The Wanderer: Chapter 12
- Reap Littlehorn -
Reaper had never had such a difficult time tracking someone through the Capital Wasteland. He attributed some of that to the fact that his target was a vault dweller, which made the boy's actions and destinations unpredictable and erratic at best. A part of the mercenary enjoyed the chaotic nature of this particular assignment. The boy's randomness and complete lack of patterns made for a refreshing hunt.
The professional part of him, however, realized that Nyhils wouldn't remain patient for very much longer. Reaper had already been forced to make one eyebot report to his employer, informing him that the boy's beacon was no longer transmitting. The mercenary could tell, even through the eyebot, that the Enclave Vice President was furious. It was all Reaper could do to talk the man out of enlisting every mercenary in the Wasteland to track the boy down.
Reaper assured Nyhils that everything was under control. He told him he was hot on the vault dweller's trail and it wouldn't be much longer before he got a visual on the boy. That, of course, had been an exaggeration of the truth, and the mercenary was running out of time to make good on his assurances. And Nyhils was running out of patience.
It had been nearly two days since he had caught up to the location where the boy's signal had stopped transmitting. Reaper found few clues there, just a broken overpass crumbling onto the roadway beneath it.
The carcass of some creature lay splayed across the concrete, its bones picked clean from scavengers. There were some dried pools of blood, hard to tell if they had belonged to the dead beast or its attacker, but it was obvious that some kind of skirmish had occurred.
Perhaps the boy had been involved? Maybe his Pip-Boy had been damaged in the scuffle? Then again, maybe he was killed and dragged off by the scavengers. It was difficult to tell. Hell, the boy might not have been involved at all… Maybe somehow the vault dweller had discovered and disabled the tracking device all on his own – he had already proven that he was a resourceful young man… There were just too many variables for the mercenary to discern – the possibilities were endless.
In the end, Reaper had just decided to keep moving in the direction the boy seemed to be headed. That direction had eventually led him to Big Town where he had quickly canvased the town, questioning the locals and the travelers about a young man from a vault or anything strange they might have seen lately.
Finally the mercenary happened upon a Wasteland scavenger who told him that he had witnessed an unusual sight on his way up from the southern trade routes. The man explained that he had seen a small caravan with a young man who appeared to be wounded riding in the back of the wagon.
Reaper suggested that perhaps the caravan had been ambushed and the man was merely a guard who had been injured.
The scavenger agreed that that was a possibility, but he didn't feel that the boy seemed much like a guard considering he was dressed in rags. He admitted that it could all be a coincidence, and the scavenger probably wouldn't have thought any more of it if Reaper hadn't come in to town asking about a lost young man wandering the Wasteland.
The man's conviction was enough to convince the mercenary. Besides, Reaper didn't believe in coincidences. If there was a caravan headed south on the trade route then there was only one logical place they were headed. And if the vault dweller were headed for Megaton, then so was he…
The mercenary stepped into the dimly-lit atmosphere of Moriarty's Saloon around mid-day. No matter what time of day it was outside the bar, however, it always felt like evening on the inside. Yet, despite the unassuming ambiance, Moriarty's was still the most active and important hub in Megaton. If something were going on in this tin-can town, someone at the saloon would know about it…
As he entered, Reaper spotted just the man he was looking for, but instead of engaging him the mercenary approached the bar first. He bought two beers from the ghoulish bartender, Gob, before heading over to the corner table at the shadowy fringe of the saloon.
"Hey Jericho, how's retirement?" the merc asked, sliding one of the beers toward the man as he joined him at the table.
"Can't complain – I do anyways but it don't do no good." The man grumbled, taking a swig of the beer.
"You happen to see a vaultie come through here lately?" Reaper knew the question was going to be the beginning of a negotiation. Everything at Moriarty's was negotiable, and Reap had come prepared.
"Might be I have…" the ex-raider replied.
"Might be a hundred caps in that pouch." The mercenary replied, tossing a small bag on the table halfway between the two of them.
Jericho eyed the mercenary with a dubious, sideways glance. His rugged face was a crisscross of scars from a hard-won existence. The ex-raider had been a ruthless combatant and an excellent marksman in his day – he had to be to make it to retirement.
"Seems like a vault dweller's pretty easy prey for the Talon Company," Jericho finally remarked. "Don't you boys like a challenge..?"
"I like caps," Reaper replied as he reached for his pouch. "Apparently more than you do."
"Now hold on, Littlehorn," the grizzly man shot out a hand with surprising speed and snatched up the pouch before the mercenary got to it. "I said I might could help…"
This time it was Reaper's turn to shoot a suspicious glare at the other. He had known Jericho for a long time. The man had been as fierce and surly as any Wasteland anarchist. He seemed to have settled some since he'd retired nearly two decades ago, but Reaper could still see that ferocity lying just beneath the surface.
