Ch 21 Breakfast at Kaelyn's

"The White Sword! The White Sword has come back!"

Of the strange events that had occurred since the metal door of Vault 101 had closed on Arta for the second time, this was one of the strangest in which she was a direct participant. Walking by Jericho's side, as savage warriors crowded round to form an honour guard, made her feel as though she were bringing to life a legendary tale of Grognak the Barbarian. With their bizarrely styled and colourful hair, their revealing and threatening assortment of armour and body decoration, and their bristling variety of weapons from simple cudgels to powerful rifles, the shouting and cheering Raiders seemed to have stepped right out of the pages of her favourite comic. And Jericho had shown an unexpected flare for showmanship, milking the moment by drawing White Mist and holding it dramatically aloft for all to see, looking every inch the hero returning to claim his own. It's not the first time that I've seen him in a completely different light, Arta thought, looking round at the jubilant throng gathered to greet their former leader. She could feel the excitement even though the proximity of the jostling, sweating bodies and the loud barking of the Raider guard dogs were somewhat intimidating. There ought to be wild music and beating drums.

While the double-storied building known as Kaelyn's Bed and Breakfast was the centre of the Raider outpost, commanding a view of the strategic bridge and highway, the Wasteland barbarians had also constructed some crude shelters of corrugated iron, wood or canvas to house themselves in whatever they considered comfort. As the outlandish procession approached, a tall woman emerged from one these dwellings and strode to the top of the ramp leading to the upper story of the former hostelry. Her skin was a dark tan, her cheekbones high and proud, her nose long and well shaped, her lips wide and sensual. She wore a long corselet of chain rings, a type of armour that Arta was beginning to think a mark of rank amongst the Raiders, and a silver fillet confined the full richness of her blonde coloured hair, which stuck up like ostrich plumes. Her eyes, rimmed with black liner, had a cat-like quality, as she looked arrogantly down on them.

Jericho paused at the foot of the ramp, sheathing his sword, and the Raiders fell silent as he and the woman confronted one another. Eventually she spoke first in a high-pitched tone, pronouncing each of her words clearly and with emphasis.

"War Chief Jericho?"

"Mama Lalita." Jericho sounded relaxed, but to Arta the tension between them was like a cable stretched between opposite turning windlasses.

"It's High Lieutenant Lalita now. I command this outpost. The White Sword has returned as I foresaw."

Jericho nodded. "Your wisdom was always a support to me in time of need." Indicating Arta, he added, "And I bring new blood for the tribe."

She must've been in her mid-thirties when Jericho left, Arta thought. She looks well into her forties now. I wonder why they didn't make her War Chief if she's supposed to be that wise? She's certainly much older than Trinny.

Lalita gave Arta a look half amused, half contemptuous. "The tribe will have need of all its strength. Let the New One be received, as is the Way. Mara, Yoko, see to it." To Jericho she said, "Come within and we will hold congress." Then sharply, "And the rest of you can get back to your posts!"

The formalities seemed over. Lalita beckoned Jericho towards her shelter. Arta moved to follow. Lalita's eyes widened. Drawing a long combat knife, she asked in her high, almost musical tones, "And may I ask where you're going? Are you a leader here?"

"I … eh …" Arta was caught off guard.

Jericho said quickly, "She don't know our ways yet, Mama."

"Then she gotta learn respect, Jericho." Bringing the knife up close to Arta's throat, "I said, are you a leader here?"

"N, no," Arta stammered.

"Well, this congress is for leaders only. Remember that girl, or next time I'll cut something off to remind you. Now move your arse."

Arta looked appealingly at Jericho.

"Sorry but you're gonna havta stay with the others." Seeing Arta's downcast look, he added in a lower tone, "Remember you're a Raider. And … just try to go with the flow, okay?"

Feeling abandoned, Arta watched resentfully as Jericho and Lalita disappeared inside the jerrybuilt structure. She started as a smooth hand slid over her bare shoulder, rubbing it sensually.

"So what's your name, babykins?"

Arta turned to see two female Raiders eying her with undisguised lust. The one who had spoken and was massaging her, continued in sultry tones: "I'm Mara and this is Yoko. We're here to … welcome you to the tribe."

Mara was taller and more muscular, her head shaven apart from two devil-like spikes of dark hair, Yoko more diminutive, with delicate Asiatic features and swept across curls. Though covered with the usual Wasteland layer of grime, their flesh had the smoothness of youth, breasts and buttocks firm, limbs well formed and strong. The dirt couldn't disguise their somewhat debauched beauty.

Nervously Arta gave her name. Yoko took her hand, pulling her towards another of the hovels.

"C'mon Arta. Let's not waste any time getting to know each other."

Feeling helpless to resist, Arta allowed herself to be led inside. The place was as disgustingly dirty as she'd imagined: the main furniture a filthy mattress and a small table upon which were various kinds of medical syringes and a polished human skull. Almost immediately, Yoko wrapped one arm around her neck, and began to kiss her, meanwhile loosening her upper armour to reveal her left breast. Uncomfortably aware of Mara's presence right behind her, Arta tried to relax, shutting her eyes as she felt Yoko begin to trail kisses down her neck towards her exposed bosom. Then her eyes flew open again, and she was unable to suppress a shriek, as Mara bit hard into her bare right shoulder.

