//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Field Services and Technical Evidence Team: Riverton // by bahatumay //------------------------------// Cane Sugar lowered his sunglasses and leaned his head against the train window. He slid his body deeper into the seat, letting the crossbow strapped to his foreleg shift so it didn't rub into his ribs. His saddlebags still rested on his body. He probably should have taken them off, but he just felt so naked and exposed without them. This was one of the downsides of being an officer for so long—you just become accustomed to wearing them. Honestly, he would sooner have taken off his crossbow. Twenty-seven years of service will do that to you. Twenty-seven long years of service. All in the same city. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he had started to lose his focus. He lost sight of what he was doing.... and ended up paying for it. He exhaled slowly, his mind drifting back to the earlier conversation that had put him on this train. “Cane! Congratulations on catching the Green River Killer!” Cane didn't even look up from the paperwork he was filling out. “Your name, not mine.” “...You'd think you'd be happier that you stopped a serial murderer with five mares under his saddle.” “Yeah.” Cane shrugged. “Well, there'll be another. I'll probably catch him, too.” “You're a lot... colder than the stories say.” Cane Sugar shrugged. “Yeah, well, ponies lie.” “I kindof assumed you would love your job more, you know? Be more personable or something. Especially after how much you accomplished.” Cane spat out the pen and rolled up the paper. “Assumptions and accomplishments mean nothing.” “What happened to you? You loved your job, you loved your work, now you're... you're like an animatron or something.” Cane turned to face the speaker. Had Cane not been wearing his sunglasses, the other pony might have well been burned from the heat of his glare. Even so, he couldn't help but take a step back, and he flinched as Cane spoke in a low, gravelly voice. “You're talking about things you know nothing about.” There was a very tense pause. “I do my job. Now go do yours.” And with that, Cane ended the conversation, and the other pony scurried away. “It's a valid question,” a third voice broke in. Cane replied without lifting his head. “Director Order. I assume you have a new assignment for me?” Director Order cocked his head. “Didn't you just say something about never trusting assumptions?” “That's when they're not mine.” “But you haven't gone off on an assumption for a long time now. It's all facts, evidence, and you're scaring the innocent ponies you're interviewing because you're so... flat.” “Not as flat as the filly thrown off the Bridle Towers.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop a little. Cane Sugar had referenced the murder that started the case that had started—and cemented—his transformation from a pony who loved his life, into a dull robot going through the motions, and Order had long since learned to tread carefully around this situation. Seven months had passed since Cane had been cleared to return to work, but he had not even begun getting over it. Order cleared his throat nervously. “Cane, you know that you shouldn't...” “I know.” “You didn't even know what I was going to say.” Finally, Cane turned to look at the director. “Would I have listened?” he asked. That, too, was a valid question, and the answer was likely 'no'. The director sighed. “Well, the higher-ups like your work...” Cane rolled his eyes and faced his desk again. “I always knew they weren't the sharpest bolts in the quiver.” Order ignored that. “..and they are thinking of expanding the department of Field Services and Technical Evidence Teams, commonly referred to as Crime Scene Investigation, to other departments.” Cane might have cracked a smile. Might have. “Oh, good. Will the Royal Guard finally do something besides look shiny and provide a minimal amount of theft deterrent?” Order took slight offense to that. “The Royal Guard does great work in Canterlot...” “But we're not in Canterlot. And while murder rates in Canterlot may be zero, they certainly aren't here in Mareami. The Royal Guards here are here to look pretty, scare off pickpockets, and put down riots. That's it.” And this was why exactly why Order never liked talking to Cane. Not since... that day. His light-heartedness was gone, replaced by cynicism and cold sarcasm. “All right,” Order said. “I'm just going to go straight to the point.” Cane Sugar blew out a puff of air. “Thank Celestia.” “When I said other departments, I didn't mean other departments here." Order slid over the official-looking piece of paper with Cane's orders printed. "They're transferring you.” Cane took it and began to read. Order could count on his hooves the number of times Cane Sugar had been shocked into silence. Now made time number four. Cane Sugar removed his sunglasses carefully, staring straight ahead and not meeting Order's eyes. After