The Shepherd who lost his flock.

It has been a hard year in the backwater worlds. The Alliance troops who had been holding the fort - literally - left a few years ago, and without the regular infusion of hard credits, towns tended to wither.
Shepherd Chiang had seen it, like watching wood bleach in the sun. The settlement that had invited him had been slowly drained of people. The young ones lit out to the terraforming projects, whild the older ones died off or moved in with family else where. One Sunday morning Shepherd Chiang looked out and saw only 3 faces looking back at him from the pews.

The next Wednesday, there were two faces looking at Shepherd Chiang from across a rough grave.

Shepherd Chiang more or less has the run of the town now. A small transport picked up the last two of his flock a week ago. Some nights, he sits and looks at the old fort and wonders if this is what their commander felt like when he watched the last man get on the transport.

Most nights, though, the Shepherd just enjoys the silence.