Ch 26 In Clover
The silence and warmth of underground, the heavy feeling of limbs pushed past the point of fatigue, thoughts that meandered from the contemplation of events past to delicious anticipation of future pleasure, all were precursors to a profound slumber. To sleep, perchance to dream.
Arta was lying on a recliner more relaxing than any she could recall, far more comfortable than her father's examination couch. However there was a transparent seal of some kind over the top of it. She tried to raise herself but was unable. Somewhere a gentle female voice was saying something soothing about rest and peace. She slipped away into the dark.
Light returned. She was crouched head forward on all fours in a circle of lush grass. The world around her seemed grey and strange. Sounds came to her ears with an acuteness that was almost painful: the chirping of insects, the wind blowing the grass stems; each tiny noise was precise in its quality and direction. Smells were even more overwhelming; she could distinguish individual odours, between the flavour of freshly turned soil and sun-warmed concrete. Her breath came in harsh pants, her mouth open as though she needed to suck in the cooling air.
She tried to stand, succeeded only in achieving a semi-crouch. Something was very wrong. She looked down at her arms. They were hairy. And they weren't arms. They were legs. Her chest and belly were similarly hirsute.
I've changed … into some kind of animal!
She tried to cry out, succeeded at first in only growling. And then barking.
Oh my god, I'm a dog!
Before she could further ponder the implications of this remarkable metamorphosis, she was aware of someone walking towards her across the well-cut grass. The person's steps were loud in her hearing, the smell sweet and familiar. It was Clover.
Clover bent down towards her, smiling.
"Who's a good good girl?"
She was immediately aware of intense feelings of affection and trust, almost of worship, emanating from her towards Clover. There was a twitching around her buttocks, as the tail that she'd only now become aware of began to wag furiously. She thrust her head forward to lick Clover's hand. Clover reached out to scratch her ears and stroke her head, which she found intensely pleasurable.
Her mind was trying to sort out the possibilities.
Either I'm dreaming, which is most likely, or through some kind of karmic retribution I've really turned into a dog.
The latter eventuality seemed most probably linked to her rejection of Dogmeat, who she now felt much sympathy for. The unshakable love of a pet for her mistress was something she was experiencing for herself. Being a dog wasn't all bad. But after being a human, it was undoubtedly extremely humiliating.
Assuming it was all a dream seemed the best way to deal with the situation. Putting speculation aside, she began to examine her surroundings curiously. She noticed that her peripheral vision extended further behind her, and that she had become extremely sensitive to movement. The palette of colours was uniformly white, black and grey, and anything beyond half a dozen yards was hard to distinguish in detail. But what she was able to see left her numb with astonishment.
Beyond the central grassy area, a road ran around in a circle, and behind that houses enclosed the entire zone. The buildings, however, showed no signs of the devastation that had been inflicted on those in the Wasteland. Surrounded by white picket fences, the lawns were neat, the walls and doors intact, the windows polished and hung with curtains, the paint fresh. People were going unconcernedly about their business, dressed in immaculate pre-war clothes. Children were playing. Everything seemed perfect, untouched by violence.
Its like I've been transported back through time.
As if all this were not enough to cope with, she became aware of a voice, coming from nowhere and yet seeming to be right in her ear. It was rather faint at first, but as it became clearer she recognised it instantly.
Her father's voice.
"My investigations indicated strongly that in the pre-war period technology had reached a level which made the design of something like the Garden of Eden Creation Kit possible."
The tone was lecturing, and reminded her of the times when James had taken the younger members of the Vault on a tour of his clinic. On these occasions she'd felt particularly proud to be his daughter. How ironic! The heiress to a tradition of rationality transformed into a humble beast! Welcome as it was to hear him, she wished that he would say something directly to her, rather than this impersonal lecture.
He went on, "I further concluded that the mythology surrounding the G.E.C.K. was created by the Overseer to cast doubt on its existence."
The voice echoed in her head, but remained as a monologue. Daddy, talk to me!
"All this led me to believe that information about the G.E.C.K. might be in the records of Vault 101, and most likely in the Overseer's terminal."
Daddy please!
A whining issued from her throat, and Clover pressed her head anxiously against her own. "What's wrong, girl? Is doggy not a happy woggy? Aw, come to Clover!"
It was particularly frustrating to be the object of so much affection and baby talk from Clover, but to be unable to respond except in dog fashion.
Her father continued, "If the G.E.C.K. existed, then it was possible that Vault 101 had been issued with one."
Still harping on about the G.E.C.K? What about me?"
"If not, I would have to escape from the Vault to continue research into Project Purity. That would be an awful wrench, but I was sure leaving Arta in the Vault was the right thing to do."
What? What's he saying now? Project Purity?
"To lose her as I lost Catherine would be the most terrible fate imaginable. Only when I knew she was safe could I return to the Wasteland with something resembling peace of mind."
Sitting on her haunches, Arta raised her head to issue an anguished howl. Her father had left her to pursue a scientific project he was obsessed with. What could be so important that he'd abandoned his only child? His expressed regrets only made her feel worse.
Clover continued to cling to her neck as she ululated. But then her ears pricked at the distinctive sound of gunfire shattering the peace of the settlement. From every direction men in dark grey jumpsuits were appearing, using assault rifles to open fire on the unarmed residents. She and Clover sat as though in a charmed circle amidst the mayhem, as men, women and children screamed, fled and were shot down ruthlessly. And as though to complete the madness, in front of them a vortex swirled and something formed out of thin air.
A door.
As she padded forward to enter, her father's voice came again faintly, "The Overseer's terminal – that's the place to look …"
When Arta awoke, her pipboy was still chattering faintly on her wrist. She must have left it in 'active' mode before falling asleep. She was lying on the comfortable bed in Agatha's basement. And someone was tucked up beside her. This time she was quite sure that the small, soft nose nuzzling her cheek was real.