"Did you enjoy my kiss?" the tall Raider whispered into her ear. She felt Mara begin to suck on the lobe, while Yoko was giving the same attention to her nipple, causing it to harden and swell.

Is this what Jericho meant by 'going with the flow'? Arta would have preferred a less passive role, but couldn't help surrendering herself to the pleasurable feelings, parting her lips to allow Mara to probe her mouth deeply with her tongue. The two Raiders began to divest themselves of the remainder of their clothing.

"How about a little psycho?" Mara reached for a syringe from the table. "It always makes me feel such a bad, bad girl."

"I'm already a bad, bad girl," Arta said hastily. She was uncertain as to what effect the drug might have, and hoped the Raiders wouldn't insist.

Mara shrugged. "Suit yourself." She plunged the needle into her own arm and gave a sigh. "There's little to go round until we hit the next caravan."

Yoko was meanwhile nuzzling Arta's navel, while tugging down her pants. Arta gave a moan as she felt the smaller Raider bury her face between her thighs, employing her tongue delicately. They've adopted two different roles, she thought. Yoko is the 'nice' one and Mara … she became aware that the more heavily built Raider was strapping something around her waist.

Oh god, that looks … so big … and where is she planning to put it?

Mara had sidled up behind Arta, and ignoring her squeal of protest, pressed herself close.

"What … you don't like it rough?" she giggled. "Well that's too bad!"

"You can still show these kids a trick of two, Mama," Jericho lay back onto the well-sprung mattress, and gave a sigh. Examining Lalita's naked form beside him, he had to admit she'd kept herself fit for her age. The leader's privilege of copious supplies of Radaway must've helped.

"As can you. And you've developed a smoother tongue in your head. Does that come of the soft city life?" Lalita's tone was still a purr of satisfaction, but Jericho wasn't expecting it to last.

"Nar, not when you're always surrounded by arseholes."

"Oh yeah? Well then maybe it was the soft city women. Like that one you brought with you."

Nothing much gets past Mama. He said dryly, "You noticed."

"I should be able to spot 'em a mile off at my age. Even before she opened her mouth, I could tell she was no Raider. Nor likely to become one either. So …" Jericho sensed the purr beginning to change to a growl "what's she doing here then? Or maybe I should ask, what are you here for?"

"I already told you."

"You want our help? That's not the way it works, Jericho. We got enough problems of our own. Between the Outcasts, the mutant wildlife and Bethesda clan, our backs are to the wall most of the time these days."

He gave a short laugh. "Oh, you mean you want your Legend to save your sorry arses?"

"Fuck that! I was the one who suggested it in the first place. As an explanation for your ... sudden disappearance. Better for morale that way. But we didn't expect you to actually come back, of course."

"Well, ain't I an inconsiderate bastard."

"You've said it. And the damn story's taken on a life of it's own. Even the youngest Raider's heard it. So you've left us with very little room for maneuver."

"I see. The Legend has to die … or disappear again."

"That's about the size of it. The only alternative to either of those is a clan war. And I doubt we can afford that."

"Brother against brother, eh? Or sister." Jericho rubbed his beard meditatively. In a lowered voice, he asked, "What's she like now?"

Lalita rolled onto her stomach, began lighting up a cigarette. "Older. Smarter. I won't say wiser. Dyes her hair purple these days. Other than that, she's just like always. Legend or not, part of the tribe will follow her. And she's not gonna want to share."

"Hmm, that sounds familiar." He took the cigarette from her, and inhaled, half-closing his eyes in contemplation. After exhaling, he said, "And which side would you choose if it came to that?"

Lalita gave a slow smile. "You know me, Jericho. I always pick the winning side." He cocked an eyebrow, and she continued. "Tell me its gonna be like the old days, and I'll march under your banner to hell and back. But there ain't gonna be any room for your moral dilemmas. Softness ain't getting you any followers or winning you any battles. It certainly ain't getting you any help."

"No, I see that now. Well, I guess I'm gonna havta think about it, aren't I?"

"So long as you don't take too long. You got till sunrise tomorrow."

When Jericho entered the shelter, Mara and Yoko had already left, and Arta was putting on her underwear. Nursing her bites and bruises, she reflected that, despite the rough treatment, the memories evoked weren't unpleasant ones. Perhaps I find women more attractive. Unless I was a Raider in a former life. She regarded Jericho thoughtfully. I may've enjoyed my time with Mei Wong or Nova, but there's something deeper between us. Nothing to compare with Amata, true …

Jericho's eyes and tone were faintly mocking, as he asked, "So how're we enjoying our time as a Raider?"

"You know, I really can't decide." She shot him a sharp glance. "Not enough to forget what happened to Billy though."

He winced. "That's the Wastes. Someone's next to you one moment, then they're dead. It's fucked up, but you've gotta accept it happens."

"Yeah, along with a few other things. Like not knowing from one moment to the next who you or your partner are sleeping with." Sarcastically: "So how was your time with Big Mama? She's certainly closer to you in age. Maybe I can adopt the pair of you as my new mother and father."

