The Emptiness of High Valour
High Valour grimaced as she lay in the trench, her back pressed against the wall of dirt, the rifle lifted in her telekinesis as she worked to clear the mud out of the receiver. All around her was the sound of battle. A changeling panzer rumbled eerily close to her position. She could not see it, and she had no intention of peering over the top to do so. Acornage had fallen, and her perimeter was the last barrier between the changeling forces and thousands of retreating ponies. If she fell, they would surely be captured before they could regroup and move to a new line of defence in proper order.
The army did not like to elevate one pony over hundreds of others, but in moments like this, High Valour felt she mattered more than anypony. If she could buy the scattered remnants of Acornage’s defenders time, every minute she held off the changelings around her allowed others like her to prepare themselves for a counterattack. She knew it was up to her and the stubborn few who had committed themselves.
Equestria had been caught unprepared by the changelings’ aggression. High Valour was one of the few with combat experience along Acornage’s border with the Changeling Lands. When the recent civil war against the resurgent Nightmare Moon broke out without warning, she had not waited to be drafted, but voluntarily enlisted for five years. Destructive and bitter as it was, the Equestrian forces had repulsed the Nightmare wel before then, leaving her still a few years of service during peacetime. This was how she had come to be on the Acornage front when the alarming military build-up on the opposite side was finally noticed. Depleted and weary, Equestria needed time it didn’t have to rebuild its army, just as it had abolished the wartime measures. And High Valour was determined to give it that.
She was used to delaying the enemy. During the civil war, the Lunar forces had attempted constantly to capture Canterlot. Understanding the importance of the capitol to the war effort for both sides, Valour’s division and those of the Nightmare forces had fought across the mountain ranges. Her greatest moment had come when she had held off a squad of batponies all by herself, as they tried in vain to take the mountain summit. It was night, her own squad was either dead or evacuated, and they avoid traversing the rocky slopes with their wings. They day should have been theirs, and yet when the fight ended, High Valour had prevailed. Her uniform shredded, her bullets spent, her breath ragged, but victorious nonetheless.
High Valour looked down to the gold star medal displayed on her uniform, placed there by Applejack in a Canterlot ceremony for ponies like her. She had called her exceptional. Sure, she had called all the recipients of military honours exceptional, but High Valour knew it was true in her case. So she lifted the award with her hoof and kissed it, to remind herself and the hour she had been the bravest mare in Equestria. She needed to tap into that belief if she was to slay these bugs to.
As if providence, she heard a blast from above her, following the distant thud of artillery. The panzer that had menaced her a moment before fell silent but for a pained screech of metal scraping metal. Hesitating not a moment, High Valour rose, her rifle raised, one eye closed, as she tried to line up a shot for the first bug to cross her iron sights. But before she could pinch the trigger held in her magical grip, the whole world swerved out of focus, her vision tumbling as her helmet was flung from her head. As she tried desperately to stand, she felt she could not. A heavy weight pressed on her barrel, and she could see the pile of earth from the trench had collapsed on her. Then she heard the eery, incessant ringing in her ear, and felt the thick liquid snaking its way through her fur across her forehead. Willing herself to become unstuck, High Valour made a valiant effort to get free, only to collapse as darkness engulfed her vision.
As she reopened her eyes, she saw the bugs approaching, their black chitin faces and pupil-less eyes looking down at her. No matter how she tried, she could not gather the strength to lift her hoof or raise her weapon with her horn. Attempting to shout obscenities at them, she found the words almost completely inaudible to herself, and she doubted even they had heard more than the garbled moans of a delirious pony. Anger flushed over her. She was not going to become the captive of damn bugs! Her career as a defender of Equestria couldn’t end here. Not in this manner! She was not going to be paraded in humiliation by these love-starved parasites!
A final attempt to raise herself was met with another descent into the pit of unconsciousness. And this time, she would not wake from it a free pony.
* * *
“Prisoner 4859, step forward.”
What High Valour assumed was just a standard morning roll call took a peculiar turn now that she had been singled out. She did as told, standing still as the changeling offizier who called her marched up to her. Despite her expressionless face, Valour was a sorry sight. Her stomach growled. Her uniform was caked with mud and smelled of sweat. Her lips trembled. Her hoofs cracked and deprived of shoes for months. Her face was grimy with bloodshot eyes. Her mane unwashed and coat unkempt. Despite all this, it was far from the worst the camp had done to her. Dread filled her stomach as the changeling faced her, almost breaking down in tears right there.
The changeling regarded her for a few seconds, looking her over carefully, allowing her misery to hang in the air before opening his mouth and speaking “You have been volunteered for the arbeidseinsatz program as a servant.”
Valour breathed a breath she had been holding in tight. She turned her head, looking back at her fellow prisoners-of-war, her countrymares. Their faces betrayed no emotion, but she could feel their envy, and their hate. Safety and deliverance had come for her, almost by pure luck. Sparing her the dangers this changeling prison camp held.
“Bitte proceed to the office for your release papers and registration as an Equestrian indentured servant.” He pointed to the gate leading into the restricted zone, with its offices and staff buildings.
Another guard came up behind her and shoved her flank, pushing her in the direction of the gate. High Valour did not need much encouragement, but risked a final glance back at the ponies she was leaving behind. Her fellow Equestrians paid no further attention to her, seemingly wanting to forget she existed. It was, admittedly, easier to let life continue without thinking of those not amongst you anymore. Except in her case, she had won the proverbial lottery and won an escape from the drudgery she hadn’t deserved. A better pony would have refused, taken a beating and remained with his comrades. But High Valour was not that pony. Not anymore.