Clover breathed, "Were you dreaming about me, darlin'?"
Even though she'd suspected this was the case, Arta felt such joy and relief at being in human form, that she was seized by an overwhelming desire to kiss Clover. And she did so. Fiercely, passionately. Their mouths and bodies seemed to meld together, breasts and thighs pressed close. Clover was not far off naked, wearing only a bra and panties, though Arta couldn't help noticing these were much more erotically lacy than her own. Like Amata, Eulogy's bodyguard had enjoyed at least some advantages from her attachment to a wealthy and powerful man. There were other delicious similarities to that moment in the Vault: the excitement of being alone for a hidden liaison and the feeling of release at finally being able to enjoy one another. At last I know the taste of her lips, the smell of her skin.
When their tongues had thoroughly explored each other's mouths, and Arta was beginning to place gentle kisses over Clover's eyes and nose, the blonde managed to gasp, "Wow, I knew that you wanted me, just not how much!"
Arta's reply was to slide her hands over Clover's breasts, rubbing at the nipples through the silky material, feeling them harden. Then she stretched behind to unclip her bra, exposing firm milk pale rounded flesh, and the darkening areoles around the pert teats. Taking her time, she teased them with her tongue, hearing Clover's breathing quickening at her attentions. As she began to kiss and even gently nibble her breasts, the blonde's squirming increased, and she reached frantically inside her panties.
"I'm so hot! Do me!"
Ignoring this rather crude suggestion, Arta continued to tease Clover, rubbing her own breasts and crotch hard against her companion's. Eventually in response to her increasingly desperate urgings, she slid downwards along her body, brushing her lips against her navel. Then peeling down Clover's panties, she nestled her nose amidst the small forest of darker blonde hair.
Clover spread her legs wider, revealing the silkiness of the glistening petal-like folds between. Arta blew gently on them, then flicked lightly inside with her tongue, seeking for a sweet spot, guided by Clover's impassioned moans and pleas. When she found the place that seemed to provoke the most ecstatic outcries, she slightly increased the pressure of her strokes. She tastes sweet and tart at the same time, just right for her.
"That's it, keep going, please don't stop!" Clover begged. "Oh, I'm going to come!" Arta continued relentlessly, and had the satisfaction of feeling the blonde buck and spasm against her, giving a final little shriek.
"Oh jees, that feels so good!" She thrashed in the throes of pleasure for a while longer, eventually collapsing with a happy sigh. "That was so … heavenly." She winked. "And now you've deserved my own very special present."
Afterwards they lay together blissfully entwined. Nibbling Arta's ear, Clover said softly, "You certainly know your way around. I'm guessing you're been with more than one woman before."
Despite feeling wonderfully relaxed by a post-coital glow, Arta's smarter instincts warned her not to give too much away. Clover's behaviour around Eulogy suggested she had an extremely possessive nature. Any indication that she, Clover, had a rival or wasn't so special as she'd thought might have a negative effect.
Anticipating the implied question, she said, "There was a woman in the Vault, a kind of childhood sweetheart. But I'm sure I'll never see her again. Then when I'd just got out into the Wastes, an ex-slaver called Silver caught me and forced me to have sex with her. So I killed her."
She thought she heard a sigh of relief. "And a good job. Something like that happened to me. Eulogy used to make me … play with Crimson. He liked watching, and sometimes he'd join in. I hated it because I hated her. But … I also used to go with one of the other slavers, secretly of course. I enjoyed that, especially because it was forbidden."
Arta asked, "Was it a woman you went with?"
"Yeah, naturally. I figured it might not be so bad if Eulogy found out. And apart from him, I wasn't so much into guys anyway."
Arta curiosity made her unguarded. "Who was it? Carolina Red?"
"No, are you kidding! Why would I want to sleep with that bitch?" Clover gave her an inquisitive look mingled with sly amusement. "What kind of fantasies are inside that overheated little head of yours? No, it was a girl called Jessie. She got careless and she got killed. Too bad."
To distract attention from her slip up, Arta said hastily. "I guess I'm more into women as well, even after one bad experience."
"Oh yeah? Still that hasn't stopped you trying the other half eh? Like Jericho, for instance." Seeing Arta looking down in embarrassment, she added, "I saw how you were with him after the fight. Is he your man?"
Keeping her voice carefully neutral, Arta said, "He thinks he is."
"Ah, so that's the way of it, is it? You need his help, so you play along? I understand." A slight edge to her voice, she continued, "Well, at least two of our ex lovers have got themselves killed one way or another. Maybe he'll continue the trend."
Arta thought, Shit, I hope not.
There seemed to be a tang to the morning air, funnelled by way of the narrow passage through the encircling cliffs. Or perhaps I'm projecting my own euphoria into the surroundings. I feel like I'm drunk with wine. Arta stopped to pat Dogmeat, who was lying down beside the door, a faithful guardian in company with the garden gnome. She was reminded of her strange dream.
'The Overseer's terminal, that's the place …' She had downloaded the Overseer's files to her pipboy as a matter of course. Could she have overlooked something? Quite likely, as she hadn't bothered to look at them since the first frenzied moments of her escape. Perhaps now was the time to …
Clover's head popped gleefully round the door. "Aunt Aggie's making us a big breakfast of fried Sugar Bombs! She says we need some extra energy for our journey." Seeing Arta was scratching Dogmeat's head in a pre-occupied way, she said, "Aw, are you two making friends at last?"
"Dr Stanislaus Braun." Arta tapped a key to switch off her pip-boy display. "Does that name mean anything to you, Agatha?"
Agatha shut one eye, squinted the other and abstractly stroked her lower lip with her teeth. Eventually she shook her head. "Braun, no I can't say it does. Why, what's your interest in him?"
