99999 watches Smiley get tackled to the floor, more puzzled than worried, because the excited, paint-covered changeling who’s just charged her is distinctly drone-shaped. The hug lasts until 1988 clears his throat and says:

“I know you’ve missed her, 20100, but give her some space to breathe.”

The now identified drone jumps off and lets Smiley return to all fours. Moments later, the hive links of all present changelings connect openly and they finally recognize each other in full.

“99999, I don’t think we’ve met before,” 20100 smiles at the other drone.

“I hatched -uhh, how do ponies say it- about two weeks ago? I think that’s the right amount of worky times- wait, no, it’s more now,” 99999 rubs its head.

“Doesn’t matter,” 20100 waves its hoof dismissively, “It’s nice to meet a newbie outside the hive. What brings you here?”

“A huge moving box on wheels that ponies made called a train,” explains 99999, “It was big, there was a car full of noms, they had tunes- wait, didn’t you ride one on the way here too?”

“Yes, we did, but that's not what I meant,” 20100 nods, “Why are you here?”

99999 points at 1988.

“We were waiting for a train to San Palomino and he told us to come with him.”

“Wow! What and where is that?” 20100 looks at the infiltrator too.

“It’s a desert south of here. What 99999 means is that they’re headed to a small city -large town, really- on its northern edge which is called Northern San Palomino,” he elaborates and points at the various bags the visitors left by the door, “These two look more than well equipped for the rest of the journey, but we can still show them around the city, right?”

“Ah!” 20100 jumps on the spot, “Smiley, what happened to your tablet? Can you talk for real now?”

Smiley shakes her head and starts gesticulating so wildly that 20100 has no clue what any of it might mean.

“It got broken in a fight, believe it or not,” 1988 steps in before 99999 can start repeating the train ambush story, “How about we look around the merchant part of the town for someone who can get us a piece of chalkboard?”

“Oh no!” 20100 gasps, “I mean yes to going out and finding Smiley a new tablet, but oh no to the fight! What happened?”

99999 opens its mouth.

“99999 can repeat the story on the way,” says 1988, “We don’t want to risk having Smiley leave Las Pegasus without a way to communicate, do we?”

99999 closes its mouth.

“Good,” the infiltrator nods, “Go wash up, 20100, you look like an abstract painting yourself. The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll get to hear the story. In the meantime, I’ll feed our two courageous travellers as it seems that love is the one thing they haven’t managed to refill on yet.”

In a burst of green fire, 20100 burns away the top layer of its carapace and looks good as new.

“Done! No time for washing.”

“At least dust yourself off then,” adds 1988, knowing how much of a mess the transformation entails. When 20100 tenses up to shake itself off like a dog, the infiltrator raises his voice, “OUTSIDE.”

“Ah, right!” 20100 nods, and the group leave.

***

1988 leads the group along the outer edge of Las Pegasus, avoiding the tourist center of the city. While they walk, 99999 recaps the story of their whole trip from the Badlands, and the infiltrator notices that it’s slightly different from the version he heard before. It’s not that the drone is deliberately changing it, but while it was talking to the infiltrator only, the story was more matter-of-fact, while now that it’s retelling it to another drone, there are way more excited tangents relating to drone life, detailed descriptions of unimportant stuff, and way more wild gesticulation. 1988 doesn’t mind. It makes the story harder to follow, but it keeps everyone from getting distracted by the occasional shiny sign even in this part of the city.

“So you got your head exploded somehow, and then you re-hatched?” asks 20100 in a genuinely impressed tone, “That’s super useful. I wish all drones had this kind of power.”

Smiley rapidly nods.

“It doesn’t feel that great when the fresh egg isn’t finished. I’m kinda hungry all the time, even if I’m not hungry hungry. It’s tough to explain,” says 99999, “This reminds me that I forgot to start making a new one after 1988 fed us.”

“I wonder,” 1988 joins in, “Is the original 99999 dead and you a copy with some older version of its memories, or are you really always connected to your egg and basically have your own tiny hive mind?”

“Uhhhhhh…” is 99999’s best guess, “I think I recall everything? It all fits with what the train crew told me happened between when I died and hatched again.”

“Incredible,” 1988 nods, impressed, “I’m starting to get jealous that drones have the good changeling stuff and higher classes don’t - digging, conditional immortality, all that jazz.”

“That’s why the Queen sent me on this trip. When I got eaten in the tunnels during worky time and re-hatched later, 10000 examined me, we did some tests, remade my egg, and then it showed me to the Queen. She’s really big! And kinda spooky.”

“That she is,” agrees the infiltrator.