"Listen Arta." He sounded apologetic. "This … this is a Raider thing. Most of 'em don't care about much except having a good time … after their fashion. Sex is something … like saying hello." With a hint of recrimination, he added, "You've discovered that already, ain't ya?"

Don't try to pretend I'm a hypocrite! You started all this! Angrily she retorted, "Yeah, and I suppose you're used to casual sex in the same way you accept casual violence. Was that what freaked out Jenny Stahl, I wonder?"

In a suddenly quiet voice, he asked, "What are you talking about?"

"She was afraid that you were going to rape her, wasn't she?" Arta decided it was time to get Jericho to admit to the truth, no matter what.

"Did she say that?"

"She gave some pretty strong hints. And then there was Moriarty's smutty little record saying that you'd tried but you couldn't get it up."

"What the fuck …?" Jericho was angry too now. "So you believe that lying old bastard, do you?"

"Why would he put lies on a terminal he made damn sure nobody else had access to?" Raising her eyes accusingly, she asked, "Well, is it true? Did you?"

"I tell you, I didn't try to rape her!" Jericho spoke so vehemently that Arta was temporarily silenced. He continued, in calmer tones. "If trying to give her what I thought she wanted was wrong, then I was wrong. But if anyone's lying then it's her. Lying to herself."

Arta finally found her voice. "Oh that's the oldest excuse in the book, isn't it? She wanted it … really. I've heard it all before!"

"You can call me a fucking liar if you want." Jericho spoke now with dignity. "And I can't be certain, I guess. But if I've learned anything in all my time about women … and it ain't easy, I'm telling ya … then I know when one's got it real bad." He held out his hands in a gesture of appeal. "Put yourself in her shoes. She's got this image of herself as a respectable householder, as prim and proper as you like. Then she falls for just about the most disreputable, sleazy son of a bitch in Megaton. On the one hand, she's gotta have it, and on the other she's afraid of scandal and ridicule. So what does she do? She secretly invites me round to her place."

"Wait." Arta began to think she might be mistaken after all. "She invited you?"

"Oh, yeah. And you should've seen her face when she did it; it was that fucking red. Still it might've all gone tickety boo, except you know me, I don't accept any bullshit. So when I was there, I made damn sure she knew I was onto her game. I guess it was too much for her pride. Or maybe she thought I was gonna boast about my conquest and let the whole town know. Anyhow just as we were about to get down to it, she totally freaked and started screaming and hitting me. Of course I tried to stop her crapping her pants, told her not to be such a hypocrite and let her true feelings out. But she wasn't having any of it. And that was that. I reckon she's convinced her family and maybe herself it happened completely different. How that cunt Moriarty got to hear about it, shit only knows. But he must've heard the bull crap version, and I'm telling you the truth, as near as dammit."

Arta was sure by now that Jericho believed what he was telling her. Yet could it be the whole truth?

She said, "You've told me a lot about her feelings. But what about yours?"

"Well I … " Jericho had that uncomfortable look Arta was getting used to.

"You know …" she said, " … I believe you've related the story as you saw it. But you've left one thing out. I think you wanted her as much as she wanted you. And maybe you still do. So when she suddenly turned round and rejected you, it stung real bad. I bet it was hard to contain that frustration; you must've come pretty close to trying to take her whatever she was saying. So all that sexual tension's been simmering for years, and explains why you treat each other like unexploded bombs."

"You think so much bullshit." But Jericho's voice held no conviction.

"Maybe." She decided to let him stew over what she really thought. "Look, I'm pooped. I need to rest a few hours."

"That ain't surprising. It's bin quite a day. Still we'd better not put both our heads down at once."

"How come? Surely no one's gonna stab the Legend in his sleep."

"I wouldn't bet my arse on that. Sometimes people prefer their legends to remain … legendary. And if they don't, there's always the solution of slitting their throats."

"I take it the current leadership isn't exactly delighted by your return?"

"No. Not when they might have a civil war on their hands. At any rate, we can forget about them giving us any help."

"Did you ever seriously expect them to do that? Maybe we should leave right now."

"I think we'll be okay for tonight, if we're careful. You look like you need some kip for sure." He hesitated. "That shit you said about … keeping things professional. Was that because of what you thought about me and Jenny?"

She nodded.

"So if you believe me, does that mean that we can …"

"I suppose so."

"I mean if you want to sleep first …"

"No, its okay, I'm not that tired." She moved towards him sinuously. "We might as well live a little while we're still able, don't you think?"

Lalita found them naked and twined together, arms across one another and faces close, breathing peacefully, their eyes shut. She moved silently and with care until she was behind them, then slowly drew her combat knife. She stood for a while looking down, running her finger along the sharp edge.

A smile touched her lips, broadening to a grin. "Ain't we a pair, Jericho?" she said softly. "Two of a kind." She slid the weapon back into its sheath, and stole away.

Jericho carefully opened one eye, verifying that she had in fact left the shelter. He gave a low chuckle. "That we are, Mama. That we are."

The morning sun touched the topmost broken wall of Kaelyn's Bed and Breakfast, bringing with it the faintest hint of dew. The Raider camp presented a hive of activity: weapons were readied, boxes of ammunition laid out, snacks munched on.