about thirty seconds of gears turning in his head, Cane spoke again. “Explain.” “Your orders are to start another Field Services and Technical Evidence Team in Riverton. If the experiment is successful, you may start training teams in all cities.” “Ah, the thriving metropolis of Riverton... And they expect me to leave my team?” “Yes, they just requested you. I'm glad we aren't losing all of you. I think Blue is ready to lead, don't you?” “I don't doubt his skill. I just doubt that I'm needed over there.” “Well, doubt or not, there are your orders, and they're from the big mare on top, so I guess it's either turn in your badge or start packing. Your train leaves tomorrow morning.” Cane grumbled an assent and said, “If you throw me a good-bye party, I'll kill you and make it look like an accident.” So here he was, riding to a smaller town, with the assignment of starting a field services team there. He hoped this would end well. Actually, on second thought, after what he had done, he didn't deserve anything ending well. * * * Upon exiting the train, he soon met his contact—there was only one pony wearing a badge and crossbow waiting on the platform. Cane Sugar sized him up as he stepped off the train. He looked young, but that was possibly because of his short stature. He was just a small-built earth pony with a green coat and a standard cut dirty-yellow mane. He even still had the excitement in his eyes. “Mr. Cane Sugar?” the colt asked. “Just Cane is fine,” he replied, bumping the proffered hoof. “You must be Officer Slippery Glide.” The unspoken question hung in the air—how did he get a name like that? “Yes sir, but I usually go by Slip.” He shrugged apologetically. “My father was a train mechanic. I guess he just really liked lube or something.” Cane blinked flatly, the various implications of that sentence running through his head. With a dawning look of horror, Slip also realized that what he had said could be taken in a very wrong way, and tried to verbally backpedal, but only ended up making it more awkward. “Well, I'm not saying he did like it, you know, and even if he did, it's really no concern of mine. Ponies do some strange things, you know, and though everypony's walked in on their parents, you know, I never saw... well, it's not like I was looking or anything, but...” “Slip?” The other earth pony looked up sheepishly. “Yes, sir?” “Put a sock in it.” Embarrassed, Slip averted his eyes. “Yes, sir.” Cane Sugar preferred efficiency to flashiness, and so he never owned much. He had only needed one bag for all of his personal effects. Heading back to the luggage car, he found it among a group of other suitcases and dragged it out. “I can get that for you,” Slip offered. Cane Sugar turned and gave him a look. Even through the sunglasses, it made Slip wilt slightly. “Or I could... you know... not touch your stuff,” he stammered. Cane Sugar hooked his rolling suitcase to his saddlebags, looking for all the world like a giant taxi driver pulling a tiny cart. “Much better.” Cane scanned the city as they traveled. Riverton seemed like a smaller city; much smaller than Mareami, but still fairly large. It was a strange difference. Not the cold, not the lack of humidity, not the abundance of clouds; but the fact that there were foals playing happily and safely outside. Once again, Cane wondered why he was here. The two officers walked along in silence away from the train station. Silence that reigned for only about two minutes, that is. “So the rumor is you're here to start a team like you ran back in Marami,” Slip started. “I think that would be a great experience.” Cane Sugar gave a short, disparaging sigh. “If you want to be good at your job, Rookie, you don't put stock in rumors until the evidence backs it up. Ponies lie. Evidence doesn't.” Slip pouted slightly. “I'm not a rookie, sir. I've been here near 17 months now.” Cane Sugar didn't even break stride. “I've been wearing this badge for twenty-seven years, five months. Since that's nineteen times longer than you, I think I'll call you Rookie.” “But...” “Unless you'd rather be promoted to 'Gelding'?” Cane Sugar asked flatly, not even moving his head as he spoke to the younger officer. “N- no, sir,” Slip stammered again. “Then zip it, Rookie. And if you want to be even considered for my team, you'd better pay more attention to important things, like where you're going.” Slip cocked his head in confusion... until he stepped in a pothole and tripped, landing flat on his face. Cane might have smiled. Maybe. Thoroughly embarrassed, Slip stood up and scampered back along Cane Sugar's side, and was quiet. For about a minute, anyway. “Did you do that math in your head?” Cane nodded, and answered in short, clipped sentences. “Mental math, one of my strong suits. Was also my first indication that baking wasn't for me.” “Baking, sir?” Cane answered, with the drawn out, exaggerated patience of a parent who has been forced to answer the same question repeatedly. “My parents' career. How do