The office clerk who was processing her dismissal was familiar to her, a lean changeling with a chipper attitude to hide the underlying sadism and corruption. Valour stood still as the guard left her to be subjected to bureaucracy.
“State your personal data for the record, if you will, horsie.” The clerk said as he held up a clipboard and pencil.
“Corporal High Valour, service number 10-473-829. Female unicorn. Of yellow coat and green mane. Badge cutie mark. Prisoner 4859.” She rattled off the usual information as she was made to provide details for her release from internment into servitude.
She had to resist the urge to shake off his hoof as it tilted her head to look him in the eye, as his telekinesis pulled on her uniform, straightening out the ruffles and creases.
“Such a model prisoner. We are sad to see you go. At least you prove there is hope for your kind under the new order.” His sickeningly sweet demeanour almost caused her to puke.
“Did you keep it safe, as you promised?” High Valour asked in a neutral tone of voice.
“First, you’ll keep your end of the bargain. Kneel, wretch!” The literal and proverbial fangs came out as Valour was shoved to the floor by the changeling’s deceptively strong hooves.
Upholding her promise, she meekly lay on her haunches as she stared up at the changeling towering over her, her heart pounding in anguish and hate as she saw his horn light up and felt the familiar sensation so many prisoners had come to dread, and she felt her hope and courage leave her, making way for despair. Wavy tendrils of mist-like purple love flowed out of her and into the waiting mouth of her tormentor.
Although what he did was unauthorized and punishable, the Heer was infamously lax in its enforcement of the rules inside prison camps. Everypony knew not to travel alone, particularly not at night, because the guards were prone to selfish acts of draining their pony prisoners of love, with no regard to their health and the long term effects. Even doing so to the point of death if a prisoner resisted, had been troublesome, or the guards were simply hungry. High Valour wished she could say she had been smarter than all those other victims, but the reality was that this feeling had become familiar.
There was a physical pain and exhaustion, but that seemed to pale in comparison to the emotional suffering. That feeling of complete helplessness. The knowledge that you are not fighting it, out of fear they will beat and torment you if you resist. That it is better if you just give in and let it happen. The sadistic pleasure these monsters derive from your struggle if you do attempt to resist. That if you snitch to the kommandant, your body will be found soon afterward a dead husk, to be interred in the camp’s adjacent cemetery. High Valour bore many scars from her soldiering career and none made her wake up in cold sweat, but for the nightmares that blurred the line between her own fear and the daily horror of camp life.
As her changeling overseer finished his gluttonous feeding before he could harm her in ways the administration would not overlook, High Valour forced herself to stand on trembling legs. Her only solace being that whoever she would come to serve, they couldn’t be as unrestrained and brutal as the ‘fine’ bugs of the Heer’s detention administration.
“You taste of salt. Perhaps your stay with us has hardened your perception on life? I do so hope you will at least fake a smile for the new rulers of Equestria.” The vile bug mocked her with his cheerful banter.
“Spare me. Where is it?” She demanded, no longer in the mood to hide her true feelings for him.
He returned behind his desk and opened one of the chests containing contraband that stood by the wall of his office, rummaging until he pulled out a folded-up wad of cloth, returning to her side and looking her over, up and down.
“You will have to excuse us for not providing prison uniforms with pockets for exactly this reason. But I know how you can keep this safely from the eyes of your new master.”
“Yeah, and how is th-”
Without warning, the hem of her pants were pull back, giving her a wedgie before dropping to the floor. Before she had a chance to protest, she felt the wadded up package being shoved someplace delicate, making her eyes bulge and her mouth utter profanity and take Celestia’s name in vain in manners frowned upon by her old superiors.
“Don’t be like that, we both know your kind smuggles all kinds of stuff in there. Trust me, I’m the bug who has to pull it out. Just be thankful the edges on that star are as dull as your pony brain.” The smirk on the bug’s face was now truly testing her patience, as High Valour reached back with her hoof to pull her pants back up. “Now, just sign your name on the final release forms, and you’re free! Free to work for our glorious empire, at least. Or just put an X on the line.”
Valour took the pencil in her mouth and struggled to sign the forms. This would have gone much easier had she still had the use of her horn, but the restraint placed upon it forced her to scribble something illegible on the paper. She was not going to dignify the inference that all ponies were illiterate, no matter how much simpler it would be to mark a cross.
“Congratulations, servant! You are now elevated to perform your duties to the empire under a personal bondage to your changeling master. Proceed through that door, and meet the lovely ‘ling that will guide you along your new path!” The amount of pride this bug derived from forcing ponies into slavery would have angered Valour, had she not felt genuinely that this was a better fate.
She followed his direction, opening the door to step into the hall beyond, now seeing the bug who the administrators had decided was her owner now. A female officer of sorts, dressed up in her uniform. Her chitin’s complexion tended towards a disarmingly light grey. Her matted pink hair was tied in a bun behind her peaked cap. Her matching eyes had the same soulless, pupil-less emptiness as all the other parasites Valour had the displeasure of meeting.
Standing just outside the office, High Valour awaited what the changeling would do or say first, not feeling in a hurry to voluntarily throw herself at the bug’s mercy. She instead followed her movement as she approached, inspecting her with those lifeless compound eyes.
“So you are the servant allocated to me by these pencil pushers, and you reek of filth, naturally. Do you have a name, equine?” She asked, staring at her with stern displeasure.