Kral passed Arta and Jericho, grinning widely enough to show the gaps in his teeth. "We got the word," he said, sliding the bolt of his assault rifle. "A caravan's on its way in. Time to rock." He nodded towards the upper floor of the main building where Lalita stood checking over the long tubular shape of a rocket launcher. "And we got a little surprise for them."

They walked up the ramp to join the Raider leader. Finishing her task, and experimentally hefting the weapon, she asked Jericho, "Come to join the party?"

"Maybe. What happened with the tribute?"

"We ain't got it recently. Could be they're trying different routes. We figure they're in cahoots with the Outcasts. Those renegade arseholes want the highways clear for their own purposes. Anyhow …" she clenched a fist and rapped on the launcher casing. "If they don't show any sign of paying, we're gonna blow them away."

Arta sniffed the morning air. There was something in the atmosphere, in the way people moved, in the low conversations. I've read about it, but never experienced it myself. That feeling before battle. She watched Mara exchange a curt low five with Yoko, before strapping on the heavy bulk of a flamer. The smaller Raider set off towards the bridge, carrying a hunting rifle. Nearby Kral was engaged in rough play with one of the guard dogs, teasing it with a Salisbury steak. "Hey Wolfie, you're gonna get an arm and a leg to chew on soon!"

Lalita touched Jericho on the shoulder. "Look. Here they come. From Arefu. Right on schedule."

From behind an embankment next to the river came a line of moving shapes, blurry with distance. Arta could make out a pack brahmin, along with five human size figures, three of them somewhat squat.

Lalita produced a battered telescope, trained it on the distant column, then passed it to Jericho. He grunted.

"Outcasts. The caravan's got an escort of 'em. And that's a Gatling laser or I've never seen one." He glanced at the Raider leader. "Someone's gonna get hurt today."

"It'll be them then." Lalita picked up the launcher. "This'll take down the Tin Can with the big gun at least." Tauntingly she added, "You don't like the odds, you don't have to join us."

Arta snatched the ocular device from Jericho, and brought it up to her eye. The shapes were suddenly enlarged as though nearby. Closest to the pack animal was a lean man with a grey trader cap, accompanied by a leather clad female mercenary. Arta shifted the focus. Directly in front of them, a disciplined formation of three figures moved in the strange lumbering gait required by wearers of power armour. They were equipped in similar fashion to knights of the Brotherhood of Steel. However their metal suits were a dull, blackish hue rather than light grey, and bore the emblem of a red shield on the shoulder plates. This, combined with the masking effect of their bio-helmets, gave them an aspect of menace.

She muttered to Jericho, "Can I talk to you please?"

Lalita spared her a mocking look. "Has the little girl got cold feet already? Please take her somewhere out the way and hold her hand."

They moved far enough down the ramp to be out of earshot. Arta was still bristling from the insult.

She said in a low and furious voice, "There's no way we're helping these murdering scum to ambush a caravan."

Jericho said warningly, "Don't you reckon it's a bit late to be pulling out? Whatever Mama just said, if we walk away, we may get a rocket up our arses. She might figure we're swapping sides."

"That's exactly what we're doing. But we're not going anywhere."

"You gotta be kidding me!"

Urgently Arta continued, "Look, there's only Lalita and a sniper up top. If we take them down fast and silent, the others might not even notice straight away. Then we start picking the rest off from the cover of the high ground. By the time they're onto us, we'll get support from the caravan, and they'll be caught between two fires."

Jericho said, "That's a great plan in theory, but we're gonna have to strike before Lalita fires that launcher or our support may never arrive. And in that case it might be a while coming."

"What kind of Legend did you say you were? A legendary radroach? Or are you so attached to your old friends? We'll just have to hold them off until then, won't we?

Arta must have hit a sensitive spot, because Jericho immediately growled: "Right. Let's do it. And seeing as you're in such an arse-kicking mood, you can take out Mama yourself. No need to waste any ammo. Let's see how you can handle a knife."

He wants me to cut her throat! He's testing me again. I can't back down now.

Lalita didn't turn as Arta took up a position alongside her. "Back already?" She continued to track the approaching soldiery, now barely two hundred yards from the end of the bridge. "Go time is imminent. Raising her voice, she shouted. "Everyone ready! On my mark. Five, four …"

Can I bring myself to kill someone this close up and personal? I'm about to find out.

"… three, two …" The sniper raised his rifle, and behind him Jericho drew his sword.

This is it!

"… one, fire!"

Arta snaked an arm around Lalita's throat, and drew the knife she'd bought from the hunter across it. She had her eyes closed.

Lalita gave a gasp and Arta felt the warmth of the blood on her hand. Her immediate thought was exaltation that she had done the deed. Who are you calling a little girl now, bitch! Disgust was swift on its heels but there was no time for it. In her dying convulsion, Lalita had pressed the trigger, and with a whoosh of exhaust gases, the missile exited the launch tube and began to accelerate towards the target, leaving a long trail of smoke. But its aim must have been fractionally diverted, because it exploded in a flare of orange several yards to the left of the group of Outcasts. Power armour made lying flat impossible, so they could only crouch down to avoid the blast and flying shrapnel.

All around the other Raiders were opening fire on the Outcasts except for the sniper Jericho had despatched with his sword. He was rapidly descending the ramp towards Kral, who had just unleashed the dogs and was readying his assault rifle, seemingly unaware of the approaching peril.

