Ch 11 Black Widow
Nova held her breath, and watched the woman from the Vault closely. This was a terrific gamble, and relied on what Arta had not heard. Maybe Silver was right after all, she thought. I am a bitch. Yet what choice do I have?
The woman put one hand to her cheek, as though musing. She looks so lost. What must it be like for her to be away from everything she's known up to now? To not know who to trust in a world she doesn't yet understand? There's no maybe, I'm a bitch and I hate myself and what I'm doing. But not as much as I hate Moriarty.
Arta tilted her head first one way, then the other, as though to look at Nova and the problem from all angles, her blue-grey eyes thoughtful.
Unexpectedly she asked. "Why did you choose to … live this kind of life?"
Nova was slightly thrown by the question, and exhaled abruptly. She tried to quickly regain her poise. "Choose? I didn't have much choice. When I was brought to Megaton, I had nothing. No money to buy a house like that rich bitch, Lucy West. Raiders had taken it all. I couldn't trade or fight or scavenge, so I sold the one thing I still owned. My body."
Arta nodded, as though she understood. Then she said, "And that's why you hate Moriarty and want him killed, is it? Because you offered your honour in trade, and he accepted the bargain?"
"No! I hate him because he's a sadistic bully and a …" Nova stopped herself. She'd almost said too much in anger.
"And?"
"I told you already. A mean, spiteful slave driver who enjoys making the lives of everyone around him miserable. If anyone deserves to die, he does."
"Yes, but you were about to say something else, weren't you?" Arta had switched her unfocused gaze to look directly into Nova's eyes. Nova met her searching glance steadily, although her heart was beating faster. This young woman might be out of her element, but she was no fool.
Arta allowed the question to go unanswered, "Why don't you just leave?"
"Because …" Nova realised she'd been trapped. The situation was slipping out of her control. She might as well respond with the truth. "Because I'm afraid of him."
"Afraid he'll hunt you down?"
"Yes."
"Killing him yourself is out of the question?"
"I can't do that." Nova felt with her foot for the gun under the bed, wished she could have found a better hiding place. She wouldn't be able to reach it without drawing suspicion. Not unless …
"And you chose me, of all people, to make this offer to."
A statement, not a question. She already knows why. I'm in great danger. I must reach that damn gun!
In a harder tone, Arta continued, "Before I came here, I found a small shack. In it, I met a woman called Silver." Nova caught her breath again. "She used to work for Moriarty, and was running away from him. At first she was afraid that he'd sent me to get her."
The game's almost up. Nova said, "He treated her mean too, but she was always a liar and a thief."
Arta nodded. "She certainly was. But I believed at least one thing she said: that she had contacts with the slavers. Because she was planning on selling me to them. And she said that even slavers wouldn't touch Moriarty. He was too powerful, too dangerous." Her eyes were cold. "You bitch!"
Nova bowed her head. "I'm sorry, I couldn't take it anymore. I thought …"
"You thought I was a stupid, naïve dupe, who wouldn't know enough to fear the consequences. And that Moriarty would underestimate me too, would probably let his guard down. No doubt you were going to be there, to finish off whoever came away worst." Nova looked up, to see that Arta was pointing a semi-automatic pistol at her head. "Well, I've gotten a lot smarter real quick. Stand up!" Resignedly, Nova got to her feet. "Keep your hands where I can see them. Now start taking your clothes off."
Without protest, Nova removed her light, pale blue topcoat and boots, standing in just a white chemise and stockings. I know I look good; these really are about the sexiest, most expensive smalls you can get. Pity the stockings have become so threadbare.
She was about to remove her chemise, when Arta said, "That's enough! Stand still." Nova waited, breathing hard. Despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, she felt turned on. I can still swing this in my favour! She wants me - I know it!
Arta carried out a quick search of Nova's outer garments, finding the stiletto she kept in her boot top. "How nice! Just what I'd expect from a dirty, treacherous bitch!" Nova merely rolled her eyes.
Pocketing the knife, and moving closer, Arta began running her hands over Nova's underwear, and through her hair, looking for any further concealed weapons. You won't find any, but you're making me feel so hot!
Nova murmured, "You've had a sample of the goods, why don't you enjoy them for free?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do." Nova took hold of Arta's cheeks, and planted a passionate kiss on her lips. She continued to kiss her fervently, allowing her no time to pull away or resist. At first she felt Arta's body tense up, then it gradually relaxed against her own, as she ground with her hips and pressed closely with her breasts. I've got her!