“Then the Queen said she needed someone durable to repay a debt and that I’ll be sent away to live in a nice place elsewhere,” for the first time during the conversation, 99999’s happy tone fades a little, “I’m curious but I miss home- the hive. ‘s not a home anymore…” it mumbles in the end before perking up, “Hey, since you knew we were coming, do you know where we’re going?”

“I don’t,” 1988 shakes his silver-maned head, “The order preceding your arrival only said to expect you and help you if needed. I have no idea why the Queen would be sending you to Northern San Palomino.”

“I think I do,” 20100 beams, “Come to think about it, Smiley might know too, but if it’s supposed to be a surprise, I’m not ruining it.”

“Interesting. I’d like to hear that theory after our friends here leave,” 1988 raises an eyebrow before his eyes lock on a house with ‘Everything Workshop’ written above the door, “Excellent. This should be the place. It’s way past closing time, but I know the owner lives in the back part of the store and if she’s not outside we have the bits to pay for the extra service.”

After some doorbell ringing, a frowning mare opens the door. One hushed conversation followed by some jingling of gold in a presented pouch later, she lets 1988 and the others inside, watching the trio of drones much more closely than the infiltrator. 99999 is roaming free, not touching anything but trying to discern what all the weird “thingies” could be usable for without using 1988’s hive link for information. The world of mechanical repair, carpentry, and overall tinkering, however, remains entirely locked to it until it gives up and connects to the infiltrator. With the knowledge in its grasp now, it’s time for round two of darting through the store from item to item.

1988 sticks to their business and finds a section with chalkboards. With Smiley being the testing ponnequin and 20100 commenting on various problems that might come up while walking around with variously sized and shaped chalkboards around her neck, they eventually call on the mare and ask for some extra work on a chosen piece. Money talks once again, and roughly twenty minutes later they leave the store with Smiley equipped with two chalkboards, each with added, adjustable leather strap instead of Smiley’s old collection of odd strings gooped together.

“We’ve managed to kill about an hour and a half. Plenty of time to spare,” says 1988 when the group stand outside on the street again, “How about we have a look around the city?” he looks down as 99999 starts vibrating on the spot, waving its foreleg, and looking at him, “Yes, the shiny, tourist part of the city.”

Originally, 1988 was half expecting Smiley to immediately start writing as soon as she got the tablet, but she does nothing of the sort and just keeps fiddling with the straps and figuring out how clamps work whenever 99999 gets too excited and they stop to look at what caused it.

“What is THAT?!” 99999 calls out for the hundredth time today, immediately floating towards a neon XXX sign lighting up a side alley, “Look, it’s a buzzing shiny and I can feel a weird kind of love from the inside! It must be made for us,” it rushes through a door under the sign before 1988 can stop it. Not even five seconds later, 99999 walks back out, nose scrunched and frowning, “There’s a big pony inside who said no miners allowed…”

“Yes, uhh,” 1988 looks for a proper explanation, “That place is more for infiltrators than drones,” when they return to the main street, he looks around and points to a festively decorated place with a chilli pepper neon sign, “How about we try some marexican food?”

“Neat, we haven’t tried those kinds of noms yet,” comments 20100.

“Oooh, noms? Sure, let’s go!” 99999 quickly trots next to casually striding 1988, “What’s special about these?”

“Marexican food can get pretty spicy, but it’s not just that. You’ll see for yourself,” replies the infiltrator and leads the group into the lively bistro.

They earn only a few puzzled stares from other ponies, but they quickly occupy a table for four and Smiley finally finds herself in a familiar situation as one of the two folded pieces of hard paper on the table reads “Menu”. On top of that, there’s a picture next to each item so 99999 and Smiley start exploring one menu and 1988 and 20100 take the other. Unfortunately, pictures don’t mean that much when no drone has any clue what’s in them, so after some explanation by 1988, who isn’t too familiar with the diet himself, 20100 picks a bean burrito because it likes the ‘brr’ sound, Smiley opts for a quesadilla and starts trying to write the word down on her tablet from memory, and 99999 tries some kind of a casserole mix because it looks like there’s everything in it and it’s supposedly extra spicy, whatever that means. The important part is that extra means more, and if 99999 only has one chance to try this particular kind of noms, it will use it to its fullest.

While waiting for their food, Smiley finally tests her new tablet, writing:

[Can write again! Got shinies. Trade for noms.]

“Don’t worry about it, I’m paying,” 20100 shakes its head, “Shinies are no problem. That’s why we were sent to Las Pegasus in the first place.”

