Chapter 2: Just a Trot in the Park
If you gave Doc a choice on what type of bullet to be shot by, he’d prefer an armor-piercing round. Such bullets were most likely to pierce straight through the body, rather than get stuck somewhere inside a mass of delicate tissue and require surgery to remove. The doctor had treated many gunshot wounds in his time, and his current patient was another typical case of the latter. Luckily, the bullet didn’t lodge itself to close to any delicate arteries in her thigh, because Doc was running off only four hours of sleep.
The day had started out quite ordinary; the clinic opened without any fuss, patients trickled in for help with their ailments, and Doc did his best to administer care to their needs. However, he was quite nervous after last night’s escapade in the Shadows and that kept him up until well into the early morning hours. His fatigue showed in the disarray of his clinic; Blood heavily stained the bed that the patient laid upon. Various tools were scattered around the room instead of aligned neatly on their trays, and he barely paid attention to the holographic numbers that tracked the patient’s vitals on his glasses.
His medical skills continued to serve him with passable accuracy, but the cleanliness of his clinic was, as he bluntly assumed, a catastrophe.
“Alright, Martha, here’s your little tag-along,” Doc said. He held up the deformed bullet for his patent to see. “Looks like a .22 round.”
“Well... guess that’s not too bad,” the red-colored mare remarked with a wince.
“I reckon any bullet in you is a serious matter,” he countered in a dull tone. “You really shouldn’t pick a fight with gangers. Armed gangers, particularly.”
Martha shrugged. “Eh, they were only a couple of punk teens. At least I stopped them from jacking the Bimmer parked on the corner.”
“Yes, by shoving one of their faces through the driver-side window, according to your story,” Doc pointed out. He picked up a small device and used it to staple her wound shut.
“Eh, whoever owns that car—ouch—probably has insurance,” Martha said with a strained voice. “You don’t buy a Germane car on our kind of salary. Ow.”
Doc made an agreeable ‘hmm’ sound. He rolled some gauze around her leg and secured it with a clip. He then put his hooves over the bandaged wound and whispered the arcane words for his healing spell. The soft green glow bathed Martha's thigh in warmth. Since the wound was pretty deep, Doc concentrated a little extra energy from himself to ensure it would heal quickly. Once the spell completed, he leaned against the bed with a weary sigh. Poor sleep and spellcasting were a bad combination on his health.
“There you go. Keep the weight off it and take these antibiotics for a week to ensure it doesn’t get infected.” He reached to the counter and grabbed a small bottle that contained large pills. He double-checked the label to ensure he had the right bottle before he gave it to his patient.
“Geez, these are buffalo pills,” Martha said as she sat up. “Well, thanks a million for the fix, Doc. What do I owe ya?”
“Just fifty nuyen for the drugs and supplies. Generics from Ahuizotechnology are pretty cheap right now.”
Martha pulled out her commlink and browsed something on it with a few swipes of her hoof. She then frowned. “Well, I’m a bit short this week. How about thirty-five and I bake you a tofu lasagna casserole tomorrow?”
“For your lasagna, I’ll go ahead and take the next bullet,” Doc said with a sleepy chuckle. “Alright, then I’ll look forward to your cooking. You just avoid gangers for a while, okay?”
“No, I don’t plan on repeating this morning,” Martha said with a sigh.
She tapped her commlink screen a few times. Doc saw a transfer request on his device and accepted the deposit. He got up and helped the mare limp out of his clinic. He then turned to the bloody bed and the scattered tools in need of a good wash. He pondered the idea to sleep though lunch.
Doc stripped the paper covering off the bed and wadded it tightly before he threw it in the trash. The clinic door then opened with a squeaky flourish. The unannounced customer walked inside with a big goofy grin that Doc recognized immediately; It was his friend Harvey.
The older stallion trotted over to Doc’s dentist-like chair and hopped on. “Keep it tight on the sides, styled forward, but lose the bangs.”
“Stop,” Doc commanded.
Harvey chuckled as he leaned back in the chair. “What? You have razors but didn’t complete your doctorate degree. Historically, I believe that makes you a barber surgeon.”
“And annoying me with stupid trivia like that while I’m working makes you an asshole,” Doc countered. He shook his head, but he wasn’t really mad at his friend. He knew Harvey liked to rile him up from time to time for the reaction. Doc was rather used to it by now, but sometimes he still yelled at him.
“I got word that your little foray went well last night,” Harvey said in a softer tone. “How was it?”
Doc paused in the middle of cleaning up his tools to think. He gave a slow shrug. “It was… alright, I suppose. The kid hacker that was hired abandoned us halfway through after he accidentally got the attention of a couple cops.”
“A kid hacker?” the bartender questioned. “You had a young troublemaker on the team?”
“Yeah. He was baaad.”
Doc’s bleat made Harvey laugh. He laughed too, his exhaustion made his own terrible jokes sound funnier. Doc closed his drawers with the clean tools inside and sat down on his stool. “Alright, so the kid left us just before a pair of officers walk into the warehouse. The two other Trotters I worked with end up starting a fight with them. Can you believe that? Assaulting a Buckstar officer is like… three years minimum. Six with a weapon.”