Once she felt sure the younger woman was under her spell, Nova quickly slipped off her chemise, then drew Arta's head downward towards her breasts. She soon felt the gentle tug of Arta's mouth on her nipple, as she might have imagined a baby would suckle, although she had never experienced such a thing. She felt a moment's pity for her victim, sensing her desperate need for comfort. She allowed Arta to keep feasting on her breasts, feeling her own nipples' hardness, and a growing sensation of triumph, of sexual euphoria at her supremacy. This was a victory as satisfying and much sweeter than could be achieved with weapons, and she was going to savour every moment of it. And in the end her opponent would be totally defeated.
Nova began to help Arta to remove her clothing, tugging at her zippers, although she scarcely needed any encouragement as she was already stripping off as fast as she could. Nova was sure that once Arta's body was exposed to her gaze and touch, she would be utterly helpless to resist her sexual enslavement. When Arta was finally nude, Nova fell on her like a lioness about to devour her prey, her mouth and tongue hungrily seeking for vulnerable flesh, her fingers probing to give pleasure, to find points of weakness.
Arta allowed Nova to pull her down onto the bed. This is so reckless! But I don't care! It's lovely! I've needed this so much! To give myself over to someone's touch, to immerse myself in sensations of ravishment.
From below, she could feel Nova snaking out an arm to reach between her thighs, teasing at her womb entrance. Abruptly Nova rolled, so that she was on top, kissing Arta on the mouth, the breasts, the belly, all the while stroking at the inner folds of her flesh. Then Nova's fingers spread her labia, and Arta felt the feather softness of her tongue, and it was all that was needed to send her finally over the edge into hot waves of orgasmic ecstasy.
She could kill me now, and I would thank her for it! Would still cling on to the last dying pulse of pleasure, the final gasp of release.
As the outer ripples of the explosion faded, she reached a point of stillness within the storm. The moment had passed and her mind was her own again. She felt Nova moving forward again, positioning herself above her, her thighs blocking out the light. Sensed the urgency with which she sought to reach for her own climax. And she answered the need, hearing Nova moan and thrash in response, her body temporarily in submission to the will she had lately held in thrall. And when it was over, and Nova had bucked one last time, Arta reached up to clasp her fingers between her own, and she encountered instead hard metal.
Instantly she reacted, twisting Nova's wrist outwards, and there was the muffled cough of a suppressed discharge. The bullet sped away to bury itself in the wall, and the gun dropped from Nova's hand. Nova tried to clamp down with her thighs on Arta's face, but she was already using her greater strength to roll the older woman off the bed and onto the floor. Pinned down and stunned, Nova immediately went limp with defeat. Arta picked up the silenced pistol, and pressed it to her temple.
"So it was under the bed. Stupid of me not to look. You could've shot me while you were making me come, but you didn't. You needed me one last time."
Nova laid her head back wearily. "Caught in my own web, how ironic! I suppose you're going to shoot me now, but for the record, I wouldn't have killed you, even afterwards. I only wanted to get back control."
"I believe you, but it scarcely matters, does it? We both know my life came a long way second to your revenge on Moriarty."
"Second, but not by a long way." Nova closed her eyes. "Go on, please, get it over with."
Arta maintained the pressure of the pistol a moment longer, then withdrew it. She got to her feet.
"I've not killed anyone yet, not unless you count Silver. I don't aim to make this the first time." And there's all kinds of reasons not to.
Nova opened her eyes, looking astonished. She said, "Thank you."
"Thank Gob, he put in a good word for you. You had your reasons, and I don't think you're an evil person, just desperate."
Nova sat up, and clasped her knees. "Then why do I feel so ashamed?" She looked sadly up at Arta. "What happened to Silver?"
"Thanks to me, Raiders got her." Arta applied the safety to the silenced pistol. "I'm keeping this. But in case I've misjudged you, you'd do well to remember Silver. I've already given over one whore to torture and death. Don't make me add another."
As Arta descended the stairs, she noticed the young blonde woman who'd been talking with Nova had resumed her place at a table near the door, and was watching her with undisguised interest. Despite this, Arta would have preferred to ignore her and leave Moriarty's had the woman not spoken first.
"Hi, I'm Lucy West. I saw you earlier talking to Nova and Jericho. You seem like you can really handle yourself."
"Err, thanks!" Disconcerted and emotionally exhausted by the encounter with Nova, Arta was unable to think of a better response.
Motioning Arta to come closer, Lucy dropped her voice confidentially. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" Taking Arta's consent for granted, she continued, almost in a whisper. "As a woman, are you interested in … visiting someone like Nova? I mean, I'm just curious to know."
