Aim for the Best

Officer Cummings stood with his cadets on the far side of Canyon Park. Eleven out of a class of sixty had made it to field training.

"Alright,  today we're hands on-- book learnin' only brought you half way. Get through the next ten hours and you've got a shot at making undercover RID officer."

The trainer glared at a fidgety brunette wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. "Hubbard! You're loaded and in position, how long do you have to locate and engage a target?"

"Ten minutes to engage, sir! Head shot is optimum."

A curt nod, "Why a head shot, Allivato?"

"For instant effect, Sir! The Real Identity Dart melts after it pierces. The target's emotions reset in seconds."

Officer Cummings pointed to the tallest cadet, "Nelson, an irate man in a fender bender is arguing with the chippy on scene, do you shoot?"

"Sir, RID can't reset a healthy emotion. I'd assess first if his anger went wonky, I'd engage."

"Wonky? -Okay, yeah, remind me to add that to the new training manual." He rubbed his aching forehead.

"Falconer! What's the primary objective?"

"Sir, our objective is to avert damaging reactions to stress situations and reconnect the target with their best self."

"Alright then. Hubbard, you're up. We'll head over to the stands. Coleman and Nelson sit either side of her, the rest of us sit behind. A little league game will provide opportunities a plenty."

Nelson leaned into Hubbard and whispered, "If you shoot Officer Cummings, I'll buy ya dinner.

Coleman snickered and then grunted as Hubbard shot an elbow to his gut.

A raucous bunch of parents cheered and shouted detailed instructions to the players. A glum nine-year-old stood white knuckling his bat at the plate. Two strikes, bases loaded.

The batter's father hollered, "Raise that back shoulder higher, Jeffrey, don't screw this up!" Dark eyes skittered toward the harsh voice and the ball whizzed past.

"Strike three!"

"You kidding me, boy? A two-year-old coulda hit that!" Head hanging, Jeffrey dropped the bat, removed his helmet and shuffled toward the dugout.

Hubbard got a nod from the trainer. She raised her small binoculars, focused in on the boy's shaved head and pressed a small lever on the side; an ice dart shot across the field, piercing his right temple.

Jeffery stopped, rubbed the sting and stared at the speck on his palm.

"Aww man, he shouldn't have seen that," Hubbard whispered.

They all exhaled when Jeffery slapped his palm on his thigh, spun around and grinned at the pitcher.

"Hey, Nina," he called, "Great pitching! I'm on to ya though, watch out for my next turn at bat!"

"I'm trembling!" Nina laughed.

Coach fist bumped Jeffrey. "Way to work it out, bud!"

Striding past the bleachers, Jeffrey slapped a burly shoulder. "Hey, Dad!" Startled, his father jerked and took an unbalanced step back.

Hubbard asked, "Should I target the kid's dad, sir?"

"Nope, he gets it. Grab your gear, next stop's the DMV. Nelson. Your up!"