On Their Majesty's Shapeshifting Service
On Their Majesty’s Shapeshifting Service
The Diamond Dogs’ cavern stank like a cavern full of Diamond Dogs. Three days of walking around the place with their olfactory powers but without being accustomed to the background hum: she’d puked four times in the first day and that would’ve blown her cover if she hadn’t hit people and told them to mind their own business. That convinced them she was really a Diamond Dog.
She’d thought it would be easy. They were all thickos, right? As long as you had the right shape – a box on your head with a dogface drawn on it might be enough – they wouldn’t pay attention, right? Turns out pretending to be thick for hours on end was difficult, never mind all the little bits of Diamond Dog culture and customs that neither she nor her handlers had ever heard of. The rules for scent marking were as long as the Neighyeux Tapestry, for Celestia’s sake.
And then there was the fact that if you were weak, it was acceptable to go into your room and nick your stuff. The real Arf was hidden in, yes, his room. She was pretty sure the other dogs thought Arf was being a right wuss these past three days and the tipping point was unknown. Did the Diamond Dogs know about changelings?
The target would know. If he found out, weeks of planning went up Augean Creek. Same if someone found the cameras she’d stashed around the main cavern.
That’s assuming the target even turned up. She knew that was a gamble. Also a gamble, hoping her escorts would be there if she had to make a break for it. And, frankly, it was a gamble about whether she’d catch something from the food here because eeww.
That’s when the target wandered in and everything went right for about, oh, one whole minute.
It had been a bright day in Trottingham, warm and the breeze smelling of acorns, when the two unicorns had called at her house.
“Miss Honey Doo?”
Oh, not Hooves Witnesses again, she’d thought. “Speaking?”
“We’re from the Watch Security Service. It would be best all round if you didn’t try and escape, ma’am.”
The bottom of everything fell out. She thought of arguing – she had no idea what they were talking about, she was just a normal earth pony, she’d never even dropped litter – and then she’d hoped they meant something else, but when the darker-hued unicorn asked if she was able to take “your true form”, she knew it was over.
She did think of running but there wasn’t anywhere to run to.
He was called Stone Cutter and he was a big name in the rock-farming and mining businesses. He was a big pony too; he not only had his feet in all the pies, he’d gone and eaten them all too. A cutie-mark of a pickaxe and a bit stood on his flank, and he wore a shirt with that same mark – the logo for his company – emblazoned all over it. The shirt was ugly, the sort of ugly you could get away with if you were minted.
And wouldn’t you know, Diamond Dog raiders had attacked some of his competitors. And right in time for him to bid for a contract on the Griffin Kingdom borders! The raiders were getting exponentially better armed and trained too, which shouldn’t be happening unless they were getting support, and that meant there was a cross-border security issue.
And then they’d raided a griffin mining operation and when one of the workers had been a bit too slow flying away…
Well. The griffins were unhappy. The Intelligence Service had promised they’d sort out “your own mess”, which meant Honey Doo was going ‘on holiday’ to Grifsbourg.
And what did Stone Cutter have to say about this?
“They’re building too quickly, can you attack them again?” He spoke sloooowwwwwly and LOUDLY to the Alpha Male, because he was that sort of guy. “You can have many shiny pennies and big sticks for it.”
“Duhhh, sure boss!” said the Alpha Male, because it helped for people like Stone Cutter to think you were stupid(er). When you were a changeling, you became very good at picking up other pony’s masks. “We do that!”
They shook hoof/paws. (Stone Cutter wiped his hoof clean when the dog wasn’t looking) That was good. They’d done it right in front of one of her hidden cameras. Game, set—
“Ooooh, pretty!” A particularly ugly Diamond Dog was pulling her camera from a stalactite. “What’s it do?”
Bum.
They’d left her in the waiting room to fester. She’d dropped her amber earth pony form for her natural form – there wasn’t much point keeping up appearances.
What did the WSS do to changelings? You never heard. Back when she was with the Hive, there’d been rumours. Everyone knew what the griffins and the buffalo and the minotaur did, but the ponies… Well, they were ‘nice’. They had ‘appearances’.
They could do anything to you in secret. Anything.
It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything. Honey Doo had been fictional, she hadn’t replaced anyone. (She’d been too scared, what if she was caught?) Honey Doo had been a good pony, hadn’t she? She did a little job working in a bakery, she didn’t fight with anyone, she was always ready to act in the local pantomime. She’d had a good three years.
She didn’t deserve whatever they did.
A mule came into the room, a thick wad of reports and a quill clamped in his teeth: she recognised him, it was Mike from down the road. (He also said he worked in office supplies…) An unknown unicorn, a set of scales on her flank, followed him. He settled them down, spread out the papers, and finally looked up at her.