Arta was at first even more discomfited by Lucy's rather prurient enquiry. Eventually she decided that though it was intrusive, and somewhat cheeky, it had its amusing aspects.
She replied, "I guess I wouldn't totally rule it out, but at the moment I can't afford to." Thinking that Lucy deserved to be teased in her turn, she asked, "Were you considering a visit yourself?"
"Me, no! Really I'm not into that sort of thing!" Lucy replied in a shocked whisper. "I … I'm a respectable householder in Megaton, and I have my reputation to uphold."
Sure you do, but you still enjoy listening to, and probably spreading salacious gossip! Remembering her own need for accommodation, she resolved to explore the possibility of forming some sort of connection with Lucy. She said, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were a resident." Then in the friendliest tone she could manage, "This is my first time in Megaton, and I haven't had a chance to see what kind of housing you have, at least not inside. I wonder, would you perhaps do me the honour of showing me round your house some time?"
"Well." Lucy looked as though she was flattered by Arta's interest. "I mean, it's just my humble abode and all but, why not? I was planning to have lunch soon, so why don't you join me?"
When they got outside, the sun had moved close to being directly overhead, and the heat reflected from the corrugated iron structures and striking up from the crater was baking. Unused to such high temperatures, Arta unzipped her Tunnel snakes jacket, no longer so concerned about revealing her Vault suit. Lucy showed no sign of being bothered by the heat, though her leather outfit was longer and heavier looking. She didn't wear a hat, but Arta observed that some Wastelanders, particularly those with a much-travelled look, had broad brimmed ones, often combined with sun scarves, and she determined to see about buying something similar.
Lucy's house was some distance away on a lower tier, and by the time they arrived, Arta was somewhat hungry and thirsty. She was still interested to see the kind of home Megaton provided for its regular citizens. Lucy gave her the 'tour' with every appearance of pride. Like Moriarty's, the house had two levels, and though it was far smaller, the amount of space provided was generous by Vault standards. The ground floor had similar furnishings to Silver's shack, and while it also showed much wear and tear, everything seemed cleaner and tidier. Arta particularly noticed there were two beds upstairs.
She asked, "Do you live here with someone else?
"No." Lucy looked a little downcast. "The idea was that I would move here with my brother, Ian. Our family lives in the small settlement of Arefu to the north-west, on one of the bridges over the Potomac. We trade with the caravans, and my dad had this idea of moving part of the business to Megaton. So he sent me here with enough caps to buy a property. Ian was supposed to come too, but he … he was unwell. So I came on my own, and so far no one's joined me. In fact, it's been a while since I've heard anything, and I'm getting worried because I need more money to start trading. Hey, but you don't want to listen to my problems all day!"
Arta didn't, but scented an opportunity. "Why don't you travel back to Arefu and find out what's wrong? You could leave someone to look after your house. In fact, I could probably find the time myself."
Lucy gave her a cynical look. "Yeah, I'm sure that'd be convenient from your point of view! But not from mine. It's too dangerous for someone like me unless I travel with a caravan like I did before. But they only circulate in one direction. Don't ask me why. So I'd have to follow the entire route, right down to Rivet City in the south, north through the centre of DC, then west towards Paradise Falls. Excuse me, but I'll pass on that." She shrugged. "You ever want to start a caravan, my advice is, try travelling clockwise! C'mon, let's eat."
With hunger pangs beginning to strike, Arta realised she had no choice in the short term except to eat irradiated food, even though she was determined to find some alternative in future. She thought she might as well make the best of it, and was intrigued to find Lucy's midday meal consisted of some pieces of meat stuck on skewers. Eating real meat had a legendary status in Vault society; only in the pre-war period had such a thing been known. Arta had heard her father joke about eating radroaches, but such an idea was so disgusting no Vault dweller would seriously contemplate it. However consuming the bodies of dead animals was also a little daunting.
Seeing her hesitation, Lucy said, "It's squirrel, prepared in my own special way. Really tasty!"
Remembering her Natural History lessons, Arta said doubtfully, "I thought squirrels lived in trees. I haven't seen any yet."
"Huh? How would they do that? Trees are like … dead. Of course, squirrels have always lived in holes in the ground. Here, try some." Lucy pulled one of the pieces off a skewer, and leaned forward across the table to pop it into Arta's mouth. The flavour was certainly unusual, and the chewiness surprising. Arta decided it was greatly preferable to algae, and tried to ignore the disapproving clicking coming from her pipboy.
