Some things never change. I’m not talking about the dangers I encounter, being a police officer, or the paperwork I have to file to account for every little thing I do in the line of duty. Those never change either, but right now I’m thinking of something a little more personal. Specifically, the battle for the last creme-filled jelly doughnut, which is floating out of the box and under the break room table straight to me, sparkling blue just like my horn.
“Officer Madison!” Lt. Griffiths snatches the doughnut just short of my open mouth and waggles a finger playfully. “What is that, three doughnuts this morning?”
Yeah, that’s me… Frank Madison. Maybe you know me. Maybe you think you know me. I’ve damn sure been on the news enough times. That’s not why I became a cop or a pony, but when you’re one of the first pony police officers in a big city, it’s news. There’s no avoiding that.
Why did I sign up to take the Big Gulp if I didn’t want the attention? Well, why not? We’ve all got to go sometime. Why wouldn’t I want to get a leg up, get my hoof… foot in the door?
Sure the science guys say there’s still years and years before ponyland finishes swallowing the Earth, and they say they’re working on a way to stop it, but I’d bet my pension they’re stumped and lying their asses off. Doesn’t matter anyway… if people don’t panic now, they’ll panic worse when everybody’s gotta change or die and there’s almost no time left. If you’re smart, you’ll pick your Potion now, same as I did!
I match Griffiths’ smirk. “I’m a pony, lieutenant. I need the extra sugar, especially when I’m working my mojo.” I point a hoof at my still-sparkling horn. “I’ve got a note from my doctor and everything.”
Griffith chuckles and lets go of the doughnut. “I still say you’ll be a pudgy pony at this rate.”
I reel the doughnut in and take a big bite out of it, chewing quickly so I can answer without my mouth being full. “The doc said a little pudge is healthy too, if you can believe it. Ponies, who can figure ‘em?”
“Well, if you don’t know, then I’m certainly not qualified!” Griffith gives the rest of the doughnuts a long sigh before taking a piece of fruit instead. “I’ll see you later, Madison.”
I nod. “Later, Lieutenant.”
-
I finish my doughnut and wash it down with some coffee with extra sugar. Then it’s time to suit up, so I trot on down to the men’s lockers. Miller and Detective Perez are there, discussing a case I’m not familiar with. I acknowledge them with a nod and head for my locker.
Grasp the locker door and handle with my magic, twist the handle just so. Hold it and pivot the door on its hinges… easy as pie. I’ve come a long way since those first few days, when my horn was only good for making sparks and my hooves felt like useless blunt objects and sometimes I just wanted to swear and scream at the top of my lungs.
Not that I ever did. At least, not where anybody could hear me. I didn’t become a cop so I could whine when things got tough, either.
I remove my off-duty vest and hang that up first. When I’m not working, I could trot around buck naked and nobody would care much. I don’t really feel naked since I changed, and the moral outrage types have mostly given it up as a lost cause, but it just feels like I ought to stay in the habit of wearing something, even if it’s just a token, something that says I’m not an animal. Preferably something with pockets.
So I’m not too worried about hurrying or covering up while I put on my bulletproof work vest and harness. The black leather looks good on my silver coat and blue mane. I’m still allowed a little vanity, aren’t I? I make sure everything’s where it’s supposed to be: department and rank patches, badge, bodycam, and the rest. Lastly, I inspect and clean my gun before reloading it and double-checking the safety, using my magic for everything, every step of the way. I barely even hesitate before I secure it in the holster on my harness.
What? Is it really that obvious? Christ...
Yeah, you’re right on the money. The gun’s been bothering me. It’s been bothering me a lot, actually. You’re probably wondering, why would a cop have a problem with guns? I don’t. No, the Potion didn’t brainwash me into some kind of pony pacifist, don’t get me started on that crap. The gun isn’t the problem. I am.
I’m a unicorn. What do I need a gun for, when I’ve got magic? I’m no Jedi Knight, but shouldn’t I be conjuring up shields and laughing while bullets bounce right off? Yanking the guns right outta the bad guys’ hands? Shooting freeze rays and stopping crooks right in their tracks? It’s true, I’m not that good yet, but I will be! It’s like anything worth doing, I just have to practice more, work harder, and then my magic really will be the best tool for the job!