“Keep your voice down, all of you,” orders 1988 and pauses while Smiley wipes her tablet and writes something. It’s the same message in smaller letters, and the infiltrator can’t help but pat her head with a smile, “Yes, we are here to get money for the hive. Technically, 20100 is here to do that, I was picked to accompany it because I supposedly had the most experience with cooperating with a drone on a mission. Considering that all I ever did was open up a path for changeling survivors to join the logging camp over six years ago with 9999, that’s somewhat sad.”

“I thought we drones are supposed to dig shinies up back home- in the hive to give to your high ranks so that you can give those to ponies, or not?” asks 99999, “Now you’re… getting shinies from ponies to give to… different ponies?”

“It’s way more complicated,” 1988 relaxes in his chair but still keeps his voice low, “Equestria is rich in natural gold and gems, so the price of what you excavate is nowhere near as high as if we were selling to the Empire or Zebrican states. In general, what is worth is the work put into cutting the gems, smelting and purifying gold and silver, and crafting specific items, from jewelry to technological parts. Since we can’t do that, we’re relying on selling raw minerals to specialized buyers here in Equestria.”

“Why aren’t you guys selling what we dig out to the Griffon Empire and this ‘Zebrican states’ place?” asks 20100, surprising 1988 by knowing at least what the shorthand Empire means.

“There are a lot of factors - griffons despise us and we haven’t been able to establish fake fronts to do business through. As for the zebras, it’s mostly about distance and logistics in general, import taxes in various states of the Northern coast, and so on,” 1988 shakes his head and shrugs, “I could go on forever about the bureaucratic hurdles we have to climb, but you’d understand about half the words and even fewer of the concepts. The short version is that by using 20100’s unnatural luck to repeatedly win small amounts in the various casinos in the city while using disguises so that we’re not able to be tracked, we’re doing the equivalent of weeks of drone work in days. This leaves other infiltrators free to harvest love, which in turn makes things easier for the hive overall.”

“Weeks? Wow!” 99999 ponders something for a moment, “Does one of you bring the shinies back to the hive or how does it work?”

“I am not explaining the banking system to you, little guy,” 1988 chuckles, “Let’s just say that we don’t need to move the money ourselves.”

“Can this ‘banking’ thing make shinies appear elsewhere?” the drone’s guess is, honestly, valid enough for the infiltrator to give just a brief summary.

“You’re kind of close. We give the money to the bank -that’s a version of a store- here in Las Pegasus and they just send a message to a different bank in a different city that the right kind of a pony can use the same amount of money from their, um, stash and they physically move the money later when they have the time.”

The drone processes it for several minutes, but no one adds anything and 1988 enjoys the silence.

“Ohh, that’s so smart!” it eventually smiles when it’s able to imagine the situation, “That’s like the carrying we drones do back in the hive if we’re digging out a huge seam! Diggers pool all the findings in a big pile which a carrying drone on duty picks up and moves all at once.”

“Close,” 1988 nods, “In the most simplified sense, that is.”

Smiley softly taps her hoof on the table while raising her tablet with the other.

[20100 miss home?]

“Yep, a lot,” the drone nods, “My hooves are all itchy from all the digging that I’m not doing, but painting helps. I painted pictures of a bunch of drones and have those in our hotel room. I totally don’t talk to them at all when 1988 isn’t around.”

The infiltrator reaches over and pats 20100’s head.

“As long as they don’t start talking back, it’s alright. We’ll be coming back after the New Year’s, that’s in about two weeks,” he says, “The tourist season will be over and, without the crowds, we might be too easy to track. Besides, we need to let the casinos recover. I think we’ll be doing this twice or three times a year-” when 20100 grumbles to itself, 1988 sighs, “Yes, I understand that it means you won’t get to spend Hard Swarming Eee with the others during 65536’s visits. That’s part of serving the hive, 20100. I believe, though, that if you ask for it, the Queen will allow you to regularly visit 65536 in Canterlot at a different time, maybe with company.”

“Huuh,” 20100 looks up at the ceiling, “A drone field trip…”

While the drone ponders the future possibilities, the waiter arrives with the food and the group digs in.

“Eeep! I think this noms is made from burny melty somethings!” 99999 immediately suffers from sensory overload.

“You wanted it, now you have to fight through it,” 1988 snickers, “It won’t harm you, it’ll just feel like it.”

“Aaah aaah! I breathed in and now my neck is burning from the inside!” In contrast to its complaining, the drone shovels another spoon into its mouth, “Noms is fighting back but I’ll get you!” it suddenly freezes and carefully puts the spoon down.

“Did the spiciness finally get to you?” asks 1988, smirking.

“It doesn’t want to be eaten…” 99999 breathes out. 1988 raises an eyebrow when even 20100 and Smiley carefully put their own food down, “I didn’t want to get eaten and the biter still ate me. Am I eating something that-?”