She imitated Lucy, bringing the stick to her mouth to bite into the succulent pieces. At the same time, she watched the blonde woman with increasing interest. She had clear blue eyes and a delicate mouth. The way her hair was pulled tightly back from her face, and elaborately knotted, a style Amata had favoured, was certainly attractive, and she also resembled the Overseer's daughter in her cultured style of speech and air of superiority. Her dad would probably have called her a 'spoilt princess'.
The thought was saddening, and made her think of how manipulative Amata had been, and how much her father would've disapproved. Yet she had told him herself that certain things needed to take precedence over morality in difficult times. Would manipulating Lucy be such a bad thing to do? Could she be seduced into letting Arta share her house at least until her family arrived? Nova had made such a thing look easy, and Lucy had shown some curiosity about her sexual activities, despite her protests of respectability.
Arta finished eating, and put her finger in her mouth to lick it clean slowly and suggestively. Lucy appeared not to notice. She poured a beer into two glasses and raised one of them "To the beginning of a beautiful friendship?" she suggested.
"And to a long and happy stay in Megaton." Arta added, clinking glasses.
"Yeah, absolutely! Well, its time for my afternoon nap, so after this drink I'd better let you get about your business."
Damn! Oh, well, maybe later.
Arta peered through the dimness of Craterside Supply. A sullen-eyed mercenary in leather armour gave her a suspicious glance, then chewed and spat. Where was its supposedly eccentric owner?
"Hang on there!" A woman's voice came from behind the large counter. "Just let me fix this up, and I'll be with you in two shakes!"
Arta waited, meanwhile marvelling at the well-stocked shelves, some containing weapons and armour, some only odds and ends, and noticing with astonishment that there was a Vault suit hanging on the wall. Eventually she became impatient, and walked over to look behind the counter. A woman was kneeling tinkering with what looked like an old-fashioned pump-style detonator, and occasionally muttering to herself. A lead snaked away across the shop, ending up at a strange gun-like device. It appeared to have been fashioned out of pieces of junk, including perhaps a vacuum cleaner and a length of hosing.
Becoming aware of Arta's presence, the woman hastily stood up. "Oh, almost forgot you were there! Its always nice to see a new customer, I'm Moira Brown!" She spoke in overly bright, somewhat goofy tones. Her hair was dyed red and tied back, the pupils of her eyes were round as saucers, and her expression was one of genial amiability. She wore an old jumpsuit faded to a pale blue.
At least she looks like a harmless eccentric, Arta thought. She said, "Nice to meet you, Moira. I came to buy supplies, but if you're busy I can always come back in a while."
"Oh, no need for that!" Moira beamed enthusiastically. "I do have some vital research to perform from time to time, but I usually find I can fit it in while minding the store. My customers are very important to me; after all they fund my projects." Her eyes seemed to almost bug out of their sockets. "In fact, I could use some help right now with an experimental weapon I'm about to test."
Arta hastily took a step backwards. "Well, that sounds very interesting, Moira, but err, perhaps it would be better if you used someone with greater military experience." She waved an arm vaguely in the mercenary's direction.
"Oh, him, he's only here to stop people stealing and causing trouble, though you wouldn't think anyone would want to hurt little old me, would you? If I ask him to do anything else, he says it's not in his contract." Moria sniffed. "But I'm getting this intuition that you have a natural aptitude and enthusiasm for research."
"I wouldn't exactly say that …"
"Now see I'm going to give you the easy part to do this time. All I need is for you to pump this detonator when I give you the word. I'll observe the weapon firing, and you'll be safely behind the counter. What can go wrong?" Moira giggled. "I call it the Rock-It-Launcher. Isn't that funny? It fires any kind of household garbage with lethal force." Seeing that Arta looked unconvinced, Moira added, "I'll give you a free sample as a reward for your assistance."
Arta sighed. "Very well. I suppose the counter looks pretty good cover, and if it's only garbage …"
"That's the spirit! First I have to set up this dummy target." Moira arranged a large cardboard cut-out of a fearsome-looking ogre-like creature in the centre of the room. Then she put on some goggles and stuck an ancient looking white helmet firmly on her head. "Just in case! Are we all ready?"
The mercenary took cover behind the door to the stairs. Arta crouched behind the counter, holding the detonator. Moira took up a position about a body's length away and to one side of the Rock-It-Launcher.
"Ready! Fire!"
Arta pushed down on the detonator and shut her eyes. Nothing happened. She opened her eyes, then stood up. The mercenary was also standing looking very relieved.
Moira was muttering, "Maybe a loose wire …" She went over and began to fiddle with the back of the Rock-It-Launcher. "Now if I …"
There was a tremendous explosion. Arta threw herself down behind the counter as fragments of metal showered across the room. She hugged the floor desperately. A cloud of black smoke drifted overhead, then sank towards floor level.