"So, you did see a vaultie pass this way..?" The merc asked hopefully.
"Well, what I saw was a strange crew pass through here. They said they was caravaners, and they had Crazy Wolfgang with 'em, so I 'spose it could 'a been true…" he paused briefly to take a drink of his beer.
"But you don't believe it..?" Reaper prodded, taking a swig of his own beer.
"He had two young'uns with him. One was a feisty looking bitch with a big blade and an even bigger attitude."
"Sounds like she could be a guard." The mercenary reasoned.
"Yeah, she seemed legit. But the other one, he was a real timid bastard. Seemed nervous enough around Nova, but when he saw Gob he nearly shit his britches right there at the bar."
"Well, Gob has that effect on people," Reaper replied dryly. "Was the boy wearing a vault jumpsuit?" The mercenary was trying to confirm the Big Town scavenger's story by comparing it to Jericho's account. Besides, he needed something more to go on than a boy being spooked by a ghoul…
"Naw, they had him dressed in some kind 'a wandering-merchant get-up. The girl was the only one in armor – looked like some home-made job too. But that boy – he looked as fresh as if he just popped out of the can yesterday."
"You really think he was a vaultie?"
"I'd bet my rifle on it," the ex-raider replied, patting the gun slung over his back to emphasize his point.
"Well, it is a nice rifle," Reaper replied, starting to believe his old acquaintance.
"Why you so interested in a run-away vaultie anyways..?" Jericho acted as if the question didn't really interest him, but Reaper knew better. A big reason the ex-raider had made it to retirement was the way he handled that rifle of his, but another big reason for his survival had been his smarts. Jericho liked to play the grizzly old bar fly, but he was a cagey bastard and Reaper knew just how wily the old man could be.
Yet, Reaper also knew he had to give the man some hints as to what this was about or he would get nothing out of him. Beer and caps went a long way with Jericho, but the old man understood better than most that knowledge was power. In the Wasteland it was one of the most valuable commodities a man could acquire.
"He's from Vault 101." Reaper replied. He figured that information was close to common knowledge, especially if the boy had made it to Megaton.
"Hmm," the scarred man mused, slugging back the remainder of his beer. "It's a rare bird that flies that coop. I only seen one other with them feathers."
"That so..?" Now it was the mercenary's turn to act nonchalant. He didn't want Jericho to know he was providing Reaper with brand new information or it would cost him another sack full of caps. The news was, however, worth another round of beers, and Reaper waved Gob over with two new mugs. The merc was hoping the action helped mask his interest.
"Yeah, there was that woman came through town back when I was settling in for retirement. Hell," he grunted, "must 'a been fifteen years ago…"
"That sounds about right," Reaper nodded, anxious to keep the ex-raider strolling down memory lane. In truth, Reaper would have been in his late teens around that time – probably preparing to leave Canterbury Commons and join the Talon Company. He actually had no idea a One-O-One woman came through Megaton or why Nyhils and the Enclave were so interested in all this vault activity. Most the time in Reaper's profession he preferred not knowing, but this time felt different somehow…
"She stayed here at Moriarty's for a while. He asked me to keep an eye on her, and I didn't mind 'cause she wasn't hard to look at. She was real nervous, though, just like that boy… Must be somethin' in that vault water makes 'em all jittery…"
"I'll stick to beer," Reaper joked, raising his glass.
"Ha," Jericho barked a laugh, raising his glass to return the salute. "Anyways," he continued after wiping beer foam from his beard with the back of his gnarled hand, "she was a real inquisitive bitch, always asking questions. You know, just basic shit about the Wasteland, but still, it was always tell me about this or tell me about that…"
"Basic shit, huh?"
"Yeah, you know, creatures, settlements, inhabitants, shit like that…" the old man paused for another drink. "Then 'bout a week after she showed up, she was gone. Just like that."
"And she never mentioned where she was headed?" The mercenary wasn't sure why he asked, but for some reason this lady seemed important – or at least connected – to his current assignment.
"Not to me," Jericho grunted. "Maybe Moriarty knows. He keeps tabs on just about anyone and everyone who sets foot in this town. And he seemed to take a liking to the lady – I do remember that…"
Reaper nodded. He wasn't sure he wanted to deal with Colin Moriarty at the moment. That man was tough to get information out of, and it never came cheap! No one knew the value of information better than the saloon owner.
"What about Wolfgang?" The merc decided to switch back to the matter at hand, "did he mention where he was taking the kids on his little field trip?"
