already had a clawed hand up and was shaking her head, “I’m good, dude. You don’t know anything about the suits anyway―and you don’t need to learn. That’s my job.”

“Right,” There was audible disappointment in the dragon’s voice, but he accepted the denials for assistance by the pair of dragonesses all the same. Likely he was quite used to being turned down if he was consistently offering to do things for others that he couldn’t possibly do. Acting on a hunch, Slipshod reached out with his senses and pressed into the dragon’s emotional state. Unlike the dragoness who was cursed to perpetually wear a vacuous grin, this other dragon wasn’t pumping out a constant stream of counterfeit mirth. Instead his emotional state was best summed up as: ‘self-destructively generous’.

The changeling found himself feeling even more empathetic for this dragon, being able to relate. However, unlike with the changeling, Pyrite didn’t want to go out of his way to help others because of misplaced guilt. Rather, like Shrike, an artificial source of those feelings had been magically grafted into him, and it was not a compulsion that he couldn’t fight. And just like the other Elemental, Slipshod could feel that Pyrite was keenly aware that feeling the way he was wasn’t normal, and he desperately wished he could stop feeling this way.

He turned and walked away once more.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll leave you guys to do…whatever it is you need to do,” Slipshod said, taking a step back as he prepared to make his departure from the group of dragons. Flux offered a brief goodbye before launching herself back up to the third level of the scaffold; presumably where she’d been before descending earlier. Shrike simply grinned at him.

Somehow, the changeling managed to keep himself from shivering in disgust until he was out of the ‘Steed Bay. He was hardly unfamiliar with the concept of creatures projecting emotions that they didn’t really feel. That was how polite society functioned sometimes. However, this wasn’t the same thing. Shrike hadn’t been ‘acting’ happy while actually feeling some other emotion that she was covering up behind a mask. She’d genuinely felt happy; it just hadn’t been her happiness that she’d been feeling. Which had the effect of tainting that happiness with distress and discomfort.

An ‘empty’ emotion, sprinkled with unsettling ones…

The stallion felt a need to cleanse his palate.

Two hours later, Slipshod released a long-suffering sigh of annoyance before he finally propped himself up on his forehooves and looked down at the clearly uncomfortable unicorn mare lying beneath him on their bed. He frowned down at her, noting the swirling vortex of emotions that she was putting out. None of which either of them had been hoping to experience at the moment.

Embarrassment, shame, disgust, and somewhere buried deep beneath all of the detritus was at least a glimmer of love. The stallion proceeded to mentally roll his eyes. Talk about picking the corn kernels out of a turd…

It wasn’t Squelch’s fault. The sage green unicorn had actually been making an admirable effort to get over her physical discomfort. Slipshod appreciated it too; he really did! However, he saw no reason for her to keep up the charade at this point. It just wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t helping either of them.

The dark cabin was filled briefly by a flash of emerald firelight. When it faded, a now much fuzzier stallion lowered himself back down to the mare and resumed gently kissing at her exposed belly. The unicorn’s barely suppressed grunts of discomfort almost immediately shifted in tone to sounds which indicated that she was finding his ministrations much more provocative now. However, much to his frustration, those feelings were very quickly and violently supplanted by a rush of shame as the mare shot up and reached her hooves out towards his head.

Upon making contact with a full mane of hair and clearly fuzzier ears, the unicorn mare let out a disappointed moan, murmuring: “No…”

Her horn started glowing with pale blue light until her telekinesis found the wall panel which controlled their cabin’s lights and restored the room to full illumination. Once she confirmed that she was sharing her bed with an amber-hued earth pony stallion instead of the slick-shelled changeling drone who’d been there when those lights had gone off, Squelch collapsed back into the bed, covering her face with her forehooves and letting out a very frustrated sound, “Damn it, Slip…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I don’t care, Squelch!” Slipshod didn’t―quite―yell, but somepony could have been forgiven for thinking that he had. In the changeling’s defense, this was an impasse that the pair of them had been dealing with since deciding to resume the intimate aspects of their previous relationship. For all that Squelch did harbor genuine feelings of love for Slipshod, as he did for her; there was still the not-insignificant factor that the unicorn mare found his changeling appearance physically…unarousing.

Nor was her disinclination―she wouldn’t use the word ‘revulsion’ out loud―entirely restricted to how he looked. She didn’t like the way that his semi-hard shell felt against her body, or the texture of his lips against her fur, or how dry and rubbery his forked tongue was. She even had trouble looking lovingly into his compound eyes while the lights were on.

Slipshod didn’t take any of these things personally. Changelings didn’t put a lot of stock in physical appearance, since they could change theirs as easily as a pony changed their clothes. More easily in some cases, to be honest. He was no more offended by her distaste in his appearance than any other creature would be if their lover said that a specific shirt or set of horseshoes were unappealing. If Squelch didn’t like how he looked as a changeling, then he had no problem turning himself back into his earth pony form―or assuming any other form that she might find more desirable. It didn’t matter to him in the slightest.

