The Initiate: Chapter One
- Initiate Joules Prescott -
Star Paladin Cross slammed her pugil stick against Joules' causing his stick to bounce back and strike him square in the nose. Even with a padded end, the stinging blow made his eyes tear as he staggered back away from the woman.
"When you hold your weapon so close to your face it becomes my weapon," she chided.
The young man nodded. The Star Paladin was beating him badly enough as it was without him smacking himself. He tried instead to go on the offensive with a flurry of attacks, but she easily blocked every attempt he made to strike her.
"No talking!" she scolded as she deftly batted away his roundhouse swing.
"I didn't – " he started to protest but quickly stopped himself. Arguing only made her angry. Instead he tried a quick jab at her midsection, but, as usual she was ready for it. Stubbornly he continued his ineffectual attack.
"White knuckles on both hands – overhead attack," she said as she blocked his overhead attack. Frustration mounting, he attempted an immediate counter from the opposite side.
"Shifting weight to back foot – countering from the left," she taunted as she blocked his counter attack.
"Eyes down – sweeping leg," she stated as she blocked that attempt too.
"You say too much vault dweller. You shift your weight, clench your fist, and broadcast your target with your eyes. You do everything but shout your intentions out loud."
Joules tried a second quick thrust without shifting his weight, but the Paladin anticipated the attack and she jabbed him in the chest with the end of her pugil, sending him toppling over backwards.
"I can't fight off balance!" he protested from the dirt of the bailey's sparring ring.
"That, Initiate Prescott, is the first thing you have gotten right all day. You must learn to attack from many different positions, but you must always maintain balance."
Somehow Joules didn't think his mentor was only talking about sparring. That was the trouble with the enigmatic cyborg, there was always a deeper meaning to her advice.
"You must also learn to listen to your opponents, read their language, and anticipate their attacks."
She waited for the young man to pick himself up out of the dirt, and then she made a feint with her pugil to his right. Instinctively he raised his stick to block, but her hips swung around and she struck instead from the left. Her stick caught him on the knuckles causing him to drop his weapon.
"Why did you block right?" she asked.
"Because you faked an attack from the right," Joules muttered in frustration as he retrieved his stick from the dust of the ring.
"I did no such thing, Initiate. My weapon faked a right-sided attack but my body clearly indicated a strike from the left. You are focusing on the wrong things. Remember balance – you must look at the whole picture. Read my hips, not my arms and legs. Arms and legs can lie, but the hips always tell you where the weight is and which direction the attack is coming from."
She let Joules consider that a moment before she simply said, "Again."
She came at him with a succession of three quick attacks. Joules focused on her body allowing his peripheral vision to track her weapon. Her hips dipped slightly and he immediately blocked right. Her weight shifted back and he deftly blocked her counter strike. She spun and swung low, but somehow the young initiate blocked that maneuver as well.
"Very good, young one," she praised. "You appear to be trainable."
"A knight is trained well and tempered in the fires of battle," Joules replied, offering a passage from the Codex. He was enjoying being on the Star Paladin's good side.
"Indeed," she eyed him suspiciously, seeing through his attempt to suck up to the instructor. "Now let us see how much you have truly learned."
She came at him again in a blur. His startled mind attempted to process her body language and anticipate her attacks, but they were coming too fast and furious. He blocked the first wave but took a solid rap on the head when he attempted a counter attack.
Because of the intensity with which they were sparring, the Star Paladin may have hit Joules a little harder than she intended. Either way, the blow dazed him and he instinctively engaged VATS.
As time became his, he targeted her head, midsection, and legs. To Joules his attack seemed painfully slow, but in real time the strikes appeared to come at Star Paladin Cross simultaneously.
Amazingly the cyborg blocked the head shot and was merely grazed by the blow to her rib cage. Even the Star Paladin, however, wasn't quick enough to avoid the leg sweep. As Joules retuned to reality he saw his instructor sitting in the dirt staring up at him with a curious, quizzical look on her face.