"Naw," Jericho muttered. "They was talkin' to Nova a bit. Said something 'bout teachin' the boy to be a master trader. I think they was headed to the Commons."
"Hmm," Reaper thought out loud, "probably take the trade route back North."
"That'd be my guess."
"Well, thanks for the chat, Jericho." Reaper finally said as he rose from the table.
"No trouble, thanks for the beer, Littlehorn," Jericho replied. Then, as an afterthought he added, "Say hello to your old man for me if ya get a chance. I'd like to catch up with that wily old bastard if I ever get out that way again…"
"Will do," Reaper muttered, constantly annoyed by the fact that everyone in the Capital Waste seemed to know his father.
As the mercenary turned to leave he vaguely noticed a strange man sitting at a nearby table. The man wore a fedora and tinted glasses and appeared to be deeply engrossed in some pre-War relic of a book. What the mercenary didn't realize, however, is that the strange man had heard every word he had said…
- Defender Anne Marie Morgan -
Defender Morgan looked over the information on the clipboard that the specialist had brought for her signature. When she wasn't patrolling the perimeter of Fort Independence, she could usually be found in the command and control center of the fort's War Room spaces. Protector Casdin depended on things running smoothly, and Anne Marie intended to ensure the operation ran as smoothly as possible.
Today she was conducting an inspection of Dispatch. The old office space outside the War Room was filled with banks of terminals that monitored every Outcast Patrol in the Capital Waste. The dispatchers recorded all manner of information from the patrols. Rovers reported on possible reserves or ancient technology, Enclave activity, raider activity, and even the whereabouts of the Brotherhood Knights. All aspects of the Capital Wasteland were closely monitored. It was a complex operation and required considerable coordination and synchronization, and Dispatch was the nerve center of it all.
As always, the sector patrols around Fort Bannister and Raven Rock were of particular interest to the Defender. It had been nearly a week since Specialist Bowser was taken by raider insurgents and the Outcasts were no closer to learning what had become of him. Early reports had indicated that he was being held captive by the raider tribes known as the Sins of Mankind at Evergreen Mills. None-the-less, there had been several Brahmin wagon trains out of that area in the past week, and Specialist Bowser could have been in any one of them.
At least, according to patrol reports, there were no new shipments of guns headed to Evergreen Mills, but caravan shipments were plentiful and hard to track. Not to mention, reports out of the far north were sketchy and unreliable. Even though the Enclave had been forced to fall back to the north over the last decade, they still kept the sectors around the Rock fairly locked down.
Morgan knew that Bowser's capture weighed heavily on Protector Casdin's mind. Bowser had been one of the Outcasts premier researchers. There was no one better at reverse engineering newfound technology – especially armor-related tech. The Specialist was on the brink of discovering the secrets of Enclave Power Armor. He had claimed that all he needed was a T-51b suit to bridge the technological gap between the Outcasts current T-45d armor and the Enclave's suits. Scientific minds like Bowser's were few and far between in the Wasteland, and decent recruits weren't easy to come by these days…
Despite the loss of his scientific acumen, the abduction of Bowser had an even more frightening implication. Because of his clearance and expertise, Specialist Bowser was involved with almost every aspect of Outcast armor, weaponry, and defenses. The information that could potentially be tortured out of the Specialist would be devastating. Bowser knew every chink in the Outcast's armor both figuratively and literally, and allowing that knowledge to fall into the hands of the Enclave would be a catastrophe of epic proportions!
Anne Marie couldn't let that happen. The Outcasts were the last bastion of hope for humanity. Without them there would be no guardians of technology. Who else could protect mankind from itself – certainly not Elder Lyons and his Brigade of Bleeding Hearts! Those fools were too busy saving one Wasteland life at a time; they couldn't see the forest for the trees. The Outcasts, however, stayed true to the bigger picture. Casdin would never sacrifice the future to save a few lives in the present, and hopefully Specialist Bowser would remember that. She was counting on him to be strong enough to sacrifice himself to save the many if that is what the circumstances dictated.
Defender Morgan didn't question the Specialist's fidelity. Although she hadn't known Bowser well, she knew he was loyal. And more importantly, she knew he believed in the cause. He had been one of the original defectors from the Citadel – and that schism hadn't been easy for anyone. He had proven himself faithful time and again. Yet, self-sacrifice was always the ultimate price that any cause could ask of its followers, and Anne Marie couldn't help but wonder if a scientist had the stones to answer that call if it came…
Anne noticed Rocco approaching as she signed the paperwork and handed it back to one of the dispatch specialists. Defender Rockfowl was supposed to be making the rounds along the perimeter, inspecting the guard posts protecting the fort's fence line. Although there had not been a full scale raider incursion since Specialist Bowser was taken, there had still been enough minor skirmishes to keep the base on high alert! The presence of Rocco in Command & Control could only mean one thing… a war council.