“High Valour, m’am.” She answered promptly.
“Hah!” The changeling laughed derisively “Not a very apt name for one who surrendered, is it?”
“I did not surrender!” Valour defended herself, as if trying to prove herself to this loathsome creature. “I was captured while unconscious, m’am.”
She was struck across the muzzle by the swift hoof of this lady bug for her insolence.
“You will call me Frau Formica, or Kriminaldirektor Formica. Verstanden? You will not speak your pony words while you are in my service.”
Valour rubbed her face where the changeling had struck her. “Understood, loud and clear.”
“And you will answer to the name Empty Valour from now on. A more fitting moniker, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Frau Formica.” This insult to her distinguished service was, somehow, hurting her a lot more than the slap.
Valour endured a throughout, demeaning inspection by the mistress she had been assigned to, who lifted her leg and pulled open her mouth to check her gums. She repeatedly sniffed and wrinkled her nose. Valour was sure she’d have done so even if her body odour wasn’t like an overflowing latrine pit.
“You are a disgraceful, pitiful creature. And yet the lager kommandant assured me you’re an example for your kind. How do you do at domestic labour?” Formica inquired.
Valour tilted her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Domestic labour?”
“Cleaning house, washing laundry, tending garden. Is that simple enough for your primitive mind, or do I need to provide you an instruction manual in colourful pictures?” The condescending tone was cutting, but Valour endured it.
“No mein Frau, I understand.”
“Good, because that is all you are needed for in my household. Don’t let a pony do a ‘ling’s job. Leave that ragged outfit with a staffer, and follow. Can you at least drive? Do you even know what a motorcar is?” Formica was incessant in her questioning, and Valour could already tell she was going to take a long time to get used to her.
“Yes Frau Formica. I know how to use one.” She wasn’t going to bother telling her Fillydelphia Motors produced better motorcars than the changelings did, since it was a pointless way of posturing that would only earn her another slap.
* * *
The kriminaldirector’s house was a modestly well-appointed villa in the wealthier district of Vesalipolis. The garden was well maintained despite the northern cold. The inside decorated in a mix of changeling and griffonian furniture, with a painting of Queen Chrysalis within the living room. These seemed to be ubiquitous within her nation. Formica ran her through the basic program she was to adhere to, and the rules she had to follow within her home and amongst other changelings. Bow reverently to a changeling, use proper titles and form of address, never take anything from the household that her mistress had not expressly told her she could have.
“And you will begin every day saluting the monarch of the glorious changeling empire.” Formica finished as she pointed a hoof at the conspicuous portrait of Chrysalis.
Valour was hesitant. She hadn’t even seen changelings display that much reverence for their queen. This was more in line with the mocking depictions of changelings she’d seen within Equestria of them. This had to be a ritual display of loyalty to her new mistress, a daily reminder of her humiliating fate. Slowly, carefully, she raised her hoof to her head.
It was slapped down by an angry Formica. “Not like a sub-sentient, filthy pony! In this house we respect the changeling ways, and you will to. I can have you sent back to Stalag 4 at any time if you do not behave yourself!”
Valour raised her foreleg as she had seen the changelings do. For some reason, gravity felt so much stronger on her, and it took effort to maintain this posture as Formica’s discriminating gaze judged her. When finally she put her hoof back on the carpeted floor, Valour felt she was ready to have it amputated now.
Last was the servants’ quarter, which was really just a single room with one window. A single bed with a thin mattress for sleeping, a single bookshelf overhead, a heater, chamber pot, a small sink with cold water and a cracked mirror. The only luxury afforded to her was a couple of books on the shelf, to educate her in the ways of changelings. A set of clothing awaited her, laid out on the bed.
“Wash up, make yourself presentable, and get dressed like a civilized creature. You will begin your chores within five minutes.” Formica instructed in a tone that brook no opposition.
After a wash and a mane brushing, Valour viewed the clothes she’d been left. A full black and white Aquilean maid’s uniform. She’d been a soldier, and a proud Equestrian. Now she’d been reduced to a lowly maidservant for her nation’s enemy. Showing them deference and trotted out to impress the guests of her mistress with the spoils of war; house slaves. She swallowed her pride and put on the clothes.
Before getting to work, she took a look at the package she had discreetly retrieved while Formica was away. Unfurling the cloth, the golden star medal lay in her hoof. A reminder of better times, and a talisman for her to hold on to, to kindle her hope. With no better place to hide it from her mistress, she placed it underneath the pillow on her bed before going to work. Pausing at the door, she breathed a weary sigh, already feeling the indignation that awaited her.
* * *
The day had passed slowly, and Valour’s body ached with exhaustion. She was a fit mare in the prime of her life. She had cooked and cleaned for herself and her family before, passed bootcamp, and the assembly line of the stalag had kept her work ethic high. And yet tidying up this neat, luxurious home was taxing her body and spirit. Last on the list before she’d light the stove and cook her mistress’ food was the study. Formica had not wished to be disturbed while she worked, so this had to wait until her work hours were done.
Storing the various supplies and ledgers in their intended spaces, Valour could not help but notice the conspicuous report on the desk, lying open. Daring her to peek inside. Unable to resist, she let her gaze fall upon the writings in the report. The stalag had provided her language lessons, so confident were the changelings that their prisoners would need to learn to speak their tongue. As such, she had no real difficulty understanding the contents. An evaluation of important industrial and governmental targets for sabotage, and Formica’s recommendations to prevent that. Certainly useful if this were to fall into the hooves of SMILE, or any Thoraxian remnant.