Arta glanced to where Clover was happily playing a game of fetch with Dogmeat. She said, "Perhaps we can go down to the library to talk about it."
A few minutes after they had descended, Agatha's face still wore a puzzled frown. "Braun was a pre-war scientist associated with this Garden of Eden Creation Kit you're telling me about? I don't quite see his connection with the search for your missing father."
Arta said excitedly, "The point is that everyone in the Vault except Dad thought the G.E.C.K. was a myth. But these files I downloaded confirm it was real. There's a note from Braun to the first Overseer …" she consulted her pipboy "saying it can be used to create 'a new earthen paradise' after 'riding out the storm of nuclear Armageddon'.
Agatha gave her a sceptical look. "So what went wrong? Why aren't we living in this 'earthen paradise' now?"
Arta frowned in her turn. "I don't know. It seems due to financial constraints not all Vaults were issued with them. Unfortunately our own wasn't amongst those who were."
Agatha shook her head. "I'm afraid you're not convincing me. You said that you and your fellow Vault dwellers were fed lies on a regular basis. This could easily be another of them."
She's got a point, Arta thought. And Braun had referred to the population of the Vault as a 'control group', a word with unpleasant connotations. She remembered Defender Morgan's words: how does it feel to be a lab rat?
And yet her father, a man not inclined to swallow falsehoods, had believed. Even if he was wrong …
She said, "I think my father was looking for a G.E.C.K., probably hidden in another Vault. He may have gone to Galaxy News Radio hoping to find clues about how to find one." She paused to wave a hand around her. "And I wondered whether your library might have such information."
Agatha shook her head. "Over the years I've tried composing an index. I've never come across anything like that. And I would certainly remember if I had. You see I have my own interest in locating a vault. My great great grandmother was a talented musician, a violinist like myself. She possessed an exquisite instrument called a Soil Stradivarius, made by a pre-war master craftsman. When war came, she entered Vault 92 with a group of other famous classical musicians." Agatha's face took on a brooding expression. "I've always wondered what happened to her … and that violin."
Arta shrugged. "After two hundred years …"
"Well, it so happens I know that these violins were kept in special pressurised containers, to protect them against the ravages of time."
Arta shrugged again. "That's only useful if you know where Vault 92 is. And from what you've said, I'm guessing you don't."
"You're right. But I've a notion of where to obtain such knowledge. Vault-tec headquarters in Vernon Square, central DC. I heard about it from a trader called Crow, a nice young man and quite handsome."
Arta met Agatha's eyes. "Central DC can be quite a dangerous place."
"So I hear. But Clover tells me you're heading into DC anyway." Agatha gave an embarrassed cough. "And if searching for your father involves locating a vault, then maybe …"
Arta said, "I'll give it some thought Agatha."
Agatha nodded slowly. "I'm sure you will."
A shout came from above, "Arta come up here quickly!"
Arta hastened up the stairs, drawing her sword, and found Clover sitting at the desk where Agatha kept her broadcasting equipment.
She said, "It's your dad! He's on Galaxy News … kinda."
"What!" Arta felt completely stunned. Her dad … on the radio?
Clover held up her hand for silence. "Listen, there's more!"
A voice that Arta recognised as Three Dog's came clearly from a speaker.
"His name is James, great guy. Turns out, it gets better. I gotta report someone else climbed outa that Vault. What the hell's going on? Revolution? Vacation? Somebody fart? Your guess is as good as mine people."
The news item ended abruptly and the broadcast switched to a song, Way Back Home which Three Dog most likely considered appropriate. Arta in her state of agitation found it intensely irritating, particularly the lines:
Don't know why I left the homestead,
I really must confess,
I'm a weary traveller,
Singing my song of lone-li-ness.
"Did you actually hear him?" she kept asking Clover.
"Well, no, not exactly." The blonde sounded defensive. "But it's obvious Three Dog talked to James. Or … at least he knows about him." She switched off the radio. "And now he knows about you as well. I guess that makes you famous."
Arta felt a mixture of elation, frustration and disgruntlement. "At least we're on the right track," she said. "And it seems my dad made it to GNR. So we should be able to get there too." Then she added, a trifle grumpily, "But I don't want Three Dog reporting on my doings. Apart from being a pain in the butt, he could give away our position to anyone following us."
"Hopefully only after we're well gone. We'd best make tracks, while the goings good."
"So you're quite determined to be off as soon as possible?" Agatha had reached the top of the stairs, breathing a little heavily. "Oh me, my legs can't manage like they used to." After a pause for rest, she hobbled across to a metal container and opened it. "I have some things that might help you. Your Uncle kept quite a lot of ammunition here, as well as his Blackhawk magnum. Here take it, an old woman like me has no use for such things."
Clover inspected the weapon, spinning the chambers and sighting along it. "A gun with a scope like this'll always be handy. Thanks Auntie." She gave Agatha an affectionate peck on the cheek.
"My dear, it's the least I can do."
"Well, it's about time for us to be going." Clover spoke brightly, but her eyes were moist. "You … you take care of yourself, Aunt Aggie." They stood just inside the passage through the rocks to say their farewells, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention.
"And you as well, my dear." Agatha reached forward to enfold the faintly sobbing Clover in her arms. "There, there." Eventually releasing her, she slightly elevated her chin. "Keep smiling through. But if you're having any second thoughts, then of course I'd love you to stay with me."
In a subdued tone, Clover said, "Aunt Aggie, I'd love that too. But …" she turned to look at the Vault woman. "Arta really needs my help, and there's no one else right now. When it's all over and done I'll come back to see you. And I … we've decided to leave Dogmeat with you. He'll be a good guard dog and a companion, won't he Arta?" Arta gave a nod and a smile in response. Kneeling down, Clover placed a food bowl on the ground. "Do you understand, Dogmeat? This is your home now. You have to look after Auntie." Dogmeat gave a little whine, and a bark, then went to lie down in front of the door. Clover wiped away a tear. "So … this is really good-bye."