"How are perimeter defenses?" Morgan asked by way of greeting as Defender Rockfowl approached her.
"Quiet for now," Rocco replied. He knew that asking for a status report was Defender Morgan's way of saying hello. As such, he responded in kind by asking, "Any news from the Sector Patrols?"
"There were a few sketchy reports of some type of skirmish up by the northern tip of the trade route near Rockbreaker's Last Gas. We don't have many patrols that cover that sector of Enclave territory, so it's hard to say what was going on. Nothing new on Bowser, though."
Rocco nodded at the news, a pall of disappointment registering on his face. Anne Marie knew that last week's coordinated attack by the raider insurgents had not set well with the defender. Rocco was a hard-core, dedicated soldier who considered the security of Fort Independence his responsibility. It was a heavy burden to carry, especially with the loss of Bowser. Anne had a feeling the young weapons specialist was eager to settle the score – his type always needed something to shoot at!
As his superior, Defender Morgan informed him that patience was often the greatest and most underrated military tactic and retaliation wasn't always the answer. As his friend, however, she had to admit that sometimes retaliation was the only answer. Either way, Protector Casdin would make that call. In the meantime she would ensure the rank and file focused on business as usual, and that especially included young Defender Rockfowl!
"Boss wants us in the War Room," Rocco announced after an awkward moment of silence.
"Yeah? Any idea why..?" Anne didn't like surprises – at least not when they came from the top down. It was her job to keep the Protector informed, not the other way around. If something was occurring in the Capital Waste that she was supposed to know about, she would have some dispatcher's ass before the day was done!
"Not sure, something from the Radio Room I think. Guess we'll find out together…" Rocco grinned as he headed for the War Room door.
Morgan eyed Rockfowl suspiciously trying to determine if he was taking a jab at her for not keeping abreast of current base events. The young Defender was hard to read sometimes, but the smile he currently wore seemed innocent and friendly so Morgan decided to take it at face value.
As they entered the War Room, Anne Marie noticed that Protector Casdin wasn't wearing a smile. He was gnawing at an unlit cigar as he mulled over the reports from Radio. He gave a curt nod to his council members as Morgan and Rockfowl took their place at the War Room table.
The Defenders remained silent, patiently waiting for the Protector to finish perusing the repots. Anne Marie knew Henry Casdin better than anyone, and she could tell by his demeanor that he was agitated. It was never a good sign when his cigar wasn't lit.
Defender Morgan studied her commander as he studied the reports. Although he still looked much younger than his age, the last few years were wearing him down. Even though he would never admit it, Morgan knew that the split from the Brotherhood still plagued the Protector's conscience. There was a time when Protector Henry Casdin had admired Elder Owen Lyons as a father figure, and Anne understood what breaking from the Brotherhood had cost the Protector better than anyone – it had cost her nearly as much.
Anne Marie had grown up with the Elder's daughter, Sarah Lyons. In a male dominated organization like the Brotherhood of Steel, Anne and Sarah had become fast friends. The two young women learned to rely on one another and together they rose up quickly through the ranks.
Sarah had viewed Anne's defection with the Outcasts as the bitterest of betrayals. Sarah would never know how much that decision had torn Morgan apart. Anne Marie had wanted dearly to remain loyal to Sarah and the Brotherhood, but she just couldn't accept the doctrines that Elder Lyons had adopted.
Even so, her loyalty and sense of duty might have kept her true to the Brotherhood had she not become a confidant of Henry Casdin.
Morgan had known of him, of course. Casdin was a high ranking Paladin in the Brotherhood and his prowess on the battlefield was legendary. No one could take down a Super Mutant quicker than Paladin Casdin. But taking down muties was never supposed to be the Brotherhoods prime directive. Elder Lyons was sent to discover the source of the mutation, not spend every resource available to the Brotherhood to eradicate the abominations. Casdin saw too many good Knights give their lives defending a Wasteland cause that was never a part of their Brotherhood Oath.
When Morgan discovered that the great Paladin Casdin had started an underground movement, she went to him privately to explain her moral dilemma. Morgan learned that just like her, Casdin was torn between a loyalty to his Elder and an allegiance he had sworn to the creed of the Brotherhood.
Finally Morgan had found someone who understood her pain. The comfort she found discussing their shared philosophies, ethical views, and visions of what the Brotherhood of Steel was supposed to represent had gotten her through the darkest time in her life, and she had remained fiercely loyal to Henry Casdin ever since.
Finally the Protector looked up from his reports, running a hand through his buzz-cut hair as he focused on the Defenders seated across from him.