The slamming shut of the office door startled Valour, who turned to see a displeased Formica standing behind her. “I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
“Ms. Formica I- Fräulein, it had been left open on your desk. I was only going to store it somewhere-” Valour stammered, but was interrupted.
“Spare me your excuses, Empty Valour. I saw you look at it for a good, full minute. Did you think a Kriminaldirektor was just leaving that in the open? I intended for you to find that, to see how trustworthy you are. Not very much, I can see.” Formica stepped closer, a pistol held in her telekinetic grip “How can I trust you aren’t a spy? How do I know you will never betray your mistress again? Can you give me one good reason why I should not have you returned to the Stalag?”
Fear and horror hit her and every muscle in her body tensed. She searched for an answer. Anything that would convince Formica not to send her to that awful prison camp again. After wracking her brain, she could only think of one desperate bid, and stepped closer to the pistol. Each hoofstep, she worried Formica might pull the trigger. But even as she felt the barrel press against her forehead as she closed her eyes, nothing happened. A tension lingered, as she felt tears run down her face thinking back to the hell she had left behind, and the hell that awaited if that gun fired. She wondered: which would be worse?
“What would be the appropriate punishment for disobedience, you think?” Formica finally asked.
“T-they’d usually lash us at the camp, Fraulein.” Valour answered with a trembling voice.
The cold press of the gun barrel receded, and Formica spoke again. “I suppose this means it is my responsibility from now on.”
Valour opened her eye, but before she could breathe a sigh of relief, she was hit in the face with the strap of a belt, and she rubbed her eye. Worried that the clasp might pierce it.
“I shouldn’t damage your pretty face, or other ‘lings might think I have disciplinary issues with you. Disrobe.” Formica ordered.
After several painful minutes, Valour was left panting in a heap on the floor. The pain was excruciating, but her relief great that her new owner wasn’t talking about having her return to Stalag 4 now.
Formica jerked her head up to look at her, one hoof on her chin, her telekinesis grabbing her mane. “This is a lesson I will teach only once: the slightest hint of rebellion or disobedience, and you are on a train to the nearest kriegsgefangenen-mannschaftsstammlager. There are worse fates than death, pony scum!” Valour had her maid uniform thrown back in her face “Get dressed, get out, and get back to work.”
* * *
The lesson she had learned had stuck. Formica was one to test her servant with opportunities to escape, or spy, or inconvenience her. And it was best to not even entertain the idea of following through, as she was cruel even when not provoked. And Valour would tremble whenever she noticed one of these ‘tests’, and would make an effort to let her mistress see her not exploiting these, and continue her work like a good servant.
Every morning she woke early, do her ablutions, eat her breakfast of stale bread and tepid milk, put on her uniform, and salute her queen before starting the workday. When Formica had guests, Valour learned to make herself present only long enough to impress her visitor with what a good slave she had, and make herself scarce throughout the visit. Good servants were like foals; to be seen, and not heard. At the appropriate times she would have breakfast, lunch and dinner ready. She would serve coffee in the way that Formica liked it, when she wanted it, and without having to be told. In time, she was given a key to the house and trusted to do groceries for her mistress. All thoughts of escaping the home of the Kriminaldirektor, in the middle of Vesalipolis, had long faded from her mind. In the summer, she tended the garden, smiling brightly at the changeling passer-by’s who marvelled at the fortunate ‘ling living in a house that could afford a pony on staff. Though the changeling lands were cold, there was a genuine happiness in her demeanour to be able to work outside in the sun and its warmth.
The only reading she was permitted were the discarded books of Formica’s collection and yesterday’s newspaper. While der Chronik was conservative even by changeling standards, it was still her best source of news. And the news was not good for Equestria. Even reading between the lines, searching for the grains of truth, it was obvious to Valour. It had pained her, but she was coming to terms with the reality that serving Formica was her life now, and trawling the newspapers for evidence of a reversal of fortune was going to fill her only with disappointment. She had began to decorate the wall of her little room with newspaper clippings, much to Formica’s approval. Making her happy was occasionally rewarded with minor acts of kindness, as much as she was capable of it.
At night, she would heat a can of beans or pan of soup on the heater inside her room for dinner, but Formica would allow a pot of tea, or a plate of leftovers sometimes. The window in her room was not well insulated, and the heating could not prevent her from feeling cold. Every week, she was instead called into her mistress’ bedchamber to be drained of her love. It was every bit as unpleasant as it had been in the camps, and she felt weak the day after. But it served to make Formica ecstatic each time, and left her in a much better mood. She wanted to avoid an upset Formica as much as she could. Bad things happened when she made the kriminaldirektor angry.
Nighttime in bed was the only refuge of hope for Valour. Alone, holding the medal she kept under her pillow in her hooves, she remembered when she was brave. A hero of Equestria. That seemed so long ago, even though it had been only half a year since she was taken from the stalag. Her mind told her it was in vain, but looking deeply at that star, she could dream of a world in which Equestria redoubled its efforts, where it would smash the inexorable advance of the changeling panzers, regain lost grounds, and bring the war to an end by capturing Vesalipolis. Of regaining her freedom, of going home, of being embraced by her family and friends. To live a life free of the guilt, the shame, the nightmares again. But she couldn’t stop the nightmares. No matter how often she stared into that golden sheen, there were still mornings when she woke up soaked in sweat, her blankets twisted around her legs, the wicked and fanged smiles of changelings vivid in her mind.