Coughing Arta regained her feet. The mercenary was doing the same on the opposite side of the room. As the smoke cleared, it could be seen that both target and Rock-It-Launcher were almost completely destroyed. Moira was still standing behind the weapon, her hands and face smoke blackened, but otherwise looking totally unharmed.
"He-hmm." Moira coughed, pushing up her goggles to better inspect the wreckage. She looked a little downcast, then brightened. "That could've gone better, but the junk was propelled in the right general direction." She walked over to pick up a battered looking teddy bear. "So a few adjustments are needed, but on the whole it was a success."
Arta shook her head to try to stop the ringing in her ears. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear! Your reward!" She handed Arta the teddy bear. "A souvenir of your first experiment!"
"Gee, thanks!"
"Don't mention it!" Observing Arta more closely, she said cheerfully, "Aren't you one of those strays from the Vault? I haven't seen one of you for years!"
Arta nodded dumbly.
"Okay then! Let's see what we can trade!"
"Well now …" Moira surveyed the items placed in front of her. "We have … a box of Abraxo cleaner, handy for the floors, a bottle of turpentine, always useful, a bonesaw and hammer …" she made appropriate sawing and hammering movements, "oh, and an old camera without a film." She held it up to take an imaginary picture, and clicked her tongue. "Say cheese! A bottle of … " she wrinkled her nose "rather dirty water, and last but not least, a whole tube of Wonderglue. Super! Totting that up, making a few little allowances and deducting trading percentages, we get … a grand total of thirty nine caps! After all your help today, let's call that a round forty, shall we?"
"Forty caps?" Arta examined the price list Moira had displayed on her computer, and looked glum. "I won't be able to buy much in the way of weapons and armour at these prices. Except perhaps …" she held up the items disdainfully "this rather dented pair of brass knuckles."
"Oh, I wouldn't sniff too much at those, my dear. I got them from a scavenger who said he'd used them to batter a Supermutant to death. Of course first he'd shot one or both its legs off. I forget exactly which."
Arta let fall the knuckle-dusters. "Maybe not today. Just the …" she consulted the list … "Stormchaser hat, please."
"An excellent choice! Many wanderers have remarked on the mystical properties of this hat, saying it gives them almost an extra sense." Moira beamed. "Strange really, because you'd think it'd make things harder to see, what with all the cloth hanging from the brim and all. Still may it bring you luck! And that leaves you … thirty one caps."
Arta placed the remaining currency in a bag, all the while thinking grimly of the hundreds of caps Silver had been carrying. She tried on the hat which felt like … a normal hat. She looked up again at the Vault suit on the wall. It seemed different in some way.
She asked Moira, "How come you have a Vault suit, and what have you done to it?"
"You like, eh? It belonged to a Vault girl very like you. I was worried she might come to harm in the Wastes, so I offered to armour her suit. It'll stop low powered rounds completely, while being flexible enough to allow ease of firing. You see that's exactly the sort of thing my R&D aims to achieve." Moira shook her head. "The poor thing never came back to collect it! Probably died out there!"
"How much?"
Moira whistled through her teeth. "Sorry, dear, I'd like to help you out, but you haven't got nearly enough. It's in perfect condition, you see, and that spells expensive."
Reluctantly Arta brought out her own pistol, and the one she'd taken from Nova. "Take a look at these."
Moira checked over the weapons in expert fashion. "This one is in almost A1 condition. One hundred and ten caps. The silenced pistol, while its unusual, isn't nearly so well kept. Let's say eighty." She scratched her nose. "I could do you a deal. I'll take both, plus twenty caps, in return for the suit."
When it comes to hard bargaining, she shows no sign of goof ball behaviour. Arta said, "I need to keep at least one weapon for protection."
"I'll throw in the knuckles for free."
"No thank you."
Moira shrugged. "Okay then."
Arta was about to leave in disappointment. Then, remembering what Jericho had said, she asked, "Do you by any chance know where I might obtain clean food and water, free from radiation?"
Moira sucked on her teeth. "Well I hear things from time to time. Rumours of lost paradises and so on. You see I'm also writing a book called the Wasteland Survival Guide; the title says it all really. But none of my field researchers have been able to find anything definite." Observing Arta slump again, she said brightly, "Oh, but don't lose heart! Maybe you'll be the one to discover something! In fact, I could employ you to find out this very thing. I've heard about an old Super Dupa Mart not very far to the north, on this side of the Potomac. Quite possibly there could be food, water, even drugs there, not to mention other useful items. Take a look for me, bring back some samples, I'll pay you well."