However, Squelch had remained emphatic that she just needed to ‘get used’ to his changeling appearance and that―eventually―she wouldn’t find him hideous to look at. Granted, that wasn’t the word she’d used; but it had been the emotion that she’d felt at the time. Slipshod had been dubious at first, but accepted the mare’s insistence otherwise. This was something that she wanted to prove to herself just as much as she wanted to prove it to him.

Now, as far as the changeling was concerned, the experiment had run its course and the results were irrefutable: Squelch wasn’t sexually attracted to bugs. Shocking.

“But I―” The mare began to protest, her face still hidden behind her hooves.

“No. No ‘buts’,” Slipshod cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument, “We’ve been at this for months, and you still aren’t having a good time. Not even close. Sweet Celestia, I feel like I’m assaulting you!”

This prompted an immediate reaction from the unicorn, who shot back up and reached out for the stallion, cupping his head in her hooves, “No! You’re not; I’m sorry. It’s just…” The mare’s words trailed off as she started chewing on her lip. She was no longer able to meet his gaze.

“How many times do I have to tell you that this isn’t a big deal?” he asked, gesturing at the earth pony form he’d assumed, “I don’t care if you’re more turned on by this body than my ‘real one’.”

“Well I do!” Squelch protested, sounding exasperated, “Because if I really love you, it shouldn’t matter to me what you look like, right?”

“Why not?”

The sage green mare balked, staring at the changeling as she blinked in confusion, clearly not expecting that response. When she recovered, she was sounding a little less sure of herself, “Because love isn’t about what you look like, it’s about who you are as a being. I fell in love with you before I knew you were a changeling, so it shouldn’t matter to me when you look like one; because you’re still that same creature I fell in love with.”

“Now you’re conflating love and sex,” Slipshod pointed out, “You can definitely have one without the other, which means they aren’t inherently connected. It is entirely possible for you to care about me on a deep, emotional, level, and still not want me sucking on your tits,” He let an undeniably changeling-like tongue flicker out of his mouth, prompting a surprised gasp from the unicorn as she recoiled away in disgust. All the while, Slipshod maintained a passive expression, having fully expected that reaction from the mare, based on past experience.

“I know that you care about me,” The stallion assured her, reaching out now with one of his earth pony hooves and softly caressing the mare’s cheek, “I can’t help but not,” he said with a sly smile as his unicorn lover flashed him a lopsided smile of her own at the reminder of the ‘power imbalance’ that existed between them as a result of Slipshod’s ability to inherently know her precise emotional state at all times, while she couldn’t ever know exactly how he was feeling inside.

“And I’ll never think any less of you for thinking that my changeling form isn’t exactly Playmare centerfold material,” he was grinning now as Squelch rolled her eyes, “Although…” The changeling continued, another ripple of green fire passing briefly over his body. When it vanished, the amber earth pony stallion was gone. In his place was a broad-chested ivory unicorn stallion with piercing blue eyes and a mane of flowing golden locks. His white coat was criss-crossed with striking black stripes that somehow seemed to have been specifically tailored to draw the eye from one pronounced bundle of firm, well-muscled, flesh to the nest. As soon as Squelch saw his new form, the changeling noted a brief flare of unbridled lust, which she very insistently―if reluctantly―tamped down and buried.

Slipshod was still beaming broadly at her as he spoke in a much deeper voice than ‘Slipshod’ could ever have possessed, even throwing in a hint of a Trottingham accent, “...there’s no reason you couldn’t have a Playmare centerfold, if you wanted?” He winked at the mare.

Squelch was never going to admit that she hesitated. In spite of the fact that they both know that she did; and they both knew what she’d been feeling at the time. However, much to the mare’s own disappointment―and a little to Slipshod’s surprise―the unicorn shook her head, “Turn back!

“To your real self!” She added a heartbeat later. This too carried with it a hint of reluctance.

Slipshod let out a snort that was more amused than derisive, before finally letting out a burst of laughter. It was a reaction that left the sage green mare equal parts confused and annoyed. The strapping unicorn stallion favored Squelch with a lopsided smile, “What does that even mean to a changeling?” He asked her in a semi-playful tone.

“Tell me you’ve noticed that my appearance―even as a changeling―has been changing for the past year? Our transformations are unconsciously influenced by the emotions we receive from those closest to us,” he reminded her, “The ‘real’ me of today doesn’t look the way I did when I left Equus. Maybe I’ll look even more different a year from now―assuming we all live that long,” he added as an afterthought.

“I’m a changeling, Squelch,” Slipshod reiterated, “The key word there is: ‘change’. I don’t have a ‘real’ self any more than you have a ‘real’ outfit that you wear!

“Do you understand?” He reached out and took one of the unicorn’s hooves in his, bringing it to his currently rather voluminous alabaster chest. As it made contact, he once more felt the involuntary swell of desire from the mare before she quickly swallowed it back down, “That’s all a shape is to me: clothing. It’s not who I am as a creature. It’s a thing that I can change at will to suit the occasion.