“Let me stop you right there,” 1988 rolls his eyes, his voice low and calm but also firm, “It’s just a specific taste caused by certain oils inside one of the ingredients of the meal. Some plants just taste like that, calm down.”

Let’s not get into the fact that 20100 is currently eating a beef and bean burrito and Smiley’s quesadilla ISN’T the vegetable kind either. Ponies can eat meat, although they mostly don’t in Equestria, and Las Pegasus does get a ton of griffon tourists. I’m pretty sure that 99999’s casserole has both chicken and beef but nothing in the world is going to make me look at the ingredients list right now.

“You’re not killing anything,” the infiltrator turns his statement into a technically correct one.

“Phew!” 99999 lets out a sigh of relief. Moral quandary over, all three drones resume eating. 1988 slowly breathes out and puts the menus away, face down on the table.

***

Even this late into the evening, there’s only the lightest dusting of snow in the streets of Las Pegasus.

With enough time to spare before the San Palomino train’s departure, 1988 slowly leads the two drones and Smiley through the center of Las Pegasus. They’re not about to visit any of the packed gambling establishments, but it’s clear that the drones are enjoying it nonetheless. 99999 is darting from side to side of the promenade, visibly unable to decide where to run off first while doing nothing in the end, and even 20100 who is used to the city by now is casually trotting along while smiling and looking around. The only one who is resisting the allure of shiny, shifting signs, public spectacle, and beckoning voices is Smiley who looks as if she’s deep in thought about something. 1988 isn’t sure how deep in thought can a “recovering” Silent be, but despite him meeting Smiley about twice since the logging camp while he was patrolling the tunnels, he heard about her incredible progress, and now he can see it with his own eyes so he doesn’t disturb her. Eventually, something catches her eye, she taps the side of 1988’s barrel, and the group stops. Unlike, let’s say, Manehattan, the center of the wide promenade isn’t reserved for carriages, so their sudden stop doesn’t bother any of the tourists forming the steady flow of life on the wide street.

Smiley writes for a moment before pointing at 20100 and showing her work.

[Put shiny into spinny box, spinny box make more shinies. Tiny boxes always show six dots. Yes?]

“The gambling thing?” 20100 catches on quickly, “Yes, and not just that. Roulette - spinny balls, always land where I bet unless someone is directly manipulating them. With cards, it really depends on the game. I generally just have this feeling about what I need to do to win.”

[Idea. News paper!]

Smiley points to a nearby lit stand with various newspapers and magazines displayed layered on racks in front of it while the stallion vendor is inside, currently serving a customer.

“Let’s see what this idea is,” 1988 nods towards the stand, curious what plan Smiley has managed to brew inside her head, and the group heads over.

Smiley takes a newspaper from the rack at random, quickly flips through it, shakes her head, and puts it back. The speed with which she does makes it clear to 1988 that she’s looking for something in particular and very easy to spot, likely a picture. By the time she reaches for the next newspaper on the rack, the vendor has served the customer and notices Smiley flipping through the merchandise.

“Hey, changeling, put that back!” he calls out, shaking his hoof at Smiley, “If you want one, buy it first.”

Smiley returns the paper and writes on her tablet:

[Not know which one. Where smiling pony with numbers?]

The vendor scowls but finally notices 1988 who gives him a soft smile while flicking a lock of his silver hair off of his face.

“Accommodate the young lady, please,” says the androgynous, at best, infiltrator in a friendly tone, not looking for any conflict here in the open, especially when the changelings are clearly in the wrong, “Of course, we’ll pay for the paper she already smudged with her hooves before,” he pulls out the stained paper and puts it on the counter.

Disarmed, the vendor smiles back.

“Uhh, of course, um, Miss?”

1988 doesn’t correct him for a couple reasons. One - by now he’s used to being mistaken for a tall mare, two - sex and gender are moot points for a changeling anyway, and three - the best advantage is the one your opponent gives you unforced. He just counts off the coins while Smiley keeps her tablet raised so that the vendor can notice her over the counter again.

“Oh, right, smiling pony with numbers- do you mean a lottery ad?” the stallion points to the second display rack with magazines, “I’m pretty sure there are a bunch in any edition of those.”

Excited, Smiley opens a coloured collection of scribbles for the first time, but controls herself and flips through, looking for a specific ad. She doesn’t find the one she remembers from the newspaper she read on the train, but finds a very similar one which she shows to 1988.

“We’ll take this one too, then,” says the infiltrator and pays.

The changelings regroup a short distance away so that 1988, being the only one with a saddlebag, can put the newspaper and the magazine away.

