“I’m glad you said yes, Miss Sixteen.”
Sixteen the Changeling smiled a fanged smile at her visitor as she fluffed up some pillows in the study.
“It’s not a problem, Mister Cast,” she restated. The interviewer, Type Cast, had been trying to contact her for some time now and he seemed somewhat happy about finally getting to interview a changeling.
“I’ll just put this here.” Type Cast placed a recording device on the floor between the pillows. He pressed a button and rattled off some testing words. “There. Are you ready, Miss?”
Sixteen nodded.
“Well then. Miss Sixteen, could you first introduce yourself to our readers?” Cast started, sounding noticeably more professional.
“Sure,” Sixteen replied, sounding just as raspy and easy-going as always. “I go by 16-7-52-1, or just plain Sixteen usually, which was my personnel number before I got exiled. Some of my friends call me Sixie though. That’s just wrong.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the interviewer coughed, “but do you have any other names?”
“Sure I do. But exiles aren’t supposed to use their personal names so I just shortened my number instead.” Sixteen paused to ponder her words. “I suppose it’s technically over already, but until it’s all official I’m honoring tradition. And before you ask, no I’m not saying my name. So what do you want to know?”
Type Cast’s interests were raised, along with one of his eyebrows. “What exactly does the personnel number mean?” he asked.
“Ah, that wasn’t something you originally meant to ask, isn’t it?” Sixteen asked with a knowing smirk. Cast nodded. “Well, it’s a kind of hierarchical position indicator. You read it from right to left,” the changeling started to explain. She made matching foreleg gestures that she knew wouldn’t show up in the final publication. “I’m from the first hive, fifty-second cluster, and seventh squadron. And in that squadron, I was the sixteenth worker. Therefore, sixteen seven fifty-two one.”
“Do you have any other examples?” Type Cast asked, furiously scribbling down what his recorder wouldn’t catch.
“Of course. There’s 25-1-98-7 Buzzing Hide, who visits every so often,” Sixteen revealed, quickly pointing up to the first floor, “and my brother Boloria, who’s 4-52-1.”
“Your brother is missing a number, isn’t he?”
“Not really. He’s a sub-commander,” the changeling said with noticeable pride, “which means the fourth number is zero and thus left out. Queen Thysania has a number too – just ‘one’.” She paused for a fond breath. “Some ponies, when they hear the banter between me and Buzz, think he’s my subordinate because we call each other by certain titles but technically we’re of equal rank. By that same token, Boloria would outrank me… if I was in his squadron!”
Type Cast pondered what he’d learned and scratched his chin. “Then, if this Buzzing Hide character’s hive number is seven, would that mean he’s not with Queen Thysania?”
“You’re a sharp one, mister. He isn’t. But I’m not at liberty to say who the seventh queen is.”
“Considering the use of the term ‘hive’, what does that mean exactly?”
“Not much, to be honest,” Sixteen admitted with a slight shrug. “One of the first changeling leaders, when she came up with the first version of the system I just described, took a cue from insects. Maybe that was because of our wings, but who knows? Pop culture seems to think we’re taking it a little further than that, though…”
“Ah yes, the insect hive mind,” Type Cast nodded.
“We have dismissed such claims. There is, in fact, no hive mind. If we did have one, we wouldn’t need a hierarchy like that, right? We’re not any more telepathically gifted than the average unicorn. We’re more like somewhat limited empaths.” Sixteen paused as an angry frown grew on her face. “And don’t get me started on the whole egg thing, that the Queen lays a thousand eggs every so often to form her hive. We’re mammals! We reproduce the same way as any pony,” she called out somewhat more fiercely than intended. “When I called Boloria my brother I wasn’t speaking figuratively; I have a mother and father, and that mother is not Thysania. Though she certainly is a mother to us all… but you could say the same about Celestia, right?”
Type Cast paused to process the implications. “I suppose that’s no exoskeleton either, then?”
“No, no it isn’t. We have our skeletons on in the inside, thank you,” Sixteen confirmed. She held up one leg, pointing out how one of her holes had worn away down to the bone. “What some ponies think is an exoskeleton is actually, as Mister Victory told me, a form of dermal armor – thick skin… though we do sometimes molt.”
Type Cast flinched at the sight. “Doesn’t that hurt to have your skeleton exposed like that?”
“As a matter of fact, it doesn’t.”
“Well, that’s good then, I guess. Since we’re on the subject of mistaken pop culture,” Type Cast offered, “what about the thing where changelings turn other ponies into more changelings?”
“Oh, ugh no. I don’t know where that came from,” Sixteen shook her head. “Well, actually I do, sort of. It could’ve grown from the whole replacement infiltration tactic. That’s the one where a pony is kidnapped, and a changeling takes their place to collect the love for that pony. I prefer the OC tactic myself, but I was never high enough in the hierarchy to make such a call.” She shrugged again. “I know Boloria and a few other sub-commanders of the 52th share that opinion. Of course, the whole point of the changeling integration program that put me here in Canterlot in the first place is to not require any infiltration at all. To let us just be us as we go around our business among ponies and soak in the atmosphere.”