Arta let Lalita fall, barely sparing a glance at the bright red band of blood around her neck. She picked up her sniper rifle, focusing on the next closest opponent, Mara with her flamethrower. Even as she did so, the tall Raider woman turned, perhaps wondering why no supporting fire was coming from the building. She gave a cry of rage and began running towards Arta's position.

Nearby a dog growled, and Kral swivelled, just in time for Jericho to run him through. The youth's eyes bulged, looking down in astonishment at the legendary sword piercing his bowels.

Confronted by a target unexpectedly moving, Arta decided to try a percentage shot. As Mara turned the nozzle of the flame unit upwards, a .308 bullet pierced the bulky tank strapped to her back, and she gave a horrible scream as fire enveloped her.

With the immediate threats in the vicinity dealt with, Arta turned her attention to the Raiders on the bridge. Through the crosshairs of her scope, she could see a head above the parapet, wearing what seemed to be a fire helmet with a smoke mask. A pull of the trigger, and the head disappeared. She lowered the rifle, but before she could readjust her aim, something soft but heavy struck her hard from behind, almost pitching her out of one the ruined windows. She sprawled on the ground, struggling as though in a nightmare to keep the huge teeth of the foul-breathed guard dog away from her, while trying to draw her submachine gun. For long moments she could do nothing but fend it off, while it snarled and bit her arm. Then suddenly it yelped and went limp. Jericho stood above her, his sword bloody. He extended a hand to pull her up.

The combat was as good as over. Stabbing rods of red fire were flashing from the Outcast's lasers to bring down the last of the Raiders.

"Thank goodness that's finished with." Wincing at the bites on her arm, but deciding she'd tough out the pain, Arta staggered over to a westward facing window, and waved. "Hey, you over there!"

There was an instant's pause, followed by a buzzing all around her and a ghastly red light. Then Jericho grabbed her and pulled her flat to the floor.

"For fuck's sake, keep down! Are you hurt? Did they hit you?"

"I … I don't think so … oh god, my arm!"

Part of her long left armoured glove had been burnt away near the elbow. There was a horrible smell like cooked meat.

"I … can't feel anything."

"That sometimes happens with third degree burns. A laser can easily destroy the nerves in the area it hits. Don't worry; stimpaks are great for this sort of thing. You'll be fine if we can persuade those smucks to stop shooting."

"They just saw another Raider, didn't they? That would've been such a fucking stupid way to die."

"It still might be. We need to do something before they start trying to flank us. Wait a minute. Did you bring your Vault suit?"

"Yeah it's in my pack."

"Get it out quick. I've got an idea."

At close quarters the Outcasts' black armour showed tints of rust red, perhaps a sign of constant exposure to the elements.

"We saw your signal," their leader said. "Quite ingenious … for Wastelanders."

"Yeah, we're clever like that," Jericho said caustically. "And there's no need to thank us for saving your arses or to apologise for shooting us by accident."

The electronic baffle of her helmet couldn't disguise the leader's irritation. "We shot someone dressed as a Raider, and your help was neither asked for or needed."

The three victorious groups had joined at the head of the bridge. While the caravan and its guard were completely unscathed, one of the Outcasts was receiving medical attention for shrapnel wounds. Jericho carried some bite marks but had loftily refused treatment for 'itty-bitty scratches'. And Arta's arm was already regaining sensation from a healing injection. She wasn't however feeling well disposed towards those who had inflicted the injury, and their highhanded attitude didn't improve her mood.

"I'd question that …" she began with heat. "If that missile had struck a little closer …"

The lean man with the peaked cap intervened diplomatically. "I at least offer you my gratitude," he said. "I am Crow, a trader in vestments of protection. And may I say you bear the look of one who is haunted."

"That is so true!" Arta was surprised and relieved to at last meet someone who seemed to understand how she felt. "You see, after leaving the Vault, I found that my father had lied to me about almost everything and then …"

The trader looked confused. "Your pardon," he said. "I was merely about to point out that in this harsh, uncertain world there's nothing so reassuring as a mantle of metal or mesh. My wares can rescue you from the cruel claws of death itself."

"Oh!" Arta felt crushed with disappointment.

"It's what's known as sales patter, Arta," Jericho explained. To Crow he said, "We don't need any amateur psychology or pseudo-spiritual bullshit but we might be in the market for some combat armour." Then, waving at the surrounding area and its corpses. "And we'll have some loot to trade back."

Crow favoured Jericho with a keen look. Mildly he said, "In the world of the spirit we find harmonious balance. Ideally this should be reflected in earthly reality. Thus a fifty-fifty division of the spoils would be desirable."

"What?" Jericho exclaimed. "I don't remember you or that bimbo taking anyone down!"

The mercenary bristled, and Crow raised a hand in protest. The Outcast Leader interrupted.

"I believe 'that bimbo' managed to kill a Raider dog. So she's not just there to look pretty or keep him warm of nights."

"Step a little closer and I'll give you something warm up your arse, you stuck up bitch!" the mercenary growled. Crow made a gesture of placation.

"Ladies, please! The spirits who hear our thoughts are disturbed."

