Trials of Diplomacy
Chapter 2.) Machinations
John Harkness was held in a room with a light directly on him. He had been conscious as they dragged him into his cell and separated the woman. He held back any direct action because Harkness wanted to play it smart and see what the Outcast situation was currently. The Outcasts were infamous in the wastes, but hardly anyone had seen one if they lived around Rivet City. The Brotherhood of Steel's presence was too strong in those areas and the Outcast's numbers were so low that patrols needed to be supplemented with military bots. The Brotherhood had a consolidated presence while the Outcasts had ventured further on foot throughout the Capital Wasteland.
They had bound his wrists together behind his back with plastic cord along with his ankles to the chair legs. Harkness didn't struggle, he kept his chin to his chest. The Defenders had taken every precaution and removed his satchel, combat armor, and weapons. Bare chested with his hair soaked in sweat, Defender Morgan opened the metal door for two more individuals wearing the same red painted Enclave armor. Harkness raised his head to see them and smiled.
"What is your name, local," asked the armored soldier in the middle.
"My name is reserved for friends and associates," said the android, "I'd like to get down to business, if you don't mind."
"And what business would that be, exactly," the unnamed Outcast said.
"What would you like? Mechanical limb replacements, increased optical weapon sites, better shielding for your mechanical support," rattled off Harkness as he determined the least problematic causing tech that was saved in his central processing memory, "consider me your fount of knowledge."
"Don't believe a word of it, sir," said the other person that wasn't Morgan or present leader, "he's bluffing. The tech is far too advanced for anything pre-War. He isn't Enclave either, so where did he get these schematics? They sure as hell weren't in his satchel."
"They're in my head," snorted Harkness as if the answer was easy.
"Bullshit," said the soldier that doubted him before, "no one can store detailed schematics like that in their head unless they had a picture perfect memory."
"Dumb shit, I have one of those!" Retorted Harkness with a snarl, "look, believe me or don't, I don't care. All I want is medical treatment for my friend and we'll be on our way."
"We're not an emergency room," said Defender Morgan.
The center man put his hand into the air, his arm was behind his back, "let us wait for a second and think about this. You seek medical help and you come here. You offer advanced tech that you memorized as trade. Locals do not tend to like us."
"With good reason," stated Harkness, "whoever does your public relations sucks. I'm giving you such advanced tech, you should be kissing my ass. So please, let's make this deal, I'll write out the first two schematics and then give you the third upon leaving."
There was a minute pause before the leader motioned to cut the cords, and then outstretched his hand, "Protector Casdin."
The android rubs hit wrists feign the pain as he held out his own hand, "John Harkness."
Henry Casdin pulled Harkness close to him, "if you fuck with me, consider it your death certificate."
"The only fucking that'll happen concerns me an Defender Morgan," whispered Harkness.
Casdin barked out a laugh, "you know most can't tell gender when we wear this armor."
"You'll find I'm a lot better than most people," smiled Harkness as he made his grip firmer for Casdin to notice.
Casdin was slightly impressed to feel some pressure against his hand, "get this man to the specialists, Morgan."
"Aye, Protector," answered Defender Morgan as she led the android to the Specialist test center.
As the two of them walked down the hallway Harkness turned to Defender Morgan, "mind if I got a shirt or something? Or do you prefer me topless?"
Harkness couldn't tell if Morgan was smiling or grimacing but the pitch of her voice had been changed, "we'll get you something warm and cozy wasterlander."
"Well, gee, thanks," said Harkness as he continued to walk to the work shop.
"Cush, you got to listen to me," pleaded J.R. as he followed the doctor around his office and into the care ward with the other vault residents looking at them in horror trying to cover their naked bodies with paper gowns, "the wasteland needs these supplies from a regular source! We can't all just scrounge for the last remains out there. We need a steady source for doctors."
"You people need doctors," said Doctor Cushing as he waved his hand dismissively while part of his combed over brown hair flew up into the air in strands, "men of distinction, not...not...not these life forms with a syringe and stethoscope that don't know how to find a vein or a heart beat. Dear god man, in my time out I've seen fools selling mole rat oil and bloat fly venom to cure wounds."
"That proves it even more that we need stimpaks," shouted J.R. with made the doctor red in the face, "Cush, man, you can make a pretty penny selling these things."