“Well that’s how it is in the Shadows,” Harvey said without a smile. “You’ll have all sorts of young, old, violent, and just plain crazy folk trying to strike it rich. You’ll meet your usual problem ponies, but you can also find some good lifelong friends. Which brings me to why I’m here.”
“I was wondering,” Doc said with a raised eyebrow. What he actually wondered about was when he’d get to his pillow upstairs.
Harvey pulled out his commlink and brought up a picture of a middle-aged mare. “This is Bellini. She’s an old flame of mine back in my Trotter days. Kept in touch now and then, but probably not often enough. Well, found out this morning that she died in a nasty car wreck three days ago.”
“My condolences.”
“Eh, maybe undeserved. I didn’t do enough to keep us together,” the bartender said in a sad tone. He took in a deep breath. “Well, she was a fixer back in our heydays, and a good one. Apparently, she kept a lot of her old contacts and resources because she forwarded me an encrypted file, saying it was her will. She wanted to give me something important from a past job she had set up.”
Doc tilted his head to get a better look at her. “Uh, she sent it before she died, right?”
“No, I got the file last night!” Harvey exclaimed as he sat up. “She had set up a proxy account to hold it for a week before delivering it to me. And get this—Bellini’s last coltfriend was found shot dead in a retention pond yesterday. I think she got into something bad.”
“I’ve watched spy movies with less setup than this,” Doc remarked. “So, what can I do to help you? Did you need a doctor outside the system to run an autopsy on her body or something?”
Harvey shook his head. “Nah. Her body is in police custody. The only way I’m going to get a hold of it is with forged documents and surviving a two-hour Q-and-A session with Buck Star wanting to know everything about her, me, our relationship... yeah, no. I'll pass on that. Instead, it’s about the file she sent me. Word of her death has gotten around among other fixers in the area. Several others got a similar encrypted file as I did, so we got to talking. We each might have part of the encryption key within our files. If so, we can decrypt and read the full will if we bring the files all together.”
Doc shook his head. For a moment, he almost went cross-eyed from the story just told. “Okay, I… think I follow that. So where do I come in?”
“Well, we’re all meeting up in Kerry Park this afternoon to read the will,” Harvey explained. “Fixers are all about contacts and connections, Vardo. It’s our lifeblood. If this is Bellini’s paydata from her life as a fixer, then invited or not there are going to be a lot of folks showing up. Folks that might be related to her untimely death. I want you to come with and… well, I need you to keep an eye out around the park for suspicious ponies.”
“Hmm, suspicious ponies in Seaddle. Yeah, that’ll be a narrow group to look out for,” Doc remarked in a flat tone. He leaned back against the operating table. “So, do you really think there was a conspiracy to kill Bellini because she knew something?”
Harvey nodded and leaned forward in the chair. “Yeah, and that’s why I came to you. Come on, Vardo, you love conspiracies, don’t you?”
“Didn’t desire to be part of one,” Doc countered.
“Her boyfriend was shot dead yesterday, she sent an encrypted will to her most trusted friends in advance of her death, and now we’re all gathering together in a public location that everyone knows about,” the bartender listed. “If I don’t go, I risk losing face with other fixers. Or worse, maybe I’ll get shot next by whoever had Bellini and her lover whacked.”
Doc raised a hoof to interrupt. “Alright, you made your point. I’ll tag along and be your bodyguard. I reckon you’re vetting me for my magical skills, which probably suit this job.”
“Yes, and I’ll pay you like this is a Trot.”
“Damn right you will,” Doc replied with a hoof pointed at his friend. “When is your little shindig going down?”
“Four o’clock,” Harvey answered. He stood up and put his commlink away. “We’re meeting at the main pavilion. I assume other fixers are going to hire their own guards, so be wary of that.”
“Shouldn’t you all coordinate security together?”
“Assuming we all actually trust each other and none of us is the killer?”
Doc’s eyebrows lifted up. “Nevermind, that’s a fair point,” he remarked.
He shook his friend’s hoof and walked him outside. Once Harvey had left, Doc checked his schedule and blocked off the evening after four as ‘park ranging’. Well, he wanted to work in the Shadows. Maybe he was going to take that bullet too.
[]-----[]-----[]
Daylight slowly faded to orange as the sun sank to the horizon. The rush hour traffic lined the streets that surrounded the small public park in every direction and it wasn’t rushing anywhere. The smell of exhaust from the slow-moving vehicles filled the air, but deep within the park the filthy smell didn’t hold against the well-manicured trees. The leaves were still mostly green—only their tips hinted of the coming fall weather. The grass was still lush and tall to the point where a squat, wheeled drone drove in lazy circles over the lawn. It was a small sanctuary of nature deep within the tall and bustling city of steel and concrete.