“When I’m walking around the ship, the ‘occasion’ is to let the crew know that I’m comfortable enough with them to show my ‘neutral’ state, and to remind them that not every ‘ling is a monster who wants to suck out every last mote of love from their bodies,” He winked at the mare, smirking wryly, “But right now, the occasion is ‘sexy time’.

“So let me ‘wear’ something sexy for you, okay?”

Slipshod could still feel the reservation that the mare held; stubbornly clung to simply because it was a way that she had grown up viewing the world around her: a creature’s looks were as much an intrinsic part of them as their personality. One couldn’t just be disconnected from the other in any kind of relationship, whether it was sexual or merely social. Ponies, like most other creatures, valued sight as much as any of their other senses, and it played a role in selecting partners. Telling a pony that they needed to change their whole physical structure in order to be found sexually desireable wasn’t exactly considered ‘proper etiquette’ in the world she’d grown up in.

It was going to take her time to accept that a changeling like himself didn’t put any stock into physical appearances. Not because he was a ‘better’ or ‘more authentic’ creature than she was, but simply because his species wasn’t as reliant on sight as a primary sense. Among their kind, physical appearance was fluid and transitory. It couldn’t be relied upon to identify others. So they focused on how another creature ‘looked’ emotionally. A creature’s feelings and personality―even those of another changeling―were unique and readily distinguishable; so their empathic abilities were the sense that they relied upon the most when interacting with others.

When he looked at Squelch, he didn’t ‘see’ a green unicorn mare. He saw a being that was determined to achieve success and prosperity―not just for herself, but for others as well. A being that resented the rules that she was forced to operate under, and did so only until she came to possess the means to change them. Someone who didn’t just see the galaxy as it was right now, but looked ahead to the future and what it could become if she gave it the proper nudge.

A pony who loved him, despite what he was and what he had put her through.

Squelch let out a long sigh, bowing her head, “...I’m sorry.” He felt the shame in her. The stink of a perceived failure in herself to not be able to get over her trepidation regarding the physical appearance of his changeling form. To her, it was like acknowledging that she was a vapid and shallow pony.

In response, Slipshod reached out and gathered her into his hooves, hugging her against his chest. He hid a smile as he felt the mare become considerably more excited―and promptly hated herself for it, “Do you like Cookie?”

Squelch blinked in mild confusion, her lust briefly snuffed by the apparent non-sequitur, “Wha-huh?”

“Cookie. The cranky donkey in the kitchen who wouldn’t let me back into the galley until I promised to buy my own carafe because I kept stealing or breaking his?” A thought briefly occurred to the changeling, “...He has actual quarters on this ship, right? Because I just realized he’s always in the galley no matter when I show up―”

“Yes, I know who Cookie is,” Squelch confirmed, still sounding puzzled, “What does he have to do with this?”

“Do you like him?”

“I wouldn’t keep him on the Zathura if I didn’t,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Would you suck his dick?”

“Ew! Celestia, no!”

“Do you feel bad for liking Cookie and not wanting to suck his dick?”

Squelch grimaced, “Okay, I get it! Can we please stop talking about Cookie’s dick now?”

“Is there anycreature’s dick in particular you’d rather discuss?” Slipshod asked innocently, “I happen to know that one of Mig’s pegasus techs has a really impressive one,” he added, eyeing the mare knowingly, “Like, if he turned suddenly to the left and you weren’t paying attention, Cravat would be treating you for a concus―”

“Slip!” Squelch snapped, reaching out and slapping down the stallion’s hooves, which he had just spaced out an almost comical distance apart from one another. The golden-maned striped unicorn was smiling broadly at her all the same, watching as the mare’s annoyance quickly dissolved into amusement of her own―and just a hint of curiosity, “I get it,” she assured him.

“Do you now?” The stallion asked in a playful tone. He gently leaned the mare back onto the bed, hovering over her now, noting how much smaller she appeared beneath this new form of his. He noted too that Squelch was very much on board with her current situation. All the same, she put out her hoof to stop the stallion from bending his head down to kiss her.

However, before he could muster up another frustrated sigh, she said, “As Slipshod. Earth pony Slipshod,” she amended. Her eyes explored the immaculate unicorn shape with deep longing one more time, “...We’ll do Lanzony another time,” she said, nibbling on her lip in anticipation.

Slipshod snorted in amusement, but nodded all the same, “Fine with me,” he assured her before shifting forms back to that of the ‘Steed pilot she’d always known him to be. The sage unicorn mare smiled up at him and wrapped his torso in her hooves.

The changeling noted the ever-so-brief flicker of disappointment. Not in herself this time, but in what she’d―not―found when she’d encircled him. Suppressing an urge to laugh out loud and managing to stifle it down to a mere snigger, Slipshod briefly closed his eyes and another flicker of flame flashed over him. He was now ‘Slipshod the Earth Pony BattleSteed Pilot’, but if he’d spent a great deal more time at the gym, “Better?”

“Much~”

He heard no further protests from the mare that evening.

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