“Empty?” She heard her mistress as the lights suddenly turned on and her eyes went wide, the eyes of Formica sending a tingle running down her back where her gaze fell. She hid the medal and was out of bed and on her hooves in an instant.
“What is it, Frau Formica?” She answered, at immediate attention.
Dressed in her conservative nightgown, the changeling was a strange sight in Valour’s room in the middle of the night. “What was that you were hiding? I saw you hide something from me, Empty. Show it to me. Now.”
Unable to stop herself from obeying her mistress, Valour reached underneath the pillow. Her traitorous hoof felt the medal, and her heart sank in her chest as she pulled it out and presented it to Formica, who grasped it in her telekinesis to get a closer look.
“For exceptional courage in battle? Valour, did you earn this fighting against your masters?” Formica sounded like a disappointed parent, scolding a foal.
“No m’am- I mean, no Fräulein. I received it fighting the Lunar rebels.” It was the truth, but that did nothing to diminish Formica’s frown.
“You held this from me, Empty. Don’t you remember the price of rebellion?”
Valour bowed her head. “Yes, Fräulein. I should not have kept this from you.”
“Do you want to return to the Stalag? This is not a good hour for this. And you had made such progress.”
Valour bowed deeper, falling to her haunches. “N-no Frau Formica. You keep it. P-please. I do not want to return there.” She trembled as the chill in the room went through the bone despite the radiator right next to her.
“This should be worth something to the gold trader. And as for you…”
The sudden venom in her voice reminded Valour why she had come to fear Formica. She reached forward with a hoof to put it around her mistress’, who pulled it back, and instead struck the horn of her slave. Despite not having used magic since her capture, the sensitivity still sent a stabbing pain through her head. She locked it in the hole of her leg with a twist, forcing Valour to look Formica in the eye. The monstrous face of her nightmares, her split tongue extended as her curved horn lit up, and Valour could feel that horrible sensation of being abandoned by all that was good and right with the world as she was being fed upon, her love flowing away and into Formica’s mouth. Valour moaned in pain as she feared that this would exceed what a pony could endure, and Formica was going to kill her.
Despair and hopelessness overtook her. She had been drained before, but not this thorough. Where she had believed she’d experienced the worst, it somehow became more and more agonizing the closer she came to death. If it actually was death. Was she possibly going to turn catatonic or so demoralized, it might as well be a vegetative state? Either way, she was about to find out. The edges of her vision turned black, and rapidly engulfed her sight until there was only blackness. And then… it stopped.
“Gah!” She gasped as though coming up for air, her whole body aching.
“Let this be a lesson, Empty. I can replace you with another mare. Your life is worthless. Remember that.” Formica turned around, leaving the room. The medal went with her.
Valour crawled back in bed and rolled herself up inside her blanket. She had experienced a new fear. Formica was truly a more cruel bug than she’d ever suffered in Stalag 4. Her medal, the last glimmer of hope she had left, was gone. She was now truly Empty.
* * *
Empty had recovered from the near-death experience of her love draining, and resumed her duties as if nothing had happened. The hope she had derived from her medal was gone. Thoughts of freedom were now completely gone. And perhaps it was for the better. It did her no good to have a heart in conflict with her mind. A servant she was, and a servant she would remain. There was no resurgent Equestria coming to rescue her, and even if there was, she knew there was no place in it for a pony like her. As a mare, she was broken. As Formica’s little bondsmare, she yet had purpose. As long as she never kept another secret, her mistress kept her safe.
One day, as she cleaned the surfaces of the living room with a washcloth, her mistress tried solving the crossword in der Chronik while the radio told the news. Just as Empty wrung out the rag, she noticed Formica raise her hoof to her, motioning quiet. Her horn lit up, turning the radio dial.
“…is now conquered, and under changeling control. A statement from the Queen’s tower has confirmed the capital is indeed pacified. The princess Celestia had abandoned the city over a week ago, leaving the pony defenders to fend for themselves. Despite being totally abandoned by their ruler, the ponies were too stubborn to surrender and a fierce battle for the streets of Canterlot has now been concluded. Those citizens who did not flee remain indoors. A spokesbug of the Heer has promised a full military occupation will soon restore order. The final defeat of Equestria can only be weeks away from now!”
Formica turned off the radio as she lifted her cup of coffee, smiling with satisfaction. “And so it unfolds. The right of the strong to rule the weak has inevitably triumphed over the naïve notions of harmony. Every ‘ling should remember where they were when they heard this news. You must be distraught, Empty.”
“No Fräulein, relieved. Ponykind’s rule has come to an end, and will have to learn how to serve changelings. As I did. I’m no longer alone in this fate.” Empty said, wondering who she was trying to reassure.
“You’ve come a long way. Your kind should all be so well adjusted.” Formica enjoyed her coffee, before setting it down to continue. “Equestrian harmony’s innate weakness is now exposed. Nature created us all to a purpose. Earth ponies work to grow crops, pegasi regulate the weather, and unicorns lead through a higher understanding of the world around them. Your princess never understood that, or she would have ruled over the changelings to, instead of the other way around. She made unicorns see earth ponies as equal in knowledge while deluding earth ponies into believing they could act in a position of authority over pegasi and unicorns. Now this unnatural notion of ‘harmony’ with other creatures has led her kingdom to defeat. Conflict determines whose will reigns supreme, not friendship.”
“How did Chrysalis win if you are so dependant on love then?” There was a genuine paradox in the way changelings functioned that still baffled Empty.
