ProloguePeter Blunt policed for profit. Government control of policing lost out.Private business had overtaken and won the job of enforcing civil law. Contract work for law enforcers lasted six months, max. No job security, pension, or health care to argue about. The government, the protectors of the people, had given the job of policing and enforcing civil law to the civilian creeps, the profit makers.The old timers in the ranks saw it coming. Everyone, including union efforts fell flat. In his favor, Peter Blunt figured the corporations and company businesses did pay for all equipment and supplies needed for the job.The catch: live to collect; die, and you got squat. A crusty, dirty, business, dangerous for sure, but that’s why he selected assignment, those that provided the high risk pay.Most of the guys who started with Peter Blunt were dead. The long stretched corridor he cruised stood as a reminder of other enforcers gone before him. Some people preferred to call the policing or enforcing men space warriors. Laws changed from civilized planet to civilized planet. Maybe a desk job? Heart attack, ulcers, or stroke, they were no worse than a ripped throat from a sneak attack. No, Peter Blunt figured, death from direct weapons fire seemed a better way to travel. Peter Blunt stepped square, shrugged his shoulders, his facial expression clicked. He knew that human life follows its own cycle. Enforcement burned and boiled in his blood. He knew it and did it well. His name carried weight and his skills were prized in the wide open economic market and universe of profit and life.