"Good-bye Clover." Agatha embraced her again. "You two take care of each other. And well …" she gave a faltering smile. "If you hear any news of Uncle Leo, be it good or bad, try to get word to me if you can. I pray every day that his soul has found rest."
"This is what Uncle Leo and I called the Seeing Stones," Clover said. "And you can easily tell why."
Arta was reminded of when she'd climbed the road bridge with Jericho to survey the way ahead. Now she and Clover were doing the same from exactly the opposite direction, looking down from amidst a ring of rocks at the top of a ridge just south of Agatha's house. The view through the clear morning air, with the sun slanting from the east, was if anything more spectacular. The land sloped in shades of yellow and brown down towards the nearest of the high bridges arching partway across the Potomac, allowing Arta to see a great distance in a wide arc. To the southwest Tenpenny Towers rose from behind ash coloured hills, seeming frighteningly close, as her sniper scope swept across the panorama. Then more directly to the south, the broken grey walls of Springvale School were visible beyond the curve of the river. It seemed like an age since she'd confronted the Raiders there. And not far behind the deserted town, she could actually see the main gates of Megaton, the ramparts sloping inwards and upwards in a shape that reminded her of a laboratory flask. The vision brought with it a pang. Way Back Home. It was the only home remaining to her.
She directed her view another forty five degrees east, and gave an exclamation. "Clover I can see the Supa Dupa Mart! To the south east, just beyond that low bridge crossing the river."
"For real!" Clover brought the scope of the Blackhawk up to her eye. "Oh yes, I always used to wonder what was written across that sign. Well if Farragut Metro is next to it, then the shortest distance between two points is a straight line."
"Erm, I dunno." Arta recalled Jericho's more cautious strategy. "Shouldn't we follow the line of the high ground around to the east?"
Clover made an impatient negative gesture. "Messing about like that'll just allow more time for things to go wrong. And take us closer to those scummy Raiders' territory. From up here we can check the whole ground between us and the river to see if its clear. Then we can reach the northern bank in less than an hour."
Arta pursed her lips dubiously. "In that case, we'd better start with that ruined settlement down there." She pointed to a circle of dwellings with only the skeletal timber frames remaining of their walls.
"Good idea. We can climb down to the lower ridge to get a closer look."
As they clambered amongst the black basalt rocks, Arta remarked, "I can see a fenced off area with train coaches and tracks to the west. Is that another metro station?"
"Yes, Meresti Train Yard, a place with a very weird reputation. I wouldn't want to go that way, even if it connected with Farragut, which I doubt. I've heard everything from tales of aliens molesting brahmin to …" she gave a nervous giggle "blood sucking vampires!"
"Aliens and vampires!" Arta harrumphed. "Surely there's enough real threats around without inventing them! Sounds to me like someone's been making up stories to keep people away."
Clover pouted. "I'm not sure its just stories. You know once I saw a strange light in the sky like something was falling to earth. And then I came across an area of burnt ground."
Arta said dismissively. "That sounds exactly like a meteorite, a burning lump of rock from space."
"Yeah, but then I discovered several weird white capsules, rather like the power cells from a laser rifle."
Arta laughed. "And I suppose you also found an alien ray gun to go with them?"
"Aw, stop teasing! No, I didn't. Well, we should be able to get a good view of those buildings from here."
Arta knelt by a rock, and raised her rifle. The scope suddenly brought the shell structures up close, and amongst them figures moving.
"Shit! Something's going down. I can see people running about, panicking as though they're being chased."
"Let me look." Clover employed her own scope. "Ohmigod!"
A slight movement of the crosshairs and the reason for the blonde's exclamation became apparent as the pursuer of the frantic Wastelanders hove into view. Standing far far taller than a man, despite moving in a kind of half crouch, it would not have looked out of place in the compendium of angels and demons Arta had just read. The head was elongated, flat and heavy-jawed, with rows of protruding teeth, the eyes set forward, glaring ferociously, beneath curling horns that completed a classically demonic face. Below that was a long, pale brown lizard-like body, with a spiked back and tail. The two taloned legs on which it stalked with a sinister grace covered a distance in a single stride that would have taken a human a dozen long ones. The Wastelanders scampering amongst the rubble of the settlement were amply demonstrating the fear the creature could inspire. For its most terrifying appendages were spindly but immensely strong looking arms terminating in twin sets of foot long claws, which it held in front of itself as though in anticipation of catching its prey.
"What is it?" Arta felt a kind of fascination in watching the creature's movements.
"A Deathclaw." Clover's voice was as solemn as if she'd just announced the arrival of the Grim Reaper. "Arta, don't shoot."
"Why not?" Arta watched as a woman dodged around an exposed chimneypiece, avoiding the clutching claws by a hairs breath. "It's right across our line of march; attacking it while it's fully occupied makes sense."
"I'd rather walk a hundred miles around than go anywhere near it. I've seen one of these things rip through a party of well-equipped mercenaries in less than half a minute. Unless you've got some means of slowing it down, as well as very powerful weapons, it's gonna get you."
Arta continued to observe the Deathclaw carefully. "Well this one doesn't seem so fast," she announced. "Look, every so often it drags its left leg."
"You know I think you're right. It must've got wounded somehow. Otherwise it would've easily killed them all by now. Those things can usually leap huge distances too."
Despite this apparent handicap, the Deathclaw was still able to keep up with its prey. Even as they watched, one of the men running from it stumbled in his panic. Instantly the long taloned arms lashed forward and together, slicing off the man's head, and sending limbs and viscera flying in all directions.