The new vault doctor stopped and grabbed J.R. by his shoulders, "stop calling me Cush."
"Peter," said J.R. using his first name, "this needs to be done."
"In my office now," he ordered and they both walked into his office as Cushing flipped a switch closed the doors, "why didn't you come to me about this a month ago, J.R.?"
"I wanted you to get settled first," J.R. shrugged his shoulders, "you know, get healthy and meet the community you'll be coming into."
"Bullshit, J.R.," Cushing realized his hair was messed up and tried to flatten it out, "you needed me for prophylactics rations for nearly twice a week. I hope you and Susie are enjoying those?"
"We're doing fine," said J.R., "but I'm only doing well because of all Vault 101 has to offer. It's time for this Vault to come out into the world."
"These are hardly your words," Cushing squinted, "where are these thoughts coming from?"
"I already told you that one," countered J.R. with a smile, "what more do you want me to say Cush? I mean, if saving lives isn't your thing...you might want to rethink your profession."
"I took an oath," said Doctor Cushing, "I'll think about it."
"That's fair of you," agreed J.R. as he meant to move out of the office, "I'll see you later then, Cush."
"For the last time, J.R." yelled out the doctor from his office as the Operative walked through Cushing's clinic, "don't call me CUSH!"
Operative Daniel Roe was sitting at a table in Mister Crowley's Games and Cards. He was shoulder to shoulder with men of ill repute who wore their history upon them. One was in Talon Company armor, another two were wearing the leather armor of the local mercenaries hired by Ashkelon or Moriarty; it was hard to tell which person they pledged their allegiance. The dealer wore a crimson red jacket with black pants and her hair tied in a pony tail under a cylindrical hat that was equally as red. She dealt the cards for black jack, the men sipped their drinks and those that smoked filled the air with a bluish gray cloud.
There were many lights throughout the mini casino, a security precaution so that nothing could be slipped into dark corners. The ghoul owner was intelligent and ruthless, as he was rumored. It was common to see the heavily armed guards, most of whom had the stench of ghoul flesh under their layers of protective armor and covered faces, throw a distressed patron out to the willing arms of the Ashkelon's prison. Roe's top card was the ten of spades, he turned the corner of his other card to see a four of diamonds.
As the deal passed him he tapped his cards and she tossed down an eight of clubs, "Fuck," he swore out loud as the dealer flipped over his cards to announce the bust.
"Tough luck, meat," growled out the Talon Company mercenary.
Roe couldn't help himself from snarling but was saved a fight with the guards or the merc when Zimm came through the door; he threw a pack to Roe, "we're heading east for a bit."
"What for?" Asked Roe as he he threw the bag on his shoulders and strapped it on tight as he walked to the door and collected his weapons from the guards.
"We have a meeting with Steel Heart," Zimm used the code name the three had developed for Star Paladin Bael to talk openly in public places.
"Do we have news from Grayditch," Roe asked as they were walking through the town and down the road to the east, "where are we going anyway?"
"Super Duper Mart," answered Zimm as the two Operatives made their way to the meeting, "he's going to give an update in person and we're to do the same."
"I guess he's getting concerned with our operation," reasoned Roe as he flicked the button of his holster.
"Listen, Dan, there are a few things that I've reported that you should know about," Zimm said slightly nervous.
"What are you talking about?" Asked Roe as he stopped in the middle of the wastes pulling his face clothe down a little.
"It's about your gambling," Zimms eyes were covered with biker goggles along with the face wrap, his mouth moving under the fabric, "when you're not meeting with Simms or the Stahls, you're gambling. It's a dangerous habit."
"To get the attention of Crowley, we're going to have to spend some caps to get his attention," said Roe, "it's nothing of a habit, just a way to make myself a regular and trusted."
"Well, then you might want to explain that to Bael," said Zimm as he turned to continue walking to the meeting.
"I can't believe you put that in your reports," Roe said as he continued to walk on with his colleague.
"I was just concerned for you, buddy," Zimm was earnest in his sincerity, "you know I always have you back."
"Yea, I got you, there's the meeting place," said Roe as he pointed to the Super Duper Mart.