"I'm sorry," Joules said as he reached down to help her up.
"Don't apologize, Initiate Prescott," she replied as she took the hand that was offered. "But someday you will have to tell me how you did that."
"It wasn't me, it was technology," he admitted, holding up his wrist to indicate his Pip-Boy. For some reason he felt slightly embarrassed.
The Star Paladin seemed to read his mind as she had a way of doing. "Don't be ashamed of your advantages. I, as you know, have been technologically enhanced. My wired reflexes make me faster than most of my opponents and I often use that to my advantage. Once again, it is a matter of balance."
Joules nodded. He was sensing that there was more to this lesson too and he wanted her to know that he understood. "It does take a toll on me," he admitted.
"And me as well, initiate." The cyborg warrior confirmed. "A technological advantage can be of great benefit, but it comes at a price. You must learn to make it work for you, but you cannot depend on it. Technology can be unreliable. As you can see from the state of the world, it can be manipulated by your enemies to cause great harm. That is why we must protect it. That is why we must revere it. And, above all, that is why we must never take it for granted."
"And that is why there is a Brotherhood of Steel." Joules completed her sermon. This time his tone more earnest than pandering.
"There is hope for you yet, Initiate Prescott," she smiled, then said, "Come, it will be supper soon. A knight might be tempered in the fires of battle, but he is forged around the dinner table."
"I don't remember that passage in the Codex," Joules grinned.
"Perhaps we should have Scribe Jameson add it…" the Star Paladin replied in a rare exhibition of banter.
The sublevel dining room of the Pentagon had survived the Great War relatively unscathed. In fact, it was really the century of abandonment and neglect that had taken its toll on the establishment, but even at that, the room was still a magnificent relic of a former society. The Brotherhood, for their part, had adorned the walls of the mess hall with several remarkable tapestries depicting the history and triumphs of the Brotherhood of Steel.
The tables had been arranged such that all faced the head table, which had been placed on a raised platform. Seating at this table was generally reserved for proctors, senior members, and elders. Behind this table hung a majestic crimson flag with the golden sword and gear symbol of the Brotherhood.
Elder Lyons sat at the center of the head table with Senior Scribe Rothchild to his right and Squire Arthur Maxson to his left. Arthur was the last remaining descendant of John Maxson, founding father of the Brotherhood of Steel. The timid young boy had been sent from the west coast by his mother to be raised under the tutelage of Elder Lyons back when Lyons was still highly regarded by the West Coast Order. Even though Owyn Lyons had fallen out of favor with the Lost Hills Elders since he had "gone native" in the Capital Waste, the boy remained under his care.
Next to the boy sat Star Paladin Cross. Although the cyborg no longer needed to eat, she was the Elder's seneschal and personal guard and she was never too far from his side. Also, Elder Lyons had tasked her with teaching Arthur the ways of the Brotherhood, the words of the Codex, and the art of battle. So far Arthur had proven much better at memorizing the Codex than he was at wielding a weapon, but there was no way the Brotherhood would allow John Maxson's son to become a scribe. Aurthur was destined for knighthood whether he liked it or not. And it was Cross' job to get him there.
At the Star Paladin's left sat Scribe Peabody, Proctor of the Order of the Sword, and finally Scribe Bowditch, Proctor of the Order of the Shield.
From the other end of the table, leading up to Rothchild, sat Knight Captain Durga, the Citadel's Quartermaster, and Scribe Jameson, Proctor of the Quill. The most controversial member of the table sat between Rothchild and Jameson. That person was Catherine Prescott-Rothchild. At one time Sentinel Lyons had occupied that seat, but Sarah preferred to sit with the Pride and Reginald preferred to dine with his wife.
The remainder of the Mess Hall was segregated primarily with scribes on one side and knights on the other. The pride sat at the front table of the knight section, and initiates, of course, sat at the back – the furthest from the head table.
Once everyone was seated, Elder Lyons stood to give the benediction.