Arta said determinedly, "I'm going to try a shot."
Clover said, "It's pretty extreme range. But I guess if you miss there's a chance it won't notice. I hope."
Arta waited until the Deathclaw had turned from killing the man and was pacing in her direction, thus minimising the chance of its movement spoiling her shot. Then she fired.
The Deathclaw continued unhindered.
"I'm sure I hit it in the head," Arta muttered.
"I told you. They're so tough, they make Yao Guai look like kittens in comparison."
Seeing that the Deathclaw was closing on the woman, Arta fired again with the same apparent result. With a curse she lowered her aim, and squeezed off a third shot.
The Deathclaw's head was suddenly severed from its neck, and flew through the air. The headless torso collapsed but continued to twitch for a while.
"Great shot!" Clover enthused. "The best I've seen! At that range, it was one in a million!"
"In that case it was the worst." Arta sounded disappointed. "I was aiming for the right leg." In a puzzled voice she continued, "I'm almost sure that I couldn't have hit it so high up its body."
"But if it wasn't you, then who? None of them had anything like as powerful a gun; they didn't even appear to be firing." Clover watched as the two surviving Wastelanders embraced one another and did high fives.
Arta considered, then pointed. "You see that ruined wall southwest of the settlement. A hidden sniper could've fired from there."
Clover said dubiously. "It's possible, but they'd have to be good … damn good … or very lucky. Well we can go ask these characters. At least they ought to be suitably grateful." She stood up and waved.
Arta said suddenly, "Clover, let's not go down there!"
"Hey, what's up? You sound more scared than when the Deathclaw was alive!"
"It … it's just a feeling I have. That something's not right."
"Got the heeby jeebies, eh?" Seeing the Vault woman's expression, she said, "Look if you're that worried, I'll check it out on my own while you cover me." She began to clamber down the rocks before Arta could object.
As Clover descended the slope, she wondered what could've spooked her companion. One of the things that had impressed her about Arta was the way she appeared to remain calm and focused while encountering all kinds of danger. She had dealt with the sudden ambush by the Raiders and the appearance of the Deathclaw in the same detached, down to earth manner. The unexpected vehemence of her refusal to leave cover was slightly disappointing. Yet I know myself she's not cold and unfeeling, Clover thought. And all that emotion bubbling up inside is going to come out occasionally. Probably it's a delayed reaction to the danger we've been in.
On the other hand if Arta was right and someone else had fired the fatal shot at the Deathclaw, then she could be putting her life on the line for her new friend and lover. Well so be it. Her life now, her new life, was mostly thanks to her companion. True Arta hadn't wanted to pay the price Eulogy demanded, but Clover was sure that she'd intended to free her. If that hadn't been the case, she would still be in Paradise Falls. And the way she felt about Arta was more than simple gratitude. Could it be … love? She had thought she'd loved Eulogy, yet that had surely been something twisted. This was different, a wonderful feeling she'd never experienced before. It might be crazy, but she was determined to protect Arta to the death. From whoever or whatever threatened her.
While these thoughts were going through her head, she was nearing the settlement, keeping her eye out for any other danger, particularly from the direction of the wall Arta had indicated. The survivors, a man and a woman, had seen her and were waiting. They looked to be typical Wastelanders in stained and tattered shirts and trousers. Rather like the pathetic creatures she'd so often seen in the slave pens. She tried to suppress feelings of contempt. How could she be so high and mighty when she'd been a slave herself?
Cheerfully she said, "You guys are lucky to be alive."
"We know." The man sounded suspicious. "What do you want?"
Before Clover could make an irritated reply, the woman interrupted, "Earl, don't be so unfriendly." To Clover she said, "Don't mind him, he's just bitter. We've been through a lot, and lost people on the way."
Clover nodded towards the eviscerated corpse. "I'm sorry it was too late to save him."
"So it was you that shot the Deathclaw?" The woman sounded delighted. Clover nodded. There seemed no need to reveal that she had hidden support. "In that case, we're very grateful, aren't we Earl, and we'd like to show you …"
The man interrupted, "Now Jolene there's no need to get all excited. She probably wanted to kill it anyway, and she didn't save Bo neither."
"Don't you take on, you miserable son of a bitch! Bo was a dipstick who ought rightly to have got himself killed long ago. I'd have gladly swapped the smuck for one of the others who didn't make it. Now dear," she continued to Clover. "I'd like to present you with this here treasure map we've been on a quest to find. I don't reckon we'll ever make it there ourselves now."
Clover took the map and examined it. Great, she thought. What I really wanted was another of these fakes. The parchment was headed Rock Creek Caverns and showed what seemed to be a maze of passageways. Next to a large 'X' was scrawled Mirelurk King's Treasure.
She looked up and then beyond the woman and her expression changed. "I don't need it," she said. "Maybe you'd like to offer it to that guy over there."
A man was walking towards them, barely a hundred metres distant. He was dressed all in black, his high boots kicking up the dust of the bare ground between the ruined wall and the settlement, his form blurring in the heat haze. A long rifle was slung diagonally across his back. As he drew nearer they could see his hair was blonde, cropped short, with the beginnings of a sandy beard. Dark glasses hid his eyes, and his expression was set in a blank and unsmiling mask.
They waited for him to approach and address them, but instead he knelt by the corpse of the Deathclaw and began to examine it.
After a pause, the woman nervously began, "Er, Mr?"
The man spoke in a well-enunciated but abrupt tone. "Where's the head?"
"It …its over there."
He walked over to the severed skull, still ferocious in death, and picked it up, turning it this way and that, seeming disinclined to speak further.
The two Wastelanders exchanged glances. The woman spoke nervously to Clover. "We'll … we'll be going then."
"Good bye."
They tramped away to the west at a good speed, occasionally looking apprehensively back over their shoulders.
