I'm back. For a while at least. Anyways, terribly sorry for putting things on hold story-wise, but here's a piping hot update for all you fans of the post-apocalypse. Enjoy.
With a heavy sigh, the Lone Wanderer laid his hand on the leathery neck of the beast that had faithfully served them for the last few weeks. Dumbo had taken a battering in the last bandit ambush, toppled by a landmine and riddled with bullets. Shots that would have otherwise found him. Or Mei.
The elephant lay on its side, moaning plaintively, painfully. There was nothing he could do for it, except give it a quick death. With another final sigh, the man looked in the animal's eyes. "Thanks, Dumbo," he whispered, slowly pulling out his rifle. "Happy trails, buddy." A single shot rent the air, and the Lone Wanderer had a new stain to clean from his clothes. Shaking his head, the Gweilo took in the scene around him. It was a well-laid trap, he had to admit.
The five ragtag attackers laid in a bloody mess arrayed around Dumbo's fresh remains. They'd had the element of surprise, but it hadn't saved them; the white man wasn't sure whether to be happy or sad that his old instincts were coming back. With a slight limp, courtesy of their tumble from atop their late mount, he made his way over to the underbrush.
"You can come out now," he said aloud, in Chinese. "It's over."
Silently, Mei emerged from the bush she had concealed herself behind, her eyes trained on her protector. It was then that he noticed the bloody knife in her hand, and the sixth, dead, bandit lying in the ditch alongside the trail.
The Wanderer spared a glance for the dead man before returning his gaze to his ward. "Do you want to talk about it?"
The girl shook her head no, and swallowed hard. "No," she answered at last, her voice quavering. "I…I'm fine." The man saw the tiniest hint of a tear forming in the corner of her eye. With a sigh, he limped over to her and gently took her in a hug.
"It alright to feel remorse, Mei," he whispered to her, as she buried her face into his shoulder. "It isn't easy, and it never should be."
Pulling back from the man, the girl wiped her tears and looked up at him. "Then how is it so easy for you?"
The Gweilo could only sigh. "Far too much practice. Come on now, we're almost there."
After gathering together the supplies Dumbo's fall had scattered about, the two set off silently back down the trail until they crested the final hill. The girl's breath caught in her chest.
The city sprawled out in every direction, a vast plain of blasted grey and twisted greenery that yielded only to the ocean. Nature clashed with the ruins of skyscrapers and highways, as the earth sought to reclaim what was its own. Its skyline was fraught with the jagged remains of great towers, like a mouth full of broken teeth gouging at the sky. The city wrapped around its deep harbor, ancient dry-docks, shipping yards, and rusted out hulls still littering its shore. The view was incredible.
Mei turned to her protector, shaking her head. "I hope you know what you're looking for, Gweilo," she said solemnly.
The Wanderer shook his head heavily. The girl had become increasingly grim since Agra, and he doubted that their encounter with the bandits had helped that. Still, the spark of wonder he had seen in her eyes when she first beheld the city had not entirely faded, so he could content himself with that.
"We're heading to the harbor," he answered back. "With any luck, there'll be a ship captain or two there that I need to have a few choice words with."
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"You have no idea where we're going, do you?"
Sad as it was to say, the Wanderer had to concede that the girl was right. The ruins of Mumbai were a labyrinth. Even with his PipBoy, the twisting passageways through the remains of the city were a maze, with streets blocked of by rubble, and new a passageways opened up through the gutted corpses of buildings. All around, the crumbling gray ghosts of buildings closed in around them, yet interspersed with a shot of green where crawling vines or a tenacious palm tree had taken root. He had long since lost his way to the harbor. Even the rusted road signs were of no use, for while his spoken Hindi was passable, few of his teachers in Agra had been literate themselves. As he stared about in desperate hope for some kind of landmark to aid them though, one sign in particular caught his eyes. Beneath the faded Hindi script, in thick blocky letters, were the words "United States Consulate". Those three simple words sent his brow shooting upwards.
"Well," he said, to no one in particular, "I think that warrants a little investigation."
Mei could only sigh and rub her temples; it was looking to be a long day.
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"Mikken," Jonas implored in his best approximation of a whisper, "why is everyone looking at me?"
The old caravan man sighed. He couldn't deny it. It seemed like every older member of the Brotherhood they passed couldn't help but stare as Junior led them through the Citadel's halls. A detachment of the soldiers that had escorted them had broken off to take Jericho to the holding cells, and Officer Hammond's body to the morgue. Junior was making good on that promise, at least. They were currently being escorted to the clinic, a fact which considering the throbbing in his head, Jonas was not about to complain over.
When the older man's only answer was to look away, as if ashamed, the youth began to worry. The sounds of a hacksaw greeted them as they entered the clinic, and the young man grimaced.