If I need any more incentive… It’s for damned certain nobody with any sense wants to see “Pony shoots human!” all over the headlines. You know they would, no matter what happened or whose fault it was.
But here’s the thing… a cop’s not really a cop if he isn’t packing heat, is he? It’s hard enough for humans to take it seriously when a pony shouts, “Police, freeze!” Regulations agree, they say I have to carry a gun, no ifs, ands, or buts.
Technically, the regs also say that I’m out of uniform if I’m not wearing pants, but that got waived. My ears are still burning from the time I had listen to the chief of police argue with two department lawyers about what “reasonable accommodations” the police force had to make. By law. For me, because I’m a pony.
Can we talk about something else now?
-
The first item on my schedule today is training. Every other day, I get an hour of magic tutoring with Grand Conjunction, a scruffy gray unicorn with a goatee and a bowtie. Back in that other world or country or whatever, Equestria, he’s a professor at some big important university. I mostly know him as a big pain in the flank. Ass, pain in the ass.
“That’s it, just like that,” he says soothingly, nodding at the balloon that’s glowing with my magic, floating in a big bowl of water. “Keep drawing the energy out.”
I nod fractionally, brow furrowed and concentrating hard. I almost lose my focus when the balloon finally starts to move, contracting as a layer of frost forms over the water. Then I let go, panting and sitting my hindquarters down. “That’s pretty nifty, professor. I don’t think any criminals will be particularly impressed, though.”
Professor Conjunction scoffs. “Well, you did want to know about freezing spells. This is one way that it can be done. As for attuning to elemental fire or ice and channeling them directly… unfortunately, that’s a much more advanced topic."
I smile. “Why am I not surprised?”
The Professor chuckles. “Frank, if a Potion could teach a unicorn to be an archmage overnight, then we’d use that method of learning ourselves, and… well, I’d be out of a job. No, magic is like… hrrm, like a sport, yes. You practice the easy steps until they’re second nature, and then you’re ready for the advanced moves! If it’s any comfort, you already have better stamina and control than a lot of lazy born-unicorns I could name.”
I nod along with him. “I know, I know, but in the meantime I could really use something more, you know, practical!”
“Well, I’m no Guard, Frank.” He waggles a hoof at me. “And you should have a Guard giving you that specialized training, and for that I do apologize. There’s just so many of you ‘new foals,’ spread over such a wide area… it’s left us terribly short-hooved.”
I glance at the frozen balloon again, and a thought occurs to me. “Say… what happens if I push the energy the other way?”
“No, wait!” shouts the professor.
But my horn is already lit. The frozen water churns and boils, and seconds later the balloon explodes! I yelp, diving to avoid getting splashed.
Not the professor, though. He stands where he is, safe from hot water and flying bits of rubber behind a glowing orange barrier. “And what did we learn from that, Frank?” he asks, mildly annoyed.
“I learned how to get you to show me a shield spell,” I quip, before ducking the soaking wet towel he throws at me.
-
Next up is the morning roll call. Sergeant Ward once again assigns me to foot patrol in the inner city blocks, and that suits me just fine. I can still drive a squad car if I really have to, and if I move the seat all the way forward, but it just doesn’t feel natural sitting upright like that. All the chairs in the world aren’t going to change overnight, even if we do.
On the way back, I can’t help but linger as I pass by Records. Jessica Thompson is there, in her office with an open counter at the door. She’s a pony like me, wearing a simple frock over a soft lilac coat, with the biggest, most beautiful golden eyes you ever saw. Her horn is sparked up the same shade of gold, moving two boxes of file folders and typing on her computer keyboard all at the same time, pure poetry in motion. From a previous meeting, I know that there’s a picture perfect icon of a filing cabinet on her flanks.
I clear my throat. “Hey there…” Words like “babe” and “filly” linger on the tip of my tongue, just like her slim, shapely hoof moves to linger over the official forms for reporting sexual harassment in the workplace. “Miss Thompson.”