“Do you wish to be called Honey Doo or, ah, Tsect?”
“Does it matter?”
“We’ll stick with Honey Doo for now. There’s just a few questions to ask.”
They went on for ten minutes: was she impersonating anyone? Had she brainwashed anyone for feeding purposes? Was she in contact with other changelings? On and on. No, no, no, yes, no, in a dull montone.
Finally, Mike turned to the unicorn: “Well?”
“No.”
He smiled. “Good. Miss Doo, you are free to go.”
Wait, what?
“We’ve been checking your background and Truthbelle here has been lie-detecting your answers. All unregistered changelings have to be investigated but since you’ve not committed any crimes, you have the right to liberty and privacy under Articles 5 and 8 of the Sentient Right Acts. As far as everyone but the WSS is concerned, you’re an earth pony.”
She almost wept with relief.
She almost wet herself.
Now she was going to have to do something very dumb.
With a battlecry of “AAAAARRRRGGG”, she leapt onto the dog and smashed his face into the stalactite. She grabbed the camera as he dropped it and scanned for easy exits – of which there were none. And Stone Cutter was scared and about to ID her as a spy, which would wreck any investigation.
So she went back into changeling form.
SKREEEEEEEEEEEE
Half the pack ran in terror of this screaming thing in their midst and the other half seemed reluctant to tackle her. As long as their fear held—
“It’s a changeling!” yelled Stone Cutter. “Those things attacked Canterlot last month, they’re merciless! You have to kill it before it brings more!”
Oh thank YOU.
The spell was broken and the first few Dogs were running towards her, arms wide to grab and mouths open and slavering. Then the rest followed.
Only a changeling who'd had incredible amounts of love to feed on could survive.
She’d gone ten days before strangers called at her house again. It had been four days since the Wedding Battle and she’d been hoping, truly hoping, that nobody would think she was involved. Now, she was just glad they’d come when she was alone at home.
Mike was there, looking worried; another pony, a non-descript pegasus with steel in her eyes; and someone else, hidden in a cloak.
“You are definitely alone, Miss Doo?” asked Mike.
“Y-Yes. Look, I didn’t know anything about—“
The stranger took her cloak off and oh Tarturus, it was bloody Princess Luna.
“We have a favour to ask of you.”
The shockwave smashed the horde away like a great fist, but Honey Doo was already in flight before they could recover. Another green blast tore from her horn into the Diamond Dogs’ blocking the nearest exit; the door went flying with them.
Somedog tried to jump on her back and she kicked it, hard, right in the chest.
And then she flew faster than she’d ever done before, hoping she was following the right tunnels, as the hordes chased after him.
I’m going to make it. I am going to make it.
“Our Intelligence Service has always had the problem that our little ponies stand out in certain nations, and we don’t always have enough suitable agents from other species.” By this point, it was clear Luna wasn’t here to personally kill her. “A shapeshifter would be the answer to our problems. You would be given suitable training, cover stories, and would otherwise be allowed to live your life. I cannot promise that this will be risk free and I will not insult you by claiming otherwise.”
Honey Doo finally shut her dropped jaw. “Um. I do have a choice?”
“Of course,” said Luna, puzzled. “Why did you think otherwise?”
“I’m a. Mm. You know.”
“Oh, that. Ms Doo, I almost destroyed the entire world in eternal darkness; you were just born. We do not come to you demanding redemption or payment for being allowed to live. We request your service, to do a job few can do.” She paused. “And to protect our loved ones.”
Well. Luna had done her homework.
“I have a few questions, your majesty.”
The ground exploded and a green flare lit the night, and none noticed how a fleeing changeling became a fleeing earth pony. The Diamond Dogs, however, tend to chase anything that flees on general principle and their bloodlust was up. She was cutting it damn fine by doing this and hoping the escorts were nearby, screw her cover what about escaping from certain violent death—
In a sudden lurch, she was airborne and the yelps of frightened dogs came from behind her.
“You cut that fine!” A griffin in the blue-on-grey barding of the Griffinic Forces was holding her (a little too) tightly; he sounded amused. “Bet you wish you could fly, eh?”
Ho flipping ho. “I’ve got photographic evidence! We’ve got him busted and the raids can start on that pack!”
“Booya!”
She had three days left on her holiday cover story. She could do with it now…
It was late before Honey Doo’s debriefing had finished and she could trot back to the hotel. She was tired, sore, and fed up of the flipping forms.
When she got in, an excitable black shape screamed “MUMMEEEEEE” and ran over to hug her leg; her husband followed, smiling. She drank deep and the fatigue went away.
It was a good life.
THE END
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AUTHOR’S NOTES: The names of security services had been pinched from Norway.