Martus, M.

Serial #: Eden191936

Blood type: A+

Birthdate: 8 November 2260

Return remains to Enclave Recruitment Center 6.


Arcade awoke the next morning still sitting at the desk, a crumpled piece of paper clenched tightly in his hand. The courier still slept deeply, even though the sun was high in the sky. Twice, he had scrunched the message into a ball and thrown it into the wastebasket, each time retrieving it and smoothing it out again. The fatal pellet still sat innocuously on the magnifier's slide. Every time he looked at it, he was seized by the urge to take it and the paper and wash them down the toilet to wherever Novac's sewage went, so that there would be no evidence left.

Fear and anger ruled in his heart. He cursed the events that had brought an Enclave soldier into his life, the girl for being the infuriating enigma that she was, and himself for being curious enough to examine what he could have left well enough alone. If he had discovered the message even a few weeks ago, he might have suspected an elaborate and baffling conspiracy on the part of a well-hidden Enclave sleeper agent, but he quickly dismissed that as impossible. Coincidence – sheer, insane, Dickensian coincidence – was more likely than the notion that he had completely misread his companion. No, she didn't know. She was the person without a past that he believed her to be. And maybe, he thought, she shouldn't know at all. The past could stay buried. This option had been running through his head all night – the idea that he should withhold the information he'd found, for the sake of her happiness and safety. He had secrets already – what was one more? He would gladly carry that secret to the grave for her, give her the chance at guileless relationships and unfettered honesty that he'd never had. And why shouldn't he make this choice for her?

Because it's unethical, a small voice reminded him. You believe in giving people autonomy over their own lives and decisions. This knowledge belongs to her. It's only by accident that you are even in a position to decide if she knows or not. Tell her and let her choose what to do with the information. Don't pretend you're being unselfish. You're trying to hide your own fears and insecurities inside concern for her. You don't want to be friends with a next-generation Enclave soldier, and you'll go against your own principles and lie to yourself to prevent that end.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his guilty musings. Expecting Daisy, he found Boone instead, standing outside and fidgeting with his beret. "I figured we weren't leaving today after all, but I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She looked bad yesterday. I was worried."

Staring a moment longer than was necessary, Arcade assured him that Megan would make a full recovery and added that he'd come tell him or send her down in person when she woke up. Closing the door again, he thought to himself, There's one good reason not to tell her. She wears her heart on her sleeve and is way too open. Boone – or whatever person walks into her life next – might not believe or accept her innocence. And she'll have to tell them eventually, because that's the kind of person she is.

This thought pushed him to make a snap decision. He laid the paper down, placed the tiny capsule in the middle, and folded it up into a tiny square envelope, which he tucked safely into a zippered pocket on his binder of research notes. He justified his actions to himself, thinking, I can always tell her later, when I know she's grown careful enough. I can't untell her once the cat is out of the bag. He had only just replaced his documents in the bag when he heard Megan stirring.

She yawned and sat up, cradling her right arm close to her and wincing a little. "Oh, hey Arcade, did I miss dinner? Have you already eaten? I'm starving."

Forcing a smile to his face, he turned around in his chair, "I'm not surprised. You missed dinner, breakfast, and, if you wait much longer, you'll miss lunch. You feel like going downstairs for a meal? I think Boone would like an invitation if you do. He stopped by a little while ago to check on you."

After getting clean and dressed, she asked both men to join her at the restaurant. Frequently talking with her mouth full, she ate an enormous meal, chattering animatedly at Boone and Arcade, neither of whom were inclined to respond, each for their own reasons.

"…and that's why I want to climb Black Mountain. If that distress signal is for real, someone might need help. And whatever's up there is sure to be interesting." She ate another stuffed jalapeño and washed it down with lukewarm beer. "Arcade, are you okay? You're very quiet today."

Rousing himself from his reverie, he shrugged, "Sorry. I was up late reading last night."

"You and your books," she said affectionately. "Don't get me wrong. If I could read, I would totally sacrifice sleep and socialization for them, at least sometimes. But you're always reading."