Her flat stare warms up just a bit, from frosty to mildly amused. I bet Johnny Dollar never had to put up with anything like this. “Hay is for horses, Mr. Madison.” Still working, she floats a stack of pages out of a printer and staples them without even turning her head to look. “We should be clear about something. I’m not going on a date with you just because we’re both unicorns. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
I can’t resist grinning slyly. “So, there is a chance?”
She gives me another look. “Do you mind if I ask a personal question?”
“Not at all, Miss Thompson,” I answer, caught off guard. “Shoot.”
She actually stops filing papers and dowses her horn, giving me her full attention for the moment. “Are you sure you want to be a cop? Is that really what you want to do with your new life?”
I blink, turning that over in my head for a good five seconds. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
“Where’s your cutie mark, Officer Madison?” She motions with a hoof. “Shouldn’t you have a gun on your flank by now, or a pair of handcuffs or something?”
Shot right in the heart. “I try not to think about it,” I say, glancing away.
That’s not what she was expecting, clearly. “Shouldn’t you be?”
I take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Dr. Sound Mind… she said that when a pony takes a while to get their mark, it’s usually because they’re trying too hard. I’m supposed to relax, do what comes natural, go with my gut. When the time is right, I’ll know it.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. It might even be sincere. “Uh huh. Let me know how that works out for you.”
As I leave Records, I find my thoughts veering off into places they haven’t been since high school. What if I get my mark, and it’s got nothing to do with policing? What the hell do I do then? Change jobs and ‘follow my mark?’ Buck destiny and keep being a cop anyway? What if something’s wrong with the Potion, or something’s wrong with me and I never get a mark at all?
Sheesh, listen to me, getting all worked up about the tattoo that I don’t have on my ass. I guess when you keep meeting folks who all look mostly like you, just different colors, the one thing that's missing can get awkward.
I’m too old for this crap.
-
Starting over seems to be a theme with me lately. It’s like a bad penny that doesn’t know when to stop turning up. They say that ponies live longer than humans, so at least if I make it through this, I’ll get the time I spent learning to be a pony back with interest.
Back when I was first able to work again after Conversion, it really did feel like I’d become a rookie cop all over again. I knew policing, but I didn’t know my own face in the mirror. There were people I’d worked with for years who suddenly didn’t know me at all, and I had to convince them I was still the same guy. Everything I had before, I had to fight to get it back again.
Back then, Sergeant Ward made sure that I didn’t so much as blow my nose without a partner keeping an eye on me. He needed to know I still had what it takes, and I had to build my own confidence back up. It gives me great pride to once again be trusted to go solo on a foot patrol.
Of course, some jokester wanted to call it a hoof patrol. I said, “We don’t have an equestrian unit” and he says “We do now!” I’m not even sore about that one. Somebody had to say it!
So here I am, trotting east from the station house on 12th Street, with a brisk early spring breeze ruffling my coat. Making my way in and among all the pedestrians is a little harder, now that I have to look up at every human face. Seeing the face of a fellow pony is still rare, and I only saw a zebra just that one time. At least I’m a familiar enough sight by now that people make way, some respectful, some grudging, some just plain curious.
As I pass by a block of apartments, a gray-haired old man stops rocking on his front porch, leaning forward and squinting. “Who’s that?” he rasps. “It’s…” He turns his head to the left. “Hey, it’s Frank Madison! Have I told… told you about the time Frank stopped a mugger who was about to get me? He was human then…”
His next door neighbor looked up from a book, scoffing. “Only about a hundred times, Howard.”
I slow my walk, and I start to tip my hat respectfully before I remember that I’m excused from that part of the uniform too. “Good day, sir. I hope you’re well.”
“Oh, as well as I ever am, Frank.” Old Howard Morris starts to chuckle, has a mighty coughing fit, and finally picks up a bucket and spits into it.
I hesitate. “You know, I usually don’t try to push this on people, but you really should reconsider taking the Potion. It could give you a new lease on life.” I lift a foreleg and wave my hoof easily. “It cleared my aches and pains right up.”
