Leroux paced the New Oklahoman train station deck, wobbling a bit, waiting for the bullet train to arrive. Besides him a borg woman watched him pace. Her metal arm reflected bright sunlight into his face, making him squint and move away. She reminded him of Tracy.

Tracy. He'd gone and thrown a wrench in the middle of everything. Now because his old former friend appeared, Leroux sat in a heap of trouble.

And for what? He'd lost five men. Four died at the end of Tracy's gun barrels. And Sujin snatched up his most reliable man, Russ. That stung.

Russ himself wasn't alright. Not after losing his best bud. Leroux realized he had lost Russ then, the moment Trace ended Quynn's life.

His head spun a little from all the drinking. Had it really been yesterday that he and Sujin and Russ set foot down in the bowels of the canyon? So dark down there. Seemed like ages ago.

Then Russ had gone and got himself mauled by that thing. Leroux closed his eyes to ward off the screams. No human should make noises like that.

According to Sujin, Russ would survive. The Red Prince had access to the best doctors and surgeons creds could buy.

Leroux couldn't bear to lose another man. But it was all outside of his control. So he'd spent the rest of the night drinking. Trying to forget what he heard, what he saw. Trying to forget how he'd acted. Shale, he'd been on SWAT back on Terra. But cutting down drug dealers and human traffickers was different than coming face to face with the unknown, a thing beyond comprehension that shouldn't exist.

His stomach churned. He'd come here to escape trouble. Terra was trouble. But not Rubrum. Rubrum was new. Rubrum was adventure. Rubrum was retirement. Or it had been, before Trace showed up. Now things between Leroux and Sujin were rocky at best, splintering like shale.

And he knew Sujin too well. The robber baron reveled in acting cruel. He'd make Leroux sweat it out until he either favored him again or not, just to make Leroux writhe.

An ache in his chest pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe, hard to walk. He'd fallen out of favor with Sujin, his patron. Or at least that's how he always understood their relationship until now. Now he realized that Sujin viewed him as less than a slave, a mere object, a tool that he could use or dispose of.

The sheriff knew Sujin's history. The man was unforgiving. Mistakes were not tolerated. They were obliterated. Leroux had been fooled by the man's outer appearance. He wore youth like a costume, a role he assumed, and one that played well. Leroux remembered the day he found out that Sujin—who appeared vibrant and healthy—was in fact dying. In desperation he'd begun to see the Reverend Roy for healing in attempts to elongate his life. Apparently it was working.

Outward appearances led him to believe he and Sujin were peers, albeit separated by class. But Sujin's superiority complex loomed large in Leroux's mind now.

In the far distance, sunlight reflected off of an oval speck moving towards the station at incredible speeds. The train would arrive soon, and Leroux would be back to Tharsis in no time at all. But not back to normal. No Edom. No Milton. No Peter. No Quynn. And no Russ. Just him and Crag.

Crag, that mindless idiot. His only strength lay in his reputation as having an overeager trigger finger, and a deft shot. It kept most people from breaking laws. But enforcing Law didn't mean Crag knew how to keep Order. The sheriff would probably return to a Tharsis in shambles. How did that look to the inhabitants? Four men dead. One deputy, Russ, dying, and even if he survived, he worked for Sujin now. And no Trace to pay for it. He'd lose the settlement's trust, and his reelection as sheriff, come next term or sooner. Especially without Sujin's support. The tycoon warned him with an implicit threat. Leroux groaned. He was about to lose it all. He'd left his wife for this, jumped planets to start fresh, to make something of himself, to put his good looks to better use, leveraging his charm into a cush position.

Leroux bit his upper lip, irritation building at the reminder of his missing mustache, no thanks to the velcro-length hairs scratching his lower lip.

This was all because of Tracy, but the fault was his own.

The oval bullet train drove towards him at tremendous speeds, growing larger and larger by the second.

It reminded him of Tracy. His old pal. That guy had drive. What drove him to keep going? Leroux knew that Trace would pursue Roy with relentless fervor until he captured him, or died trying. The guy took the law too seriously.

Until he met Tracy, Leroux thought that every person who joined law enforcement joined for one reason. Power. Who didn't want to be able to pilot speeders fast, take down criminals, and strut down the street knowing everyone either feared or respected you. He'd assumed that guys with some higher sense of justice, law, and order were just a myth. Or they were too young, and the years on the force hadn't scraped away their romanticism yet. But then Tracy showed him that old school, upright men who tried to walk the straight-n-narrow did exist.

That always kind of pissed Leroux off. It got under his skin even more because the longer he worked with Tracy, the more he realized the guy wasn't self-righteous in the slightest. Tracy really strove to make the world a better place, and he managed to remain uncompromised, all these years.

With whining breaks and a loud whistle, the train stopped at the station.

Leroux didn't want to get on the train, didn't want to face the pile of crap waiting for him to deal with back in Tharsis, but what choice did he have?

The far-stretching jagged horizon drew his attention. "Good luck out there, Tracy. Wherever you are." he whispered in the wind. "Brought this on yourself, brother. Too rigid."

He boarded, found his seat, and tried to make himself comfortable for the twelve-hour train ride. Sure it was bullet fast, but it had a long way to navigate, skirting around the edge of Noctis Labyrinthus the whole way.

His lids drooped shut. He tried to not think of savage murderous alien beasts lurking in the pits of the planet, tried not to think of the fact that he'd lost Russ, nor the fact that Sujin made a fool of him, that the tycoon with all his wealth had not offered to pay his train ticket to send him back to Tharsis.

But most of all, despite words offered to the wind, he tried not to dwell on Tracy, and failed.

***

Twelve hours later, a groggy, sore sheriff stepped off of the train in the face of a setting sun. He didn't feel rested. No indeed. He felt covered in filth. He needed a long hot shower in steaming water.

But first, he visited the office, making sure Crag hadn't burned the place down.

Crag nearly jumped out of his skin when Leroux walked through the door.

"Whatchu doing here, Sheriff? Bout gave me a heart attack."

Leroux could ask Crag the same thing. It was about two hours after the office had closed. But from the looks of it, the simpleton had leaned back with his filthy boots on Leroux's desk, enjoying Leroux's bourbon and Leroux's cigars for a while now.

He felt a storm raging, welling up from deep inside.

"I know this looks bad. I's just having a few drinks and blowing smoke rings for our fallen brothers. Taking a shot for each man. Processing it is all."

As much as he wanted to hold onto the anger, that deflated him.

"Pour two for Russ as well."

"Why?"

"Got himself a new job with Mr. McCrory. If he ain't dead already."