Doc arrived at Kerry Park in a hustle. The zipper on his jacket jingled with each quickened step of his hooves. It was nearly four o’clock due to the late arrival of his bus. The HUD on his glasses lit up with a message about the park’s hours and what facilities were available. There was a note that the main pavilion was rented out to a ‘private party’ today, a sure indication that he was in the right place.
He trotted over to the pavilion where a large group of ponies had gathered. The well-maintained brick building stood alone at the top of a slight hill, with two concrete walkways that approached from opposite sides. It had only a few windows, all of which were covered up from the inside with dark fabric. It stood out in the center of the park, even if those inside would have privacy.
Doc saw Harvey in conversation with two other ponies outside the entrance and decided to walk up to the group. He waved and panted, his lungs out of breath from his trot over from the bus stop.
The bartender looked relieved and broke away from the conversation. “Doc! I’m glad you made it, chummer. Cutting it a bit close, you know?”
“The bus was held up... traffic,” Doc explained in between breaths. He looked over at the two ponies present. One was an amber-colored mare and the other a light green stallion.
Harvey stepped forward and gestured toward the strangers. “Doc, these are old colleagues of mine, Brandy and Rickey. Everyone, this is Doc, a long-time patron at my bar.”
“Doc, as in doctor?” Brandy inquired.
“Yes,” Doc replied with a smile. “I practice general medicine.”
“He’s independent, and fairly skilled too,” Harvey added, “So if you want good care outside corp hassle, look him up.”
“Well, who am I to turn down a recommendation from Harvey, eh?” Rickey made a wide grin.
The crowd began to quietly file into the pavilion. Brandy cantered inside, while Rickey shook Doc’s hoof with a nod before he followed. As other ponies continued to enter, Harvey stepped over to Doc and pulled him aside.
“Once the doors close, don’t let anyone in,” he whispered. “Every fixer who got an encrypted file is already here and then some, so if somebody claims to be running late, they’re lying. I’ll leave the rest to you. Just keep us safe and undisturbed.”
Doc acknowledged with a nod. “Alright, that I can do.” He shook hooves with Harvey and watched his friend enter with the crowd.
Once everyone entered, the two large doors of the pavilion were pulled shut. They closed with a deep thud that Doc felt shake through him. The distinctive sound of a lock engaging was heard right after, and then it grew silent inside. Doc stepped a little closer, but he could not hear anything beyond the heavy metal doors. He turned around and surveyed the park around him.
There were a few joggers still about and a couple colts playing on the swings at one end of the park. Beyond that was a busy street filled with cars that moved slowly through traffic. Further still, a convention center stood among the hotel buildings. Large swaths of ponies entered and exited the convention center, but none were interested in paying this park any attention. It seemed like another typical day in Seaddle.
A galloping stallion grabbed Doc’s attention. The blue unicorn wore a heavy brown trench coat, had a greased-back mane, and wore several little personal effects of feathers, beaded jewelry, and gaudy hoop earrings on him. He raced toward the pavilion at full speed, and the strange attire sat poorly with Doc's instincts.
He closed his eyes and muttered the incantation to activate his astral sight. With the veil beyond mundane sight pierced, Doc opened his eyes. The park was full of soft green and blue waves of color; an island in a sea of dead gray and black shades of the city structures. He focused on the unicorn and saw a vibrant orange aura around him. Furthermore, streaks of brilliant gold connected the unicorn to his unusual effects like a spider's web. It was an unmistakable visual clue.
‘Crap, he’s a mage.’
Doc quickly blinked a second time to dismiss his extra sight before the unicorn noticed it. Unfortunately, the unicorn hesitated in his approach. He stomped his hooves and his face melted into a scowl. Doc took a step back into a defensive posture as the unicorn marched up into his face.
“You rude little dirt horse! I saw your stupid magic trick. Do that again and I'll gouge your eyes out!” the unicorn threatened. “Now stand aside, I am late to my meeting.”
Doc gulped down the saliva in his mouth and stood his ground. “My apologies, friend, but I cannot allow anyone else inside.”
The unicorn’s demeanor soured further. “What?! You will let me through, Equestrian filth! I am Renaldo, the most important fixer in all of Seaddle!” He shoved his way toward the pavilion’s front door.
“I ain’t budging!” Doc countered. He outstretched a hoof and pushed back. He tried to sound firm, but some of his nervousness cracked his voice a little. He never considered himself intimidating and... well he really wasn't.
Renaldo’s horn lit up with an ugly maroon color. His magical ponykinetic force seized Doc around his collar and brought him snout to snout with the furious fixer. “You. Will. Move!”
“¡Perdóneme!” a voice above them called out.
They both looked up at a zebra that slid off the angled roof of the pavilion and land beside them. Doc recognized him—Manco! The zebra had a compact assault rifle slung over his shoulder. He held up his hoof to the fixer.
“My friend here told you to scram. So, either you turn around and walk away, or I’m going to have to get rough,” Manco warned. “And to show you how serious I am, amigo, I will take you down without the magazine clip.” He removed the rifle’s ammo clip and then cycled the chamber.
