-THE PAST-

Hal wasn't keen on smoking cigars, but today he made an exception for Tracy.

Tracy drew on his Rocky Patel Sun Grown box-pressed maduro, savored the rich flavor, smiled, and blew, retrohaling this time to get the full-bodied profile. Smoke drifted out of his mouth and nostrils on a rare Phoenix breeze. Perfection.

"Congratulations, Trace."

"Thanks Hal."

Hal patted him on the back. "You're going to be a father."

Tracy beamed, the corners of his mouth stretching further apart.

Hal ruined the moment with his hacking. His eyes watered. "Man. I know this is cause for celebration, but I don't understand how you enjoy smoking these." He held his cigar out at arm's length as if it might bite him.

Tracy tugged on his stick, a nice slow draw so that the embers at the end blazed. He exhaled. "You don't inhale it into your lungs. You just enjoy the flavor profile. These aren't cigarettes. Those are gross."

Hal's face wrinkled. "For the taste? I guess my taste buds don't jive with cigars."

"I got you a light bodied Connecticut. Sweetest type." Tracy laughed at his friend. Then he recalled the circumstance and beamed again.

Hal noted his expression. "Fine. I'll try to enjoy this."

They smoked in silence, leaning on the edge of Hal's porch. Shade from Hal's Brazilian Pepper Tree blanketed them in a serene shadow. Tracy observed everything around him, ingraining all the details. Sitting on Hal's gorgeous stained cedar deck around the square granite fire pit, Hal's beautifully landscaped vibrant green lawn surrounded by the smooth adobe wall, and the hazy fuchsia horizon beyond the palm trees. He etched the scene in his mind. He never wanted to forget it.

"Is she scared?"

Tracy's smile faltered. His lips drew a tight line, as if he wanted to hold back the words, the feelings, the memories, the scars.

"I'm sorry man. I didn't mean to soil the celebration."

"Naw. No harm done, bud. She's in the second trimester now. No signs of anything serious so far." He rolled the cigar in the tray, knocking off the excess ash.

Silence followed. Hal tugged on his own cigar, either waiting for a response, or not knowing what to say.

"But to be honest," said Tracy, "I don't know how she feels. We haven't talked about it much."

"Must be rough, wanting to get your hopes up, but remembering all that happened before."

"Exactly. All we can do is pray and carry on as if it's all going to be alright."

Hal slugged Tracy's arm. "And you didn't tell me until now? Some friend."

Tracy smiled again, but no longer beamed towards the future. Hal noticed his eyes held a faraway look, staring into the past.

"She's been having checkups?"

Tracy extended his arm, unconsciously using the cigar to point in the direction of the local hospital. "She's got one later today. After she runs errands."

"That's good. No surprises. Well, I'm happy for you man. We'll be praying for Hina."

Tracy smiled. "Thanks brother."

***

Tracy opened the door and drew the curtains, letting light fall on the empty crib for the first time in a long while. Stale air filled his nose. A sigh sifted out of him. So much time invested, so much preparation. Walls painted. Wallpaper stretched around all four walls. A playpen folded, never taken out of the bag. Simple toys still within the plastic.

At one point this room had been their only focus. Their future then had seemed so certain, solidified.

He lingered in the room for a while.

The maduro scent that had burrowed in his clothes mingled with the long-settled air of the still room. Nervous anxiety filled him. Had he lingered too long? Would she detect the cigar scent? He shut the curtains and pulled the door closed as quietly as possible, though he was alone in the house. Before he shut it all the way, with the door open just a sliver, he eyed the empty crib one last time. Perhaps this time, it would be one of the last times the crib would be unoccupied.

His heart fluttered like it had a pair of wings. He drew in a long breath to settle himself. When that didn't do it, he reached for the neck of the only thing he found joy in still.

The steel strings of his rosewood dreadnought guitar thrummed under his plucking fingers, filling the backyard with gleeful clawhammer guitar tunes in the key of D major. His calloused left hand fingers skipped over the fretboard, as if dancing a jig, while his right cybernetic hand struck an upbeat rhythm, and his signature metallic twang.

Normally, Tracy conjured dark somber tones from the strings. But today, well, today was different. Tracy leaned forward on the edge of his seat, hovering over the guitar, a smile splitting his lips. He lost himself in the joyous tune. They started as man and guitar, but the two merged, simply a song. It was a song long forgotten. A song fit for a celebration.

His high E string snapped with a sharp yelp, like a wounded animal.

