Sheriff Blaine Leroux ran a finger over his short clean mustache. The cut hairs tickled his fingertip like velcro. He clawed his upper lip with clean fingernails, irritated. Why had he let the barber talk him into trimming his mustache? Until a day ago he hadn't even seen his own upper lip in years. He'd sported a squirrel's tail of a mustache for the longest time. Now this sad excuse for facial hair. Fifteen-year-old boys had thicker growths. He'd almost gotten a straight edge razor and lopped it clean off. But that would only prolong the journey back to a full 'stache.

The low thrum of a hover speeder rumbled in his chest. Leroux set the mirror down, almost cracking it. Russ and Crag were back and they were speaking with someone else outside. Probably Trace the Ace.

Leroux shuddered at the thought of confronting the Terran lawman while his face was practically naked. But, there was a chance things had gotten messy and the deputies had dealt with it in a lethal fashion.

"What's wrong Sheriff? And what happened to your lip?"

Leroux gnashed his teeth and slammed into the cell bars. "Keep wagging your jaw, Couch, and I'll come in there and make sure you have to eat through a tube."

Jeb Couch cowered into the furthest corner of the cell. Leroux straightened his jacket and cracked his knuckles, composing himself. Couch didn't mean anything by it. Couch was the village idiot. Had a mouth bigger than his mind. No filter. And that got him into quite a bit of trouble. He still had a black eye from the last brawl he started.

Leroux stole one last glance at the mirror, checking his hair. At least the barber got that right. He liked to keep his gray sides short, with enough black hair left up top for the ladies to slick back with their slender fingers. Despite the lack of a man's mustache, he reminded himself that he still had a square jaw. And broad shoulders. Huge hands too. A debonair smile crossed his lips. Unlike most Rubruns, his ivory teeth shone like pearls.

The door whisked open. In strode Tracy Irving. Leroux's deputies flanked the man. "As I live and breathe," said Tracy.

"Hey Tracy," said Leroux. "Long time."

"Real long. I thought you said you'd never move to Mars. Not in a million lightyears."

Leroux smirked. His hand rubbed his five o'clock stubble out of habit. "Things change. An opportunity presented itself. I took it."

"How's the wife?"

"She left me years ago. I'm a free man now."

"Uh huh."

"Pull up a chair, Irving." Leroux slid into his own chair and kicked his clean boots up on the desk.

Russ and Crag stood there, dropping eaves, probably wondering how he and Tracy knew each other. Leroux displayed a wide smile. "I see you've met my deputies, Russ, and Crag." Leroux pointed to each in turn. "Mr. Irving and I are going to have a talk. Why don't you boys go hose Couch off downstairs? He's starting to smell. Thankya."

Russ stepped up to the desk and dropped the visitor's holsters and guns. Leroux waited until the clomp of their boots died down. "How about you? Free like me?"

Tracy turned the chair offered to him and spun it around before straddling it and laying his arms across the headrest. "I've been married for a while now."

"That a fact? Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"Let me guess. Asian girl?"

"What difference does it make?"

"A yes then."

It was Tracy's turn to smirk.

"You always had an eye for exotic brunettes."

"This is true."

"Any kids?"

Tracy's eyes grew as cold as the black of space. Leroux suspected he had tread over a sore spot for the younger lawman. Perhaps an old wound.

"One on the way."

"No kidding? When's your baby momma due?"

"About three months from now."

Leroux calculated on his fingers. "You barely have time to make it back."

"No thanks to Earth's one-way worm jump."

Leroux didn't mind the use of his former home's name. He wasn't born and raised here like most. It still made him feel like a pebble was stuck in his boot. It reminded him that Irving did not belong here in Tharsis, did not belong on Rubrum at all. He'd get to the bottom of that momentarily. But first he needed to smooth things over.

"Kentucky Bourbon?"

"You can't have any honest Kentucky here."

"Why not? This is my desk, my jurisdiction, my town. I can have honest to goodness Kentucky Bourbon."

"Hard to come by, I'd imagine."

Leroux produced the bottle and two glasses. "Challenging. But not as hard as you'd think. Cost a pretty cred though. That's for sure."

Leroux held his glass up. Tracy mirrored him.

"To becoming a father."

Tracy nodded his head. They both downed their glasses.

Leroux smacked his lips, enjoying the burn from his tongue, down his throat, deep behind his chest. A recollection set his hands to patting his vest pockets. "I know I have a few cigars somewhere."

Tracy produced two of his own from his portable humidor in the time it took Leroux to blink.

Leroux had forgotten the man had a quick, smooth-handed draw. Well, one hand. The other was a prosthetic, and not the low-end kind either. Smartarm by the looks of it. He seemed to recall hearing that Tracy had lost his arm in the line of duty, meaning the arm was covered by workman's comp. And considering he lost it in the service as a lawman, he'd gotten compensated with the best prosthetic on the market at the time.

Leroux wanted to ask about it. But after stinging Tracy with the kid question, he figured if Tracy wanted to bring it up, he would.