"Any news from dispatch?" He fixed his gaze on Anne Marie, an air of hopefulness clung just beneath the surface of his stony expression.
Morgan knew what he was hoping for, but unfortunately she couldn't deliver the news he wanted.
"Nothing new on Specialist Bowser, Sir." She spoke quietly but never broke eye contact with the Protector as she gave him the news. "Last reports indicated he was being held captive at Evergreen Mills, but if they're transporting him he could be close to Raven Rock by now…"
The Protector's blue eyes darkened as the fleeting hope evaporated from his expression. Morgan was sure her answer didn't surprise him, but she still wasn't sure why he had called this meeting.
"I've received a request from the Citadel." Casdin said, tapping the papers on the table I front of him.
The Defenders glanced at one another out of the corners of their eyes, but neither one spoke. Morgan sensed that the Protector intended to deliver the message at his own pace.
"It seems they would like a face-to-face meeting to discuss the Bowser situation." Casdin continued. "The Specialist knows as much of their classified information as he does ours…"
"That's absurd!" Rockfowl punctuated his outrage by slamming his hand down on the table before he managed to reel in his anger. "Bowser would never betray us, Sir."
Anne Marie knew that Bowser was a sore subject with Rocco. Hell, it was a sore subject with everyone at the table, and even Casdin seemed to be willing to cut his young Master at Arms some slack.
"It's not about betrayal, Rocco." Casdin replied quietly, shifting the cigar to the opposite side of his mouth. "Everybody breaks," the Protector explained. "It's not a matter of if but when… But, you're right about the Specialist; Bowser is strong and loyal. I'm sure he will hold out a good long time before they coerce any meaningful intel out of him."
Rockfowl scowled as he brooded over the Protectors words. His resigned expression indicated that he knew them to be true and was grudgingly accepting his friends fate.
"I don't like the idea of you leaving the fort right now," Morgan had once again locked her dark brown eyes on the Protector. "The raiders have been restless. The Talon Company has been more active than usual. We've been on high alert since Bowser's abduction. It's just not a good time for face-to-face meetings, Protector. Especially not one held at the Citadel!"
"It's just the three of us for crying out loud!" The Protector barked back. "Call me Henry!"
Morgan took the man's sudden outburst in stride. She could see he was agitated and sensed that he needed camaraderie now more than counselling. The "Bowser situation" had everyone's tensions running high and the Protector's frustration was understandable. What she couldn't understand was why Henry would let Elder Lyons call the shots. It had been years since Casdin and the outcasts had taken orders from Lyons.
"I don't like it, Henry." Anne Marie said softly, no trace of sarcasm in her voice, only concern.
"Look, I'm with you Anne," Casdin said by way of an apology for losing his temper. "I don't like it either, but I happen to agree with the notion. Having Bowser in enemy hands is just too dangerous. He knows entirely too much. Somehow we've got to find him and free him before they break him, and in order to do that, we are going to need all the help we can get…"
"So we trust the Brotherhood?" Rocco asked, his disapproval of that option was clear in his voice.
"They have just as much to lose as we do," Casdin replied. "More actually."
"More!?" Rocco's frustration was clearly clouding his judgment, but he was going to have to get his emotions under control.
"Location." Anne interjected, rescuing Rockfowl before he pushed Casdin too far. "The Enclave knows we are based here out of Fort Independence. Hell, the whole damn Wasteland knows it. But they don't know about the Citadel. And they definitely don't know about what the Brotherhood is doing there…"
"That's right," Casdin added. "For years the Enclave has sought out the secret location of the Brotherhood of Steel. Bowser not only knows that location, he was instrumental in designing the Citadel's defenses. Not to mention his knowledge of Liberty Prime. If the Enclave can crack into his information the result would be catastrophic for the Brotherhood – for the entire Wasteland for that matter!"
Rocco nodded as the Protector spoke. He was beginning to grasp the full magnitude of Bowser's abduction. As much as the weapons specialist wanted to storm Bowser's captors with guns blazing, he knew that diplomacy was the better tactic – even if that meant a temporary truce with the Brotherhood.
Before the schism, Specialist Bowser had been one of the lead technicians on the Liberty Prime project. If there was one thing the Brotherhood didn't want the Enclave to discover, it was the existence of the Citadel's secret weapon. Defender Rockfowl understood the advantage of massive weaponry better than anyone, and there was no pre-War weapon more magnificent than Liberty Prime. In fact, the weapons specialist was convinced that someday, if Elder Lyons ever got his priorities straight, making Liberty Prime operational would be a game changer.
"Well," the young man finally said, "if he's at the Rock then he might as well be on the moon! Even combining our forces with the Brotherhood wouldn't provide us enough fire power to blast our way into Raven Rock and execute a clean extraction!"