“It might, it might,” Mr. Morris rasped thoughtfully. “Or, I might just wind up an old sick pony instead of an old sick man. No, these old bones probably… they probably won’t last until the end anyway.”
“I see. Well, if you ever change your mind, just give me a ring and I’ll see what I can do to help.”
“That’s very kind of you. Very kind.” He points a shaking, gnarled finger. “Now, you trot yourself back on out there. You’re doing good work, and don’t let any of those dang fools tell you different.”
I smile, nodding firmly. “Yes, sir.”
-
“Pony!” squeals a little human girl, probably no older than six, rushing towards me with arms outstretched.
Fortunately, a young woman in a dress is quick to intercept her. “No, sweetie! You can’t run up to strangers and hug them. Officer, I’m really sorry about this!”
“It’s alright, ma’am.” I patiently stand where I am, mildly amused.
The little girl gets an adorable pouty face. “But… pony!”
The young woman gently turns the girl to face her. “That pony is a police officer, sweetie. He doesn’t have time for hugs, he has important work to do.”
The little girl looks back at me, gasping. “He is?!”
I look her right in the eyes. “That’s right, miss.”
“You catch the bad guys?”
“That’s right, miss,” I answer, completely serious. “I catch the bad guys.”
“Oooh.” She thrusts a colorful pony doll at me. “Do you know know Princess Star Shimmer?”
I know more about the main characters of My Little Princess than I ever wanted to, at this point. I hear they’re actually making a new cartoon show. “I can’t say I have, miss. Cantertrot Castle is a little out of my jurisdiction. Ma’am, if you’ll excuse me...”
I make my escape while the girl is asking her mother what ‘jurisdiction’ means.
-
Later, as I’m turning south onto Capitol Avenue, I start noticing an amplified voice. I turn my head, swiveling my ears to hear it over the people talking nearby and the cars driving past. Somebody’s got a megaphone, and apparently he’s got a lot to say.
About a block further on, the words are getting clearer. “... the world as we know it is over? It really is going to be over, if people don’t wake up and see what’s happening right before their eyes! Whatever problem is happening here, on our world, we humans can solve it ourselves! We don’t need any help from some self-proclaimed sun goddess, who probably engineered this whole crisis herself in the first place!”
I stop right in my tracks, then proceed towards the clinic, grabbing my phone from the pouch in my harness. It’s one of the last Blackberry models with physical buttons that my magic can push. They saved it just for me.
“Dispatch,” I snarl into the phone, trying to keep my voice low. “HLF members are protesting near the Wilson Clinic. Are their permits in order?”
The fancy new downtown Conversion Bureau office won’t be open for business until this fall, so in the meantime, the old Wilson Clinic was made into an official Conversion center. This place means something to me. It’s where my human life ended. This is where I had my physical, my dose of the Potion, and then the follow-up rehab. Now there’s three idiots in front of it, rabble rousing in matching t-shirts.
At least nobody seems to be buying what they’re selling. People are walking on by, and there’s no crowd stopped to listen. One guy actually seems to be arguing with them… I can’t hear his side of the conversation, but the guy with the megaphone is getting annoyed. “You’re wrong… No, you think you know them, but it’s a lie. This ‘Celestia’ is replacing our people with those… those things!”
My phone chirps. “Officer Madison, they got the permit this morning. Sorry you weren’t informed. Is there a situation?”
I hesitate. It makes me want to march over there and buck their teeth in, listening to them spout that garage, but insulting a public figure isn’t a crime, and calling people names isn’t either. If they’d set up too close to the clinic entrance, if they were hurting anybody or inciting violence, then I could do something, but it doesn’t look like they’re going to cross that line, not today. “Negative, dispatch. Continuing my patrol.”
Unfortunately, one of those low-lifes must have seen me trotting past, because it started to get personal. “Tell your city councillors that you don’t want these ponies in our city any more, that you absolutely reject ponies being placed in authority over humans! You can dress up a plush toy puppet and pin a badge on it, but that doesn’t make it a person, or any less a puppet!”