His examination of the head apparently complete, the man carelessly tossed it away. Clover put on a goof-ball grin and a flirtatious manner.
"How about this!" she said brightly. "I've got a custom gun, you've got a custom gun. Wouldn't you say that's quite a coincidence?"
The man turned towards her with the faintest of smiles. "Yes," he said. "Except that mine is much bigger." He removed his sunglasses and placed them in his pocket. His eyes were a clear blue colour.
During her time in Paradise Falls, Clover had spent time in the company of some of the more unpleasant denizens of Wasteland society. She had got used to seeing all kinds of looks, in which the evil lying within showed clearly in the windows to the soul. But she had never seen eyes like those of this man. They spoke of needs so deeply ingrained that their possessor no longer took any pleasure in fulfilling them, as if they had become an inseparable part of his being. A hunger like that of a vampire, that would drive him on in continual search of satiation.
She suppressed the urge to shiver, and continued breezily, "Yes, I noticed. That was a fine shot to help kill that Deathclaw, even though it was already wounded in the leg."
The man smiled a little more broadly. "I gave it that wound. Otherwise those rabble couldn't possibly have distracted its attention for more than a few seconds. As it was they managed to put on quite an entertaining display."
Clover's blood almost froze. "Very entertaining."
"I'm sure you enjoyed participating in the game. The head has two bullet wounds in addition to my own." With a hint of irony, he added, "Well done."
"Those … people gave me this for my small part in the ... game." Clover offered him the map. "So … you're welcome to your share of the Mirelurk King's Treasure."
The man made a gesture of rejection. "Keep it. I've more important business currently." She felt her skin pricking under the weight of his scrutiny. "Perhaps you can help me with that. You came from the north. From Paradise Falls?"
Clover became acutely aware of the slave collar around her neck. "That's right," she conceded.
"While you were there, did you observe a couple passing through? A balding bearded man of forty something … " he pulled his lips back from his teeth "with a manner I would describe as abrasive, and you would probably think of as cussed. And a woman of about twenty with dark hair and unusually pale skin."
Clover felt a near electric reaction to the man's words, and resisted the almost overwhelming urge to move her fingers closer to the grip of her magnum. She could sense the cold blue eyes watching her with the intentness of a rattlesnake about to strike.
Choosing her words with infinite care, she said, "There are all kinds of people passing through the Falls."
The eyes narrowed just fractionally, and she could feel her own pores oozing sweat. "Look, I'm not interested in buying slaves or catching runaway ones. We can each of us mind our own business. But if you can tell me where those people went, there could be some profit for you."
It was hard to think with that hard gaze upon her, but the wheels of her mind ground away. "I heard them talking with Eulogy Jones about going northeast. Towards Old Olney."
She thought she heard him release a breath. "Old Olney? You're sure. Okay, here's fifty caps. If your information proves good, you'll have deserved an additional reward. Look me up in Tenpenny Towers."
Clover felt herself about to faint with relief. "What's your name?"
The man hesitated before replying, "Walsh. Sam Walsh."
Clover nodded, and without further ado Walsh turned to walk away to the northeast. Clover sat on an old oven and watched until his figure became ant-like and was lost amongst the hills.
After some time, Arta emerged from the rocks and joined her. Clover gave her a wearied look.
"Next time I'll pay attention to your funny feelings."
"Why?"
"Because I've never looked death in the eyes like that before. And I'd rather not do it again."
The day following Moriarty's murder, wild rumours began to spread around Megaton. Originating mainly from Lucy West and Jenny Stahl, they gave expression to the generally held view that there was much more to the incident than met the eye, and that some sort of a cover up was in process. The more lurid tales suggested Moriarty had met his death in a bizarre sexual 'accident', with the details varying according to the rumourer's fevered imaginings, and usually involving Nova in a starring role. These were often tied into other speculations suggesting that Nova was either the main instigator or the actual perpetrator of the murder. The advocates of this opinion tended to support it by pointing out that a poor pathetic ghoul like Gob was unlikely to have either the guile or the bravado to do the deed.
Even more fuel was added to the fire when it was discovered that during the night the familiar sign 'Moriarty's' had been taken down and replaced by the distinctly provocative 'Gob's Ghoulish Gourmet Bar and Grill'. Many took this as evidence that a) Moriarty's murder had not been a spur of the moment killing but carefully planned and b) that whatever else was true, Nova was up to her neck in it. The latter might have seemed a slightly illogical conclusion unless one considered the general low regard of the populace for ghoulish intelligence. Jenny Stahl in particular loudly and bitterly expressed her distaste for the proceedings to anyone ready to lend an ear. It wasn't hard to see that she had much to lose should the new management venture to sell food as well as drinks.
The most outrageous rumours yet nearly caused a minor riot, as some citizens heard to their fury that Gob was about to specially hire new catering staff from his home in Underworld. Another mob gathered with placards reading, 'Zombies go home' and 'Keep Megaton pure for humans'. These protesters were again turned back by Simms, who reassured them that the story was completely without foundation. The other scarcely credible report - that Gob was standing for election as mayor - was somewhat easier for the Sheriff to quash. Regardless of the other nonsensical tales they were prepared to swallow, it was hard for anyone in Megaton to believe that a ghoul would contemplate running for high office, even taking into account the well-worn fact that all such contests were rigged.
As the day went on, the patrons who formerly frequented Moriarty's were allowed into Gob's Gourmet Bar and Grill, (the title had been discreetly shortened) to be cordially greeted by the eponymous new proprietor, looking much as he always did, but seemingly possessed of a new confidence and self-respect. Nova was close by his elbow, causing suspicion and speculation as to who was really in charge. This grew more intense as it became obvious that Nova had 'retired' from her current role, and was no longer entertaining customers.