Tracy struck a match against said hand, toasting and lighting Leroux's cigar before lighting his own.

Leroux took slow drags, working through the first inch of the maduro stick. His eyebrows lifted. "Wow. Good body."

They smoked for a time in silence. Leroux leaned back and reveled in his current position. How many men in Tharsis wore the power of the law on their chest and hip? How many got to ease back into comfortable chairs and enjoy cigar profiles with an old colleague and friend? Not many. Man, he loved his job.

"Do you like your job, Irving?"

"Huh?"

"Do you like being a marshal?"

"Most days."

"I'd imagine it gets exciting."

Tracy tapped his alloyed fingers on the desk. "At times. It can be."

"You remember the last time we did this?"

Tracy nodded.

"Day we heard you got accepted. What a day. Remember we had just finished that SWAT raid. You merked so many of those human traffickers. Can't lie. I was jealous."

"Jealous of the body count?"

"No. Of you getting the marshal position."

"You didn't aspire to be a marshal."

"Don't have what it takes."

"You could do this."

"No. I really don't think so. You though. You were born for it."

At the word born, Tracy twiddled his thumbs, as if uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and removed his onyx Stetson, giving his fingers something to grasp. He drew a breath and sighed. He looked like he had a lot to say, but didn't know where to start.

Leroux changed the subject. "What brings you to Rubrum?"

"Royce."

Leroux tried to show no reaction. "Who?"

"Roy Rothspalt. Roy the charmer. Roy the crafty. Roy, that conniving son of a king cobra. Don't give me that stupid ignorant look, Leroux. I didn't leave my wife more than 55 million kilometers behind to play games. You seen Roy? Know where he is?"

Leroux chuckled in disbelief. "This Rothspalt feller must have done something pretty bad to have Terra catapult a U.S. Marshal all the way to Rubrum, outside of his jurisdiction."

"Mars is a colony of the United States of America."

"Parts of Mars. And most of Mars don't see it that way. Not after Terra got distracted in the war and forgot to provide support."

Tracy ignored that comment and continued, leaning over the edge of Leroux's desk. "Since you're playing dumb, I'll remind you that Roy was the leader of a fringe cult. Gained a following. But then, as cults go, some of his trusted followers tried to wrestle power from him. Or he was paranoid. Either way, anyone involved ended up slaughtered. Except Roy."

"So? You know what they say. Cults be crazy. And this was how many years ago?"

"Recent enough. Especially for the Attorney General. See, he wanted his daughter to go off to a prestigious college for the political elite, but for once she just wanted to go to school with the normal kids. Finally he concedes. She's his only daughter after all, his little princess.

"Well she got an exploratory rebellious streak in her, as young adults do. But she got in way over her head. Ends up in Roy's cult. Then ends up dead, and Roy's to blame. But she's just one of many. The rest are all working class families whose kids just wanted to cut loose from all the life's pressures. Instead they got cut loose from life itself."

Tracy leaned forward.

"None of them parents have the resources to get the justice they deserve. But the AG does. He can get justice for all of them. But, Roy falls off the map. Disappears, making matters worse, The Attorney General keeps an ear to the ground the whole time though. And suddenly Roy reappears on Mars."

"Ain't my problem, Tracy. Earthen crimes don't transfer to Mars. Not anymore. Not after the Clean Slate Bill. Y'all sent some of the worst of the worst former inmates to us— after the war, mind you."

"Doesn't matter. Nor does it matter that Earth and Mars only fly side by side for a three month period every two years. Doesn't even matter that the Attorney General learned of Roy too late to send me during the last cycle. Doesn't matter if it were days later, or years, he was going to send someone some day to collect Roy and make him stand in court in front of a judge and jury, and more importantly to face those fathers and mothers, who lost their college kids, just as their lives were blossoming."

As if to hammer home the point, Tracy tapped his smartarm, projecting a hologram wanted poster, highlighting Roy and his rap sheet. "I didn't send the Clean Slaters and I didn't send Roy. I've got one job. Bring Roy back alive, and I've got less than three weeks to do it."

Leroux knew there was no denying it. Despite being separated by years and worlds, Tracy could still read him like a book. And he knew the man's persistence. He and Tracy worked shoulder to shoulder, holster to holster for years. Tracy would draw the truth about Roy out of him. He couldn't deny it. The only thing he could try was to dissuade his old buddy.

"You try to remove him, you'll find he's as difficult as a weed. Rip off the head, it just grows back. Despite only being here for several years, his roots run throughout Rubrum, from the high to the low." Leroux spoke in a quiet voice. "He's dug in deep. Like a splinter, burrowed so far down you'd have to dig it out with a knife, and once you start diggin', you'll lose track of the splinter because of all of the blood the knife causes."

"Just tell me where to find him."

"On a planet with as small of a network as this one, you only get one reputation. One. I've worked hard to maintain my standing with those of repute, Tracy. You don't understand what you're asking of me."

