2030, Copernicus City, Metro Center Station, The Moon

Edward sat on his navy blue duffel bag, posture unbecoming of a recently sworn officer of the peace and executor of corporate law. He was had reread the first paragraph in a thin booklet on procedure for the past half hour, waiting for the East Lunar Special.

When first on a crime scene, first establish a perimeter. Ensure that entering the crime scene has serious consequences first establish a perimeter. Establish a perimeter. Ensure that entering the crime scene first inform the suspect that he is to freeze. Do not fire upon a suspect unless he or she fails to comply has serious consequences. When suspect is imprisoned, make sure they have water and food enough for the night. Do not release the suspect if he or she is feeling ill. Do not fire upon the suspect.

He shut the book, his head ringing. He couldn't read. He was struck illiterate. Why on earth should this be, a clever lad such as he? The past week had been nothing but drills, elevating him from a kid with a gun on a wall to full blown watchman. What he had found out just an hour ago, however, was that he was the only game in town. Acres and acres of land, and one solitary guardhouse. He had been alone since, and was going to be alone for the foreseeable future. And the pit in his stomach hollowed and ground against itself.

It had been a trans formative experience, being yelled out by heavy set gentlemen convinced they could turn boys into men with seven day's time. He had run long distances, shot at paper cutouts of gentlemen on the run, and learned to sleep in a chair with a howling drunk in the tank. He was assured this was mostly what he'd be dealing with, out in the country. Drunks. Good honest folks working an honest day and heading out at 3 in the afternoon to drink half a bottle of potato juice and beat up some ethnic minorities. Or whatever.

And the thin blue line felt pretty damn thin right now. Watching the earth float fat and leaden on the night horizon in between the tall stone buildings of his native Coperniucs city. The parapets of the castle died away in the distance. He had hours to go as the plume of smoke knifed through the night and he took swigs from an unmarked bottle of whiskey when nobody was looking and just as things were starting to look better or at least a little more blurry the darkness closed in and he fell asleep mouth open.

2030, Metro Chief Warrents Office, Ivansburg City, The Moon

Metro Police Chief Warrens rubbed the bridge of his nose and let the pages of his report fall from his fingers. The setting sun crashed into the capitol city skyline and left an orange haze in its wake, dancing on particles of dust between the wooden shutters. The chief's office is deceptively warm, given its utility. The hardwood floor was accented by a burnt sienna rug, bleeding into the bright cherry and red leather furniture. Parapets of bookshelves exploding with hardbound files and old world books speak of a man with legal ambitions. But Warrens' attention is focused on the quivering young mass occupying the overstuffed chair across from him. Thirty minutes before his left his department, life had seen fit to present him with one last political puzzle.

Officer Roland, elsewhere, is a cacophony of tubes and gauze, floating on stretcher through the stone hallways of the Ivansburg City Hospital eyed wearily by sawbones and strapped to the table. Bound, gagged, and roughly handled the ghoul is carefully dropped in the incinerator. The trains return to their schedule, overloaded for the delay. The only knot left to tie is young Edward - overeducated, underemployed, deserving of reward. Time crawls toward the five o'clock hour, and Department Chief Harris shrugs, exasperated. He couldn't in good conscience let the boy who saved his best man's life walk away empty handed.

"How do you fancy a life in the country?"

("Beer 'n a Shot" Edward will request in two hours, parting with a few precious dollars, wrapping his mind around the prospect of life as a copper. Years of study to end up a blue meanie on the beat with pay to match in some random farming town on the other side of the sea of tranquility. Tobacco, of all things. He is a natural philosopher, for goodness sakes. But, well, down the hatch. Things are supposed to get worse before they get better. It's only a year. Go back to school on the back of bribes. Ain't no harm. Ain't none of his classmates doing better. Ain't nothing to keep him in this bullshit town. Down the hatch. Better go home and pack. He knows he is lucky, but the slope of his spine and shuffle in his step looks like a man on his way to the salt mines.

and, well, he is.)

Rate of Pay, benefits, risks, and location spill across the desk, and Edward signs his name, smiles, and says thank you and kicks his heels as he walks to the bar to smilingly drown the sorrows of the miles of difference between promise and reality.