The distinctive ping of the ejected round against the concrete floor deafened Doc’s ears. Manco stared at Renaldo with unwavering eyes. Renaldo was agape. He lifted a hoof... then lowered it. Without a further word, the unicorn turned around and walked away.
“Phew, thanks for having my back,” Doc said to Manco once the fixer was a good distance away.
The zebra picked up the dropped bullet and inserted it back into the clip. He attached the clip and cycled the rifle's chamber. “De nada, mi amigo,” he replied. “I take it you’re here to babysit the meeting too?”
Doc nodded. “Yeah, hired by my own fixer. It seemed easy enough.”
“Oh, that’s how they all look at first,” Manco replied. His smirk seemed somewhat forced. “Then you’re roughed up by a gang and need help getting to a doctor. Now I’m repaying a favor I owe from my last fixer’s job. Yeah, it seemed easy enough then as well.”
“Well, I reckon working together will help make it easier for the two of us,” Doc said. “Worst case, you don’t have to go far for a doctor.”
“Jajaja, es verdad,” Manco said with a chuckle.
Doc looked out to the busy street where Renaldo had disappeared to. The unicorn was gone, and hopefully for good. He glanced further down the road to the convention center, but then noticed that Manco was studying him. He took a step back. “Err, something the matter?” Doc asked.
Manco shrugged. “Well, you’re only carrying a derringer. Do you want to borrow something with more than one bullet in it?”
Doc was impressed that Manco could tell he had such a small weapon under his jacket. “Do you think I need a bigger gun?”
“En mi experiencia, siempre quieres el arma más grande.”
“I don’t know that I want to stand out like you do.” He pointed at the assault rifle the zebra carried. “I think I’ll just stand behind you and let you handle the guns.”
A young earth pony mare in a tan overcoat approached the stallions. She cleared her throat as she walked up very close to them. Doc heard Jazz music from the wireless headphones around her neck. He backed up a step to regain some of his personal space.
“Excuse me, gentlecolts,” she said in a soft tone. “I happened to notice that you two seem to have some interest in idling outside this pavilion. May I inquire on what this is?”
The stallions froze up on a response. After a pause, Manco blurted out, “It’s a building.”
“But what is inside it?” the mare prodded.
“It’s a building,” Doc echoed.
The mare frowned. “What, is the building a nesting doll?”
Manco nodded. “Si. Building, building, building… and a janitor with a candy bar.”
“I’m sorry, who are you again?” Doc questioned the mare.
“My name is Rita, underground journalist and Trotter.”
The response made Doc do a double-take. “Oh, so are you hired to…?” He trailed off his question and pointed to the pavilion.
“Yeah, I was hired to watch over the fixer meeting here, same as you,” she responded. “I wasn’t sure at first if you two were Trotters or weirdos.”
“I answer to both,” Manco stated.
“I’m sure,” Rita replied, “But considering you’re openly carrying a rifle this close to a huge event full of cops, maybe the more appropriate word is crazy.”
She pointed at the convention center across the street. Doc thought back a moment to today’s date. His eyes widened as he understood what she was talking about, but Manco looked confused.
“What’s going on over there?” the zebra asked.
Doc did a quick search on his commlink. “Hold on, it’s a police event... yes, here it is—the West Coast Police and Security Convention, also known as COPCON.” He held up his commlink to show the event’s homepage.
The zebra’s ears lowered as he looked Doc in the eyes. “¿Que? ¿Hay policías al otro lado de la calle y no me lo dijiste?”
“I’m sorry! I forgot that it was this week,” Doc answered. “You probably should put that away.”
“Uh, yeah.” Manco disassembled the stock from his rifle. He flipped the end of his sarape over the rifle parts and partially covered them up.
Rita sighed and looked down her snout at the stallions. “Try not to get arrested.” She walked off to the other side of the pavilion without looking back.
“Well, she’s charming,” Doc whispered to Manco.
“Like a splinter.”
Minutes passed by Doc without an incident. Few ponies were around, which was a good thing for the mission at hoof, but the lack of anything happening bothered him a little. Perhaps Harvey oversold the danger? Doc heard the laughter of several fillies and colts over by the swings. He watched them take turns, then he studied the nearby parents who chatted with each other. He glanced over at Manco nearby; the zebra watched a different direction of the park silently.
Movement from the bushes near the swing set caught Doc’s attention. An elderly stallion rose up from behind the brush like a ghoul. The earth pony stumbled out of the hidden spot with only one shoe on. His tattered, dirty clothes hung loosely on his body. The stallion was aimless in his direction until he and Doc exchanged glances.
Well, it was more like stares.
The old pony walked over to Doc with a slight limp. His five o’clock shadow appeared to have been extended for a good two months, but it was the stallion’s repugnant smell that caused Doc to recoil. The odor was a strong, but unusual, mix of grass and gasoline.
“Have you seen my friend Lanna?” the old pony asked. His voice sounded quite wheezy.