Star Paladin Bael was with Scribe Mendel, Jameson was too bogged down in the preparations with Notley and the Grayditch council. Mendel was nervous, the only Operatives she had met in her life were currently in jail awaiting what could end up a death sentence. Mendel didn't know it for certain, but she could tell that there were actions occurring in this trial that were motivated by someone in the Brotherhood. Her best guest laid with Head Scribe Rothchild because he did not tell all the details until it became necessary.
Bael tapped her shoulder and pointed in the distance to two greyish dots moving in the distance. The two far off figures waved high in the air. Bael returned the wave and nudged Mendel to do the same. She held her arm high and waved back. The two distant figures became larger as they got closer and their greyish hue took on the red dust and dirt of the wasteland. Soon they stood face to face, the Operatives removed cloth and protective eye wear from around their face.
"Star Paladin Bael," they said in unison and stood at attention.
"At ease, Operatives," allowed Bael as he turned to the guest among them, "this is Scribe Mendel, stationed at Grayditch."
"It's a pleasure, ma'am," said Dan Roe politely as he extended his hand, to which Mendel shook.
Zach did the same adding, "I guess you'll be helping the defense of our friends?"
"I would like too," she stated, "but as one of the few material witnesses, it would not be fair."
Both Operatives nodded, Roe asked plainly, "so what's happening? Any news on Lyons?"
Bael and Mendel shook their heads, with the Scribe giving the update, "Doctor Hopkins is almost certain that Elder Lyons suffered a transient ischemic attack," seeing the dumb looks upon their face she decided to explain better, "sorry, a...TIA is like a small stroke...and shouldn't be more than twenty-four hours. But this coma, we don't know, it's not typical of a TIA which makes us think it could be a regular stroke. But...there are so many...variables..."
"Scribe, we get it," said Zimm in exasperation, "you just don't know."
"The reason I called this meeting was to check in on your operations," said Bael to take the language away from Lyons, "this whole thing to topple Moriarty seems a little too soon to me. However, cautious Yearling rather nip the rise of a dictator in the bud before it becomes an issue. I'm inclined to agree at this point, having seen some of the behavior of Megaton settlers visiting Grayditch."
"Not all of them are bad," corrected Roe with a sideways glance to Zimm, "we've found several willing sources of information."
"They'll be good to use, but never trust them," said Bael in a fair warning, "how is the operation proceeding anyway?"
"So far, so good," said Zimm, "we're still scouting the business, the second we can turn them, it'll happen. Other than that, it's still a waiting game with them. We need to make certain that they view us with trust, if not friendliness."
"Speed would be nice, don't always be like Yearling," Bael preferred results, he leaned forward and held Roe's elbow, "let's take a minute away from these two."
Roe nodded and said, "I already know what you're going to ask me," they were a few feet away, "if this is about the gambling, it's all for the cover."
"Okay, good," said Bael as he bit his bottom lip, "you know we have two of us in jail right now. I don't need any problems from the rest of you. Especially you, Roe. You've been exemplar so far. Please don't fuck it up."
"Aye, sir," said Roe with a nod.
"Dan, there is something else as well," Bael put his arm around the shoulders of Roe, "I'm trying everything possible to get this case on our side. I just don't like things being left to chance though. I know you can understand that."
Roe nodded, "sir, I understand perfectly. What do you want me to do?"
"I'm going to need you to purchase some mercenaries, a real unsavory bunch, on a contract," answered Bael as he passed some sealed papers to Roe, "but the Brotherhood can not bee seen to fund this in anyway. You'll understand if it were to come to this."
"How do you expect me to get the money then?" Dan was fingering the sealed papers before putting them into his breast pocket.
"Perhaps you should start winning at the tables," suggested Bael with a sarcastic smile as he brushed his long hair back, "one more point, these guys you get. Not Talon Company. They are not to be trusted, ever. The delicate nature of this job, I just can't occur when those gorillas get involved."
"You can count on me, sir," said Roe as he began to return to Zach and the scribe.
Bael returned right behind him, you better not fuck this up, or they're dead.
Operative Hannah Newton and Knight Michael Ban were sitting at two terminals in the Order of the Quill. They had been reviewing Massachusetts' history for some time. Volumes of history were being scoured from the Governorship of Thomas Dudley up to the New Plague epidemic and Worcester Riots in the spring of 2077. The vast expanse of history, while depressing and humorous at the same time allowed for Newton and Ban to quiz each other and grow closer as mentor and pupil. They began to write down a report on the treatment and character of residents of the Commonwealth for Scribe Yearling.