After Formica’s hoof had chastised her for such an insolent question, she answered Empty. “We take it by right of conquest, not on the terms set by another species. What incentive have they to see us flourish, growing more needful, instead of withholding love so we’ll starve?” Formica retorted. “We accept what we are, and that no other species will stand up for our interests. And from that comes an understanding of having to fight united against ponykind. A changeling does not ask “should I have the same privileges as my queen?” because we’re all born to her, her maternal guidance will see us prosper. Questioning her is as a foal disobeying its parent for sending her to bed: childish and against our best interest. That is what I’ve tried teaching you. Your proper place in all of this.”
“You’ve succeeded.” Empty admitted mournfully.
Formica tipped her hooves under her chin as she sat back. “Chrysalis truly is a visionary. How easily Equestria fell once we forced racial solidarity onto the other queens.”
“What… what if she had not succeeded, and Equestria had triumphed?” Empty ducked her head, cringing at the rebellious wording of her questioning mind.
“What would that change? It doesn’t alter who we are. We would still feed on love, but perhaps Celestia would have had the courage to cease the hypocrisy of her ‘tolerance’ and committed genocide.”
Empty could not believe her ears. She looked up at Formica, her jaw slack at the horrible implications, and how calmly she accused ponies of such an atrocity.
“Don’t pretend your fellow ponies are better than that. You didn’t read the newspapers I did, you insolent grub. One million changelings were deported from northern Equestria and the Crystal Empire, flooding the hives with ‘lings whose mindset was confused and polluted with ideals of harmony. We had to de-program them extensively.”
Empty cast her eyes down in both submission to her argument, and shame. She had met these bugs. As the inevitability of war became clear, the army had been ordered to expel all Equestrian-born changelings from the land by order of Princess Celestia “for their own good”. At the time, she cared not for their wellbeing. After all, whose foals had these bugs murdered to replace them with parasitic vermin? Her blood had boiled with every wagon of changelings they had dispatched rather than shooting them for their treacherous deceit. She had been extremely short-tempered and irate with the parents of these banished pests, normal ponies who had cried and wept to see their ‘beloved foals’ stripped of all civil protections and made into Queen Chrysalis’ problem. How they accused her of being the vile and heartless one, not the other way around.
Only now, after having seen the other side of the story, and with time to ponder, did she understand how regardless of how they came to be the children of ponies, those infant changelings had no guilt in their brood’s atrocities to implant them into Equestrian families. Though some ponies would not hesitate to drive out changeling offspring where it was found, others could not ignore the happy memories and affections for their child, born of genuine caring. They could not suppress their sympathy for their bug offspring, as scared and horrified to learn the truth about themselves as their guardians for discovering it. If your adopted child told you how sincerely they loved you, could you reject them just for being born a changeling? These were still families of mutually loving creatures torn apart by war and prejudice. Equestria had failed these ‘lings, their parents, and most relevant, Empty had failed Equestria’s ideal of harmony.
“I’m sorry, Fraulëin.” Empty dried her tears with the dishrag as she battled to push back the memories where she’d been in the wrong.
Formica looked at her, and a hint of gentleness broke through. Changelings had a sense for reading emotions beyond vision or hearing. It had served her in determining when Empty was attempting to lie, but for once, she could tell how her misery was born of true remorse.
“It’s alright now, liebchen.” Formica took the cloth in her magic to help dry Empty’s eyes. “Their eyes are opened, the Thoraxian lie has been disproven. It was a painful lesson for them, but they learned firsthand how harmony was never for changelings. Just as how Equestria will soon learn there can be happiness found in servitude to us. As you did.”
Empty smiled back at her owner. She wanted to feel happy. To stop thinking of her past mistakes so they could not keep her awake at night.
* * *
Empty entered the living room carrying a platter with coffee and apfelstrudel for Formica. She wanted to treat her mistress on this momentous occasion. It had been a couple of weeks since the fall of Canterlot, and now the last stronghold of Equestria, Manehattan, had finally surrendered.
“Herzliche Glückwünze, Fraulein Formica!” Empty spoke, now more fluent in changeling. “Is the Generalmajor not here anymore?”
“The Generalmajor had to catch the next train for Canterlot to take up his new position. Take his pastry back to the kitchen, and put it in the fridge.” She shoved the plate back, before adopting a kinder expression. “Leave his coffee, then sit with me when you’re done.”
After she obediently returned the strudel, Empty sat on the sofa, enjoying the coffee break her owner afforded her.
“You are currently wondering what I spoke to the new governor of Canterlot about, aren’t you?” Formica expressed a sly, bemused frown at her servant.
“Oh, not at all, Fräulein. A pony shouldn’t know about a changeling’s business. And I kept myself upstairs for most of the time.” Empty had learned well not to be nosy, or even betray the idea that she was. And the truth was, she truly wasn’t.
“He wanted to consult with me on my willingness to make a change.” She continued as if Empty had expressed curiosity, giving this conversation her ‘green light’. “A new department, now that Equestria will be officially annexed into the Reich. How would you like to see Canterlot again, Empty?”
“Oh, that would be lovely, mein Fräulein. If it pleases you. I am perfectly happy in Vesalipolis.”
“Oh come now! A little pony such as you must be longing for companionship from within thine own herd. Perhaps even the attention of a fine stud who can appreciate such a demure filly?”