Doc looked over to Manco for a cue, but only received a shrug. “Well, what does Lanna look like?” he asked in return.
“She’s just a youngin’; short and round, kind of gray. Usually runs circles around me while I feed the pigeons, but I haven’t seen her today.”
“Well, if we see Lanna, we will let her know you’re looking for her,” Doc assured. He detected a hint of alcohol on the stallion’s breath.
“Oh, and she loves eating the grass,” the old pony continued. “Real appetite that youngin’. Long grain, short grain… she isn’t picky.”
“Is she a pony or a cow?” Manco whispered to Doc.
“Depends on what this guy’s been drinking,” he whispered back.
The stranger appeared not to have noticed the whispers and kept talking. “One time she chewed up a shoe of mine. Didn’t mean too, really. Lanna just likes shoes, you know?”
Manco frowned. “To wear or to eat?”
“Oh, I like ’em a lot myself. But Lanna has such spunk, much like my old Ram truck back in the day. Vroom-vroom!” The old pony made gestures that resembled revving up a motorcycle. “Off-road, on-road, didn’t matter the surface conditions.”
Doc back away. “Okay, well—”
“Ram’s a good truck, you know! Yep. Ran over my ex-wife with a Ram truck.”
“Gracias, but we’re really busy right now,” Manco interjected. “¡Adios!” He grabbed Doc by the sleeve and pulled him away from the crazy stallion.
The two trotted down the paved path. Leaves littered about on the ground, their dried, yellowed edges crunched underhoof. The two ponies finally stopped at a grove of trees. Doc looked back at the strange pony from beneath the branches that twisted into each other. The old stallion walked away, toward a flock of pigeons. Doc leaned against one of the trees and kept an eye on the pavilion from this distance.
“Well, that was a thing that happened,” he said to Manco.
The zebra chuckled. “Yeah. Didn’t want to hear what he had to say about his ex.”
“Probably flat as a pancake,” Doc joked. His smile faded some a moment later. “Poor guy. He must have had a hard life to end up like that.”
“I’m sure drugs are involved. Do you often see folks like him? As a doctor taking in patients, I mean,” Manco asked.
Doc scratched his ear. “A few show up now and then, yeah, but my little clinic isn’t equipped for rehab. Most of the time they’re just looking for a quick hit. Back in Manehattan, I worked for a hospital that had a whole ward for users. I remember it was always full of wasted ponies that needed help.”
“Why did you come out here?”
“That’s a… pretty long story,” Doc replied, “But the short answer is don’t date your patients.”
Manco frowned, but he remained silent for a minute. He stepped closer and looked Doc straight in the eyes. “Did you get somepony pregnant?”
Doc shook his head vigorously. “No, nothing like that! The Trojan company still has some quality control,” he said in a half-assed attempt at humor. “I mean, yeah, we fooled around, but we were careful. My problem was that her father is… well, he was less than thrilled with who she picked for a lover.”
“Clearly, you're a monster,” Manco said, tongue-in-cheek. “If my daughter was dating a decent-looking stallion doctor, I’d be jealous. How dare he—”
A warning message popped up on Doc’s HUD like an unraveled holographic scroll. Manco stopped talking and stared at the ground. The message warned of a drone live-fire demonstration in the immediate area, but that everyone should remain calm and enjoy the show. Doc pressed a button on his glasses. The holographic message folded itself up and vanished from his view.
“Does this happen often?” Manco asked as he looked up to the sky.
“Every year that I’ve lived in Seaddle,” Doc replied. “It’s part of that cop convention. A bunch of companies like to show off military drones that they’ve retooled to be usable by law enforcement. They’ll have them buzz over something nearby and then shoot it on a return pass.”
“With live ammunition?”
Doc scrunched his nose. “Well... they use gel rounds.”
A low-pitched buzzing sound emanated from the sky. Doc and Manco looked up and saw a large, bulb-shaped drone with rotors fly overhead. It zipped over them at a very low altitude. Leaves scattered from the tree tops as the large machine came within inches. Many ponies in the area looked up with excitement at the vehicle, but the zebra’s eyes went wide.
“That thing has a large machine gun!” Manco exclaimed.
“It’s fine. The ammo isn’t deadly.”
The zebra pointed at the drone as it circled back. “In a weapon that big? Shit, that’s like giving a cop a fifty-thousand-volt taser and still calling it nonlethal!”
Spectators cheered as the drone made its second pass over the park and across the street. A loud, saw-like sound roared as the machine gun pelted a parked car. The force of the bullet spray shattered the windows and left significant dents in the roof and doors. Cars parked in the adjacent lot blared their tripped alarms. Ponies applauded the drone as it returned to the convention center.
Manco gave Doc a hard stare. “Nonlethal, right?” He turned and walked toward the pavilion.
Doc followed alongside him back to the building. “Okay, so it’s nonlethal overkill,” he said, corrected. “You have to admit, though, that only in Equestria can ponies make such a thing happen.”
