A significant portion of what came through Sex Court was there because of the New. This was a problem. Several problems, the majority of which ended with ponies declaring that they just didn't know what had gone wrong -- but they were somehow fully certain that they weren't liable for it.

For the court's dockets, they formed a disproportionate statistical block. But when measured against the global population, 'innovators' represented roughly two percent.

The category wasn't really about inventors: those who brought the New into the world were their own consideration, especially when they decided that the best place for a trial gallop was in somepony's bedroom. That two percent consisted of the sapients who were willing to take the chances involved in trying things first: new magic, new machines, new positions and, because that percentage had significant overlap with those who couldn't be bothered to read the full instructions, some very familiar hospital bills.

The innovators could be an annoying group to deal with. Some of them felt that they always had to be on the cutting edge, treating every other innovator as a competitor in a race which could only end in one way -- and when it did, that sapient was going to be lowered into the grave by never-before-seen gear systems because that was how you got things done.

Others were happy to spend money in the pursuit of solving problems: the fact that the problem hadn't existed before the inventor had perceived a possible market in solving it didn't really matter. There had been a sponsored magazine article which claimed that the efforts involved in grape peeling could take moons off your life, and therefore a pony who didn't even eat grapes was going to weigh down their kitchen counter with a fifth-bale weight of ill-advised gears, enchantments and, after observing the process had led them to lean in a little too closely, most of their nostril hair.

Some simply fell in love with concepts. The most unfortunate in that category would be approached by a pair of stallions who had a completely new idea. There might be diagrams, a long talk full of complex terms was just about mandatory, you simply couldn't trot out on the musical number, and perhaps there would even be a tiny Proof Of Concept sample ready to go. The true key was that the real thing couldn't be brought into full manifest without some financial backing, and those who lived for the New were often happy to kick bits into saddlebags in order to see it happen. They would press a forehoof against each brother's upraised keratin in turn, smile, thank the siblings for the opportunity to invest, and then patiently await further updates. And there wouldn't be any because when it came to the brothers, Take The Money And Run was a very old concept indeed.

Innovators could be their own problem. Several problems. And yet... they were precious. Because without them, the world didn't move forward. Equestria certainly wouldn't have advanced, because the global population slice was two percent and with ponies, who took comfort in the groupthink of the herd and often felt that an idea only qualified as 'good' through celebrating its 300th birthday... in Equestria, the number was somewhat lower. Somepony had to take the lead, dragging the nation into the future or, given the countering struggles from those who felt that history's ideal period had been Before We Let Those Talk In Public, the present.

The innovators could be infuriating. They were also necessary. They were the vectors through which ideas spread.

But that presumed the ideas had been good.

And this was Sex Court.

---

The earth pony mare at the plaintiff's station wasn't looking at the defendant.

It wasn't an uncommon thing. For a case to arrive in Sex Court generally meant that those involved felt it could be settled in no other way. Also, trying to reach some sort of agreement was probably going to require speaking with each other, and several were convinced that was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Parties who weren't directly communicating would decide to pass on words through the transmission medium of Judge and once the ruling was delivered, they would leave separately. Some would never see each other again. They would certainly never touch and for both of those factors, this case would be an exception.

She wasn't looking at him. (Quite a bit of the gallery had looked at her as she'd entered: fir-green, in the prime of health, exceptionally sturdy, in proud possession of a build which was designed to treat a twelve-hour shift of hard labor as Step One.) And to be fair, there wasn't much to look at.

The unicorn stallion was... shoddy. The coat displayed the sort of olive green which was generally found at the heart of the very best bile. His grooming was on the level of somepony who had once looked up 'bath' in a dictionary and decided that was enough work for one lifetime. However, the tail flowed freely, because that much accumulated grease had a way of trying to run downhill. And the horn was oddly short, not coming to a point so much as a nubbed cone. One which seemed to be curving off in two directions.

In terms of appearance... in Impassi's opinion, a good scrubbing and some basic mane maintenance would have brought him back to 'average'. He hadn't bothered, because somepony had once told him that when it came to good looks, self-confidence could be a strong substitute. And it was. There just happened to be a subtle difference between 'self-confidence' and 'perpetually radiating an aura of smug know-it-all arrogance'.

He was an Innovator. (The capital letter served as an insurmountable cliff for others to stare at, knowing they could never reach his level. ) He basked in that status, because it meant he was Right. And the plaintiff wasn't looking at him. She was very visibly not looking at him, and would continue to not do so until the proper time came. After the ruling was nosed down.

The plaintiff wouldn't look at him. But the lush tail kept lashing in his general direction. And every so often, her hooves would twitch. The latter had the full attention of the gallery because strictly speaking, hooves weren't supposed to do that.