I’m this close to turning back and doing something rash, when another voice breaks in, on another megaphone! “How dare you speak like to a pony?” says a shrill woman’s voice, with a feedback squeal that makes my ears fold. “He is a brave pioneer… ponies like him will be our children, the pure and bright future of our corrupt and unworthy humanity.” I hear a scuffle, and the woman starts talking faster, like someone’s trying to take her microphone away. “If we are to gently correct that beautiful creature at all, we should chastise him for taking up a weapon and continuing to embrace violence, instead of the pure pony way of peace and harmony, given to us by her most noble radiance…”
I realize that my raised forehoof is shaking, and I quickly put it back down on the ground. “Dispatch, now there’s PER protesters fighting with the HLF.”
The response comes back swiftly. “Officer Madison, we strongly advise you to get clear of the area. We’re sending another team to deal with this.”
“Gladly,” I say, turning to go… but not soon enough, not before a well-dressed young woman with a microphone and a cameraman gets in front of me.
“Diana Anderson, CBS News,” says the woman breathlessly. “Officer Madison, do you have anything you’d like to comment on for our viewers?”
Was it cowardice or prudence that made me say “No comment,” and dart around her, hurrying away as fast as I could without breaking into a gallop? I’m still not sure.
-
A couple hours later, near the corner of Denmark and 4th.
After a long trot with some backtracking and circling around, I pause to catch my breath and recast my tracking spell. It’s supposed to be pretty basic, but it’s also the most complicated thing that Professor Conjunction has taught me so far, so I take it nice and slow, focusing on the runes and linking them together one by one.
Finally, I’m getting close! It looks like my suspect is a hundred fifty feet ahead of me and ten stories straight up, which puts him on the roof of the HexCorp building. Well, that’s not a problem at all! I’ll just teleport right on up there, and...
Yeah, who am I kidding? I trot into the lobby, wave my badge at the receptionist, and ask her to tell me where the roof access is and make it snappy.
HexCorp’s efficiency is impressive; only six minutes later, one of their uniformed security guards is escorting me up the ramp from a service elevator to the roof itself. I follow the pull of the tracking spell around an HVAC unit, and there he is. Suspect: Dark purple pegasus pony, young male, yellow mane, cutie mark: five pointed gold star with a rainbow streak, currently napping on a ledge right over that ten story drop to the street below. I compare him to the photo from the Conversion Bureau registry on my phone. Yep, that’s him, alright.
“Police!” I shout. “Stay right there.”
The napping pegasus leaps to his feet, looking all around. “Oh, buck!” he yelps, spotting me. He spreads his wings.
“I wouldn’t fly the coop if I were you,” I tell him sternly. “I can’t fly, but I have friends who do. We’ll find you.”
He stops short of taking off. “Am… am I under arrest? I don’t have to answer any questions if I don’t want to!”
I nod slowly, trying to project some calm now. “That’s right, but you do need to show me some ID, and sign this citation.” I float a pad and a pen out of my pack and start doing the paperwork. “Sir, earlier today, I observed you maneuvering a cloud at low altitudes, startling pedestrians with thunder and tagging them with small bolts of lightning.”
The pegasus gives me a guilty look, fidgeting from hoof to hoof. “But, there’s no law against that! You’re a pony too, you understand, right? It was just a prank! You know, I was just having a little fun.”
“Yes, well, then you probably shouldn’t have zapped ME,” I say, without a trace of humor. “Can I see your ID, please?”
This time he slumps, sighing, then digs in a pouch with his muzzle and hoofs me a card.
I jot down the details. Excellent, they’re the same as the Conversion Bureau record. “Thank you, Mr. Blaise.”
“Star Blaze.”
I glance up at him. “Pardon?”
“I’m, uh… getting it changed.” He grins sheepishly. “Just waiting for the paperwork now.”
I personally don’t approve, but that’s his business, not mine. “Star Blaze, your record is clean, and it’d be a shame to put ‘assaulting a police officer’ on it. After all, as you said, this was only a prank. All in good fun, yes?”
He nods almost frantically. “Yes, yes! I’m really sorry, officer. I won’t do it again...”