“It’s made in Equestria?”
“No, Silver-Crown Heavy Industries built that one. Saw it on a commercial last week.”
Manco raised an eyebrow. “So, it’s a Germane-built overkilling flying drone marketed as a domestic product?”
“Yes, and what can be more Equestrian than that?” Doc responded with a grin.
The zebra snorted, but Doc saw a little smile appear upon his face.
The pavilion’s facade took on an orange tint as the late day sun crept closer to the horizon. Doc squinted his eyes from the glare that reflected into his eyes. He yawned and seemed content that everything was quite peaceful at the moment; the park goes continued to walk the trails quietly, and traffic continued to crawl along the adjacent roads.
He heard someone gallop up to him from behind. The sound of hoof steps was accompanied by the familiar shout of the old homeless stallion. “Lanna! She’s come back to us!”
A dirty, dome-shaped drone zipped back and forth along the grass on its way up the hill toward the pavilion. The Lawnba mower was unusually agile and silent on its small wheels; It made the zig-zag turns at a frightening tight pace. The smudges that covered up the ‘B’ explained why the old stallion called it ‘Lanna’.
“I think that thing should be driving around in slow circles and not heading right for us,” Doc pointed out.
Manco pulled out his rifle and reassembled it hastily. “I can fix the latter problem.”
“WAIT!”
Rita galloped over to the stallions with her commlink out. She performed several quick motions on the device and it beeped in response. A moment later the lawn drone’s actions became erratic; it shook itself, spun around, and jerked in random directions.
Manco looked over Rita’s shoulder. “Are you trying to make it do the pee-pee dance?”
“Shush,” the mare growled. She focused on the commlink’s app. “Shooting the drone is going to attract a lot of attention, so I’m trying to disable it remotely. Besides, it might have a bomb inside it.”
“Maybe you ought to drive it away from us, rather than just stopping it?” Doc suggested.
The drone ceased its turbulent movements and came to a halt. Rita proceeded to walk over to the machine. Doc and Manco followed her closely. “Hacking isn’t as easy as you think,” Rita stated. “I prefer using social lock-picks to get into things.”
There was only a soft hum in the air when the group approached the drone. Doc looked at the jagged path it took up the hill. He noticed the grass wasn't cut at all by the drone. That made him very suspicious. He took a picture of the machine and the grass with his commlink.
Manco produced a pocket knife and removed the screws to the drone’s top cover. “Amigos, maybe you all should stand back in case there’s an explosive in this thing,” he recommended.
“And what are you going to do?” Rita asked with a pointing hoof.
“Find out if there’s an explosive in this thing.”
The homeless stallion walked over to the trio and watched Manco tinker on the machine. “Poor Lanna. I bet she’s all tuckered out and hungry from getting lost out there. Anyone got a spare shoe?”
Manco popped off the top cover. Where the motor for the blades should have been was instead a bundle of four off-white clay sticks with wires and a cheap commlink attached to it.
Rita and Doc jumped back two steps. The homeless pony seemed unfazed. “Is that Play-doh?” he asked.
The zebra traced out the bomb’s wiring with both fore-hooves. “It’s only a full-sized brick of plastic explosives hooked up to a commlink as the detonator. No big deal,” he calmly stated.
“No big deal?” Doc echoed. “Well sure, up until it goes off. At that point—”
“¡Callate, Doc!” Manco barked out.
Doc stopped talking. He looked around the park for witnesses. No one paid particular attention to them. At worst, there was a couple glances his way, but no one seemed curious at what the group was doing with this drone. This was one of those rare moments where Doc was grateful for the indifference of the average city pony.
The deep buzzing sound of motorcycle engines in the distance caught Doc’s ears. He looked outward to the streets. Two stallion gangers on heavily modded bikes turned off the road and drove through the park field. The distinct mixed-and-matched gaudy clothing gave Doc the impression that this pair belonged to the Discordians. The pit of his stomach tied itself into a knot.
Ponies screamed and jumped out of their way. Several shouted profane words at the two teenaged bikers that harassed everyone. Two victims picked up rocks and threw them at the gangers. One stone landed a solid hit on a biker’s back side.
The gangers stopped their joyride and turned their bikes around. They each pulled out hoses from a secondary gas tank on their bikes and sprayed out streams of fire at the scattered crowd.
Doc’s eyes widened in horror when the flamethrowers ignited everything in their path; Ponies screamed and fled in all directions, clothing burned and trees caught ablaze with a hot intensity.
Manco had two wires pulled out and was working on a third. He didn’t look up from the bomb. “¿Doc, podrías encargarte de eso? Estoy ocupado.”
Doc yanked Rita by the foreleg and raced to intercept the gangers. “Come on, we need to do something!”
“Do what? Just call the police! Aren’t flamethrowers illegal?” she asked as she galloped to keep up with the stallion.
“Yes, on every planet!” Doc replied.