The judge looked from plaintiff to defendant and back again, as the gallery watched. A forehoof nudged the notebook off to one side.

"Allow me to review," Impassi Heartstopper said. "Ms. Intrinsi, you found the defendant at a bar."

The mare managed to force a tiny nod past the dual barrier of wince and fast-rising blush.

"And you decided to take him with you. As your -- conquest for the night."

The exact amount of head motion, if carried over to a breezie, would have still been barely detectable.

The judge's steely gaze once again moved to the defendant. Went back to the plaintiff, and a well-curved eyebrow very nearly went up.

"I was drunk," Intrinsi said.

Judge Heartstopper looked at the stallion again, noted that no part of him seemed to have registered the soft sentence. The unicorn's ears had a permanent downwards dip. Forward and curved inward, so they would always catch the important words.

Back to the plaintiff.

"I was very drunk," the mare clarified.

A blanket of awkward silence settled over the courtroom.

"...I haven't had another drink since," Intrinsi quietly told the world.

The courthouse (minus one, who was tapping his forehooves with boredom) collectively gave her a moment.

"He wanted to use a hotel," the plaintiff said. "I didn't mind, especially when he was paying for it. And once we got inside the room, he said..."

The stallion's ears, which were forever attuned to their favorite subject, tried to perk and almost made it.

"I've always thought of myself as adventurous," Intrinsi stated, and very carefully failed to look at the stallion again. "So when he said he -- knew somepony who taught at the Gifted School, who had something -- new... I thought... why not?" Paused. "I'm almost sure I was thinking."

The judge considered the alcohol tolerance of the average earth pony. Added a significant multiplier for a sturdy specimen, and expertly said nothing.

"I didn't mind if he wanted to use a -- sex toy --"

"That," the stallion immediately (and self-righteously) declared, "is an inaccurate description. Strike it from the record."

The stenographer glanced at Judge Heartstopper. Lavender-tinged ringlets subtly moved in negation, and hooves typed on.

The older earth pony mare calmly gazed down from the elevated bench. "And how would you prefer she describe it, Mr. Artist --"

"It's 'AIrtist'!" the stallion instantly barked. "A spell would be able to render it properly every time, but just try to find a pony who can pronounce basic Equestrian...!"

Impassi took a very careful breath.

"Your description?" she prompted, and watched half the gallery recoil from an abruptly-expanding aura.

The stallion's chest puffed out with self-importance. It mostly served to prove that he actually had one.

"It is not a mere 'sex toy'," he declared. "It is a sexual partner."

The plaintiff's jaw clenched. Powerful muscles went tight, and the tail doubled its rate of lash. None of this was noticed by the defendant.

"A partner," the judge repeated. "An -- artificial one."

AIrtist didn't need to notice what the plaintiff was doing. There was an Innovation to be discussed, and he was the foremost authority.

"In the most technical sense," the stallion mercilessly (and smugly) educated, "the spell I purchased -- which is so new as to make me the only possible expert -- takes a corona and shapes it into something fairly solid. To wit, the shape of a pony. While still allowing that shape to move as if it was a living being. And of course, that form is anatomically correct. So as long as there is something pony-shaped in the bed with her, and the proper sections are interacting --"

"-- Mr. AIrtist," Impassi carefully interrupted, "the plaintiff had chosen you as her partner for the night."

"Which was the only time she properly appreciated anything," the disgruntled stallion announced. "A one-time demonstration of taste --"

"-- so why didn't you enter the bed?"

He blinked. Sniffed.

"Because I had told a spell to do the work in my place," AIrtist announced. "And that's obviously superior."

"In what sense?" Impassi inquired, and braced for it.

"Well --" and the sternum did its best to puff out through the thin skin "-- actually... consider the question of effort! There are those who say it can take moons to learn how to be a good sexual partner! Others claim years. A lifetime! Don't ponies have better things to do with their time than master skills? Who should ever have to bother with learning about the wants and desires of others, when a spell can satisfy all of it?"

"Satisfy," the plaintiff muttered, and a very solid forehoof begin to grind against the bench. "Satisfy..."

"Quite frankly," AIrtist declared, "when compared to those stallions who put their own bodies to work, the use of an artificial partner clearly makes me the superior lover."

"How so?" the judge asked, because some things needed to be entered into the record whether anypony liked it or not.

"I didn't need to study anything," the stallion proudly stated. "I also don't have to get sweaty, or feel tired. There's certainly no need for listening to anypony. I just give the spell a prompt, and it does everything on my behalf. How is that not superior to personal effort? If anything, the results are more legitimate!"

I am a judge.
Rulings are based in evidence and circumstance.
I am neutral.

"During your original testimony," Impassi neutrally said, "a rather natural question arose. One which I did not ask, because I felt you would have to answer it during the course of that first lecture -- Mr. AIrtist, I would appreciate the benefit of your full attention. The question relates to the spell."

