The room was sparsely lit, only furnished with a simple wooden table and two chairs. An old worn unlit gas lamp stood on the edge of the table. The man in the military uniform sat in one chair, his head down looking to his boots. He couldn’t have been older than forty. Old enough to explain the weariness on his face. Young enough to still remember naïve-unfulfilled dreams of his youth. His hands grasped the edges of the chair’s armrests until one could hear the wood slants under the cheap cushions creak in pain. Opposite of him, a tall man with white hair gently nodded his head, as if knowing the right moment to gesture some kind of acknowledgement. The right balance of listening and interrupting that only a seasoned man of the cloth could learn over years of experience. The kind of instinct that had become second nature as the ‘verse had become more and more lawless as the rumblings of another war brewed across all the frontier outposts.

“And do you feel remorse at all?” asked the tall man. It was almost a laughable question after what he had just heard being confessed. It was a story so disturbed and violent that it bordered on the surreal. He would have laughed, thinking the tale was a product of a wild imagination, had not the strange visitor kept such a stoic face the whole time. But the faux mask of total control could not disguise the pain in his eyes.

“I’ve served the Alliance for twenty years now. But it was when I was on an outpost planet about a week ago that I realized what I had become. I had been there before several times, it was a known trouble spot. There was a local mayor in town; he was doing a lot of talking. Things lots of people didn’t want to hear. Or more frightening to some folks, he said things that lots of people started to repeat themselves. He was against unification, thought it would only bring hardship and pain to the outer rim planets like his. In retrospect, he was right, ahead of his time. But that wasn’t my job to decide right and wrong. At least that’s what I thought.

I followed this Mayor for a few days to see his patterns, to see where he lived and when he would go out. It wasn’t hard; it was never hard for me to do this kind of thing. I guess you could say I had a natural talent for it and the Alliance saw that skill set early in me. So one late night I broke into his home while his wife was away to see relatives. It was on the edge of town, near the saloon. I crept up the stairs, and there was a feeling in me, a dread that overcame me, the kind that told me to turn back. And I think about my life, where I would be if I did.

But I kept going up those stairs, I had never failed before, not once and I knew I wasn’t going to start now. There’s a point in everything questionable that you do, where you realize that you are more afraid to go back than you are to go on. And so the door was open, I could see light from the lamp wafting out into the hallway. Then the telltale noises of life came out, the movements of people right before bed. People changing their clothes. People winding down from a long day. People who have let their guard down. And I pushed that door open and saw his back to me. The Mayor was standing up and facing his bed. He was a big man, most politicians are, and they’ve got soft lives and eat well. I didn’t hesitate; my instincts took over even though they screamed out at me to stop for a reason I just couldn’t figure out at the time.

I shot him five times with my pistol. I had a homemade shop tool over the barrel to muffle the noise of the gun. It didn’t make much of a sound. Just some soft raspy thumps. I watched the bullets pierce him through the back and his body fall to the ground like a sack of cornmeal. It was like every other time I’ve done it, that I’ve killed for the Alliance. But then I heard the soft cries come out from under the Mayor. I walked over, resisting every urge to run as fast and as far away as possible. Then I pulled the heavy man’s body and rolled it over. And there she was. His infant daughter, she couldn’t have been more than 2 or 3 months old. She had been so quiet and must have been sleeping in her fathers arms.”

Then the uniformed man leaned forward in his chair and held his face in his hands. It was if he was fighting with himself, his true nature. The part of his character than had learned to be apathetic, the part that told him not to care. The tall white haired man nodded gently at him, urging him to continue.

“One of the bullets went all the way to the other side. It came out of his chest and kept plowing through. She died in front of me. There was this blue blanket; it looked old, like it was handed down many times over, had a china pattern to it, and it was wrapped around her. I remember it being soaked in blood. The Mayor, he didn’t hear me coming into the room. He was busy holding his daughter, trying to be still, so she could sleep. Sometimes I wonder what he was thinking right then. Maybe about making all the right choices for her, to give her the things he never had. And I watched the life drain out of her, as my hands tried to cover the bullet wound. My hands were so large, like a giant’s hands, trying to conceal what I had done. Trying to cover the hole in that tiny chest. The small beating heart that rose and fell a little less each time until it finally gave way. ”

“I don’t know if I can take you, your circumstances, I don’t know, “ the tall man wavered in his voice, “I believe in second chances, but the Alliance wouldn’t take too kindly to me giving you refuge. I don’t know if that’s the kind of trouble we want here. We are so far away from politics and government trouble, here on the outer rim. Letting you in here, that would be a reminder of things we’ve tried to forget, things we promised to leave behind.”

“Are you saying I’m too far past redemption?” the uniformed man asked. There was a strained tone in his voice. Neither man had to say it; the uniformed man had run out of options. To make this kind of decision, to come all this way was an admission that every other viable option had been exhausted.

“No one is past redemption, son. But we have to do more than admit our sins to find closure from them. You are running from something bigger than you can imagine. And I’m not sure you know where you are running to or why. And that’s the crux of it, son. Anyone can run away from their demons, but the kinds of folks that find redemption tend to know what those demons are. I don’t know if you know the difference.”

The two men sat quietly for a minute. Observing each other with a guarded respect. The man of the cloth had left God out of the discussion. The military man had left his gun back on his horse outside. That was the one consolation of utter desperation, that truth was the only currency that could be brokered in a run down monastery like this. The tall man realized he was going against his well-honed instincts and it felt dangerous to him. He leaned back in his seat and tapped his fingers against the table in a loud rapping sound.

“This kind of life, it’s harder than you think. No women. Nothing material is allowed. You have to give up everyone and everything you know and had in your life before. It’s a sacrifice that many can’t embrace and most don’t know how to cope with it. Tell me why, give me one reason, one reason why I should take you in?”

The middle aged uniformed man stood up out of his seat and walked over to the window. He looked out and saw the dust rising from the evening wind. There were a few poorly built houses around them and a row of men in sackcloth working furiously at their gardens before the light of day was completely gone. He wondered how long he could stay before he had to run again. How long before the Alliance wanted back their best assassin.

“Because when a man has lost everything, that’s when he knows he can do anything.”

The Shepard walked over to the window and placed his hand on Lieutenant Book’s shoulder. He squeezed the Alliance officer’s arm gently, as a silent thanks for his honesty. Then the Shepard went over to the door and opened it, as he walked out, he stopped in the doorway as if by some last minute pause against his better judgment. Book caught the look in the Shepard’s eyes, one that no longer held suspicion, pity and fear, but gleamed of sadness and understanding. It was the gaze of a man who understood the meaning of second chances, even for those with no hope of redemption. Then the Shepard gestured with his arm for Book to follow him.

Book surprised himself by saying a short prayer of thanks for this second chance. And before he took the first step to follow his new life, realized he should say another prayer for the power of third chances. Sadly, he knew he would need it.