2030, Sea of Tranquility, East Lunar Special, 2030

The East Lunar Special forded the Sea of Tranquility, the tracks mere feet above the lapping gray waters. In the horizon, a small stretch of land just south of the Sea of Crisis sat fat and green. Nearby, a freighter loaded down with crates of corn, beans, tobacco, all the yield of the land chugged back toward the city in a vain attempt to feed its people while sending enough down the space elevator to keep the electricity coming. And, as Edward stared out the window with droopy eyes at the impending destination, he realized that none of that electricity would make its way across this sea. The only nuclear facility on the planet was at the south pole, and piped north to industrial Tycho Crater.

The spark. That precious spark. Nothing happened on ol' Luna without the spark. Aside from Tycho and Ivansburg, almost every acre of the Moon was arable land. And under that arable land was caverns of hydroponics. Vats and vats of muscle by the pound. Food enough for billions, land enough for, maybe, a million or two.

The excess went down the space elevator. Tons of the stuff, daily. And around the space elevator grew Castle Ivansburg, a massive facility to handle the incoming produce. And around Castle Ivansburg grew Ivansburg City, to house the corporate staff working 24 hours a day 7 days a week. And, when precious little plutonium made it up it was shipped by underground armed caravan to Tycho, where the spark could spread to the few factories nearby and back to the public houses of Ivansburg.

And so the cycle went. But not for the town of Crisis Bay. And not for Edward.

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.

2030, Castle Copernicus, The Moon

Edward watched another train snake into the city gates through the notches on the top of his bolt-action rifle. He was perched lazily on the southern wall of the castle and capital like a gargoyle, watching between the ramparts for ghouls trying to get into the city. The slate grey monsters weren’t smart, which was a blessing, but they also ate iron and could latch onto the train trying to feed in order to reproduce. A pregnant ghoul dropped in the middle of the train depot would cause a panic, infection, and quarantine. There was no real way to shake ‘em off except to employ a sharpshooter. Edward had one job, and it was to put down anything with grey skin clinging to the side of that train, which seemed to crawl painfully out of the southern woods, through the fields, over the moat, and into the castle’s back door.

Edward sat up, his spine creaking like wood, and blinked in the warm sunlight of the afternoon. He knew he was lucky to have this job – army work was one of the few ways for him to pull himself and his family out of the gutter. If he did well here he’d be promoted, and a chest full of medals could maybe catch the eye of a young aristocrat with an eye for a war hero. And unlike the brutish men of his profession he’d be charming and kind, with integrity and a romantic eye. And finally when he worked up the courage to ask her for her hand in marriage she would weep with happiness to marry for love, and he’d earn the trust of her father and the favor of her mother and never have to come home to an overcrowded hovel near those smelly docks again.

Edward blinked.

Something moving caught his eye.

Something grey, climbing along chipping red paint of the train.

Some things, actually.

He grunted as he jammed the butt of his rifle into his shoulder, and fired wildly. The shot pinged off the side of the train, and his training took over. He lined up the sights, and fired. The first of the slathering grey monsters fell onto the field, writhed in the pain of the sunlight, and scrambled back to the comfort of the wooded shade. The rifle cracked again, the train shedding ghouls like fleas but growing closer and closer to the tunnel right below. Sweat pooled on Edward’s brow, one of the monsters fell off of the bridge screaming into the water, and was taken by the flow. He pulled the trigger, trained on the last of the monstrosities and heard the unfortunate click of an empty box magazine. It clicked again, and then three times in succession before the monster slipped into the darkness beneath him.

Edward had let one slip through. He had to get down there. He grabbed a handful of bullets and slung his rifle over his shoulder before hurling himself over the wall behind him, shimmying down the emergency rope left just for this occasion. Landing in an open courtyard, he shouldered his way through the crowd brutally despite cries of protest. He spilled into the downstairs tunnel towards the train depot, scattering a gaggle of schoolchildren on some sort of field trip. He leapt over the last batch of stone steps, landed awkwardly, and stumbled down the hallway toward the sound of screeching brakes and the hiss of steam. He screamed at the train guard who tried to stop him, and pulled his rifle back to his shoulder. As soon as he was in the depot he screamed quarantine and everybody fled, dropping boxes along the way. Doors slammed shut, and bolted. Silence filled the long depot, with half unloaded freight trains, and the clatter of bullets being re-inserted into the magazine. Silence. Edward was alone with the monster.