“A lottery,” 20100 shakes his head, “You’re smart, Smiley, but we already tried that and it didn’t work. You gotta buy a ticket with numbers and we bought a ton and almost none won, and those that did only got us back a couple bits.”

[You no pick numbers? Sorry.]

Smiley sighs.

“Actually,” 1988 rubs his chin in thought, “You can pick your own numbers and have them print a registered ticket for some lotteries. I’m no gambling expert, but maybe we discarded the idea too soon. There should be a lottery office on the promenade and I don’t doubt it’ll still be open - night drunks make the ‘best’ decisions. If we hurry, we might even catch tonight’s drawing on the radio before you guys leave,” he starts quickly striding along the street, forcing the drones to trot along, “Let’s give it a shot.”

***

The train station clock shows half past ten, and the four changelings, two of whom have been re-backpacked, are sitting inside a train station bar, listening to the radio. 1988 waves at the bartender.

“Can you switch the station to some with the lottery drawings?”

“Feeling lucky, buggo?” asks the tending mare with ears covered in piercings with a smirk.

“Something like that,” 1988 winks at her, “Maybe not just in the lottery, hmm?” he adds as an afterthought. It always pays to spread one’s webs.

The mare chuckles and switches the radio station.

“My shift ends at one, but I’ve got tomorrow off for Hearth’s Warming. How about that, pretty boy?”

“I’ll call my secretary to free my extremely busy schedule,” 1988 sticks his tongue at her, “Tomorrow at ten, Gilded Hearts casino?”

“Don’t keep me waiting, lovebug.”

With one last flirty smile, she leaves to tend to the other patrons. Picking the more adventurous ponies out of a crowd is a critical skill for an infiltrator, and while 1988 could have opted for an evening meeting, spending a day with someone as a good companion makes the feeding afterwards far more rewarding than just a lustful quickie. Contrary to an unfortunately very general belief, changelings tend to avoid working in brothels unless it’s for a quick recharge. Long-term feeding on only lust is unhealthy or downright dangerous, and the few changelings who manage to adapt to such a lifestyle become… weird.

The radio starts announcing the drawing for the correct lottery, and 1988 exchanges looks with 20100 as the numbers fit one to one, including the bonus number. The only reason why 20100 doesn’t go “YAAAAAAY! IT WORKS!” is because 1988 uses the hive link for the first time to order all of them:

“Don’t give off any sign that we won. Finish your drinks, let’s pay up, and leave.”

The train station is only slightly less lively as when Smiley and 99999 arrived due to the passengers departing on various overnight trains, but the changelings do manage to find a calmer spot on the platform from which the Northern San Palomino train will be leaving in twenty minutes. Only now does 1988 open up the subject of the lottery again, and even that is after looking around and in a lowered voice.

“The Queen needs to know we can use these kinds of lotteries after all. With cash flow like this, all the hive needs are some proper investments and we’ll never want for bits anymore. Guess you can’t spell gambling without this particular ling,” he rubs 20100’s head.

Smiley raises her tablet: [Gamb.]

“Can’t argue with that,” the infiltrator shrugs with a chuckle, “Well, I guess the hardest part of the mission is ahead of us - how to pick up all that money up without getting recognized and assassinated. But that’s my job. Don’t worry, 20100.”

“I picked my favorite changelings for the bonus number!” 20100 beams, “99 for 9999, 36 for 36658, and 10 for 10000. The main number I picked with the power of my fuzzy feelsies, woooo!” the drone makes a ghost noise and waves its forelegs in a manner that’s supposed to be mysterious. It’s not, but the thought counts.

While 1988 plans the money pickup with 20100, 99999 nudges Smiley and whispers into her ear.

“You’re a big hero of the hive now! You gotta tell 10000 that and everything will be okay again.”

[Maybe.]

“Hey, guys,” 99999 pokes the infiltrator this time, “Mind telling the Queen that Smiley helped?”

“I will be giving the report in full, and definitely include this,” 1988 nods, “She’s bound to be happy to hear you got here despite some… hiccups.”

Satisfied, 99999 opens its backpack, pulls out the package of assorted candy it bought when they first arrived and, like a good drone, shares it with everyone. Its and Smiley’s final twenty minutes in Las Pegasus trickle away quickly, and they soon depart on the final leg of their mysterious journey, waving through a window at 1988 and 20100 sitting on his back while waving with both forelegs at once.

Hard Swarming in Northern San Palomino awaits.

Author's Note

This one was supposed to be split in two, but I realized I must have messed up at some point before. That's what happens when you have a whole chapter in one document and you try to split scenes into parts that aren'T too long or short.