"In omnibus requiem quaesivi, et nusquam inveni nisi in angulo cum libro. 'Everywhere I have searched for peace and nowhere found it, except in a corner with a book.' Thomas à Kempis. Books have always been the most consistent companions in my life."

Arcade heard a growl and looked up to see Boone glaring murderously across the table at him. "Where did you learn that?"

"I didn't learn it from the Legion, if that's what you're getting at," he answered crossly, not willing to take any crap from Boone today. "Books, music, holovids…studying the history of ancient cultures was a hobby of mine in my youth, long before the Legion had become what it is now. My father had two books of Latin speeches, and I inherited my love of the language from him. Even my name is from a Latin proverb."

"I didn't know that." The courier leaned in, eyes shining with interest. "I thought you just had a really weird name. What is it?"

"Et in Arcadia ego. 'Even in Arcadia, there I am.' It's a memento mori, a reminder that death comes for everybody, even the residents of Arcadia, a utopian land where everybody is happy."

"That's an interesting name to give to a baby. 'Remember you will die.' Kind of depressing."

"Well, it's also an English word referring to a pre-war game room for kids. Which is more cheerful, if not any less weird."

"No. So, guys, early start tomorrow? For real this time? My arm's feeling okay. I might not be up for melee combat by tomorrow, but I can probably shoot." A sudden thought struck her. "Arcade, what was that thing you found in my arm last night?"

"Oh, that? Just a little piece of glass. You probably got too close to an explosion once." Internally, he groaned. Great job, Arcade. Now you've officially lied to her, and not just by omission. Now you can either sit on that for the rest of your life or admit that you've broken her trust. Out loud he said only, "Yes, we'll go."

That night, Arcade pled a headache and retired early. Rolling his thoughts over and over again, he realized he'd made a mistake, and resolved to tell her and apologize as soon as possible. Finally at peace with himself, he fell asleep and didn't hear her come back to the room.

Someone poked him. He squinted. It was still dark in the room, with only the dimmest light of dawn coming through the window. "Wake up, Arcade. It's time to go. Boone is waiting for us downstairs." Rousing himself, he saw her intimidating figure, already in full armor, standing by the bed. "I've got all my stuff packed already. Boone and I are going to go stretch a bit. See you out there soon?" She turned to leave.

"Ugghh. Okay, I'm awake." He tried to remember why he felt so nervous. Oh, that's why. "Wait, Megan…there was something I needed to tell you."

"Is it important or can it wait?" Her hand was already on the doorknob, and she looked impatient to go.

Blinking slowly and rubbing his eyes, he took the temporary reprieve she'd unknowingly offered him, "It can wait. Go ahead. I'll be down after I finish packing."

It was hard, he realized as they marched through the early morning, past the Gibson garage and Helios One, to have sensitive conversations with Boone along for the ride. He wondered what the ex-soldier would say if he knew he was travelling with a former Enclave soldier and the son of an Enclave officer. It's possible he wouldn't know or care about the significance – all that had happened years before he was born, and the only enemy he really cared about was the Legion. Arcade was not willing to take that risk, however. He'd draw her aside in private when they stopped for the night, hopefully at the Followers Outpost – he really didn't want to make camp in the wild.

The road was uneventful and they reached the 188 Trading Post by mid-afternoon and stopped for a meal. Other than the traders, there weren't many people to be seen, other than a young woman in a brown robe, with whom Megan was talking happily. As he brought his own food over to their table, he overhead their conversation:

"…yes, I've heard they can shoot lasers from their eyes. Wild, huh?"

She looked taken aback. "Wow. My initial estimation of you was off…way off. Laser eyes. I'll try to remember that."

Megan laughed. "Sorry, I kid, I kid. I know who the Brotherhood of Steel are. Tech-savvy isolationists, right? Holed up somewhere around Hidden Valley? I'd like to meet them someday."