you think I got a name like Cane Sugar? It's not because I deal drugs sweetly, I can tell you that.” Slip instinctively looked back to see his cutie mark, but police-issue saddlebags in larger cities often come with a smaller version of the Royal Guards' cloaking spells, and the only thing on his flank was the seal of the police department of Marami—a design of a blindfolded pegasus mare holding scales of justice in her mouth, with the logo tueri et servire emblazoned on a unrolled scroll underneath. “Admiring my flank, Rookie?” Slip started. “Wha- No!” “You like colts, Rookie?” “No!” “Then stop staring. And for Celestia's sake, pay attention to where you're going.” Slip was confused... until he turned and ran into a low-hanging branch, getting a face full of leaves and wood. Instinctively, he raised his crossbow, but only ended up getting it tangled too in the thin branches, and while trying to pull it free with his other hoof, he lost his balance. He fell to the ground amid a shower of leaves, sticks, and dust. He could only lay there, slightly dazed, as Cane Sugar walked up in front of him, looked down, and smiled a real—albeit slightly patronizing—smile for the first time that day. “You know, I changed my mind. I hope you are on my team, Rookie. I can tell you'll be just oodles of fun.” Slip smiled sheepishly, unsure if that were a compliment or an insult. “Thank you, sir?” * * * “Are you sure you don't want to go to your apartment, sir?” Cane shook his head. “Rookie, I've been sitting on my haunches all day on a train. It's time to work.” “All day? But it's only noon,” Slip protested. “Day started at eight. Chop chop, Rookie.” Together they walked into the Riverton Police Station. The first thing he noticed was how much smaller it was than his former one. Cane Sugar didn't remove his sunglasses as he entered, and he scanned the office with hooded eyes. As small-town police offices go, there wasn't much going on. It wasn't anyplace special, that's for sure. There were two secretaries and three file-seekers, and apparently they served the whole department. In Mareami, his team had had one secretary and three file-seekers. This place was tiny; so tiny there was just one receiving flame. Cane had heard that some places in Canterlot had actual dragons for sending and receiving messages, but he was pretty sure that was just a rumor. This, however, brought up that same question as before—why was he here in such a tiny town? Before he could arrive at a conclusion, he felt a tingling in the back of his neck. An officer who has served as long as Cane had has instincts, honed by years of street experience of being stalked, stared at, and even jumped, that tell him when he is being watched. He quickly turned and got a face full of white. He had already pulled up and clicked his crossbow and had the firing ring in his mouth before he realized that the white was actually a pony, and that the pony was also wearing a badge. She was a white pegasus with a bright yellow curly mane. Her crossbow was smaller, but still standard issue, except for the little pink ribbon which dangled happily from the top bracer. Since RPD obviously didn't have a large budget, her police saddlebags (which seemed to be stuffed abnormally full) didn't disguise her cutie mark—three purple balloons. She smiled, revealing white teeth even brighter than her coat. “Hi!” Cane Sugar cocked his head in confusion. “What are you?” he asked. If the pegasus noticed his word choice, she didn't comment on it. “I'm Surprise!” “I bet I'm more surprised.” He lowered his crossbow. “Do you sneak up on everypony who comes in?” “Nope! Just the new ponies. Here!” And she held out a large cupcake, with a huge mound of frosting on top that seemed to double its size. “Happy welcome to Riverton PD!” Cane Sugar winced as he fought off the harrowing flashback that the sugary treat threatened to unleash. He pulled a bolt from his saddlebag's quiver with his mouth, and prodded the offering experimentally. “Are there any surprises in there, too?” he asked. “Besides sugary goodness? Nope!” Sweet Celestia, did her smile ever go away? Cane Sugar returned the bolt to his quiver, but didn't take the cupcake yet. “How did you manage to pass the final exam at the Academy?” Surprise wilted slightly at that. Even her mane seemed to flatten slightly. “I'm not sure, really...” “Uh, sir?” Slip spoke up. “Surprise does a lot of things that don't make sense. If I were you, I'd just take the cupcake and let it go.” Cane Sugar turned and stared at the younger officer until he quailed under the power of his stare, and then turned back to Surprise, who was still holding out the cupcake expectantly. “So why are you in here instead of out there?” Surprise shrugged. “I was going to be patrolling, but I got this feeling that something big was gonna happen today, so I made a cupcake just in case!” Cane Sugar didn't think that this was a logical conclusion, but even with twenty seven years of service, he had not had any