"Oh? Well, of course I'd be more than happy to educate the court regarding something so innovative --"

"-- the spell attempts to have intercourse --"

"-- succeeds!"

The plaintiff's right forehoof slipped off the now-divoted bench, slammed into the floor. AIrtist didn't notice.

"-- with whomever it is directed to interact with," the judge steered. "It makes all physical contact. According to Ms. Intrinsi's testimony, you simply watched. My question is this, Mr. AIrtist. Does the spell provide you with tactile sensation? Can you feel what it is doing, as if you were the one putting forth that effort? Do you gain any direct, personal stimulation from its actions? Can it bring you to orgasm?"

Later, in the privacy of her chambers, Impassi would decide that it would have been so much better for him if he'd looked confused.

"No. 'No' to all of it."

'Dismissive' wasn't an improvement.

"Then," the older mare asked, "exactly what do you get out of it?"

He arched a superior eyebrow.

"I activated the spell. I gave it the necessary prompt. So obviously, I get all of the credit --"

"-- you take credit for whatever it did," the plaintiff softly said, and did so without looking at him.

She was talking about him. The words got through.

"Obviously."

"So you'll take credit for it having five legs."

AIrtist very nearly frowned.

"The spell creates its form based on aggregate data," the stallion said. "Averages. So any fault in the visible limb count obviously has to be blamed on pegasi. Anyway, as long as the actual act was pleasurable --"

"The fifth leg kept trying to -- insert itself."

He almost thought about it.

"Some mares are probably into that." Proudly, "It's an adaptive spell, you know. Some might even say that it learns. So if it had ever encountered a mare who liked to have a hoof shoved into her --"

"-- navel," Intrinsi darkly stated. "Your spell kept trying to have sex with my navel."

"So you've never heard of the Wiseau Position?"

"And then the vase fell on my head."

The judge blinked.

"Your original testimony didn't mention a vase," she reminded the plaintiff.

"I just remembered," Intrinsi replied. "Because of the drinking. And also because the vase appeared out of nowhere. I got a really good look at it before it dropped, because I was on my back. It was an antique, like something you'd see in a museum. Really heavy-looking. It just popped in. Then it fell on my head. And broke. And then the pieces vanished."

"Well, yes," AIrtist readily admitted. "That's just artifacting. Nopony's sure why it happens."

"But your spell did that," the plaintiff half-hissed. "So don't you think you're at fault?"

Immediately, "No."

The air pressure in the courtroom dropped. Having the entire gallery simultaneously taking a breath could do that.

"No," Intrinsi repeated, and did so just a little too carefully.

"How am I possibly to blame for what a spell does?" AIrtist smoothly attempted to make the other side of the argument. "I just started it going. Anything which might be seen as a negative consequence -- that's clearly the fault of the spell. Which, as it's very new, is still undergoing refinement. It may need to have sex with hundreds of mares in order to produce truly consistent results. That's why I need to keep going into bars. Because escorts insist on being paid, and acquiring data really should be free."

"To be clear," the judge interjected, doing so while the gallery had still left some oxygen available, "you will freely take all of the credit for the spell's actions. But none of the blame."

"I also get the profit," AIrtist decided.

"There was no mention of payment being made for sex," Judge Heartstopper observed. (Instrinsi was already shaking her head.) "You aren't listed as a professional escort, Mr AIrtist. Accepting money without a license --"

"-- the vase was an antique," the stallion proudly noted. "If the artifacts could be made to stick around for a few days, I could sell them. Profit."

Morbid curiosity briefly took the helm. "And should they vanish afterwards?"

"Then that's the spell's fault," decided a herd's worth of misplaced confidence. "I'm sure a competent court would agree."

The defendant slowly, almost sadly shook his head, and then looked directly into Impassi's steely eyes.

"You're going to be obsolete soon," he stated for the record. "And we'll all be better off."

The gallery collectively stopped breathing.

Impassi was a marked judge. There were ways in which her deepest magic was at work in just about every minute of her working life. The effects were subtle and, for the most part, unnoticeable. Even she seldom consciously registered when those little effects were in play.

She'd never felt her talent surge that way. She was fully aware of how it desperately lunged through her body, getting in front of her throat so it could frantically block off every last word which she probably wouldn't have said anyway. Telling her to just let the stallion keep talking.

He had to talk, for his was the only voice he cared to hear.