"You're right, Rocco," Casdin muttered. "It would seem that for once our purposes are aligned with the Brotherhood's, but brute force won't be enough. Yet, I have to believe that Owyn Lyons knows that just as well as we do. He must have a viable strategy or he wouldn't suggest we meet."
"Unless it's a trap..." Morgan mused. "Maybe there is no plan. Maybe the Brotherhood realizes that Bowser is a lost cause so they decide to minimize the damage by taking down the Outcasts under false pretenses."
"No," Casdin replied resolutely, locking her in his stare. "That isn't Owyn's style. The man may have lost his way with regard to his mission, but he still has his honor."
"And I still don't like the idea of you leaving Independence right now. Especially not to meet with Elder Lyons on his terms, at his fortified bunker!"
The protector stared at her, the muscles in his jaws pulsing as he worried the cigar in his mouth. She could sense that he was growing agitated again. He was holding something back and she could see the weight of it reflected in the angst that burned in his eyes.
"The Elder must agree with you," he finally said. "He requested the meeting be held with his daughter, Sarah, at Galaxy News Radio instead of the Citadel."
Sarah! Morgan hadn't expected that. She had to admit the location of the meet made sense. Although the Brotherhood used the radio station as an outpost to wage their war against the inner-city mutants, GNR was still considered relatively neutral territory. Three Dog, the disk jockey that owned and operated the station, was a friend to both the Brotherhood and the Outcasts. In fact, he was a friend to just about anybody he thought was "fighting the good fight." Rescuing Bowser from the clutches of the Enclave would definitely fall into that category.
"And," Henry added almost hesitantly, "he suggests that I send you as our emissary..." The Protector let the suggestion hang there as the angst in his eyes was now mixed with regret.
Morgan finally understood why the Protector had been so conflicted during the impromptu War Room meeting. She knew what it cost him to ask this of her. As her confidant, Casdin was well aware of how Morgan felt about Sarah – especially considering it was the same way he felt about Elder Lyons. Both Outcasts suffered feelings of regret and shame with regard to the way the schism had left their Brotherhood friendships.
Despite all the personal baggage, Anne Marie could see the wisdom in the Elder's request. Even after all that had gone down, she and Sarah still had a bond. If the Brotherhood and Outcasts were going to negotiate, she and Sarah were the perfect choice to do so. Nevertheless, Morgan couldn't help but wonder how much animosity Sarah still might harbor towards her – and would it outweigh the bond of sisterhood they had once shared..?
Both Casdin and Rockfowl remained silent as they gave Morgan all the time she needed to digest the proposal. Although he didn't know the details, even Rocco sensed that meeting with Sarah was a heavy burden to place on Anne's shoulders.
Finally, Anne Marie looked up at the Protector and nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak aloud, but she knew her decision was made. There was really no other choice. If the Brotherhood really did have a plan to extract Bowser, then she couldn't turn down the opportunity hear them out.
Besides, it would be nice to see Three Dog again. They had shared a brief relationship when she was the Officer In Charge of the mutant patrols in the Capital City, and it had been too long since she had seen the man.
Sensing that Morgan had accepted her decision, Henry Casdin sat back and visibly relaxed for the first time since the meeting had started. Anne knew by the way he finally lit his cigar instead of chewing on it that the burden of asking such a thing of her had finally been lifted.
She suspected that her burdens, however, had just begun…
- Mister Burke -
The man turned a key and stepped through the door of his "home" in Megaton. Even though Allistair Tenpenny had rented him the nicest place available, it was still a hovel compared to the plush accommodations with which he had grown accustomed at Tenpenny Tower.
Burke had been stuck in this vile excuse for a town and forced to interact with the rabble that inhabited it for far too long. He missed his Tower apartment so much he was beginning to have dreams about it at night when he managed to get some sleep amongst the Megaton miscreants.
Of course, these were the very observations that made his mission essential. Places like Megaton were a blight on the face of the new world. Society must be rebuilt from sophisticated stock, not degenerated, uneducated ruffians who crawled out of the post-apocalyptic ashes to cobble together a handful of sorry excuses for societies. These blemishes had to be eradicated if mankind was to move forward. "You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs," his dear old mother used to say. The thought of a proper omelet made him miss the Tower even more…
Yet, Megaton was proving to be a tough egg to break. Despite the fact that these fools had an undetonated atomic bomb parked in the heart of town, there weren't too many Wasteland wanderers with the mental capacity to arm it. And the few that did possess the know-how all seemed to be Wasteland sympathizers. Burke needed someone who possessed both the skill to set the bomb off properly and the intellect to understand why it had to be done. Finding an individual like that had turned out to be a tall order indeed.