"Fuck the spirits!" Jericho regarded the Outcast Leader sceptically. "I suppose you Tin Cans want your share as well."

"Not in the least." Her voice was full of contempt. "Unless this bunch of knuckle draggers happened to have any usable tech, which I doubt, we'll leave their garbage for the Wildlife to scavenge."

Arta asked puzzled, "Wildlife?"

"She means the rest of us, Arta." Jericho looked sour and spat. "Not one of the mighty Brotherhood of Steel." He tapped his assault rifle and glared at the leader. "Garbage, you say? I'd take this before most of the fancy toys you like to play with."

Arta protested, "But you're Outcasts yourselves. From the Brotherhood."

The leader declared forcefully: "We are the Brotherhood as it should be. Elder Lyons has diverted the fools who choose to remain with him from our true goal: to revive pre-war technology and culture. Instead he's gone chasing his supermutant White Whale. We call ourselves Outcasts out of irony: a big 'fuck you' to the old man." Softening her tone with an apparent effort, she continued, "Usually we consider dealing with ... Wastelanders … a waste of time. You however are a former Vault dweller. You could be useful to us." She extended a gauntleted hand. "I am Defender Morgan. Our patrol is returning south to our base at Fort Independence. If you have any access to advanced tech items, we'll pay you well for them."

Arta ignored the hand and shook her head. "I've only got this." She tapped the pip boy on her wrist. "And Stanley always told me taking it off would be fatal."

"A myth!" Morgan sneered. "Vault tech designed the shelters as social and psychological experiments. Many of the things you've been told are deliberate lies and delusions. How does it feel to be a lab rat?"

"That's enough!" Jericho stepped in to prevent a furious Arta from reacting. "She ain't removing it, so you can all fuck off home." He added to Crow. "Let's say we get a three to two proportion of the loot, and we'll go collect it for you as well."

The mild-mannered trader considered, then assented with a nod. "My brother traders will soon be following in my footsteps. Walk well, friend. The spirits will be your guide."

"Well ain't that fucking A."

A hundred yards away, Arta came on the body of the Raider she'd shot on the bridge. She took the hunting rifle, looked down at the dead eyes staring through the transparent panels of the smoke hood. On an impulse she pulled it off. She tried to avoid gagging as Yoko's face was revealed: the half still distinguishable after the ruinous impact of her bullet. An unwanted memory of their intimacy intruded on her mind.

From behind, Jericho said, "Not easy, is it, turning on the poor fuckers you just broke bread with?"

Without turning round, she said, "Don't tell me you of all people are getting sentimental?"

"Nothing exactly wrong with that. Only if it gets in the way of your survival chances. I ain't sure what we've done here today has made those any better."

"We've cleared a route for the caravans, haven't we? Crow says some more are on the way. We can trade with them straight away. We'd never've managed to carry so much weapons and armour."

"You know you're right. That was well worth killing a bunch of teenagers for." He patted his pockets. "I need a smoke. I'd forgotten how fucked up everything was out here."

Burke and Sam Walsh stood together on the topmost balcony of Tenpenny Towers, the unbroken walls of the building descending many floors and over a hundred feet beneath them. Burke leaned slightly on the curving guardrail that ran all the way around the outside. At this hour the Wasteland landscape, bathed in the red glow of dawn, had a calm and lambent beauty all of its own. The distant ruins and road arches to the northwest seemed imbued with the grace and mystery of monuments to an older, better world. Looking down on the lands far below gave one a sense of tranquillity, of remoteness from the troubles of the world. No wonder it was a common saying amongst the residents: at Tenpenny Towers, I'm on top of the world.

Burke didn't allow this feeling to distract him from keeping a close eye on his companion. Even with the ammunition temporarily removed from his weapons, Walsh was a formidable opponent, and one of the few with the speed and strength to seriously threaten him. Burke had no illusions about how fragile his control remained, and how much resentment the mercenary would be harbouring towards him. You humiliated such a man at your peril. Burke had no wish to follow his gaze over the rail and plummet towards the ground, even if such a death would be satisfyingly spectacular.

He said, "You are quite clear about the three components of your mission?"

Walsh seemed lost in contemplation of the view to the north. He said quietly, "In the past, things were simpler."

Burke selected a cigar from a box on a small table nearby. Lighting it up, he said, with mild reproof. "That depends on your perspective. The point is moot, as we can never go back."

"No we can't." With sudden accusation. "You, for one, made sure of that."

"That's why we must look to the future. We are both practical men."

"We're both exiles."

"Precisely. And so we are adaptable. We accept that situations change, and we turn them to our advantage."

"To your advantage, in this case."

"Come, Sam!" Burke raised his cigar in almost jovial fashion. "I told you before you're much better working with me. The mission remains the same in many ways but the rewards will be infinitely more satisfying."

Without turning his eyes from the horizon, Walsh said abruptly, "No, it's not the same."

Burke gave him a swift assessing glance. Carefully he said, "I take it you're concerned at the reaction of your former associates to phase one of the mission?"

"Obviously."

"I think you'll find that once the deed is done, they'll be happy to accept it as a fait accompli. After all, it's often said there's no honour among thieves. Where would their percentage be? For most ordinary mortals, killing you would be a difficult task."

"The percentage would be in making the point. Setting an example."