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"Elder Lyons will see you now," Junior announced as he entered back into the hall where Mikken and Jonas sat waiting. With a nod, the caravaner rose to his feet, and motioned for his younger companion to follow. Passing through the doorway, they entered into yet another waiting room, where and aged black woman stood waiting, hands behind her back, in a full set of power armor sans helmet.
"This is Star Paladin Cross," Junior answered in response to Mikken's inquisitive stare. "She's going to check you for any weapons."
The caravaner sighed. "Well, so long as we get them back, let me save you the trouble." After removing the .32 pistol from his jacket, combat knives from each boot, and a straight razor from his pocket and laying them all on the table, the caravan man turned around and noted the stunned look on everyone else's face. "What?" he answered them. "A man can't travel prepared?"
When his subsequent search produced no other surprises, the Star Paladin moved on to Jonas, but faltered when she laid eyes on him.
"I, I do not mean to stare. My apologies. Here, let us be done with this quickly."
After a brisk and only minimally invasive search, the two were deemed safe, and sent into the office of the Elder.
Jonas had expected a number of things about the mysterious leader of the fabled Brotherhood of Steel. He'd expected a robed, white bearded man, spouting wisdom and proverbs with very breath. He'd expected personal chambers lined with relics of the old world, treasures mysterious and powerful. What he had not expected was a blonde woman of middle age and evidently foul temperament.
Elder Lyons sat leaned back in her chair, which was perhaps the only luxury in her utilitarian office space. Her desk was clean of clutter and mess, it's only ornament a large computer console sitting in its center. The walls were lined not with treasures, but with photographs, some ancient, but some seemingly new. As they entered, the Elder sat with her eyes shut, massaging her temples with one hand in frustration. At the sound of their entry, she did not look up, but merely pointed to the two chairs arranged in front of her desk.
Sitting down with little fanfare, Mikken took a deep breath before launching into his usual honey coated voice, though Jonas could detect the tiniest undercurrents of fear.
"Sarah, my dear, it is so good to see-"
"Can it, Mikken," the Elder retorted, with a growl, "and it's Elder Lyons to you."
With a heavy sigh, Sarah Lyons folded her hands across her lap and looked up at her guests, only for all the color to drain from her face in a heartbeat. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost.
"M-Mikken," she began again, faltering slightly before recomposing herself. "Who is this?"
Beads of sweat could were rapidly becoming visible on the older man's brow. "Well, uh, this is Jonas. Overseer Almodovar's son." He finished it with his trademark lopsided smile, but the Elder it seemed was not amused.
"Of course he is," she said, through clenched teeth. Turning to the younger of the two, Jonas found himself the target of the Elder's terrifying gaze. "Tell me Jonas," she asked quickly, "how old are you?" Her tone implied it was more than just curiosity.
"I'll be seventeen in three months, ma'am," he answered, stammering only slightly. He too began to feel himself sweat; something was not right here.
The Elder was silent for a moment, her eyes distant, as if in some kind of silent calculation. Finally, satisfied with the answer, she turned her sights back to them.
"Alright. Mikken, you and I will be having a word privately when this is done. Now, what's this I hear about issues with the vault door?"
As the caravan man launched into his explanation of the situation with far more skill than he ever could have, Jonas let his eyes and mind wander about the room, until one of the photographs on the wall caught his eye.
It was of the Elder, that much was for sure, but of one far younger. Two men stood with her, one old and one young. The older man fit his imaginings of the Elder perfectly; flowing beard and robes and sharp eyes. When his gaze fell onto the other, Jonas took a sharp breath inwards. The man was a dead ringer for him.
A broad smiling face looked out at him, the helmet to his power armor held under one arm. An untamed head of blonde hair went everywhere, windswept by the Wastes. He had the same eyes, the same nose, and the same jaw. It was uncanny.
Mind racing, Jonas looked about to other pictures, finding the man in more and more of them. He stood grinning with a plasma rifle slung over one shoulder, and a deathclaw mounted and stuffed like a trophy. There was one of him and the current Elder, his arms wrapped around her waist. There was one of him wearing a Vault 101 jumpsuit.
Jonas's mind was racing, Mikken and the Elder's conversation barely background noise humming in his ears. Who was this man? He had to know. Why did he look so much like him? Was this why everyone had been staring at him?
Quickly, he scanned the walls once more, looking for more photos of the man, but beyond a certain point he disappeared. Now the pictures were of the Elder and a child, a girl. A girl with wild blonde hair and a familiar face.
His thoughts and Mikken's story were suddenly interrupted by an argument from beyond the door. Without warning, the door burst open, and in strode the girl from the pictures, fully grown and clad in power armor. For a second, no one spoke, and Jonas and the strange girl locked eyes, both pairs the same shade of emerald green. After what felt an eternity, she broke the silence.
"What the fuck?"
End Chapter. Weren't expecting that, were you? Ha. The plot's definitely thickening here, folks. Please keep letting me know what you think in the reviews. Also, not really sure if I had previously given Jonas a different age or eye color, but as of now they're "almost 17" and "green" respectively. Til next time, folks