Empty blushed. She hadn’t been with stallions since she had boarded the train for Acornage. But even if she could not deny her feeling of loneliness, there was a greater obstacle. Equestria was no longer her home. Even though she was seemingly going back, she knew she wouldn’t get the hero’s welcome this time. She would be spat on for the accusations of treason. She had become everything that ponydom had feared would happen if Chrysalis won.
“But beyond regular police work, I wanted to hear the Generalmajor out on a study that has come out of Soryth. On the theoretical application of magical compulsion.”
Empty felt a swig of warm coffee enter her lungs, and she reflexively coughed and hacked, spraying the liquid out her nostrils and her mouth as she struggled not to drop her saucer with the cup on it.
“Pardon me, mein Fraulëin. I’m very sorry for this!” She apologized profusely as she took her dishcloth from where it had been left and immediately set about removing the coffee stains.
“Are you familiar with the field of magic?” Formica inquired at the same time.
“As a simple unicorn, that is beyond my knowledge if it is coming from changeling magic.” Empty knew all too well the existence of mind-altering effects derived from spellcasting, but it was both forbidden and complicated.
“It has often been observed in queens and highly skilled changelings that repeated casting of mesmerization spells, and ones that impart unconditional love in their target, can result in a genuine, permanent infatuation and obsession with the caster.” Formica explained, and Empty remembered some mention of this concerning former Prince Shining Armour, though he had been rescued in time.
It also made her wonder about her own relationship with Formica. “Am I…?” She hesitated, not wanting to sound she was accusing Formica of such a heinous transgression.
But Formica patted her head condescendingly “Beguiled by my magic? Of course not, liebchen! You’re a good pony, your love of your mistress and of serving the changeling race comes completely from yourself and your own nature.”
Empty couldn’t help but tingle with some hint of pride in her freedom, seeming to forget how she’d allowed it to be subverted.
“Besides, if such crude methods had been used, you would be wanting more than give me your love when I call you into my bedchamber. And such sickness will not be tolerated.” Formica scowled at the mere idea of pony and changeling romance.
Empty remembered her history class of the Three Tribes, and being called to act out what had been learned in class. How her own tribe, the unicorns, had rejected out of hoof the marriage of unicorns to other types of ponies. A ‘sickness’ they had called it. On some level, it felt disheartening how this applied now with changelings. But one truth was undeniable: never once had Empty felt a desire for changelings.
“But though we agreed that compelling sickening lust from the ponies was immoral, I still fervently believe in isolating the appropriate effect that secures a strong, lasting adoration for the master. And I see Canterlot as the perfect test site.” She drank from her cup some more, as her magic gently pressed Empty down, keeping her at her owner’s side and on her haunches as she cleaned the carpet. “Those unruly ponies must be brought to heel by any means necessary. Those who cannot accept their fate like you have, don’t have a place in our empire. This compulsion could save them.”
“I hope they can be.” Empty wished sincerely. She did not need reminders what happened to the maladjusted and the obstinate.
“Of course, it could all be a pipe dream. I’ve joined the Soryth program out of sincere desire to see Equestria flourish under our race. But this is highly advanced magic we’re speaking of. Scarcely a few changelings can wield it in its raw form, and there is no telling how many hurdles this research must clear. If it can even be done practically.” Formica pondered aloud, a truly chilling fascination with such a science, and no mind for the ethical questions.
“It might indeed be unnatural…” Empty muttered to herself.
“Unnatural?” Formica shot up and looked at Empty as if she had been challenged. “Liebchen, let me tell you about nature. Entomologists describe types of ants, who are among our closest analogy in nature, that share behaviour with changelings. Some are described to leave their queens in the care of other colonies, to serve her needs and provide for her young. Over the ones they displaced. No doubt you have heard of hives that left their shapeshifted young to be raised among ponies, to have them nurtured on the love parents have for their foals. It is how we came to be called ‘changelings’ after all. Until the day they discover there is something ‘different’ about them, and they’re not like the ponies they’ve lived with, though they have lost their culture for Equestrian harmony. Explains why there are so many changelings around Acornage and Seaddle. And why they’re all Thoraxian scum; all raised wrong.” Formica huffed.
Empty remembered the ‘lings she’d helped deport. It still caused her guilt to think of them. Though she now worked to atone for it, through her cooperation.
Before Empty could dwell on Formica’s dismissal of fellow changelings, she spoke again. “Another type of ant, more advanced than this, will go one step beyond; conquer the lesser ants’ colony and loot the eggs, imprinting the lesser race to make it work for them. And to ensure compliance, both groups of slaver ants employ pheromones to control the subject brood. The changeling empire has done the same thing by conquering ponydom, who shall now serve their taskmasters. How then is it ‘unnatural’ for changelings to employ magic to convince ponies who resist that this is how it must be? Are we not doing exactly what is natural by learning from these ants?”
Empty nodded her head. Formica had a point, though its implications for Equestria foretold a future she did not wish to ponder. And so, to banish worry, she resolved to work as expected so her owner would see no need for her plans for the future. Canterlot would be shown just how content a pony could be under changeling guidance.
* * *
The city of Canterlot was bright and warm as always, despite the damage the war had done to its buildings. The boulevards and squares had reopened their restaurants and cafés. Almost as Empty remembered it, except there were more changelings. It hadn’t looked this good on her first day, as Queen Chrysalis held her victory parade. Almost everypony had locked their doors in fear. And the queen had made a grand spectacle of receiving all honours and titles to stake her claim to be Equestria’s new ruler and protector. And a gathering of nobles had publically pledged their new loyalties to Chrysalis. As an attendant to a ranking member of the kriminalpolizei in Canterlot, Empty Valour was one of the few commoners to attend and be photographed. Though only a face in the crowd, somepony was sure to recognise her, a former war hero.