similar experience to use as a reference point. Since he did not know what to say to this, he settled for taking the cupcake. “So I'm looking for Chief Burns.” “Well, you've found him!” Surprise said happily, pointing behind him. Cane turned to see a rather large earth pony sticking his head out of an office. “So, you're Detective Cane Sugar,” he said. It almost came out as a growl. Already, this pony brushed his coat the wrong way. Cane looked up blankly. “Depends on who's asking.” “Me.” A small smile might have touched Cane's face. “Then yes. But most just call me Cane.” Burns grunted and gestured with his head to enter the office. Cane nodded farewell to the two other ponies and followed. As soon as Cane had shut the door, the chief slid a new badge, this one bearing the Riverton seal, over the desk. Cane slowly picked it up and began to remove the Mareami one from his chest plate. From just that one motion, Cane could sense that Burns didn't like him; which theory was only confirmed when Burns spoke. “I'm going to be honest with you. I don't think we need you here, or any CIS team. We've been good so far, our city is safe, and if it wasn't for those orders from up top, you wouldn't be here.” Ah... honesty was quite refreshing. Cane carefully finished switching out his badge and smiled a small half-smile before replying. “Well, then,” he began, “I'm going to be honest with you. First off, it's Field Services and Technical Evidence Team; but if you must abbreviate it, it's CSI. Furthermore, I don't like you either. Therefore, I think we'll get along just fine.” Burns gave a grunt as a response. “So,” Cane continued, gently polishing his new badge, “they said you'd have a team picked out for me.” “I'm sorry, I never got around to that.” But judging by the slight smirk on his face, Cane knew that that was not the case. “I'll be sure to get you a good team, though. Nothing but the best.” That, too, was a lie. Cane was not wanted and, in Burns' opinion, was not needed. That was not entirely a foreign feeling for Cane, but he preferred to let his past record and future work speak for him. After all, evidence was the only thing that counted, even in a little (relatively speaking) city like this. So Cane merely nodded and waited. “What?” Burns finally asked. Cane put on an innocent face. “Do you have orders for me, chief?” “Nothing yet. Go unpack or something.” “Do I have a desk?” Burns chuckled mirthlessly. “You're still on probation here, you know. Limited office space means no desks for the newbie.” Cane nodded. “It only makes sense. I'll tell you what—let's make a deal. I get a large desk, after I catch my first murderer.” Burns smiled. “Agreed. It's not like we have many around here anyway. Until then, you get the floor.” Suddenly, the room flared green. Both spun around to see the receiving flame's light die down, and a paper flutter slowly to the ground. One unicorn secretary grabbed it and brought it to the office, and knocked lightly on the door (even though she could see clearly what was happening inside). Burns grunted permission (and Cane decided he was going to count the number of times he did), and she opened the door and gently levitated it to the middle of Burns' desk. Cane let a wide smile spread across his face. “Well, how about that?” With reflexes born of a street officer that had spent too much time in seedy neighborhoods, he snatched it out from under Burns' hoof and flipped it towards himself. “Murder in the Commons,” Cane read. A sly smile crept across his face. “Hopefully this case will be a walk in the park.” Picking it up, he rolled the briefing up with his teeth with a smoothness that only came from years of practice, and he turned and trotted out of the office. “Where do you think you're going?” Cane didn't even look back. “The Commons, of course. It says 'all available officers respond' and that's me. You want to show me the way?” “You can't go there,” Burns protested. “You just got here. You're not ready yet.” “The badge on my chest plate and the crossbow on my foreleg say differently.” “Well, you... you don't even have a team yet,” Burns stammered. Cane didn't even slow down his pace. “Looks like I'll be forming my own team.” He strode confidently through the nearly empty office. Without breaking stride, he called the only other two officers in the room. “Rookie, Spaz, on me. We're going to the Commons.” “What if they have other responsibilities?” Cane snorted. Burns just didn't know when to shut up, did he? “Murders are always priority one, and they certainly take precedence over... what was your top call last year? Cats in trees?” This happened to be true (Cane had the annoying habit of knowing more than you wanted him to), and so Burns tried—and failed—to come up with a quick comeback. Slip and Surprise looked from their blustering chief to the still-trotting new pony, and finally at each other with eyebrows raised. One thing was for certain—this was going to be like nothing they had ever done before.