“That does sound nice,” Type Cast admitted. “How are things going with that anyway?”
“It’s all going pretty well. Ponies used to be noticeably uncomfortable in the months before I settled into this default form.” Sixteen paused and flashed into the nondescript form she used to have and back again. “Nowadays, I can walk about the city and most ponies give me genuine smiles in passing. That and appreciation, which is something I could really use. It’s not nearly as good as love, but it’s still food.”
“What exactly can you transform into?” the interviewer asked with genuine curiosity.
“Well, most changelings are limited to ponies. With a little training you can do different sizes, too,” Sixteen answered, again with the foreleg gestures. “The better your training, the bigger the size difference can get. I can’t, for example, turn into a convincing Celestia, but I can do an epic Twilight Sparkle,” she explained, temporarily changing her voice to that of the book princess. “Some changelings are so good rumor has it they can turn into things like dragons. The vine thing is nothing but FUD though; fear, uncertainty, and doubt.”
“Vines?”
“Vines, furniture, little bunnies… Actually, the bunnies are probably the most likely to actually be feasible. There’s illusionary magic, of course, but that has the same limitations as when any other unicorn uses it. The thing about changeling transformations is that we can do instinctively what other ponies would have to learn, practice, and master. Luna has this thing where she can switch between her regular appearance and that of Nightmare Moon, and the way she does that is related to changeling magic. It just comes relatively easy to her because of her personal history with the Nightmare.”
“I suppose if a unicorn disguised herself with illusion magic you could tell that it wasn’t really a chair?” the interviewer guessed.
“Or if a changeling did, yes. Not to mention there’s this tell-tale… shimmer, I suppose you could call it.” Sixteen looked at Type Cast for some confirmation. He nodded in agreement. “If a unicorn were to give herself illusionary wings, you could tell they were fake because every so often they’d ‘blur out’, I guess? And to go back to the vine example, the unicorn – or changeling, I guess – would have to turn invisible, and project the vine. That’s a very difficult feat that’ll shimmer a lot. And even if you miss the visual distortions, you’d notice when you walk into a pony. Or not walk into a dragon. But if a changeling wants to alter or hide her horn, that’s not an illusion. The only problem is that when we hide our horns, we can’t use any magic other than transformations.”
“And the same goes for hiding your wings and flying, I take it?”
“That’s exactly right. If you see a changeling without a horn use magic, the horn’s just invisible. Even if you miss the shimmer, you’d still know it’s there from the aura outline, if you pay enough attention to those. A great many ponies don’t, and they completely miss the fact that their loved one’s magic has turned a bright green”, the changeling remarked with a smirk.
“You’d think that would only help the infiltrators,” Type Cast guessed, a little uneasy.
Sixteen was actually looking a little disappointed. “It did, and still does. But that doesn’t mean some of us can’t facehoof at the shortsightedness of some – no, most ponies.”
“Well, this was certainly informative. I’m sure our readers will like some firsthand clarification. Thank you for your time, and good luck with the exile thing,” Type Cast wrapped up, his hoof already on the button.
“Thank you, I’m happy to help.”
With a soft click, the recording device was stopped.
“I’ll send you a copy when it’s done, okay?” Type Cast offered.
“Thanks, and good luck.”
What's the Buzz? (written mostly by Sage Probo)
Just after Sixteen finished the interview, another changeling came down the stairs, surprising the interviewer. He noticed this changeling was quite different from the changeling he just interviewed. Curiosity rose and he started to go over when the changeling looked at him and gave him a raised eyebrow.
“Sixie, who is this guy? Another one for a night of fun or are you bored out of your mind again?” he asked.
“Silly Buzz,” she replied. “This isn’t somepony I invited out of boredom. He’s a reporter and interviewed me about ongoing misinformation around our species. As one of the first changelings legally living here, he thought it would be nice to gain a bit of information about us."
"Okay. Just don't go overboard, you hear? I'm going out a bit." Buzz said.
“Hey, since you are here, would you answer some questions from me as well?” the interviewer, Type Cast, asked, intercepting the male changeling on his way. “Your friend here was kind enough to do so.”
Buzzing stopped to think over this offer, shrugged, and moved over to the interviewer.
“Sure, why not? It wasn’t that important to go out, just meeting with some friends. So shoot, reporter guy.” He agreed and sat down in front of Sixteen and the reporter.
“First things first, what is your exact name and how did you come to live here?” Type Cast started.
“My name is Buzzing Hide, and my number is 26-1-98-7. Seventh hive, ninety-eight cluster, first squadron, twenty-sixth member. I got my name thanks to the constant wing buzzing I did back when I was a youngling. As to how it came for me to live here, that is quite simple: my hive queen ordered me to,” Buzzing added with a frown.
“Ordered? I know that most changelings listen to the queen, but why did she order you to live here?”
Buzzing sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid that is confidential, but I guess I can tell you what my job is inside my hive.”
Type Cast seemed surprised. “You have… jobs?”