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Tracy's hand faltered, flubbing the song. With no high E, he could not bring the song back home to the open D chord, leaving the harmony suspended, neither major or minor. Ambiguous. Downright distasteful.

His eyes shut.

He might have another string in his guitar case, but he doubted it. A long exhale left his lips.

Tracy's comm vibrated. His eyes opened, fixating on the interruption. Even from across the porch he could see the caller ID flashing on the screen. Caller Unknown.

They could not have another assignment for him so soon, could they? He'd just returned. It wasn't really himself he worried about. Hina had news for him today. Good news. He knew it. He could not ruin her good news with bad news. But he also understood the ramifications of not answering the phone call from Unknown. Maybe he was assuming too much. Maybe it was more good news. "Psh yeah right."

Setting the Seagull down, he spit the bad taste out of his mouth and strode over to the bad news beacon. He fetched it off the counter, glaring at the screen, daring Caller Unknown to hang up. But he knew exactly who it was. They'd never let up. Not in a hundred lightyears.

"This is Irving," said Tracy.

"This is the Attorney General's office."

"Howdy."

"We have an assignment for you."

Tracy drew in a breath and held it. What could it be? Only a handful of choices. Prison operations. Court security. Witness protection. Criminal asset seizure.

All of those he would gladly do at the drop of a hat. There was one that under any other circumstance he'd be chomping at the bit to do. Just not today. Not tomorrow. Not for the next eight to nine months.

"A high-profile criminal who has evaded law enforcement apprehension for several years has resurfaced."

An ache knotted in Tracy's chest. He let out the breath he held in a long, drawn out sigh, but still clutched the phone in an iron grip. "So you need me to capture a fugitive."

"At least one. Possibly more. We'll send you the details in an encrypted message. Please log in immediately after this call ends."

"Roger that. How many state lines have they crossed?"

The executive assistant held a pregnant pause. "The criminal snuck onto a spaceship and departed Earth four years ago. Intel has recently been informed of his exact location."

Tracy's eyes closed as if to ward off more information. This was too much to bear.

"Moon Base One?"

"Negative... it's all in the brief Mr. Irving."

Tracy clenched his jaw. Her silence said everything. "It's Mars isn't it?"

Continued silence on the other end confirmed his worst fears. His thumb smashed the red X ending the call and splintering his screen.

Whenever the Attorney General needed a U.S. Marshal to track down fugitives, they were high profile cases. These guys were the worst of the worst. Crafty, dangerous, and deadly did not even begin to describe them.

Without thinking, Tracy lifted his Seagull guitar and lowered it gently into its coffin-like case, closed the latches, and locked them.

The ache in his chest still lodged there, taking up permanent residence. How was he going to break the news to Hina? He'd have to sit and ponder exactly how to tell her. And what not to tell her. He should probably head down to his office in the Bass Reeves Federal Building to get his full briefing and speak with his task force members. It would give him an excuse to ride his Harley-Davidson FX99 hoverglide. He should have enough time to do that, and sit and ponder before Hina arrived home from the doctor's office.

The front door opened. "Trace. Babe, I'm home."

***

He fumbled with the badge, trying to shove the sharp pin into his duster. It resisted.

Everything he needed for the journey across empty black space had been packed in a small duffle bag and placed by the front door. All except his star of authority.

"Let me help with that."

"I got it," he said.

Tracy shrugged away from Hina, but she plucked the badge from his cold cyborg fingers. Her wedding engagement band clinked against his metal emblem.

He remembered the day he bought the ring for her. It was the same day he learned that he had been accepted by the U. S. Marshals Service, the day he earned the badge. Heart full of elation, he'd gone out immediately and purchased the ring. Tracy had his eye on it for some time, waiting for the opportune time. That moment felt right.

Now the very badge that gave him the courage to join hands with Hina was the crux of their looming separation.

As she tried to pin it to his duster herself, she slipped and pricked her finger.

"Ouch."

A dot of blood pooled from the small incision, dripping on the badge.

She cradled her finger. Her eyes watered.

An injury as small as that would not hurt enough to move her to tears.

Tracy moved close, wiping the blood away, kissing her hand.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as he tried to hug her.

Sniffling, she broke away from his embrace and pinned the badge to his duster, then opened the front door for him.

His mind hunted, seeking the right words to alleviate her pain, but none came to mind.

Tracy leaned close, placing a hand on her belly, and kissed her tear-stained cheek.

He tipped his hat, and she closed the door behind him.