Against his better judgement, Doc stopped and drew his derringer out of his pocket. Rita followed his lead by pulling out a small pistol. He felt his heart race as his mind searched for how best to take down the gangers. Doc had one bullet available to him and he wasn't a crack shot to begin with. He should have brought more ammo.
The teens noticed them and changed course to charge on their bikes. Doc grabbed Rita by the shoulder pulled her back before she could take aim at one of the gangers.
“Drek, this is a stupid idea,” Doc whispered.
Rita pulled her foreleg away. “Yeah, I could’ve told you that, stupid!”
The gangers fired streams of flame at them. Doc pushed Rita in one direction and he dove in the opposite. The flames missed Doc by inches. The searing heat licked at his heels and shot pain up his legs. The gangers drove in between them, shouting incoherent words.
Doc turned around and fired at the bike of one of the gangers, but his bullet missed the mark. He stood up and cursed himself for not taking up Manco’s offer for a gun earlier.
He helped Rita up and then pulled her along by the leg again. They galloped away from the crowds and stopped by a metal trash can to catch their breath. The tow gangers made sloppy turns on their bikes for another head-on pass. Doc’s head swam with uncertainty. The thumping of his heartbeat pounded hard against his chest.
Rita panted to catch her breath. “Okay, first… stop yanking me around!”
“Well... eventually they’re gonna… run out of gas,” Doc replied as he panted, “So we could… you know, keep running.”
“Screw that... I’m too tired,” she replied. “Gonna just… take a shot. You got a gun?”
Doc snorted. “Pfft, no. It’s okay... still got a trick up my sleeve. I’m good for one.”
The gangers lined up side by side on the opposing side of the field. They revved their engines and charged straight toward the two Trotters. The rear wheels roared with a fountain of dirt sprayed high behind them. Vehicle sirens whispered in the distance, but grew louder into a cacophony swarm of screeches. Shouts and screams were drowned out by one another as ponies ran away from the park grounds. Doc realized he never did ask how much he was being paid to put up with this crap.
“How’s your aim?” he asked Rita.
“Good,” she responded. “I mean, I could hit one of them. Probably.”
“Okay, you shoot the left one, I got the right one.”
Doc took in a deep breath and concentrated hard on the ambient life around him. He mentally gripped the energy from within and weaved it together into a tight, cylindrical bolt of white, crackling light between his fore-hooves. He flung the spell at his target’s motorcycle as hard as he could muster. Beside him Rita unloaded several rounds at her target.
Two bullets connected with one ganger’s shoulder and he lost his balance. The magical bolt impacted against the other’s bike and twisted the front wheel sideways. The motorcycle on the left drove on without its rider while the rider on the right kept going without his motorcycle. It ended in a haphazard tumble of riders and bikes over one another. Both gangers flopped to a stop on the ground, covered in dirt and bleeding gashes over their bodies.
The blaring sirens and flashing lights of a firetruck was the first responding vehicle to the scene. Firefighters leaped off their vehicle and unraveled hoses with a professional choreography. Across the street, several Buckstar police officers exited the convention center and raced toward the park chaos. Ponies outside the park stopped to gather around the area.
Rita hid her gun under her overcoat. “Make yourself scarce,” she whispered as she walked away.
“Uh, right,” Doc muttered. He galloped back to Manco and the homeless pony. His lungs burned to catch more breath.
The zebra pocketed the disabled explosive and the detached commlink. He frowned at the converging crowd of firefighters, cops, and bystanders to where the two gangers sat. “¿Qué es esto? I disarm a dangerous bomb, and you throw me a parade by inviting the police?”
“Yeah, it’s like Buckstar actually does their job... or something around here,” Doc commented with a wobbling wave of his hoof. He took a few steps past the disabled lawnba. “We should probably go hide... before someone points out I was throwing spells around. I left my mage registration card in my other doesn’t exist.”
The homeless pony picked up the large drone. “I’ll introduce Lanna to them. She’ll explain everything!” He trotted off in an awkward gait toward the gathered crowd and shoved past them toward the police.
Doc glanced over at Manco with a look halfway between concerned and confused. The zebra only shrugged.
The pavilion doors opened wide and the occupants exited the building. They stopped to watch the nearby commotion. Doc looked on as well. The two teen gangers were arrested and the fire department put out several trees. Many among the crowds of onlookers pulled out their commlinks to film the scene.
Harvey walked over to Doc and discreetly stuffed a small, tapered object into his pocket. “I’ll ask later,” Harvey whispered. “The meeting’s done, so take this credstick and skedaddle on out. It’s got two grand in there.” He gave him a gentle push.
Without a response, Doc walked away from the park. He walked slowly, so as not to catch attention.
Manco winked at him. “I’m up for drinks later,” the zebra stated.
Doc nodded, but continued to make his egress from the park. Barely within earshot, he overheard the homeless pony scream something about a changeling conspiracy from within the government. This was abruptly interrupted by the sound of tasers.
