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Franklin felt the urge to read it, but he resisted the temptation. In the last three weeks he had read the letter so many times he knew the words by heart. To read it again would only be to willingly inflict himself with more pain by picking at the scabs of half-healed wounds. His heart was heavy enough with pain already.
    They were retiring him, putting him out to pasture. That was what the letter said. Granted, it did not put it quite so bluntly. Instead, it congratulated him on his forty-five years of active service and offered him a teaching post at the Academy of Law, but the subtext was clear: he was surplus to requirements. He was an old man past his prime, no longer needed. In the eyes of the Justice Department he was a dinosaur - every bit as much a relic as the Sector House he commanded. To underline its message, an addendum to the letter had arrived a week later, informing him Judge Meryl Coolidge had been chosen as his successor and asking him to do everything he could to acclimatise her to the sector when she arrived to take up her duties at the new Sector House in a month's time.
    I hear Coolidge is a good Judge, he thought. Tough as nails and a competent administrator with it. Though I find it precious little comfort to know I'll have such an able replacement.
    He could still turn down the offer. He could refuse to join the Academy. That would leave only a single option open to him: the Long Walk. He would be sent out into the Cursed Earth, expected to bring law to the rad-infested wastelands outside the city. Alone in an inhospitable landscape, surrounded on every side by freaks and mutants, he would be lucky to survive a month. As a younger man he might have made the decision gladly, content to go out in a blaze of glory. But the years had taken their toll. If he was honest with himself, he knew there was no more chance of him taking the Long Walk than there ever had been of him making Chief Judge. No matter what his frustrations, he had no other choice but to swallow his pride. He would accept what they had given him. He would take the Academy job, and for one simple reason. Like it or not, his years had made him a coward.
    When did it happen, he thought? When did I become an old man, afraid to die?
    He realised his reputation was all he had left. Forty-five years of active service, and he had never once been disciplined. His career had been spotless. He had never violated regs, nor done anything to earn any form of censure. He was a model Judge. A straight shooter. There were no black marks on his record. In the twilight of his years, maintaining that unblemished record had become important to him. Above all else, he refused to see his career end on a sour note. No matter the powers-that-be had decided to cast him aside, he would not allow it to affect his performance. In the weeks to come he would see out his remaining time with the same diligence as always, ensuring a smooth transition as the current Sector House closed and the old made way for the new. When the day came to hand the reins of power over to Coolidge, he would leave Sector 12 with head held high, knowing he left behind a record of service that showed for fifteen long years this small part of the Big Meg had been a better place due to his presence. He had commanded with firmness and intelligence. He had maintained order. He had upheld the Law.
    There was only one small problem, a dark cloud that troubled his horizon and threatened to undo all his good work.
    Sighing, Franklin picked up the folder at the top of the pile of files on his desk and opened it. It was embossed with the skullheaded symbol of SJS - the Special Judicial Squad, a semi-autonomous division within Justice Department given wide ranging powers to investigate their fellow Judges in cases of suspected malfeasance. A preliminary report, sent to him as a courtesy, it detailed an ongoing investigation into a series of suspicious deaths in custody that had occurred in the Sector