"You're very…forthcoming with that interest. You might want to be careful, especially around soldier types like that guy." She pointed at Boone, who had eaten in about twenty seconds and was now cleaning his gun fifty feet away from the others. "I don't think the Brotherhood is all that bad, but the NCR has it out for them."

Megan glanced in the indicated direction. "Oh, that's just Boone. He's my friend. He knows I don't mean any harm. Oh, sorry. Arcade, this is Veronica Santangelo. Veronica, this is Arcade Gannon. He's–"

The stranger - Veronica - gasped and broke in, "Oh, are you with the Followers of the Apocalypse? I have so wanted to meet one of you. Tell me, do you really share tech with people? Freely?"

Nonplussed by her enthusiasm, Arcade responded cautiously, "Yes, we share and teach what we can, mainly what's useful to people in their day-to-day lives. We offer our medical expertise, and use what influence and resources we have to spread literacy and preserve and disperse pre-war knowledge."

"You don't think that some pre-war knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands? That it's irresponsible just to give it out?" He could tell Veronica wasn't arguing so much as asking, waiting thoughtfully for his answer, and he obliged, warming to the subject despite his mood.

"It's better that people know about the dangers and be prepared to handle them safely, than to just wait until they reinvent or stumble upon the secrets that destroyed human civilization before. We're committed to preventing another apocalypse, and believe that knowledge is a better shield than ignorance against that possibility." That's right, you fucking hypocrite, he thought miserably at himself. Aloud, he added, "And it's not like we're handing out the blueprints for a nuclear bomb. We apply science to the practical problems of agriculture, water purification, construction, and medicine, and try to give people what they need to survive."

She fixed him her with her eyes, boring into his soul with her stare, "But you do have those blueprints, right? And you're obviously not sharing them, so you are making decisions on some level about what people should and shouldn't know."

He hesitated to answer. It wasn't a secret exactly, but it wasn't common knowledge either, "We do have a library of more dangerous knowledge that only our most trusted scientists have access to. They might study bomb blueprints, for instance, in order to learn how to safely disarm a live nuclear warhead that they find buried in the desert. We would never lift a finger to build such a thing, or use it if we found it. We would rather destroy it than see it fall into the wrong hands."

He went on, "I'm a medical doctor, not a physicist or someone who spends a lot of time with material tech. But in my view, the Followers' most important role is that of the historian – we are committed to remembering the mistakes humanity has made in the past so that we don't have to make them again."

Veronica looked wistful, "I wish I could join the Followers. I'm very good at reverse-engineering old world gadgets and I'd love to see technology doing some good for once. But my family would never let me."

Megan asked, "Why wouldn't they let you? You're what, twenty-five? You're old enough to make your own decisions."

Veronica looked sad, "Twenty-seven. It's not that easy, unfortunately. My family is…suspicious…of outsiders. When people try to leave, they often track them down and force them to return." Seeing their shocked expressions, she elaborated: "Ah, see…since you seemed okay with them before, you might as well know: my 'family' is actually the Mojave chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel. I'm a scribe and a forager for them."

Even though Arcade felt like nothing could surprise him anymore, he felt himself tense up automatically in atavistic dread. The women noticed. Megan drawled sardonically, "Oh, come on Arcade. A person can't help what they're born into. Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto. 'I am human, and therefore I consider nothing that is human alien to me.' You taught me that."

He took a deep breath, and released it, looking Veronica in the eye as he did so, "I'm sorry. I can't pretend otherwise – I do have an intense, personal problem with the Brotherhood of Steel. However, I can respect that you, as an individual, have nothing to do with that problem. I will tell you, however, that there is almost no chance that the Followers will let a former Brotherhood scribe into their ranks. Your faction stands for things that we find repellant and dangerous and I'm afraid that our leaders would be unlikely to risk trusting you." Watching her face fall, he sighed. "Maybe…and that's a big 'maybe'…if you were to earn our trust by association, someone like me could vouch for you. It'd still be up to our regional administrators, and they'd likely be as afraid as I am that your Paladins would come breaking down our doors to reclaim you. I'm sorry, truly." Having entirely lost his appetite, stomach tied up in knots, he offered the rest of his meal to Megan, and drew away to read, leaving the two women talking together in subdued voices.