[]-----[]-----[]
Doc took a swig of his beer. The bitter taste burned as it went down his throat. Harvey’s tavern was full of patrons tonight; ponies that chattered, and drank, and shouted, and ate. The atmosphere drowned out the commentary of the combat biker games on the trideo screens. Near the largest screen, several patrons held a betting pool on which team would score the most points. The cacophony was a perfect backdrop for Doc to talk with Manco about the park job earlier without being overheard.
“So, what did you do with that bomb?” Doc asked.
“It’s in my saddlebag,” Manco replied. He reached in to pull out the device.
Doc froze in place as the zebra pulled out… a commlink. He breathed again and elbowed Manco in the shoulder. Doc was not amused by the deception.
The zebra chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “Nah, I took it home,” Manco confessed. “Maybe I can find out whose it is.”
“Would be nice to know who tried to blow us up,” Doc said as he scanned the room. “Though, where did you learn how to defuse bombs?”
“I pick up stuff here and there on the matrix.” Manco finished off his beer and then slowly peeled off the label.
Doc narrowed his eyes on him. His gut feeling told him that the zebra did not pick up such a skill online.
Manco browsed to a specific page on his commlink and showed it to Doc. “I think that chica at the park was a journalist.” He tapped a button on the screen and sent Doc a link. “I saw this on my news feed an hour ago.”
Doc pulled up a news article on his glasses’ HUD. It was an opinion piece about the rising rates of gang wars in Seaddle. It specifically mentioned the two gangers in the park today, armed with flamethrowers, but the article made no mention about Doc’s presence. He didn’t even appear in any of the page photos. The author’s signature read ‘R. Ita’.
Doc let out a snort. “Yeah, I guess that’s her. At least she was nice enough to leave me out of the pictures.”
He pulled out the credstick in his pocket and plugged it into the data port of his commlink. The monetary data that loaded displayed a certified balance of two-thousand nuyen, ready for transfer into whatever account Doc wished. He moved the money into his own bank and then pocketed the empty credstick.
Harvey walked up to their table and sat down with three bottles of a Neighpon imported beer. He seemed to lack most of the positive vibe today that Doc had known him for. Harvey twisted the caps off with his hoof and passed the bottles around.
“Gracias,” Manco said as he grabbed a bottle. He took a large gulp.
Doc put his half-finished beer down to try this new one. It tasted quite a bit better, though maybe not that much better now that he got a look at the price tag. “What’s the occasion?” he asked his friend. “Not like you to pass around a few freebies.”
“Yours is free. Your friend’s beer is double the price,” the bartender stated with a nod to the zebra.
Manco smirked and continued to drink.
Harvey leaned forward. “Anyway, I was right on how to decrypt the file to get at Bellini’s will, but the will itself was a bit odd. It left me a few of her contacts, some old gear, and a bank account. At least, that’s what I thought it was at first; the bank doesn’t exist and the account numbers are gibberish.” He showed Doc his commlink screen. The data appeared to be corrupt, with the file name of ‘BANK513RD’.
“Maybe it’s an address?” Doc suggested. “RD could be the abbreviation of ‘road’.”
“I thought about that, but there’s no Seaddle street numbered 513,” Harvey said. “I think this account file is encrypted separately from the will. I’ll call up a friend later to take a crack at it.”
Doc rotated the bottle in front of him. “Think it might be related to her, ah, passing?”
“Probably,” the bartender replied. “Course for all I know it could be an account full of laundered money from the mafia. She was always hanging out with bad folks. Pain in my ass… I still miss her, though.”
“Qué triste,” Manco said as he stared up at the ceiling. “To love and lose someone so close.”
“Hmm,” Doc muttered. “Reckon we all know what that feels like.”
Harvey nodded. “I suppose it’s a life lesson we all learn the hard way. Well, no sense dwelling on the past too long. It’s good for business, but bad for repeat customers.” He raised his bottle up to the others and cleared his throat.
“Gentlecolts, to the mares we love, and mares that love us. May the two never shall meet.”
Doc clinked his drink against his friends’ bottles and then gulped it down. He could almost smell the frosty pink mane of the one he lost in that beer bottle. Maybe he had one too many drinks tonight. He wasn’t sure.
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Shadowrun.
Oh, right in the eighties.
Another really enjoyable chapter. Can't wait for the next one.
Sent you all my criticisms per PM, as per usual.
Alright, so if this is gonna be anything like the Shadowrun game you ran when I was still your roommate, that means this next mission should involve guarding a fixer meeting...
Check!
Now we just need a flustering Ian dealing with a pushy Renaldo...
Double-check!
I see Doc gets to be Ian in this situation, but Renaldo's just... Renaldo. Now we just need further pressure from Super Joe as he goes a wee bit crazy(er)...
Cue Manco!
This is almost a play-by-play of what happened during your Shadowrun campaign. Now we just need Ian and Blackwolf taking down the two crazy ganger bikers spewing out flames and...
You even got in the random drone demonstration!
only experience i have with shadowrun is the game shadowrun returns on steam. I’m gonna enjoy this fic. added to favorites and tracking.