“So I’m only going to cite you for disorderly conduct. You can pay the fine or appear before a judge, just like a traffic ticket. Sign here, please.” I offer him the pad and pen, and takes the pen and signs his name… with his wing. Seriously, I watched him do it, and I have no idea how he did that… says the unicorn with real live unicorn magic. I know, I know…
After I tear the citation off the carbon copy and hoof it to him, Mr. Blaze gives me an awkward look. “So, uh… do you want a lift back down to the street?”
“Not on your life. Thank you for your cooperation, sir.”
-
By the time I make it to the last leg of my patrol route, my morning patrol has stretched clear into the afternoon. I’m almost looking forward to the mountain of paperwork that’s surely waiting for me back at the station. Yes sir, I was ready to pull up a chair and dig right in, after I grabbed a quick bite from our cafeteria’s fine vegetarian menu. So of course, my phone chirps.
“Officer requesting backup,” says the Dispatch operator. “Officer Madison, proceed to the corner of 9th and Hill, Officer Schultz will pick you up in two minutes.”
“Copy that.” I judge the distance, then start trotting faster. The squad car shows up right on schedule, pulling over just long enough for me to climb in back.
Melinda Schultz is driving. She’s a veteran cop like me, and we’ve worked together more times than I can count. Back when we first met again after I became a pony, we were chatting like old friends two minutes later like nothing had changed, bless her heart.
The officer in the front passenger seat is Ron Russell. He’s been in the force for a few years, but I haven’t worked with him and I don’t know much about him. He’s keeping a close eye on his phone. Looks like he’s watching an instant messaging app.
“Frank,” says Melinda warmly, and then she’s all business. “We’re after a fugitive, name of Jared Horton. Stopped meeting his parole officer two weeks ago. A hot tip said he’s in this area, trying to shake down some convenience stores.”
She angled the car’s laptop so I could see his file on the screen. Black male, 6’ 3”, 22 years old, multiple arrests for armed robbery and auto theft. Odds are, this isn’t going to be pretty.
For a moment, just a moment mind you, I wonder if the higher-ups picked the best team they could for this job… or if they grabbed any cops they could get on short notice who weren’t human, white, and male. I feel vaguely ashamed for having thought it, and I resolve not to think like that again. Catch the bad guy first, political bullcrap later.
Melinda parks the car a ways down the street from a liquor store and a 7-Eleven, but makes no move to get out yet. Russell looks up from his phone. “My contact says he’s still in the liquor store.”
I glance at the sidewalks on both sides of the street, frowning. “Let’s hurry and corner him inside. It’s too crowded out here.”
Russell raises a hand. “Too late.” And there’s our suspect, swaggering out of the store and turning to shout something at the shopkeeper before the store’s front door slams closed. Russell gives me a thoughtful look. “Could you use that tracking spell? That would make it easy to tail him to someplace quiet.”
“Oh, so you know about that? I’m getting to be a real popular guy.”
Melinda rolls her eyes. “Just tell us how it works.”
I nod soberly. “I can cast the spell if I’m within twenty yards or so with a clear line of sight, but if he sees us…”
And then we’re all startled by a woman screaming at the top of her lungs. Horton’s standing in the middle of the street, pissed off and holding the driver of a silver sedan at gunpoint. What is it they say about the best laid plans? “Frank, we’re going straight in,” says Melinda. “Russell, stay out of sight then flank him. Go!”
Horton’s stepped around to the side of the car, keeping his gun trained on the hysterical woman. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, bitch!?” Pedestrians and other drivers are starting to panic, smart ones rushing away or ducking into shops left and right. “You need your eyes checked, huh? Huh!?”
“Police!” shouts Melinda, gun drawn, and I’m right beside her with my own gun floating in my magic. “Drop your weapon and put your hands up!”
“Shit!” Horton jerks his head left then right, looking for escape routes and… No! Of all the…
There’s a whole gaggle of college kids who didn’t run. They’re standing not even twenty feet away, filming everything with their cell phones… until Horton points his pistol right at them. “Don’t move!” he barks, when the panicked shouts and protests start. One girl outright faints, her phone’s screen smashing on the pavement. “Throw those guns down or I’ll blow their heads off! I swear, I’ll do it!”