As he entered his home he removed his fedora and tortoise-shell glasses, setting them on a side table by the front door. The hat revealed a prematurely bald head, slightly pointed at the crest of the dome. The glasses revealed a narrow face with pinched features. Although of average height, Burke's thin, wiry frame made him seem petite and insignificant. As an agent of Allistair Tenpenny, sometimes insignificance had its advantages, but most the time it just served as an annoyance to the man.
"Welcome home, Sir. May I take your coat?"
Burke had been so lost in his thoughts that he was actually startled by the voice of his Mister Handy robotic butler. Usually he could hear the thing hover in from three rooms away, but today the floating bucket of bolts had caught him by surprise…
"Prepare the radio room," Burke commanded, hanging his pinstriped suit coat on the rack beside the door himself. "Then fix me a drink – a White Russian I think. Use the top-shelf vodka and make sure the Brahmin milk is fresh this time."
"Very good Sir," the RobCo robot replied as it drifted off to do Burke's bidding.
Burke tossed the book he'd been reading at the saloon on his sofa as he made his way to his den. The book was entitled Lying Congressional Style and, to Burke's surprise, it actually contained some fairly useful philosophies and insights.
He switched on a vintage jukebox as he entered his den, setting the volume low as not to interfere with his radio communication. His den, like the rest of his house, had been decorated in a pre-War theme with items he had purchased at Moira Brown's. The girl was stark raving mad, but she ran a nice little shop. Besides, just because he had to live in squalor didn't mean he couldn't make an effort to be comfortable.
Moira would probably have a fresh supply of pre-War relics now that Wolfgang had passed through town. The thought of the Crazy trader reminded Burke why he was in his den this evening. It would be a shame if Wolfgang were a casualty of these latest developments; the merchant was a wonder at finding rare antiquities…
Burke saw that his Mister Handy butler had prepared the radio for transmission as he had asked. Burke was just sitting down in his leather office chair when the robot floated in with his drink.
The sound of big band music and the taste of a proper drink soothed the agent. Burke had brought some of his own alcohol from his private collection back at the Tower. The drink went down smooth, a delicacy after the swill he was forced to imbibe at Moriarty's. The saloon's liquor tasted like watered down Brahmin piss, but Burke drank it for posterity – one had to assimilate with the locals after all…
Agent Burke relaxed a moment longer, letting the light jazz and vodka wash over him as he prepared for his report to Tenpenny. Allistair could be a stern task master when he wasn't getting the results he wanted, and what he wanted was the eyesore of Megaton wiped off the map!
Finally Burke made a slight adjustment to the frequency vernier control knob on the transceiver and depressed the transmit button. The speaker crackled to life with the voice of Tenpenny's secretary.
Burke announced himself and asked to speak with Mr. Tenpenny directly. These requests were usually denied, but Mister Burke was one of the few field agents that Allistair's secretary would patch straight through.
After a brief series of switchboard connections were made, the eighty year old voice of Allistair Tenpenny came on the line. Despite all his years living on American soil, the old man's voice still possessed the accent and haughty condescension of English aristocracy.
"Ah, Mister Burke," the voice crackled through the transceiver. Burke couldn't tell if it was the connection or the man's age that made his voice so weak. The agent could hear the tell-tale sign of Tenpenny's tea cup and saucer rattling around in the background so he had to assume the connection was strong enough. It made Burke wonder, as he often did, just how many years the eccentric old goat had left. "Do tell me news of Megaton."
"We've had a visitor from Vault 101, Sir." Burke reported, sparing both of them the small talk.
Burke's abrupt announcement was followed by a long moment of radio silence. The agent had expected it to come as a shock. He hadn't been sure how Allistair would take the news – a heart attack wasn't out of the question...
Burke knew Tenpenny was plagued with mixed emotions when it came to vault dwellers. The snobby old Brit appreciated the fact that they were untainted by the Wasteland, but he resented them for the very same reason. Burke assumed much of that was driven by the fact that Allistair arrived in America too late to buy his way into a vault. That fact had been a source of much animosity over the years, but then again, Allistair Tenpenny felt animosity toward almost anybody or anything that wasn't Allistair Tenpenny!
"Was it the woman?" the old aristocrat finally managed to ask through the crackling speaker.
Burke winced at the question. He should have anticipated the inquiry and made it clear that it wasn't the return of the Vault 101 woman from fifteen years ago. She was a sore subject with both Burke and Tenpenny, and the agent should have known better than to allow any implication that she was back in the picture.
The woman had been Burke's first and greatest failure. He had been working his first assignment in Megaton, investigating the town and scouting for any Wastelanders worthy of being invited to the Tower.