At noon, another sign was put up, to the general astonishment:
Whores/Cooks wanted. Must be clean, presentable and with a flexible and adventurous attitude/ must be able to cook. Good rates of pay and conditions. Apply to Nova.
Amidst all the talk, hubbub and head shaking, a few of the more perceptive residents had concluded that the real power behind the killing and consequent changes was of a darker and more sinister nature. The Kindred were undoubtedly involved in some way. But such thoughts were seldom shared with others. Because careless talk often cost lives.
"Here they come, get ready."
Arta followed the approach of the two Raiders through her sniper scope. They moved at a stroll, talking casually with one another, the light of late afternoon imparting warmth to their skin tones, a gloss to their hair. She saw the woman laugh at something the man said.
Beside her Clover said, "This is going to be so easy."
For a moment Arta let her mind wander, imagining the scene transferred to some mythical island paradise, where men and women lived peaceful simple lives, bathed in the tropical sun and warm clear waters, embracing their lovers each night without fear …
They crouched in a position of vantage amongst rocks not far from the bank of the Potomac. In front of them towered a bridge that from this angle gave the impression that it crossed the river but, as Arta knew from her previous visit, was actually broken at its centre section. The distant figures of the Raiders were dwarfed as they passed beneath its massive pylons, following the weathered concrete of a lost highway that had once carried human traffic south of the river in fulfilment of consumerist dreams. The Mart remained as before, but this time only a lone Enclave Bot wandered amongst the grisly trophies hanging from the lamps in the parking lot.
It had taken them much of the hottest part of the day to reach this point. The march from the settlement to the bank of the river had been straightforward, the lands between seeming empty of life. Perhaps, as Arta had theorised, because either the Deathclaw or its nemesis had cleared them. From there onwards progress had been slower. On a suggestion from Clover they'd closely followed the curve of the river, hugging tight to the bluffs lining its shores. "People often keep away from the river bank," she'd explained. "Because they're afraid of Mirelurks. Well I am too, but I'm much more worried about Raiders and Slavers with guns or worse. They're a lot smarter and more dangerous than Lurks. Still we're going to have to go slow and keep our eyes peeled."
They had done so for an hour or two and seen nothing more threatening than radioactive barrels washed up on the shore. Nervous glances towards the shining wavelets lapping around the hulls of long abandoned and rusting boats never caught the gleam of a hard white shell or a sinister shadow beneath the surface.
Mid-afternoon came and went, and with it a dilemma. Ahead a narrow creek ran beneath a bridge and into the main body of the river. Which should they negotiate? Clover had argued against using the bridge.
"It's exactly where someone's likely to set up an ambush," she'd pointed out.
Arta had disagreed. "If we go down into the creek it'll be hard to climb out again. What will we do if a Mirelurk appears suddenly?"
Clover pointed to the many ruined buildings occupying the skyline to the north and east. "And the bridge will be overlooked by those; most of them in the heart of Black Scorpion clan territory."
In the end they'd decided that the bridge was the lesser danger. To minimise the risk of being spotted, they'd crawled on their bellies, keeping well below the level of the parapet. When they were about halfway, they'd heard a heavy tread on the rocks beneath, and the distinct call of a Mirelurk. They'd remained still and silent, flattened to the ground, listening to their hearts beating, until the ominous clicking footsteps had faded into the sounds of lapping water.
After they'd made it all the way across and were once more in the cover of rocks, Clover had whispered, "That sounded like it was heavier than the average Lurk. I wonder if it was a Hunter. Next to the Kings, they're the most deadly. Good call; your advice may have saved our lives."
And now we're here and about to take someone else's. When will it stop? The Raiders had paused in their promenade, almost as if to make themselves easy targets.
Clover breathed, "Now!"
The two gun reports were almost as one, the roar of the magnum rising and echoing above the suppressed bark of the sniper. Two heads rolled, two decapitated bodies fell on top of one another.
Looking down at them, Arta had the sick feeling of an executioner. She said, "Do you think they were a couple?"
"What?" Clover was busy rifling the bodies for ammunition and other valuables. "What does it matter if the fucking psychos were doing each other?"
"It … doesn't matter now." Arta knew she wouldn't be able to explain how she felt. Life clung and proliferated on the face of the planet, despite the best efforts of humans to annihilate it. And yet for each individual, it was so fragile. The drawing of a breath, the beating of a heart was all that held back the eternal dark. And so, in the most casual fashion, they'd erased two more souls from Azrael's book.
Finishing her task, Clover said abruptly, "It was almost a waste of one of my .44 rounds, seeing as I've less than twenty. I didn't expect to find any on these losers." She nudged the female Raider's chest with her boot. "The tribal markings are different, spirals not scorpions."
Arta said, "That's the sign of the Deathseekers, Jericho's old clan. He told me its supposed to represent the Circle of Death, or something like that. He seemed to find it amusing."
Clover scowled, "That's Raiders for you. Just a bundle of laughs. So are these Deathseekers likely to help us if he's with us?"
Arta shook her head, "I kinda doubt it. He was their leader, their War Chief, but he was forced to go into exile, if you can call it that, to Megaton." She thought about Lalita, Mara, Yoko … and Skar. "Since he's returned to the Wastes, between us we've killed over a dozen of their tribe, and plundered two of their strongholds. Not including those Raiders other people fighting alongside us have accounted for, probably nearly as many again."
Clover said, "Jees, over twenty! I wouldn't be surprised if that's at least half the entire tribe. Looks like we can do without their help, if any of them are left alive." She scratched her head. "And there's you worrying about us killing these two."
Arta said, "Whatever the numbers I don't like killing. I just do it out of necessity, because I must." She thought again of the picture of Azrael alone on the barren plain. Is that how the Angel of Death thinks of his or her task? Ignoring Clover's rather sceptical look, she continued, "We should get up on that bridge and take a look at the metro entrance and its surroundings. If we're going to wait here for Jericho, we'll need to secure the area as best as we can."