Twenty minutes later, after he'd read the same page over and over without comprehending it, he felt someone sit down next to him. "Are you okay? You seem distant today."

"I'm just not good with people. I don't do conversations with more than one person very well." He wanted to tell her then, but thought better of it, with Boone and Veronica so near. "There is something I've been needing to let you know. When we get to Freeside…I'll show you around town as much as you want and all, but I would prefer to stay behind at the Fort when you're ready to leave. I want to stay there for a while. I've gathered a lot of good data lately, and there's things I can only work on in a more clinical setting. I figure you can probably make it without me for a while, especially since you have Boone now."

She looked sad, but unsurprised, "And Veronica. She wants to come too. I told her 'yes,' conditional upon yours and Boone's approval."

He shrugged. "Makes sense. She seems intelligent and nice, and probably wouldn't mind travelling with a little flying robot."

She laughed, darting in impulsively to hug him tightly, "No, probably not. I'll miss you, though. Thank you for staying with me as long as you have." She wiped a tear from her eye. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Veronica asked if I was Dorothy's friend, and then laughed when I said I didn't even know who that was. Do you know what that was about?"

Arcade snorted with amusement. "Yes. A 'friend of Dorothy' is slang – fairly obscure, twentieth-century slang at that – for a homosexual. She was asking if you're sexually interested in women."

She colored with embarrassment, but giggled a little. "Oh. Hm. Where will I be without you to help me navigate these things, Arcade?"

"Just make a mental list and I'll answer all your questions when you come back." He swallowed, feeling choked up. "We need to get back on the road now, but when we're at the Outpost tonight, I really have to talk to you in private about something else, okay?"

"It's a date. Let me go see if I can talk Boone around to having another girl on the team."

Boone must have acquiesced, because soon their group of four was on the road, with the girls leading the way, talking about…dresses? Arcade figured he must have heard them wrong. He and Boone both trailed behind today, but he couldn't think of a word to say to the other man. To his surprise and relief, Boone broke the awkward silence.

"At least this way, she won't talk to me all the time. I don't mind, exactly, but it is exhausting to keep up with." Arcade hummed in agreement, and Boone looked seriously at him, "She said you're going back to Freeside."

"Yes. I've been gone a long time. I have work I need to do there."

"I'll stay with her until she tells me to leave. Keep her alive."

"Thank you."

"I'm not doing it for you. I don't even like you. But I figured you should know." With that, Boone walked away to take up a position at the rear.

"Um…okay?" Arcade didn't understand the sniper's motivations for most of his actions, but he did believe that he was a good ally for the courier to have on her side. Feeling ridiculous walking by himself, he jogged to catch up with the others.

"Dr. Gannon, why do you have a plasma defender?" Veronica was just as curious about it as Megan had been at the beginning, but knew a good deal more about energy weapons – enough to know that it was an unusual choice of armament for a doctor and a notional pacifist.

"Please call me Arcade, Veronica. To answer your question, this was my father's gun; I inherited it from him."

"Okay, where did he get it, then? Those only saw a limited release in the years before the War. Strictly military-issue, really. I've only seen one, once, in our weapons lab."

Feeling too beleaguered to think of a creative lie, he said only, "I don't know. He died when I was a baby. I never asked him."

Trying to redirect the conversation, Megan asked quickly, "You know, Veronica, it's a little weird that you're so lightly-armed. Do you even have a gun with you?"

"I have a sweet LAER back at the bunker, but it's broken and I haven't scavved the parts to fix it yet. I'm more about punching things anyway." She drew her hands out of her sleeves and showed them a pair of ballistic fists.

"That does sound like a lot of fun. Do they work on opponents that are heavier than you are?"