"Think about all the things spells could do, if we just let them," he said. "A spell could write books for us. Create art. Maybe illusion spells could take the shape of actors and perform. Why does anypony ever have to do anything, when magic could lead the way? And I suppose that some would say those whose marks are for such pointless labor would be closed out. But really, isn't it their fault in not manifesting a talent for something more sensible? Like the creation of those spells. Or a mark for knowing that a sensible pony would be among the first to use those workings. Yes, there might be some initial problems with limb counts and colors which supposedly don't exist in the spectrum and characters who change gender and species six times in five paragraphs, but shouldn't that last just be a plot point? And besides, the spell only has to be purchased once. Or a few times, to get the updates. Who needs to pay for a Marble Whispers sculpture when you can just let a spell surround the borders of his results and memorize the curves? Imagine the increased profit margins on all of the created works, once nopony in the so-called arts has to be compensated for their supposed efforts again!"

An entire courtroom memorized the stallion's mark, then made plans to prevent their children from ever manifesting it.

"And with a spell... an adaptive spell could replace a judge," AIrtist decided. "Weigh the evidence without personal bias. It wouldn't allow itself to be tainted by emotional considerations, by pleas to the heart or so-called situational circumstances. It would simply render a perfect verdict. Every time. Pony judges would be obsolete. And wouldn't we be better off?"

He looked up at Impassi, with pity in his eyes.

"You should agree with me," he told the judge. "Anypony of intelligence would. And as that means you'll agree that I can't be found at fault for anything the spell did, including that moment when she claims it tried to do that thing with her ears. The ear thing is clearly somepony's fetish. So if you'll just finish this...?"

The older mare imperiously nodded.

"Ms. Intrinsi?" The fir-green earth pony, whose tail lash rate was four minutes away from having the Weather Bureau's wind division file a complaint regarding copyright infringement, looked up. "The consumption of alcohol can be a factor in determining whether consent was truly given. However, you did agree to accompany the defendant to the hotel, and to allow him to use --" the pause was deliberate "-- artificial aids."

The outraged snort was ignored.

"I know," the younger mare quietly said.

"Which does not change the fact," Impassi added, "that consent can be withdrawn at any time. Additionally, to use an example, permission to nuzzle is not implicit permission to kiss, or anything beyond. And you always have the right to tell somepony to stop. The case does not necessarily need to be in this courtroom, and there is still time. Did you --"

"I was yelling at the spell," the plaintiff bitterly stated. "He'll probably say that doesn't count as yelling at him." (He was already nodding.) "And then the vase hit me. It stopped after the vase." Just a little more quietly, "I filed here, your honor. Civil charges and damages. Not criminal ones. I picked him up for sex, that was my decision, and... I don't drink any more. But maybe it could have been good. If it had been with a pony. A spell... can't cuddle."

A judge's mark whispered to its bearer.

"Prior to the beginning of this trial," Impassi Heartstopper announced, "the defendant and plaintiff wrote down what they each wished to receive in the event of my finding in their favor. Neither knows of the other's desires. Mr. AIrtist naturally wishes to be released without any degree of penalty."

He nodded, and even that was smug.

"Whereas Ms. Intrinsi," the judge continued, "asked for the rather uncommon -- but fully legal -- award of what is typically known as the ZB Solution. Which, for those unfamiliar with it, represents a requested short period spent with the defendant in a locked, unobserved, soundproofed room."

The stallion blinked.

"You can't," and the smugness had dropped away, vibrated loose by the tremble. "She -- she would --"

"Under a ZB ruling," the judge assured him, "murder remains illegal. This also applies to battery and aggravated assault."

"Oh," he breathed. "Good. Not that I'm going to lose. A spell would know I was right --"

"-- however, simple assault, which was also described in the original Trottingham precedent ruling as 'a bloody good well-deserved kicking', cannot be charged for anything which happens for the duration of that time. I find for the plaintiff. The room in question can be reached by exiting the courtroom, turning left, and using the indicated door. Which is four down. Sentence to be carried out immediately. And if Mr. AIrtist is about to insist that the spell can take the kicking for him, then I would ask him if it can also be placed in prison for the next two moons -- alongside its caster."

AIrtist slowly turned to face the well-built earth pony. Eyes which were in the middle of rolling backwards did their best to take in the whole of the muscular form. And then he unceremoniously fell off his bench.

Perhaps a spell might have simulated a better near-faint. But there were some things which just really needed to be done by a pony.

"Ms. Intrinsi," Judge Heartstopper announced, "you will have seven minutes."

The plaintiff, who was still blinking away several layers of stun, managed to look up.

"I... I wrote down fi --"

The older mare, whose role, talent, and career were nowhere near obsolescence, simply looked at her. Doing so in complete neutrality.

"-- seven," Intrinsi finished as she turned to face the collapsed defendant. "Yes. Seven. That's exactly what I asked for. Well, AIrtist. Just like I told you that night at the bar -- shall we?"

Next Chapter: But Is The Stenotype's Font Sufficiently Elegant? Estimated time remaining: 44 Minutes