"You know, this is all pointless," exclaimed Hannah as she pushed away from the desk, "what good is understanding the history of people when we don't have the last two hundred years! It makes no sense."
"Scribe Yearling told us to, so we do it," explained Ban with a shrug.
"Is that how things are run in the Brotherhood?" Questioned the young Operative, "that we're to answer to Scribes before Paladins and Knights?"
"Not usually, but these are different times," said Michael Ban as he kept typed slowly and deliberately, "Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services has an operational lead and logistical lead. Right now we're doing logistical work, so we answer to Yearling."
"It just doesn't feel...right," Newton had a gut feeling, though she didn't know how to describe it.
"You had a large dose of operations, logistics are very important as well," answered Ban, "these guys are on the door steps of entering here and we need to be prepared, for everything."
"What do you think they'll be like?" Asked Hannah as she recalled the one person rumored from the mysterious Institute that visited Rivet City, "there was an old man that people said was from the Commonwealth. All I really remember about him was that he scared me."
"Men, that is all," answered Ban with a benign smile, "they'll bleed, feel pain, and die. They may be more tech advanced than we are, but so was the Enclave."
"But we needed the Lone Wanderer for that," Newton tried to point out the obvious.
"Did we really?" Asked Ban, "we just needed someone, anyone, to do it. The Lone Wanderer is more legend and myth than actual fact. Few people realize that Adams Air Force Base also had an attacked waged by the Brotherhood, or that Project Purity included an attack by the Brotherhood. It took one man behind the scenes, already infiltrated, to complete it. And that is what we do as BIOS."
"So are whole division is based off of the Lone Wanderer?" Newton looked at Ban closely.
He thought for a moment before answering, "no...and yes. These tactics existed before him, he was just driven to do it for other means..."
"Like what?"
"Do I look like his biographer?" Ban was half joking and half sarcastic, "seriously, the man is an enigma, most of the stories about him are overly embellished and Three Dog hasn't been helping out with that either. I'm surprised there hasn't been a cult created for him yet."
"Didn't you hear, some visitors to Grayditch want to develop a Church of the Lone Wanderer," she said half joking and half sarcastic as well.
"Lord help us if that happens," answered Ban with a smile, "cults are a dime-a-dozen out here, we don't need another one."
"What ever happened to him," Hannah was curious as there had been no news on the Lone Wanderer for over a year now, "where did he go?"
"No clue, the only person that might have an answer for us about that is lying on a gurney in Grayditch," answered Ban, "but it doesn't really matter, you know? The Capital Wasteland has you to take care of it, kiddo."
Carolina Red had made her way to, of all places, the settlement of Grayditch. Despite the heightened security, it could not afford to be isolated. The large crowds made it easy to hide in plain sight and work contacts. She was tasked to buying mercenaries, raiders, and other individuals to supply the raid against the Republic. They had already gotten Leroy Walker and his small band of slavers had taken over the old Temple of the Union building and outfitted it as an outpost for Paradise Falls. This is where they would base there attacks from.
Now they needed some real sociopaths to help. Carolina entered the saloon and sat down at the bar. She ordered whiskey and plenty of it. Eulogy had given her a stipend of caps to purchase some people, and she figured she might offer them half the amount while she used the other half. Drinks, whores, and chems were the favorite of this sadistic queen. A mangy man that was thick and beefy and had a large black mane of hair moved up behind her.
He's voice was like growl, "look a' da frewsh meeet, I beat you're still blewdy like furst timmer," if this man honest thought that Carolina was a real virgin he was as dumb as he looked.
"Not for a needle dick fatty," she retorted in a tough tone, "I bet you have issues even finding it. Each morning has a new game for you, which roll of fat will you be peeing off."
"Watsh it missy," said the beefy man his put his hand on her small shoulder, which was a mistake.
Before he could grip down, Carolina bent his thumb back and turned it down and around till the back of his palm laid on the bar as he hunched forward. Carolina took out her knife as she was able to hold him into position. She teased him by running the blade against his palm. He tried hard to look back but the pressure from the position prevented him from doing so. She lifted the knife up just long enough to make him think he was going to be let go. Then she slammed the knife down hard into his palm making sure to go deep into the wood of the bar to pin him there.