Clearly happy to embark upon her favorite subject, Veronica launched into a highly-technical lecture on the physical science behind the fists, of which Arcade only understood a little, and Megan probably not at all, although she listened attentively. With the women exchanging stories and discussing plans, the last five-mile stretch passed quickly, and they reached the tower of the Follower's Outpost at sunset. They claimed beds, ate dinner with the regular staff, and, leaving Boone on his bunk and Veronica talking enthusiastically to one of the doctors, Arcade and Megan climbed down to the base of the tower and sat leaning against one of the pylons, elbow to elbow, gazing up at the starry night sky.

"I'm sorry for what I'm about to tell you. I made a mistake and almost kept this information from you, but you deserve to know. I was wrong to consider any other course of action." His mouth was dry with fear and he took a drink of water.

She smiled nervously at him. "You're scaring me a little, Arcade. Just spit it out."

"Your real name is Megan Martus, not Martin. You were born on November 8th, 2260 – you'll be twenty-one in two months – and your blood type is A-positive. Your serial number is Eden191936. You were, at some point in your past, enlisted into armed service at a place known as 'Enclave Recruitment Center 6.'"

She wasn't smiling anymore. "M-Martus? Enclave? H-how do you know all this?"

He drew out the tiny envelope and unfolded it to show her the silicone pellet. He read the information aloud again and handed both items to her carefully. He explained how he'd discovered what it was on the night she was hurt, and why he chose to suppress it. He apologized again for lying to her and fell silent.

She looked white in the dim starlight and she stared at the paper uncomprehendingly, squeezing the tiny pellet in her other hand.

"You...you…thought about not giving me this? Not ever telling me my real name? My birthday? How could you do that to me?" Her voice had risen and there was a current of anger in it that he hadn't heard since Ranger Station Charlie.

"I…I was afraid that finding out you'd been Enclave would change who you were, make you vulnerable…" His excuses sounded feeble even to himself, and he faltered.

She cut him off. "No. Don't lie to me again, Arcade. You are so fucked-up when it comes to the motherfucking Enclave that you couldn't stand to learn that I was a part of something you can't deal with in your own identity." She laughed coldly. "You're always telling me that I need to talk to a therapist. Let me tell you, 'friend': you are the one who needs help. Pretend it's about being gay, or single, or insufferable if you can't say the E-word, but talk to someone about your problem. Because this is utterly fucked." Shaking with anger, she refolded the paper around the pellet and jammed it into her pocket.

"Megan, please let me…"

"Not now. Go away. Go upstairs, or just away. I got to..."

Feeling wretched, he walked out into the scrub until he couldn't hear her sobs behind him anymore. He stood out in the warm night air for an hour or more, turning over this disaster of a decision in his head. When he finally turned back to go inside, the pylon was vacant. Inside, Megan was asleep, or pretending to sleep, on her cot, and Veronica frowned at him when he walked in. He ignored her, took off his shoes, and lay down, stewing in guilt and regret for what seemed like hours.

The next day was awful. Picking up on the general vibe, Boone glared at him more than usual. Veronica grabbed him with one of her ballistic hands, bruising his arm, and gave him sharp tongue-lashing for hurting Megan, although it was obvious she had no knowledge of the details. For her part, Megan was hollow-eyed and calm, speaking to him only when it was absolutely necessary. The group dragged its way to Freeside, with Arcade walking alone in front this time. He could hear the women making plans to go dancing and drinking at the Wrangler that night, and overheard Boone's request to visit his old battalion at McCarran the following day. Feeling left out, he led them through the east gate and toward the Old Mormon Fort, which seemed smaller to him after his long absence. He stopped at the gate and turned around to find Megan standing by herself, Boone and Veronica waiting a stone's throw away, watching.

"This is you?" Her voice was cold and detached.

"This is me." He tried again to explain. "Megan…"

She shook her head and held out a jingling bag to him. "Here. Half the caps from our pooled account. It's only about 100." She turned to go. "Thanks, Arcade. Take care and good-bye."

"You too. Good-bye, Megan." What else could he say? He watched them pass through the blue gate into the next district and disappear.

It was more than four months before he saw her again, and by then everything had changed.