Arta asked doubtfully, "How much pay? And will it be dangerous?"
Moira's round eyes looked innocent. "Dangerous? No more than anywhere these days! And you can be there and back in a jiffy. As for pay, you wanted that Vault Armoured Suit? Succeed and it's yours. And, of course, you can keep any clean food and water you find, once you've shown it to me."
Arta considered. Somehow this seemed far too easy, and she'd already figured that Moira's eccentricity didn't extend to the way she did business. She wouldn't offer someone such a large incentive to perform a simple task. And Jericho had warned her about taking up on Moira's "moonshine" missions.
On the other hand, could she really pass up on such an opportunity? Apart from the chance of finding the holy grail of clean food and water, she needed to start earning caps before she either starved to death or died of radiation sickness. To do that she required better equipment and things to trade.
She said, "Okay, that sounds like a fair offer."
Moira gave her the sunniest of smiles. "Naturally, dear, I wouldn't suggest anything else!"
Sauntering abstractedly back to Lucy West's house, Arta came across Jericho, sunning himself on his terrace and drawing on a smoke.
"Hey, Vaultee! Found any fancy food and drink yet?"
Arta bridled at his jeering tone, then reminded herself she needed all the advice she could get, even from such a rude source. She told him about Moira's assignment.
He gave a short laugh. "Sure, dream on! Kid, think about it. This place is close to Megaton. I know it myself, though I've not been inside. How likely is it to have gone untouched all this time? Anything that's there now has probably been left by someone, and that means its gonna be guarded. So either it's a wasted trip or you're about to buy yourself a whole heap of trouble. And you're still totally wet behind the ears."
Defiantly Arta said, "I can handle myself! I've got a gun, and I can shoot."
Jericho gave a huge guffaw. "You can shoot, can you? Well, here's a little wager for you. Stand by the table, draw your weapon and shoot through that knothole in my shack, before I count to three and snap my fingers. One chance, one shot. Fifty caps says you can't."
"I don't have fifty caps."
"Then I'll bet whatever you do have."
Arta gauged the distance to the 'knothole'. It was approximately the same length away as the paper target she'd used in the Vault to practice. She'd been able to hit the bull's eye most of the time, but this was somewhat smaller, and she only had one shot. On the other hand, she stood to double her money, which was already inadequate for her needs. More than that, she would throw Jericho's abuse, and his mocking and belittling of her right back in his face. She remembered the contemptuous way he'd shoved her aside, and her jaw tightened.
"Alright! You're on! For thirty one caps!"
"So, we have a sportswoman, do we? Good! I like to see that. But I'm gonna enjoy watching you count out your caps for me even more."
"I won't need to. You'll be the one who's forking out!"
"We'll see, won't we? Remember you gotta shoot before I snap my fingers or you lose. Now get ready!"
Arta took up a stance facing the target, hand close to her holster. She felt the same calmness descend over her as when she'd turned to face the Mole Rats. It was the part of her soul which told her that survival depended on her remaining steady, on shooting straight. And she was determined she would do just that. Perhaps she was becoming more like Amata in remaining calm and detached.
She heard Jericho count, "One!" and drew the pistol, thumbing off the safety.
As he counted, "Two!" she was lining up the shot, the pistol held double-handed and rock steady. She could see the hole perfectly aligned with her gun sight.
She squeezed the trigger.
A single report was followed by several rattles and whines, as the bullet ricocheted around the inside of Jericho's shack. There was a noise of shattering glass, then silence.
Arta turned to look at Jericho. He was sitting with his hand raised, finger and thumb touching, and his mouth slightly open, like a pupil half-heartedly trying to attract his teacher's attention. As though suddenly realising the lack of dignity in this position, he shook his head and blinked.
"Who fired off a gun?"
Arta looked up to see an old woman in a drab robe, white hair tightly tied back in a bun, waving agitatedly in their direction from a nearby terrace. Her skin was incredibly wrinkled and browned by the sun, and she was somewhat stooped with her years.
"It ain't nuthin', Manya," Jericho shouted back. "Arta here was trying a little target practice. Shooting a knothole."
"Well a pretty pair you are, scaring me half to death at my age!"
"What the hell's going on up there?" The deep boom of Sheriff Simms' voice came from below.
"Nobody hurt." Manya threw up her hands in exasperation. "Just a couple of fools peckin' at knotholes."
"Well, that's good to know." Simms reslung his rifle. "Didn't want to waste bullets on your sorry hide, Artemesia."
As Simms resumed his patrol and Manya hobbled off, Arta re-holstered her pistol and turned triumphantly to face Jericho, determined to make the most of her moment of glory.