“Sure, it’s almost the same as pony society, only with changelings and slightly different job titles. We have worker drones that are responsible for maintaining the hive, and the sub-jobs vary from hive to hive. Some do structure maintenance, others are cleanlings, and others are what you would call vendors, only for changeling needs. Then there are the guards, who – surprise, surprise – guard fixed points throughout the hive. We also have guards akin to Queen Celestia's honor guard or personal guard. They are the highest ranked guardlings and most younglings aim to join their ranks. And we have information gatherers – that is my profession, by the way – who are sent throughout the world to collect, analyze and send back information to the hive.”
“That almost sounds like you are here to spy on us, right?” the interviewer joked. “Paranoia aside, you look quite different from Sixteen here, how come?”
“Ah, quite the interesting question. I don’t know the exact reasons, these are known only to the hive queens, but my guess is it depends on where the hive the changeling comes from is located. A changeling from a desert hive needs different protection than a changeling from, let's say, a more rural area. So, over time, our bodies got accustomed to the specific area we live in. I think that also influenced our general look, like mane or chitin color.”
Type took some time to scribble down his notes before he asked his next question. “How does it feel to live with ponies instead of changelings?”
“As strange as it sounds, not that different. The only true difference I can tell is what I see when I walk around the city. Instead of the black and green chitin of my hive I see a multitude of colors, so many colors that the first time I came here I thought I was going blind from it! As for the behavior, ponies are very different from changelings. While most ponies stop to talk to other ponies on their way to work or other activities, changelings focus more on getting the work done before we stop to chat with our brethren. Doing so we tend to get our work done about 20% faster than ponies, griffons or even minotaurs.”
Type took a look around before he returned his gaze to the changeling he was interviewing. “What about cultural interests? Do changelings have different tastes in art, prose, music et cetera?”
This time it was Buzzing looking around, a thoughtful expression on his face. Type noticed the scar over his right eye, but didn’t dare to ask about that yet. A few moments later the changeling looked back to him.
“I can’t say, honestly. While I do enjoy a few bits of music here and there, the same does not apply to the others. So in a way you can say, yes, changelings have different tastes. But how different is something I can’t tell. In the hive we have a few artists who are responsible for decorating and painting the walls, but that’s about the most I can think of. The information gatherers all have different opinions and tastes, but it’s impossible to say about the general population.”
Type shifted a bit uneasy, but then asked his question anyway. “That scar on your face, how did you get that? It looks a bit nasty.”
To his surprise, instead of being offended, the changeling started laughing. Sixteen also looked a bit dumbfounded, but remained motionless. Buzz calmed down and, still chuckling, answered the question.
“Funny thing you ask. See, before we gatherers are sent out, we have to prove ourselves capable of defending, high tolerance to pain and torture and other stuff. I passed my exams with flying colors. A few months after my first assignment, I returned home. There was this changeling I always had arguments with about the right approach on missions. When we met and argued yet again, I challenged him to a fight in our arena. Yes, we have an arena to settle things that can’t be solved with words. He agreed and the next day we stood on opposite sides on the grounds. The official was our queen, and then the fight started. Neither of us could get the upper hoof. Out of dumb luck he got lucky and his horn managed to cut through my hide. It hurt like hell, but I kept fighting him. Eventually I tried the technique I learned during my travel and managed to subdue him. He was less than happy, but accepted his defeat. He vanished after that the next day and we have yet to hear from him.”
Both Type and Sixteen were shocked to hear that a changeling left his hive without telling where he went. Type coughed politely and spoke the last thing on his list.
“Do you know Sixteen’s personal name, Mr. Hide? If yes, how did you learn of it, when the two of you are from different hives?”
Hearing that, Sixteen became visibly angry. How could he ask someling else about that if she refused to answer that?
Buzz, feeling an incoming reporter mincemeat attack, held out a hoof in front of his fellow changeling to stop her, shaking his head.
“I know it, yes. She told it to me on our first encounter. However, unless she decides to make it known, I will honor tradition and only say the name she chose to be called. Please understand that changelings value their personal names and traditions very much. And it would be wise from you to understand and accept that. That is, you don't want me to go and dig up a bit of dirt on you. Do you?”
“One last thing: I see you two are close and all, but what is the relation between you two; acquaintances, lovers, or something completely different?” Type asked, slightly trembling.
“Well… I think ‘acquaintances’ is pretty much the closest you said. From time to time I need some company, and St—I mean Sixteen is the only changeling I know of who lives together with a pony – a scientist, no less. So when I’m bored and have nothing to do, I come over and we talk about Vic and Jennie’s relationship, his latest projects or just some ‘other’ fun we can think of.”
“We totally bang,” Sixteen interrupted in a total deadpan. “That’s what he means by ‘other fun’.”
“She is a nice changeling and it's great to know her. As for Wil…” Buzz turned to Sixteen with a curious face. “Where is he anyway?”
“My brother said he was a bit to... soft. So he drafted him,” Sixteen replied. “I’m sure he'll be back someday.” Hopefully more handsome and fully functional, teeheehee.
“Well,” the interviewer announced as he packed his stuff again, “I suppose that should be more than enough material for the article. Perhaps even two. Thanks again, both of you.”
As Type Cast finally left, Sixteen turned to her friend. “So, you still want to go out with your friends, or can I be the guy?”