The man screamed out obscenities just as a Grayditch guard rushed over, "what's happen' here?"
Actaeon, who had been paying attention to the whole scene like most of the bar jumped up to the right side of the guard. He whisper into his ear that she had been attacked by the man thus defended herself. Not wanting to take the word of one hooded man, the guard asked the others on the woman's side what happened and they all agreed. Actaeon removed the blade from the dumb fools hand with some excessive tugging. The man's friends helped him out of the saloon and to the doctors' office.
Actaeon wiped the blood from the blade on his thigh and handed it back to Carolina, "I suggest you limit your time here, slaver."
"I'm a tough bitch," she said, "take after my daddy. He cut a man's leg off..."
"Just to see him crawl away, I've heard tough talk like that," said Actaeon, then he smiled a little, "you know, I shot a man in New Reno just to see him die..."
"Shooting isn't anything," she said, "but I am looking for some men without an regard for lives..."
"I'm only looking for one person, sorry," Actaeon said as he bit the inside of his cheek, "but you need mercenaries?"
"Yea, someone cheaper than those Talon fucks," Carolina said as she spat phlegm on the floor, "and half as good."
"Well, best of luck to you, but I think this is out of me field," said Actaeon as he walked back to his table and sat down to drink in quiet.
Carolina followed and sat down at Actaeon's table, "I bet you know something, or someone?"
"What makes you say that," asked the scribe as he drank his beer under his hood.
"Your armor, it's too good," she said as she dusted her leather armor, "doesn't seem too used. Some dirt and all, but rather new for the wastes."
"I take good care of my shit," answered Actaeon with a sneer, "and make it a point to not get shot. Can I go back to enjoying my beer."
"I'm guessing you're either new to the wastes," snarled Carolina, "or just a big ol' pussy that runs from a gun fight."
"I have no shots in my back either," Actaeon was getting more and more pissed off by this whelp, "and now I certainly don't want to help you."
"I'll gut you if you don't get me what I need," said the sociopath slaver.
"Motivational speaker of the month from Paradise Falls I take it," quipped the Scribe, "lady, there is nothing you have that I want, nor need."
"You said you were looking for someone," Carolina Red tried her best to look seductive, "perhaps I'm that person?"
"His name is John Harkness, used to work for the Rivet City police," said Actaeon as he sipped his warm beer.
"Oh...that explains it, you're one of those," Carolina was being snide.
The hunter squinted his eyes, "I'm to capture him alive...for questioning."
"What's the bounty on this one," asked Carolina, the only thing to excite her more than blood and gore was caps.
"None," Actaeon leaned back with his hands resting on the chest plate, "it's personal."
"Jilted lover, how sad," teased the sociopath with a sickening smile, "he must have hurt you pretty bad, hun;" Actaeon decided it would be best to ignore her comments and remained silent, "tell you what, I know a man that might be able to help. He's very good at what he does."
"How good," asked Actaeon, feeling that this waiting in Grayditch was finally beginning to pay off.
Carolina teased the lip of her whiskey bottle with her index finger, "good enough that the next round is on you...and any other mercenaries you know that would be hankering for a job."
Actaeon thought about it for a moment, letting his ego get the best of him, "I think I know a few people for the job...but you might have to work on your story to employ them."
Operatives Anna LaCroix and Quin Schieber had challenged Knight Captain Galeas and Knight Bors to a game of pool. Originally meant to be a small part of the Alexandria, it wound up being the main focus of off operation interactions between the Operatives. It became the solution to disagreements. It was also the center of bonding for most who lived in the Alexandra, which was exactly what was occurring between Galeas, and the others.
"So he stole Roe's girl," asked Schieber putting the servant under ownership of Daniel Roe unduly.
"Quit sounding like a slaver," said Bors frustrated, "we don't own people in the Brotherhood."
Schieber rolled his eyes as he passed the que to LaCroix, "so how did it happen?"
"That servant girl, Kim or something got him out," Bors said with a sneer, "good thing we kept one or two of those cage's in the basement."