"Right through the knothole, without touching!"
"Sure, kid, that was pretty slick," Jericho conceded. "One in a million."
"Are you saying it was luck? Fancy I try again for double the stakes?"
"Heh, heh, no! That wasn't luck. Had a merc try it coupla months ago, totally messed up. Lazy bastards rely on pumpin' lots of rounds these days, no proper training. Won me twenty five caps. I would've wagered double that on you missing if you'd had it, but it don't matter, as no money's gonna change hands."
For a moment, his words didn't register, then Arta shouted, "What?"
Jericho leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Just consider it a lesson learned, kid. Don't expect no-one to pay up unless you got the means to make 'em."
"You dirty, double-crossing bastard, pay me my money!" Arta felt a red mist descend. "I'm warning you!"
"And I'm telling you to fuck off!"
Spitting, Arta went for his face with her fingernails. Before she could get quite close enough, Jericho sprang out of his chair, and grabbed hold of her arms, then swung her against the side of the shack, pinioning her hands against the wall. She struggled, and he unceremoniously took the air out of her lungs by kneeing her in the stomach.
"Think you're one of those zombies, now, do ya? Your claws aren't big enough, girlie." His grip was like iron, and he was pressed against her, his face uncomfortably close, but she was gasping too much to spit in it. She could smell his sweat, and the beer on his breath, as he hissed, "You're damn lucky I'm not the man I was in the Wastes, or you'd get a real lesson not to cross me. Try anything like that again, and you will."
"Fuck you!" she just about managed.
"Mind your manners, and get out of my face." He swung her again, and this time thrust her away from him, so that she toppled over.
"Shitty bastard!" she snarled from the floor.
Resuming his seat, Jericho growled back, "I ain't changed my opinion. You're still a clean-arse. You go to that mart, you're dead meat!"
Getting to her feet, and giving him murderous backward looks, she staggered down the ramp to Lucy's house. She wasn't in. Arta stopped to ponder.
He may be a shitty bastard, but what he said made sense, and reflected my own fears. If there's some other way to avoid this, I've got to at least try it.
"My dear girl, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance! It's so rare in this heap of rubble that one encounters persons of refinement."
Arta gave Burke a winning smile. She said, "I'm guessing you come from some place a lot more … refined than here."
"As clearly do you, my dear girl." Burke began to roll himself a cigar. His pre-war clothes, including his fedora hat, shirt, tie and trousers were immaculately cared for, but he wore them with a casual air that suggested he didn't need to try too hard to impress anyone. His chin was somewhat stubbly, and tinted lenses obscured his eyes both in colour and aspect. "While I find your company enchanting, I wonder why you've chosen to favour me with it?"
Arta was taken aback by how quickly Burke had come down to business. She began tentatively, "You see I'm looking for somewhere to stay …"
"And naturally you'd rather not bed down in this radioactive pile. I understand." Burke lit the cigar, placed it in the corner of his mouth. Through slightly clenched teeth, he added, "Pray, continue."
"… Until I get my bearings, and can start looking for some regular employment." Burke nodded, and smiled. "And I wondered if you knew anywhere I could …"
"Of course, of course." Burke sucked reflectively on the cigar, took it from his mouth, flicked it and placed it carefully on the side of an ashtray. "Such things can be arranged. However … " he gave Arta a sharp glance from behind his horn rimmed glasses "My employer is not in the habit of granting favours without some form of … recompense. In your case, I have a particular assignment in mind, should you be competent to perform it."
Arta had known something like this was coming. She decided not to beat about the bush.
"What do you want me to do?" She held her breath.
"I must first assess your suitability." Watching her closely he asked. "Assuming I were to provide you with a safe place to stay, clean food and water, a few … luxuries perhaps. What would you be prepared to do?"
Arta didn't like the open-ended nature of the question. "Well … I'd be very grateful and I'd do … a lot. As long as …" she added quickly, "there's a reasonable chance of me surviving to collect my reward."
Burke gave a simper. "Oh, I wouldn't worry yourself too much on that score! Now, let us speak hypothetically. Suppose I set you a task that required you to kill someone, perhaps a number of people, of no real importance to anyone other than themselves. Would you be … interested?" He delicately picked up his cigar, leaned back and took a long puff on it, smiling with every appearance of enjoyment.
Arta swallowed. She said carefully, "It would depend, I suppose, if they were … good or bad people."
Burke continued smiling, nodded a few times slowly. "Yes, of course, it would depend." He took another shorter puff, again returned the cigar to its resting place. "I see that you are not quite ready for me. I will allow you a little time to … ah … sample the delights of this locality. If then you feel you are prepared to give me another less conditional answer, well … " He gestured casually. "I will still be here."