In one puff of the cigar smoke he was Tracy Irving, Leroux's long-standing friend. But after the next drag and puff of smoke his pupils opened, like dark dried up wells. He wasn't Irving. Leroux now dealt with Trace the Ace, and he was thirsty for justice.

Leroux wanted to dodge that look. He felt cornered in his own office. Trace's silence demanded an answer.

Leroux tugged at his collar. It felt way hotter in the office. Must have been all the cigar smoke. "He's cozied up with fellers and ladies that have deep pockets. And not just that. Roy has a way of talking, relating to the common man. People are drawn to him. Like mosquitoes to light. No one, and I mean no one, will turn Roy Rothspalt in."

"Why?"

"He gives 'em hope. Something they haven't dreamed of in a long time."

"How? What's he got to offer that no one else does?"

Leroux could not put it into words. Even as his thoughts turned to Roy, his heart was filled with nothing but warmth, like a child caught up in the loving arms of a kind grandparent smothering them with affection. Roy put people at ease. He made men feel like victors over Mars, not castaway victims from Earth's scraps. He made women feel beautiful, like princesses instead of prostitutes. Leroux could not even say that Roy was his friend, but he was loyal to Roy, though he could not explain why.

Tracy's eyes locked on Leroux's like they could bore into his skull and mine the truth within. "You're on their payroll, aren't you?"

Leroux didn't move.

"He's got dirt on you too."

"He's got dirt on all of them," Leroux admitted. "Like I said, he has a way with words, so as he can gaze on a man or woman, and they'll unravel. Reveal all of their insecurities to him."

"I don't care what he knows about you or them. Just point me in a direction."

Leroux made the mistake of peering out the window, Southeast, past the Noctis Labyrinthus, towards Phoenicis. He scowled as soon as he realized he'd given Roy's location away. For a marshal as skilled as Trace, that was all he needed.

Trace the Ace donned his Stetson, readying to leave.

"You don't have jurisdiction here, Irving. This isn't your town, it's mine. It isn't even your planet. You should get on the ship that brought you here and sail back to your pregnant wife."

"Can't. My ship got shot down. It's a melted scrapheap now. If I gotta find the means for a return voyage I'm going to make it worth my time and bring home that murdering fugitive."

"I'll make arrangements. I'll get you a new ride out of here. I roll with one of the most influential men on the planet. He can spare you a ride."

Trace snatched his holsters and belted them on. Names etched in each revolver jumped out at Leroux, taunting him. One said Judge , the other Jury .

"How much did they buy you for, huh? How much are you worth? Must be some opportunity. You're just their lacky. You may wear a badge, but you're nothing but a puppet. Was it worth it? Throwing your whole life on Earth away for this barren wasteland, just to make a few extra creds and flaunt some fancy title?"

Leroux got to his feet, fists clenched.

"What are you gonna do, pal? Punch me?"

"I see the marshal badge has puffed your chest full of hot air."

"I see this Sheriff job keeps your boots clean. Are you proud of yourself?"

Leroux snarled. "Get out before I throw you in a cell."

He watched Trace get up and leave, a trail of dusty red footprints followed him to the door, like dried blood.

"Oh, one more thing, Leroux. I hate your mustache."

Tracy mounted his metal steed, gave it a pat with his metal arm, and trotted off.

Leroux stood in front of the window, watching Tracy ride away with his back to the sun until he was a speck on the horizon.

Leroux wanted to help his former friend. But he had new friends now. Tycoons that controlled the business on Mars. The social structure was all interwoven, moreso even than on Earth. The livelihood of families was at stake. Food supplies. Fresh oxygen. From the bullet rail lines to the water system that melted the polar cap and transferred it and distributed it to the farmers so they could grow crops. All of it intertwined like a spider's web. And poised in the center of that web, somehow, someway, was Rip-Roaring Roy. To pluck Roy out was to unravel the threads that held Rubrum together. Things must continue the way they were.

"Everything okay Sheriff?"

Leroux flinched. How long had his deputies been standing there? He'd been lost in thought. Trace was out of sight. Long gone. If Roy made him feel warm and happy inside, Trace made him feel cold and angry. He reminded Leroux of the better man he used to be. But that man died on Terra, and everything he left behind had decayed with his old life.

He studied his deputies, considering if they were up to the task. Crag by himself would fail in this specific scenario. But with Russ taking the lead, they'd succeed. Leroux trusted Russ. Dependability defined him. He always accomplished whatever was required of him. It warmed Leroux inside, bringing a slight smile to his lips.

"Follow my old compadre. Arrest him without making a scene if you can. But, if not, rough him up if you have to. Don't get too close to Noctis Labyrinthus. I wouldn't want anyone to slip and fall into the canyon and be swallowed up by the maw."

Crag grinned. Russ just nodded. The two of them got into their speeder and shot off.

Leroux winced, wishing he could call the boys off, but they were already gathering a small pack of bloodthirsty wolves for the hunt. His hands were tied, but his boots were clean.