"That's horrible," LaCroix said shaking her head as she missed sinking the four in the corner pocket, "about my shot I mean, what she did was wrong; but I hope she isn't being treated too poorly."
"She gets three squares and not a hand is laid on her," Galeas said as she began to line her shot, "I'm going to have to wait on words from Yearling or Bael."
"It's been a month," Schieber said as a matter of fact.
"They've been a little busy," said Bors as he sat on the stool with a heavy sigh, "lucky bastards."
One of the servant women walked in with a sealed note, "mail has arrived."
Galeas took the note and thanked the woman, she read it quickly, "seems we have orders."
"About the traitor?" The cue ball hit dead center with enough force to chip it over the lip and on the floor.
Schieber picked it up and threw it to Bors to catch, "they still want Bors and myself to stay here to guard her," said Galeas.
"C'mon," said Bors with a pleading look, "I'm not a house cat, I need to be let out once and a while to bare my fangs."
Galeas rubbed the bridge of her nose, "LaCroix, want to stay back here with me for this one?"
"Is that an order, Knight Captain," she asked with a smile.
"Think of it as one," Galeas replied, "Bors, you and Schieber are to meet up with Sentinel Tristan's Centurions. They are in the far reaches of the north. The jump off point will be Big Town and Arefu, We're going to need some intelligence on them, just basic town make-up and stuff, don't go Roe and J.R. on us."
"That's a bit mean," said LaCroix.
"I'll make sure we won't go over the mission parameters," said Bors with a great big smile under his beard.
"What are these places like," asked Schieber, slightly concerned at being sent out so soon; it had been less than a week.
"Small settlements, they'll be the few safe places," answered Galeas, "then to the north you have super mutants, slavers, raiders, and deathclaws."
"Sounds like a lot of fun," Schieber was being sarcastic.
"I'm in the need of some fun," Bors was smiling ear to ear.
"You'll have a tag along with you," the two men looked to Galeas as she kept on reading the note, "you're to test a robot for the Scribes."
"Aw, c'mon, the first mission I'm on in a few and I have to babysit a junk heap," complained Bors and he threw his hands up to the sky and put his head back.
"It might not be that bad," said Schieber with a shrug, "I love tinkering with those things..."
"You'll love it until it's circuitry gets crossed and decides to kill us in our sleep," complained Bors as he looked in the eyes of the Operative in his mid twenties, "or worst, in the middle of a gun fight we got shot at from the front and the back by that tiny bucket of wires and weapons."
"You're honestly afraid of tech," Schieber always thought the Brotherhood saw technology as gods.
"I'm not afraid of reliable tech!" Corrected the Knight, "this is an untested piece of machinery, it is unreliable."
"I'm sure you'll still protect me," smiled Schieber playfully as he mock teased Bors.
The Bors grumbled as LaCroix leaned over to Galeas to say out loud, "the Knight Captain and I can have some girl bonding time while we stay here."
"Oh joy," said Galeas as she shrugged off Anna's arm and moved out of the rec room.
"I guess meeting adjourned," Schieber said as he laid the pool cue on the table, LaCroix waited a few minutes as Bors finished the table off then she walked to the suite to catch up with Quin.
Eulogy Jones was walking into the repurposed Temple of the Union building as a slaving outpost. Leroy Walker had discovered the location after a tip he received about a new settlement being created at Old Olney. As luck would have, or misfortune in the terms of the slavers, the whole horde of runaways had been traversing the sewers to get to the Lincoln Memorial as Walker and his slaver gang were on their way to Olney. It took less than a week of hard marching when they came across the rubble and half standing structure that was gated. One of Walker's men, Silas, was able to break the lock easily. However, the story this building only came to light when the diary of a slave, Alejandra, was found. Walker was the most educated and able to read her journal on the history of the Temple.
The first act he committed was to burn the journal along with all other traces of the previous inhabitants. Even the carved masonry that read Temple of the Union had a banner hanging over 'the Union' with an orange cloth with white letters sewn in to read Paradise. The Temple of the Union, within a short period of time changed hands from runaway slaves to slavers. The temple of Paradise was born, though without purpose until Eulogy Jones sent word to Walker. Thus, the leader of the slavers graced the so-called hollow halls in the Temple of Paradise.