Walking around Canterlot, in the presence of her owner, being trotted out for ponies to see. They seethed in their hatred of her, a pitiful traitor, presented to them as an example how the Hegemony wanted all ponies to be. Meek, servile, fearful, blissfully accepting their subjugation. The ever-present inhibitor ring on her horn a reminder she had been tamed. Empty looked back at her flanks, at her cutie mark. She understood now what it had signified. She was never destined to be showered in accolades and let the glory go to her head. The golden badge on her flank signified she was meant to be something else’s prize.
As Formica enjoyed her afternoon coffee amidst the terrace of one of the city’s fine cafés, Empty sat quietly, noticing a determined Pegasus stride towards them. He was dressed in a uniform of a collaborator of some sort; a repurposed Equestrian one with the national symbols replaced by changeling ones.
He took off his cap with a wing as a sign of respect as he raised a hoof in salute. “Hail Chrysalis, Frau Direktor. Mind if I join you?”
Formica acknowledged him with a wave of her hoof and nodded to the empty chair. He pulled it back as he laid his cap out on the table.
“What does an officer of the Freiwillige Ordnungspolizei want from me? I was not expecting to meet until tomorrow.” Formica seemed mildly annoyed that work had found her on her holiday.
“I am High Road, and have just been assigned liaison to the changeling authorities for its Equestrian enforcement unit. I just happened to come across you as you were out here, enjoying your coffee, and thought I’d introduce myself.” The pegasus explained.
“You have done so now. I hope you were not expecting me to order you a drink?” Formica seemed eager to see him leave again, but the pony then dropped the other horseshoe.
“I also happened to have been assigned to run background checks of fellow collaborators before this assignment and came across your name before. And that of your obedient pony mareservant.” High Road nodded at Empty, looking her directly in the eye, and terror struck her as she finally recognized this stallion.
She had tried to banish her memories of the stalag, but now she remembered she had been interned with this pegasus. And he clearly remembered her, and had actively sought her out.
“You know each other?” Formica looked between them both, and was immediately bemused by the fear written on Empty’s face, and the smug satisfaction on High Road’s. “Do tell.”
“Has High Valour ever told you what she was before she came to be your indentured servant, Frau Direktor?” He asked, letting the suspense hang in the air.
“Empty Valour, liaison officer. She has since changed her name to Empty Valour. Or Empty.” Formica was insistent on humiliating her in front of a fellow Equestrian, but that was not what was bothering Empty.
“Fitting name.” He noted.
“She was some kind of hero in the war against the Lunar Rebellion, wasn’t she?” Formica recalled.
“You mean she hasn’t told you?” High Road then turned his head to Empty, and asked her. “You never told your owner of the event that qualified you to be assigned into the labour program?”
Formica moved closer to the edge of her seat, her ears perked. Empty instead crossed her legs and ducked her head. High Road leaned back, making himself comfortable, savouring her discomfort.
“Let me tell you a story. A story of some very brave ponies from Stalag 4, who wanted to rejoin their nation’s war effort by escaping. These ponies had come together to work on a plan to dig an escape tunnel. The plan was expertly crafted, thought up by an earth pony engineer. For weeks they worked on their tunnel in complete secrecy, and it was near completion when one of the members of the plot decided to take pity on a fellow prisoner. He proposed that she be informed of the tunnel and brought along the next evening as they made their escape. The others all believed it was a bad idea, as she had not only contributed nothing to the scheme, but the more ponies they involved, the greater the risk one might give them all away. And they didn’t know the mare all that well. But putting his hoof down, the group decided to allow him to tell the one other pony of the existence of their tunnel, and to be ready that night.”
“Ooh, I like a good escape plot!” Formica was giddy to hear more.
“The evening, the ponies were removed from their barracks and thrown into the solitary block. After a short interrogation, the entrance to the tunnel was found and collapsed. The next day, the ponies were all gathered on the execution ground, and one by one, the camp doctors drained the prisoners of every last ounce of love, making the process as slow and excruciating as they could so their comrades could hear them scream in agony and despair as every last shred of hope, dignity and joy was taken from them. When at last the final pony had been rendered a soulless cadaver, the mare who had been brought in on their little scheme was finally permitted to drag the lifeless corpses of her fellow ponies out into the mass grave outside the camp and bury them. As she had already done many times for the changelings guarding her. Of course, the changelings knew this was the last time she would ever carry their dead. Word would spread within the camp of the failed attempt, and the kommandant would not allow such a helpful pony to be murdered by her fellow prisoners. And so he rewarded her for her betrayal, by having her transferred into the service of a waiting, welcoming changeling in need of a good little collaborator.”
High Road rose from his seat, picked up his cap and tipped it at Formica as he placed it back on his head. “You’ve done well for yourself, to earn yourself such a mare as your lackey.”
“Apparently, I have. I never knew how lucky I was to have such an enthusiastic, adaptable pony in my service. I am impressed with you, Empty.” Formica beamed with pride as she glanced at her slavish housemaid.
“And so modest to. Truly, an example for all of Equestria.” High Road smiled at Empty, but his eyes betrayed only venom. A deep, unquenched hatred of her personally. “I’m certain we’ll meet again.”
And with that, High Road walked away. And Empty was left to stare at the floor as memories of the heroic High Valour came back to her, and how she became empty.