Burke inhaled, savouring the taste of the cigar in his mouth. He lowered and held it at an elegant angle, letting the stream of smoke flow into the breeze. "Well I suppose that's too bad. You'll just have to look at it from the opposite perspective. At the moment I see you as a knight on my chessboard. Useful … but a piece I'm quite willing to sacrifice. I'll give you twenty-four hours from the time you leave to initiate phase one. If I don't receive an immediate report of its success, I'll be alerting my contacts in Talon Company. Oh, don't think I'll be sending them against you. They'll be merely monitoring your position for when I come for you."

Walsh said nothing, and Burke hadn't really expected him to. He continued, "Assuming the first part of the mission is successful, you may as well go on to complete the rest exactly as stated. That's assuming you don't want the Kindred and Talon Company out looking for you. Phase two is hardly difficult, and mostly window dressing. But the third part …" Burke stubbed out his cigar on the rail, turned to face Walsh. "I want the girl alive, Sam. I don't need to tell you that accidents in this respect are not acceptable. Fail me, and there's no place on this earth you're going to be able to hide."

A nervous cough broke the silence. Susan Lancaster stood at the door to Tenpenny's suite behind them. She had put on a new, ankle length green dress, and her head was bandaged.

Burke turned. "Ah Susan! I trust you have, like Mr Walsh, somewhat recovered from your ordeal."

Unusually Susan had nothing to say, but merely nodded. The presence of Walsh terrifies her. Burke chuckled internally. Certainly from her viewpoint, it's 'better the devil you know'. As far as she's aware, he has no reason not to do something unspeakable. And so giving her the next task will be most amusing. She's become too complacent about her position here. A dose of fear will be salutary.

He said, "In that case, you can show Mr Walsh his new accommodation and give him a tour of the parts of the building he may have missed after his … ahem … swift arrival yesterday. Please remain with him at all times and take care of his needs. He may purchase anything from the shops except ammunition and melee weapons. Oh, and of course, explosives." Relishing the expression on her face, he added, with a cruel smile. "Have fun you two."

After their departure, Burke was left alone with his thoughts. There was much to be done. Walsh might be Burke's knight, but Tenpenny Towers was his castle, and he had better make sure it was more secure than formerly. A team from Talon Company was already on the way to bolster its defences. Their rough manners might not find favour with the residents but that was all to the good. There was going to be an end to laxity, indulgence and self-congratulation.

Nevertheless in itself that wasn't nearly enough. Burke glanced across to the empty chair where Tenpenny himself had been wont to sit admiring the view and, more often than not, imbibing too much whisky. Certainly the man had once had a vision but more recently he'd behaved like a quixotic fool, satisfied with his impressive but limited achievements and content to lord it over a narrow court of fawning sycophants. His demise was both fated and appropriate.

Burke himself must not fall into the same trap. He must surround himself with those who shared his vision of an outward, expanding empire. With respect to that, Arta, and perhaps Walsh, would be a good beginning. And their aim must not be confined to building an isolated enclave, but the complete transformation of the Wasteland itself.

Burke returned to his contemplation of the view, letting his gaze wander slowly across the whole vast panorama. The dream was ambitious, but he knew, he knew it was achievable. Everything he could see, and beyond. It must all be his.

"Four hundred caps!" Jericho moaned. "What a waste of money!"

"Oh come on now," Arta pouted. "Harith said he was offering it at a bargain price because he'd heard how we helped them out. Not that much more than you'd pay for an assault rifle in decent condition. And look at all the money you threw Doc Hoff's way. For his so-called 'discreet chemicals'.

"It's not an actual weapon, though is it? Just the plan for one. And I spent money on drugs because they're necessary. Whereas this … Shit kebab … or whatever its called, ain't gonna get used unless you're right up close to someone."

"Says the man with the legendary sword! I'll remind you what happened in the last battle. And it's Shishkebab. Anyway the schematic allows you to build one from simple parts you should be able to find almost anywhere."

"Yeah that's the hype. Considering the man claims he sells weapons to spread peace I'd be just a little sceptical. He ain't called 'Lucky' Harith for nothing. Lucky that he meets plenty of rubes to keep flogging that trash to!"

"Don't be such a spoil sport!" Arta peered at the diagrams recorded on her pip boy. "See all you need is a pilot light, a lawn mower blade, a motorcycle gas tank and a handbrake. I mean it couldn't be more obvious where you get those things." She gave a little shriek of excitement. "Look, there's old motorcycle on the bridge right there."

"Whoa, whoa, slow up! There could be Mirelurks or mines or anything!" But Arta had already dashed towards the bottom of the huge road bridge spanning halfway across the Potomac. The morning sun glittered on the turgid waters below, glossed the road surface with a golden sheen, and exposed the rust on the usual wrecked vehicles dotted around.

Before moving forward onto the bridge, Arta scanned the way ahead carefully. Jericho's warning about mines wasn't out of place. According to the traders she'd spoken with, the inhabitants of Arefu were on the look out for trouble, and there were signs that defences like sandbags and other barricades had been erected. They might have added a few nasty surprises. But the way to the bike at least seemed clear. As she drew closer, she could see faded writing spelling something like Arle Davison.