Eulogy Jones was not alone, with him were his body slaves Crimson and Clover and his pack slave, Frank; he put a handkerchief to his nose as Leroy Walker welcomed him in, "what is that awful stench," he asked with utter loathing.
"Sir, we've been able to clean up some, but the smell of runaways are hard to remove," said Walker as he nodded to Silas to secure the gate firmly behind him.
"So too is the failure to recover my property," said Jones as wiped his slightly sweaty forehead and unseen dust from his suit, "though I expect better from you this time, Leroy. Do you understand?"
"We can still capture them," commented Walker as one of the recently captured wastelanders was forced onto a bicycle to produce electricity, "we know exactly where they are."
Eulogy smiled wide as he surveyed the outpost as the strung lights came up as the slave biked harder, "your loyalty more than makes up for you poor understanding of tactics. Every now and then you have a gem, but Walker, leave these plans to better suited people."
"I've made this my office," said Leroy as he opened a door to what used to be the classroom, "it's big and on the ground floor. It'll allow me a quick response."
"Or an outside wall to collapse on you," said Eulogy as he sat behind Walker's desk.
Walker gingerly sat down on a metal chair, his heavy spiked metal armor making the ancient chair creak and groan, "it's a pleasure to have you here at your new outpost, Mr. Jones."
"I don't enjoy leaving the comfort of Paradise," said Eulogy as he reached into his jacket for a flask, "recent events have required me to pay more attention to my backyard than sitting in my lofty tower. I refuse to become a figurehead like Tenpenny. That is why I had you first convert this place after the discovery. Action from this post will be stepped up."
"My boys are always good for some action," confirmed Walker with a nod.
"That is what I'm here to talk with you about," said Eulogy with a smile, "you're boys will be second to another group that will be coming on board. We're to higher mercenaries to help distance attacks from Paradise Falls. Likewise, you will be second in command to another."
"Mr. Jones, I and my men will be more than adequate for any attacks," stressed Walker as he eyed Crimson and Clover, "let me make up my mistake."
"This is what you will do, Leroy," stated Eulogy firmly, "you will support the person I send here, and help the selling, transportation, and care of all captured stock. On top of this, Temple of Paradise, as it is mine, will be freely available to these hired guns and I expect you to be accommodating."
"Eulogy, you're just asking way too much from my men," said Walker, a hint of his ego coming out to his boss and employer.
Eulogy put his feet up onto Leroy's desk, the dirt and radioactive mud dirtying the flat counter, "Leroy, you don't have an option," Jones smiled and said calmly, "well, I guess you do. You can defy these orders and get a nice collar put on your neck as an example, or you could do them and be able to breathe easy knowing you'll still have a head connected to your shoulders. As for your men, do not forget whose men they are. Who is the one that pays your fees? The one that pays for your stock outright? I do all of that, the caps rest with me. And he that has control of the purse has control over all. Do you understand me, Walker?"
Leroy grumbled, "who will I be working under?"
"I've put Carolina Red in control of the raids," answered Eulogy, smiling because he knew how to win battles before they were even fought, "Pronto will be supplying the weaponry and ammo at my expense."
"She's a fucking psycho!" Leroy was not happy to have to accommodate an individual that damaged the products before sails, "her dad was good people. Don't get me wrong, he'd make a handsome profit. But that girl, Carolina, she's got more than a screw loose. Her idea of planning is to go guns blazing!"
That's exactly what I'm looking for, thought the head slaver, "perhaps you'll be able to temper her. Though I doubt it."
"Damn straight you doubt it," Leroy was clenching his fist tight, "that skinny bitch has led to more amputees on the market than bear traps. She's not up to this mission, hired guns or not. They'll be crazier than she is!"
"We'll see when she delivers them," Eulogy closed off his flask and tucked it away, "but I have complete faith in her completing the assignment, my faith in you still needs to be affirmed, Walker. I tire of all this talk; I'd like to get some rest before I leave in the morning."
"Sir, may I suggest you take one of my slaves to bed with you," offered Walker in a gesture of welcome to the new Temple of Paradise.
"It would be a wonderful addition," answered Jones as he undid the top button of his dress shirt.
"I will make sure her beauty and skill equal that of your fairness," said Leroy making Eulogy hesitate for a second before his subordinate continued, "only the best will be gifted to Eulogy Jones."