He had had little luck other than recruiting Susan Lancaster. She was a high-end prostitute working for Moriarty at the time, but Burke could see that she possessed an arrogant, femme fatale quality that Tenpenny would appreciate.
Burke was close to wrapping up that assignment when, out of the blue, Catherine Prescott arrived. The agent knew right away that this woman was exactly what they were looking for to bring down Megaton. She was attractive, educated, and untainted by the Wasteland. Mister Burke was convinced that she was more than capable of arming Megaton's bomb. In fact, he thought she was smart enough for just about any scientific task Allistair could dream up for her.
Burke had hoped that spending her life in a vault would make her well suited to share the ideals of those who lived in the Tower, but she turned out to be yet another Wasteland sympathizer. She was looking for a place to conduct research that would "help all mankind" – a point of view in direct opposition to the isolationist doctrines of the Tower residents. The young agent thought that maybe spending some time in Megaton would convince the vault woman that saving mankind meant ridding the world of the Wasteland indigents, but instead she seemed to embrace the fools!
In less than a week she had helped improve their water filtration system, showed them how to increase the output of their turbine generators, and even given Moriarty advice on a better technique to brew his beer. She seemed to thrive on the very sort of Wasteland socialism that drove Allistair Tenpenny insane.
The old man demanded that Burke convince her to join them at the Tower or kill her, and Allistair made it clear that he didn't really care which.
Burke, however, ended up doing neither. By the time the agent knew he couldn't turn her, she was gone. And, despite contracting an army of mercenaries from Littlehorn & Associates to track her down and take care of her, she hadn't been seen or heard from ever since.
"It wasn't the woman," Burke clarified, "it was a young man. But he was asking around about the Vault 101 woman."
"Perhaps a son?" Tenpenny suggested after another brief moment of dead air.
"Perhaps," the agent agreed. "I'd say he was in his mid-twenties, which would put him at about the right age. All I know for certain is that he was traveling with Crazy Wolfgang under the guise of a merchant's apprentice, and he was dressed in Wasteland rags as a feeble attempt to disguise the fact that he was a vault dweller."
"Hmm," Allistair mused, "obviously hiding from someone. Is there a chance he could be the one to help us with our little Megaton dilemma, or is he another goodie-goodie like the woman..?"
"I didn't get the chance to probe him," Burke replied cautiously, "he left town with Wolfgang's caravan at dawn."
"Well I don't like it!" The old man whined through the speaker. "It's bad enough we have one Vault 101 do-gooder running amok in the Wasteland helping God knows who with God knows what. We certainly can't afford another one!"
"Of course not, Sir," the agent agreed. He had known this was going to get the old man's blood boiling, and Burke knew exactly what order he was going to receive next…
"We need him taken care of immediately," Allistair declared decisively. "Contact Littlehorn & Associates at once!"
"Sir, I agree we need to involve the Littlehorn mercs, but might I suggest an alternative contract. I think, based on my observations, that this boy is young and impressionable enough for us to convince that our cause is the only sensible future for the Wasteland. If we could have Littlehorn's mercenaries deliver him to the Tower, I think we can convince him to do what's right."
"Ahh," Tenpenny muttered, his frail voice thick with condescension, "you see a chance for redemption…"
"I see a chance to rid the world of Megaton and all the other vile places like it!"
"Fine, fine," the ancient aristocrat finally conceded. "Capture him, kill him, whatever it takes to keep him from mucking about with our agenda."
"Very well, Sir," Burke replied, satisfied by his small victory. "I will take care of it immediately."
"Yes," Allistair grumbled, "see that you do, Mister Burke."
The line was broken and the radio receiver went dead. Burke switched it off and called for his butler to bring him another drink. He remained in his den, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his leather chair to contemplate the conversation.
He was somewhat pleased with himself – changing Tenpenny's mind was no easy task. The eighty year old man was hard set in his ways and generally took advice from no one. But, the evil old Englishman couldn't live forever – no matter how rich he was, and Burke was best aligned to take control of the Tower once Allistair was out of the picture.
Wiping out Megaton would ensure his succession to the Tenpenny throne, and finding that One-o-one boy was his ticket to the penthouse. Besides, though he would never admit it, he was anxious for a shot at redemption. Burke knew that bungling the job with the woman was a big reason that Tenpenny kept forcing him to hole-up in this scrap-heap of a town over and over again throughout the years.
Now the agent had the opportunity to change all that, and he didn't intend to let another Vault 101 wanderer slip through his fingers again…
After he was finished with his ruminations and his cigarette, Burke dialed in a new frequency for transmission. Again his speaker crackled to life as yet another secretary came on the line.
"Littlehorn & Assosciates…" the woman stated.