"Wait." Arta spoke hastily. In her mind's eye she could see herself in a clean room, with pure running water and a soft comfortable bed. Desperately she cast her mind back to when she and Amata had managed to 'borrow' one of the Overseer's most precious possessions, a pre-war movie clip. The black and white film had been incomplete and shaky, but she remembered how the women in it had been so elegant, so self-possessed, so … seductive.
Ruffling back her hair, she looked directly into Burke's pale eyes, fixing him with a vacant smile. "Mr Burke." She leaned forward and allowed her hand to trail across the table towards his, all the while hating herself. She tried making her voice lower, softer, more breathy. "I don't think I made it clear, just how grateful I'd be for your assistance." She delicately wet her lips with her tongue.
She sensed Burke was enjoying the situation, the evident power he held over her. He allowed their hands to touch briefly, then withdrew his out of reach. Smiling a little more thinly, he said, "You are most charming." His tone suggested he was unimpressed with her amateur attempt to seduce him but was too polite to say so. "However my instructions from my employer are clear. He requires me to hire only persons who are one hundred percent devoted to protecting his interests. Good day."
Arta suddenly woke from a dream in which she'd gone down to the corner store to buy her father some cigarettes. Odd, because he didn't smoke. She realised in panic someone was shaking her violently. A face like old leather loomed right in front of her, surrounded by a white curling beard and hair fleecy as ram's wool. In it were set two eyes like burning coals. It appeared to her altogether demonic, and she shrank back
The demon spoke in a strange, lilting accent. "If you've no more caps to spend, then its time for you to be taking yourself out of here, girl. My generosity doesn't extend to free sleeping quarters."
Arta dizzily tried to recall the past few hours. She remembered buying drink after drink at Moriarty's, and then being bought drink after drink. After that, everything became hazy.
She felt herself being hauled to her feet, firmly marched towards the exit and then thrust out into the night.
As she collapsed to the ground, she heard the demon say, "And so we part."
"Arta?" Lucy West asked uncertainly. "Are you alright?"
"Lushee!" Arta slurred. "Pleash, take me to bed!"
"Oh my, what a state you're in! Have you been drinking all evening?" Lucy helped Arta to her feet, then placed one of her arms over her shoulders to support her stumbling progress. "I suppose you can come back to my house just for tonight."
"Thhhank you, Lushee." Arta gave a burp. In a haze of drunken affection, she added. "You … are … my … beshtest friend. Well, Amata is my beshtest friend. But nexst to her, you are … jussh a sec, gotta be sick."
Lucy held onto her while she vomited over the railing. Then she helped her stagger down the walkway, across the centre of the crater, and up the short ramp to the shack.
Once inside, Lucy half-carried her upstairs and sat her down on one of the beds. "C'mon, let's get this jacket off you."
"Thatsh ssso very nicsh of you!" A tear ran down Arta's cheek.
"Oh, you poor thing!" Lucy put an arm around Arta, and stroked her hair comfortingly.
"A beau …ti…ful frienship … Amata, you're beauti…ful." Her mind still addled, Arta clumsily tried to kiss Lucy.
"Arta, stop please! I don't want … get away from me, you freak!" Lucy shouted, pushing Arta violently away when she refused to desist.
"Amata? Why are you being like thish? "
"I'm not Amata, and I told you I'm not into this kind of thing. There's no way you're staying here. I don't want any more of your dirty lesbianism around me. Go on, get out!"
Pushed out for a second time, Arta once again felt the hard rock of the crater under her. At first this, and the disappearing prospect of a soft bed to sleep in seemed the most significant and the most distressing of her vicissitudes. Then everything else crowded in, and the single tear was joined by many more.
"Daddy!" she sobbed.
*Some of the things happening in this update were unplanned, which explains its length and delayed appearance. The encounter with Nova in particular developed its own momentum, as these things often do. And the title changed several times too, though the one chosen was, in the end obvious.
If you didn't notice, the 'knothole' incident was based on the Smokehouse scene in Oklahoma. Manya doesn't have a bun but I'm pretty sure Aunt Eller did, at least in the film.
After two chapters in Megaton, I can feel the urge to get out into the Wastes again!
I understand reviewers' points about American spelling, but must point out that I'm English, and spell things appropriately. We did invent the language! Of course I try to spell foreign and dialect words authentically, but IMHO 'assholes' isn't one of them. It's just differently spelt like 'armor', and means and practically sounds the same as 'arseholes'*
