CHAPTER III

Janus walked out of the main square, alone, angry, and wondering about his next move. Katrina was probably at home by now anyway, which gave him some cover for leaving the festivities early. He brushed passed a number of people, most of whom were either to drunk or to preoccupied to care. They stumbled around aimlessly, laughing at anything and everything, and the only goal of most seemed to be looking for someone to take home. Janus hadn't drank much, not enough to make him tipsy, and to him it felt strange being the only sober person in a crowd of drunkards. He was just about to leave the square entirely when he ran into a member of the Provost's court. "Janus," he said, "Going home early?"

"What gives, Fitz?" he countered, annoyed. Fitzgerald was the Provost's chief advisor, and had never been fond of Janus, or the militia. He believed more in diplomacy, in negotiations...and seemed to often forget that as civilized as Stanley was, the rest of the world was still a wasteland. He pushed himself from leaning against a lamppost and stood face to face to Janus. "Just a bit suspicious, you know? Wandering the streets in deep thought, especially after the Provost's announcement and all..."

"Fuck off, Fitz. I mean, for god sakes, I'm the Captain of the Guard."

"Which makes my point all the more valid," he replied, staring at Janus, and flashing an in-your-face smirk. Janus frowned, feeling his blood boil, sliding his hand onto the grip of his pistol, and moving his longcoat so that Fitz could see. "You really want to do this?"

There was a tense moment where Janus thought he might draw; but sense prevailed in Fitzgerald, and he backed off. A shame, Janus thought. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to threaten you...Captain." He almost spat the word, before laughing and taking his place leaning on the post.

The rest of the walk home was uneventful for Janus, and when he opened the door to his modest shack he couldn't help but notice the eerie blue glow emanating from his Pip-Boy. He picked it up, slowly, as if he was a child doing something wrong. Katrina was asleep in their bed, and he would have to be careful not to wake her. He slid the device onto his wrist after hanging up his coat, and immediately after a text box appeared.

HELLO JANUS. OBVIOUSLY, YOU ARE HERE TO ASK ME ABOUT ELIMINATING THE PROVOST?

/ELIMINATING?

YES. KILLING. MURDERING. SLAYING. PERHAPS MURDERING WAS A BETTER CHOICE OF WORDS.

/I'M NOT SURE IF I WANT TO DO THAT.

YOU WILL HAVE TO, EVENTUALLY, OR HIS HEIR WILL COME INTO THE PLAY.

/HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT MASON?

ONCE MORE, JANUS, I KNOW EVERYTHING.

/YOU DIDN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION.

IN TIME, YOU SHALL SEE. NOW, ABOUT ELIMINATING THE PROVOST...WE MUST FIND THE VAULT FIRST. TAKE A GROUP OF YOUR MOST LOYAL MEN, THAT WILL NOT FALTER WHEN YOU ASK THEM TO FOLLOW YOU. THAN I SHALL GUIDE YOU AND YOUR GROUP TO THE VAULT. NEXT AFTERNOON WOULD BE ACCEPTABLE.

/WHY THE HURRY?

THEIR IS ANOTHER A GROUP SEARCHING FOR IT. AND THEY ARE CLOSE. THEY ARE HEAVILY ARMED, WELL TRAINED, AND SUPERBLY ORGANIZED. THEY CALL THEMSELVES "THE BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL," AND ARE OBSESSED WITH HOARDING PRE-WAR TECHNOLOGY. IF THEY FIND THE VAULT, IT'S CONTENTS WILL BE LOST TO US. AND BASED ON THEIR HISTORY WITH THOSE THAT OPPOSE THEM, ANY HOPE OF SOLIDIFYING YOUR POSITION AFTER THE PROVOST'S REMOVAL WILL BE LOST.

/I CAN'T KILL THE PROVOST.

YOU MUST, IF YOU WANT TO BECOME LEADER. DO IT QUICKLY IF YOU MUST. BUT HE MUST BE KILLED, AS MUST ANY WHO OPPOSE YOU. THE VAULT'S TECHNOLOGY WILL HELP TREMENDOUSLY IN THIS CHORE.

"Janus?" Katrina asked, waking from her slumber. "Come to bed. It's late, honey."