A quick examination brought immediate disappointment. The tank, brake and most of the other vital components had been removed.

Jericho caught up to her, wheezing slightly. "Jees, let me catch my breath!" He noticed her crestfallen look. "No luck, eh? It ain't surprising after all this time."

Arta's glum expression lightened. "It only goes to show how important someone considered these items. They must be stored or in use somewhere."

Jericho groaned. "Even if you come across 'em in the end, do you honestly reckon you can make a flaming sword out of that junk?"

Arta folded her arms determinedly. "Yes I do." She showed a serene smile. "After all, every Angel needs her flaming sword. Like the one protecting the Garden of Eden."

"The Garden of what?"

"Eden. It's in the Bible. The mythical paradise from which the first man and woman were expelled for their sins. The way back was barred by an angel."

"With a mythical flaming sword, I suppose? Just remember that word: mythical."

"Well." Arta moved to the edge of the bridge, looked reflectively out over the barren expanses of the Wastes, her eyes following the black threads of long dead power lines northwards. "Mythical or not, it's a sad little parable about the consequences of our evil nature, don't you think?"

"Maybe you gotta a point there."

"You know its funny," Arta continued, the rays of the sun shining on her new combat helmet with almost the effect of a halo. "In the Vault we had a story told to children about something called a G.E.C.K. That stands for Garden of Eden Creation Kit. It was supposedly a pre-war invention placed in the Vault which could transform an irradiated desert into blossoming fields, trees and fresh water." She shrugged. "Of course, once we were old enough, we realised it was just a fairytale to keep us happy when we were little kids."

"Oh, you mean like Santa Claus?"

"No, I never heard that one."

"A fat old man in a vehicle pulled by reindeer? They're kinda like brahmin? No?" Jericho looked embarrassed. "He was supposed to bring everyone presents once a year."

"Now that really sounds ridiculous!"

"Yeah. I used to tell it … I mean, Lei Peng told me when I was growing up."

Noticing his suddenly downcast expression, Arta said gently, "Maybe you miss that old ghoul?" Knowing he wouldn't admit it, she continued, "When Amata told me the G.E.C.K wasn't real, I cried and cried. The Overseer let her know first out of all the other children. I don't think he really liked people passing on that story, but they nearly always did anyway."

"Yeah, it figures. Parents want their kids to be happy while they can, don't they? Before they grow up into little bastards."

"That's a nice way to put it!" Arta turned to look beyond the barricades. A number of small dwellings were grouped together before the road ended in a jagged edge and a sickening drop. There was no apparent sign of life. "So isn't it about time we called on Lucy's folks?"

"No. You heard what the traders said. We don't want to risk any more friendly fire incidents. And once we've finished working on your combat armour, we gotta push on." Jericho looked down, avoiding Arta's eyes. She was instantly alert.

"Push on? Where to? I thought you said this was where we were heading?"

Jericho cleared his throat. "Yeah, in a manner of speaking. Apart from being one of the places the caravans stop at, it's right near a river crossing." He pointed to the west. "See there it dries up almost entirely and you can walk across without swimming or being pulled under by Mirelurks."

Arta cocked her head to one side to examine Jericho's expression. He was certainly uneasy about something. She said, "You haven't answered my question: if we're not going to Arefu, then where?"

"How about we leave that as a surprise? If we don't hang about, we'll make it there before nightfall."

"I'm beginning not to like surprises. Too many of them haven't been pleasant of late." She picked up a tin can, pitched it over the side of the bridge and into the water. "Just tell me already."

"Stop doing that! You'll bring Mirelurks and god knows what!"

Arta deliberately threw another can. "Why don't you want to tell me?"

"I said stop!" She paused in mid-throw, and he said, "Because I'm afraid you're going to freak out about it."

"If I am, then we might as well get it over with now."

When she made as if to throw again, he said hastily, "Okay. But at least let me explain why we have to go there."

"Go on then. Where are we going and why?"

He drew a breath. "We're going to Paradise Falls. For help."

*I know some will be thinking, why would the Overseer allow a GECK myth when his motto was 'We're born in the Vault, we die in the Vault.' Remember though that even in living memory, the Vault had been open and liberal enough to send out a survey team. Various rumours and myths might remain from that time. One way of dealing with them would be to dismiss as childhood fantasy any means of re-establishing a viable civilisation above ground.

Can you set fire to a flamer with a bullet? Apparently some participants in the D Day invasion left their flamers behind out of fear they might be blown up (though this might be because of the use of tracer ammunition from heavy machine guns). Maybe piercing the tank followed by ignition of the leaked fuel, perhaps by the weapon's own pilot light, could cause self-immolation.

I can envisage some Raider groups occasionally allowing caravans to pass in exchange for goods. After all, caravans are hardly soft targets: in my experience its often the Raiders who end up dead. There's even a Raider trader in Evergreen Mills. But of course agreements with Raiders, like those with Vikings, would be extremely problematic.

In the game there are no extra shelters near Kaelyn's, but where are the poor Raiders supposed to go for r&r after a hard days murder and torture?

The inspiration for Lalita's character came from a well-known film, and there are some pretty strong clues. If you guessed, remember it's based on rather than identical. I say this to protect myself from accusations of making a lousy job describing her.*