Melinda looks to me, then nods her head fractionally. Nothing we can do. She does as he asks, and throw my gun down too, but if I can just…
The pistol twitches in my direction. “Why’s your horn still glowing? No magic! You think I’m stupid!?”
I release my magic completely, grinding my teeth. The college kids start making their escape, two guys dragging the girl who fainted, and he’s letting them leave, not holding them hostage. Just stay calm, I tell myself. That low-life has us disarmed, so he’ll probably make a run for it now… but I can tag him with the tracking spell before he’s out of range. We’ll get him.
Then I see a wicked gleam in his eye, and he aims the pistol straight at Melinda.
“NO!” I seize hold of Horton’s gun with my magic and PUSH. The gun fires but his shot goes wide, shattering the liquor store window. For a moment, I’m as surprised as he is, looking at the blue-glowing gun. I meant to yank it out of his hands entirely, but he’s still holding on.
He tries to aim at me now, but I PULL, then twist the gun in his hands, but I can’t get it away from him. He tries to get a hold of the gun with both hands. “Let go, freak!”
It’s obvious that I urgently need to acquire some new skills, if I survive this day and I’m still employed by the police department. Item number one: Learn the best way to quickly disarm a suspect with magic, even if he’s strong and has a good grip.
Another gun fires! It’s Russell, across the street to my left, but he missed, and now Horton’s moving, spoiling his aim! Melinda rushes Horton, taser in hand, but the son of a bitch punches her and she’s going down.
Before I can figure what to do next, Horton charges me and kicks me right in the muzzle.
Item number two: Learn to move and dodge while casting, so I’m not a sitting duck every time I do magic!
The good news is, he didn’t kick my horn. Bad news, it’s not going to matter soon, because Horton is standing right over me and cocking his pistol. I hear running footsteps… that’ll be Russell, trying to close the range and blow Horton away before Horton blows me away.
Horton pulls the trigger.
There’s a blinding flash! Two gunshots roar in my ears! I feel them both, like punches to the gut! I remember thinking, “Better me than somepony else…”
Heh, somepony. Well, why not? That’s what I am, right?
Two bullets fall to the ground, ringing on the pavement. What the hell?
I force my eyes open, and… blue. Everything’s blue. My horn is lit up like a traffic flare, surrounding Horton and me in… some kind of shield? Not a smooth shield like Professor Conjunction’s, though. It’s flickering, edges wavering hypnotically.
With a migraine-inducing effort of will, I redirect the field so it’s only surrounding Horton. He’s probably screaming obscenities at us now… I can see his mouth moving, but I can’t hear any of it. It’s not letting him leave, either. He tries to run, but it just pulls him back like he’s in a giant piece of taffy.
When Russell stumbles over to my side, I manage to tell him, “Do me a favor... would you? Cuff him and read him his rights… before I pass out.”
Russell crouches down. “My pleasure, but don’t you have to drop the shield before I can…” He prods at the field, and he’s pleasantly surprised when his hand passes through it without resistance. “Well, what do you know?”
Some of those idiot kids are back and filming with their phones again, obviously not having learned a thing. Now I’m going to be on the evening news, too. Swell.
Melinda crawls over and sits up on the curb, bruised but in one piece. “Looks like we’re going to be throwing some pony a party,” she says, grinning at my flank.
I’m too dazed to follow her meaning at first. Russell is done, so I release my holding field… or ballistic shield… or whatever the hell that spell is, and then I look where she’s looking and find a stylized police badge on my flank. A shield… of course it would be a shield. I grunt and sit up straight, but that just means that both my flanks are on display. “Do you have to?” I grumble.
She laughs. “It’s tradition, Frank. Or so I hear.”
“They’re sending a cleanup crew and an ambulance,” says Russell, sitting down on my other side. “Will there be cake at this cutie mark party thing? I’d definitely show up for cake.”
I snort. “I suppose a party won’t kill me, if everything else today didn’t.” I scratch my aching jaw with a hoof. “Sure, why not have one? I have a feeling everything’s going to be different from now on.” I wink at Melinda and Russell. “Mark my words.”