"Give me one minute. I'll join you shortly."

/THERE MUST BE ANOTHER WAY.

THERE IS NOT. GET SOME REST. YOU WILL NEED YOUR STRENGTH TOMORROW.

Janus awoke late the next morning, to the refreshing smell of eggs and bacon simmering in the kitchen as Katrina cooked breakfast. Meat and eggs were a delicacy, and hard to come by - it wasn't a luxury they enjoyed often. After finishing his meal, and some small talk, he decided it was time to tell her. "Katrina, I have to go again."

She sighed, looking down at her empty plate. "Janus..."

"I won't be gone long. Three, maybe four days at the most. Were just going to scavenge. It's not dangerous at all."

"I know I can't stop you," she said. "But please...come back to me. Soon."

"I will. I promise."

He put on his best equipment - a set of reinforced leather armor. It wasn't much, but it was warmer than combat armor and more manipular. Plenty of pockets and pouches, and best of all he could slide a large jacket over it all. Walking out into the street, he moved his fingers around as his breath chilled. His Pip-Boy read 3 degrees Fahrenheit. He casually made his way down to the Guard/militia outpost, where he found about a dozen of his men laying about. "Hey Janus," Strabo said, as he walked through the door. "You going somewhere? Your all geared up,"

"We all are, actually." He replied, laying his backpack on the central table and filling it with equipment. Ammunition, food, grenades, everything he could think of.

"Where to?"

Janus sighed, and stopped filling up his bag for a moment. "I need you all to trust me, okay? If I went to the Provost with this...he would never agree. So I'm going by my own accord, but I need your guys' help. Please, Strabo."

"Janus," he said. "I live for the Provost...but I, and the Guard, would die for you. Whatever you need, we're in, no questions asked."

"A coup?"

"Against Mason? That bastard knows nothing about running a city. We both know that we're more capable of leading Stanley. So this trip of yours," he said, as the Guard vociferously supported Strabo's position, "Where are we going?"

"A Vault," he replied. "Vault 89. I recovered the location from the Blazers base. It's said to have a wealth of pre-war tech inside, that we can use to assert our position in Stanley and across the Van."

Strabo whistled. "I'm game for getting some new toys."

"So how many do we have, on our side?"

"Eighteen in here," he said, after a quick head count. "But I know that I could rally at least another two dozen or so Vanguards to our cause, giving us about forty."

"Go ahead and get as many as you can, and tell them to meet us here," Janus said. "Everyone else, gear up. Take only what you need for the trip - the rest of the equipment that we need we will recover at the Vault."

The Guards began loading up - the armory was opened, and an assortment of weapons and equipment were passed out. .45 caliber SMGs, assault rifles, combat shotguns, as well as laser and plasma weapons, as well as grenades. Strabo came back an hour later, with almost thirty men at his heel, and they were armed as well. By 3:00, the Vanguards were ready.

Janus led them out, much to the surprise of the townspeople. Seeing the Vanguards, fully armed and marching out without any sort of preamble, was rather disturbing. With the Blazers, at least the Stans had known where their only defense against the raiders of the Van were going.

"What in God's name is going on here?!" Fitzgerald screamed, standing between the Vanguards and the main gate with a small contingent of the Provost's personal guard. "Who authorized this operation?"

"Me," Janus said. "Keep your panties on, we're just going to scavenge." That was partly true - they were going to scavenge, except they were scavenging from an unopened vault full of technology.

"On who's authority?!" Fitz countered.

"Mine," Janus said, irritated at having to repeat himself. "Now, step aside. Scavenging isn't illegal, half of the goddamn town does it."

Strabo cocked his .45 SMG, smiling. "Fitz," he said. "Don't you have some papers to push?"

Janus could see the sweat on Fitz's face. He was nervous. Forty plus Vanguards versus him and six of his men. Not even odds, by any count. "This isn't the end, Janus. I'll see you fired for this!"

"Fuck you," Janus said, pushing him aside as his men marched through. "Tell the Provost - or Mason, whoever the hell is in charge - that we'll be back in a few days." The gates swung open, and ahead the vast expanse of the Van lay ripe for exploration.