"I think I can see Supermutants."
Arta was feeling the closest she had to vertiginous since the first day that she'd left the Vault. Although the bridge above the river was perhaps not the highest point she'd stood upon, it was the one that made her feel most insecure and in danger of falling. Negotiating large gaps in the roadway, revealing twisted girders and more than a glimpse of the shimmering waters far below, along with the faintest swaying of the structure in the wind had contributed to this unnerving sensation. And in order to obtain the required overview, they'd been forced to perch on the very edge of oblivion, where the torn edge of one bridge section ended, leaving a wide gap to the next much too far to jump. Being so close to such a dizzying drop made Arta want to take several steadying breaths.
However unsettling, she was able to take in many details of the landscape laid out far below her. She could see the translucent panels on the roof covering the metro steps, the signs outside, several wrecked vehicles, two large white statues and a flight of stairs descending to a wharf. Somewhat reassuringly, there was no immediate sign of life. It was only when she cast her gaze further across the river that she perceived the potential threat.
Peering through her scope, Clover said, "It's Supermutants all right. And they're firing at someone on our side of the river."
"Yeah, and whoever it is must be on the level of that wharf, right next to the water. But from here the promenade wall above them blocks our view."
Clover said, "The muties are at pretty long range, even for such large targets. We'd probably be wasting our bullets. The question is, do we go down and get our arses involved? And on which side?"
Arta said, "We need to take a closer look, especially at who or what the mutants are fighting. It could be … it could even be Jericho."
Clover nodded, "Whether it is or not, it makes sense to check. And we'd better move it."
Caught up in a sense of urgency, for a crazy moment Arta considered diving off the edge of the bridge into the water. Then she came to her senses, looked at the drop and shuddered.
"I'm going to use the statue to hide behind. You stay here next to this lamp post and cover me."
From their position on the promenade above the wharf, they had a clear view of the two supermutants on the opposite bank. One was clad in the heavy metal armour worn only by the stronger members their race, the Brutes. Not even bothering to take cover, it was periodically using its minigun to direct a hail of fire across the river at someone or something that Arta still couldn't see. The second mutant was no less formidable in size, but near naked and wielding merely an assault rifle. Its target was also somewhere out of sight on the wharf.
Not far in front of Arta, on a pedestal marking the end of the quay, and slightly below the level of the promenade, stood an effigy carved in white stone, a muscular human figure arms outstretched and framed within a ring. Arta judged its legs, nearly broad as tree trunks, to be large enough to shield herself from the mutants' fire, and perhaps from any hostiles on the wharf below and to her right.
"Just be careful. It's going to be difficult to jump back up again from the pedestal. You ought to let me do it." Clover's voice was lowered, although the almost constant exchanges of fire made whispering unnecessary.
"No, I'll be fine." Arta was determined to show Clover she wasn't going to let her take all the risks. In any case the situation might require tactical assessment or even diplomacy. She felt she could trust her own judgement better than the blonde's.
Creeping sideways with the statue blocking the mutant's line of sight, Arta allowed more and more of the wharf to come into her field of vision. She saw that it was indeed exactly at the level of the water, and there was a kind of short ramp projecting out into the river. Next to this jetty was a large heap of rubber tyres, which the Supermutants' opponents were using as cover.
There were two of them left alive, a man and a woman, though another body could be seen sprawled on the quay. The nearest of the Raiders sheltering behind the tyres had a classic Mohawk haircut with the spirals of his clan visible on his neck. Finding it difficult to use his submachine gun at long range against such powerful enemies, his main contribution to the battle seemed to be distracting the mutants' attention from his better-armed companion.
She was leaning out from the opposite side of the heap, peppering the right-hand mutant with assault rifle rounds. A testimony to her skill and accuracy was that she had already inflicted several wounds on its more lightly armoured torso. From her metal armour, fashioned into a bikini, Arta guessed she was of some rank within the Raiders. Her hair was dyed purple and gathered into bunches.
The Raider with the Mohawk suddenly became aware of Arta's presence, and his eyes widened. But before he could raise his weapon more than a fraction, bullets from the Vault woman's own SMG were entering his brain.
Perhaps because she was firing at the time, or because of the din caused by the Supermutant's minigun, the one surviving Raider seemed oblivious of the way her comrade had met his end. When she realised he was out of the fight, she ran from one side of the pile of tyres to the other, switching the grip on her assault rifle from her left to her right hand. Once in position, she leaned out with the stock snuggled to her outermost left shoulder and rapidly squeezed the trigger. The Brute gave a roar of pain and rage as bullets smashed into its leg.
She did that completely without thinking. When she fired before, she was holding the rifle against her right shoulder. She's ambidextrous!
The wounded mutant sent in another volley of 5mm shells. The woman jerked back into cover, and as she did so Arta saw her face clearly for the first time.
It was Trinny.
*It's apparently a myth that dogs only see in black and white. Tests indicate they're able to see a spectrum of colours, but more limited than humans, including shades of blue and yellow. The reason for Arta seeing the scene in monochrome should be obvious to anyone who's played through the main quest.
Alien raygun: several times I've found the power cells in a random encounter, but without locating the blaster. Very frustrating! I think sometimes its blocked from appearing.
Mirelurk King's Treasure: Fake or not, it was rubbish, as I recall. Though not perhaps from a Mirelurk's P.O.V.
For a crazy moment. I've managed to jump off that bridge into the water, though it needs a run up. I imagine in reality you'd likely die, and indeed I did so several times when hitting water that was too shallow. Beats having to walk down though.
I assume an ambidextrous person would have a slight advantage in being able to lean from cover either side without exposing so much of his or her body.*