"Brothers," he began in a booming voice that was still quite impressive despite his seventy-five year old stature, "as we take our meal this day, let us reflect upon the words of Elder Patrocolus of the Montana Bunker:
"It is in service of Steel and guardianship of one's Brothers that each man finds his purpose. My friends, stand with your Brothers. Guard them, guide them, and in each of them find purpose.
"Look around this table, my Brothers. Look into the eyes of each man and woman seated here today. Pledge in your hearts and minds, pledge by your weapons that you will stand with them in battle until the end. Trust each of them with your life and earn the trust of each in turn.
"Eat well, my friends."
As the gathering began to eat, Joules couldn't help but stare at his mother and Senior Scribe Rothchild. Joules and Catherine had not spent much time together since their initial reunion. He was busy with his initiate training and she was always in the lab. When the two were together they kept the conversation light and scientifically oriented while they struggled to get a feel for one another after so many years apart.
Joules was glad, of course, that his mother had found someone since his father's death. Fifteen years was a long time to morn – too long, really. But for him, his mother was still that young computer genius married to the brilliant geneticist. She and James had been the scientific royalty of Vault 101 and it was a hard image to erase…
The young man watched as Rothchild leaned over and whispered something in Catherine's ear. The statement made her laugh aloud as her face lit up with merriment.
"She is so beautiful," Initiate Pek said.
The statement startled Joules out of his reverie. He looked at Pek, thinking the boy was talking about Catherine for a moment. It took Joules a second to realize Pek was staring at Sarah Lyons.
"Pipe down, Pek," Initiate Roman whispered. "If Paladin Gunny hears you talk that way about Sentinel Lyons we'll be scrubbing latrines for a week."
Paladin Gunny always sat at the Initiate tables. He didn't seem to like the arrangement any more than the initiates did, but somebody had to keep an eye on the "maggots", and that was usually the hard-nosed Gunny.
"I can't help it," the young initiate mooned. "I could watch her eat all day."
"That's a strange fetish, Pek," Joules teased as he arched an eyebrow at the boy. At sixteen, Pek was the youngest of the new initiates. He was gung-ho and brave – too brave for his own good. He was always the first to charge into danger and had a tendency to celebrate victory prematurely. In Gunny's training scenarios, Pek was always getting blown away by foes he never saw coming just as he thought he had cleared an area.
Besides his inexperience, he also had an unhealthy school-boy crush on Sarah. Personally she may have found it flattering, but professionally she said his infatuation was a distraction that could get him killed. Joules heard that she had requested that Pek patrol a different sector of the Metro area if and when he was ready for operations in the field.
"Yeah, food fetish… real sick, Pek," Roman added quietly.
"You guys know what I mean," the boy said defensively.
"Keep it down and shovel some chow into those pie holes," Paladin Gunny growled from the center of the initiate's table.
That effectively put an end to the banter. Joules slipped back into pensive ruminations of his childhood while Pek continued to pine over his dream girl.
The three boys finished the rest of their diner in silence.
- Butch DeLoria -
"Hey Butchie," Trinnie tried to sound demure as she playfully ran a finger up Butch's arm, "buy a girl a drink?"
Butch shot her a sideways frown, hoping to convey his annoyance at the fact that the girl had called him "Butchie". His mother was the only one who was allowed to call him that. Yet, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Trinnie, he knew what it was like to be a teenage social outcast and a stranger in a strange place. In Trinnie's case, she had simply gotten too old to stay at Little Lamplight, but at eighteen years of age, she was definitely too young to be on her own at Rivet City.
"How about I buy you some of Belle's mirelurk chowder?" he finally replied, noticing how gaunt the girl looked.
"Maybe you could give me some caps and I'll get us both something good from the market?" She purred, her eyes glassy with hope and alcohol. Those eyes reminded Butch of his mother too, which was probably why he had a soft spot for the young junkie.
Butch knew exactly what Trinnie would get at the market if he gave her money. She was a hard core chem addict and would head straight to the Cantelli's shop, A Quick Fix, to buy some Jet. Then she would head right back to the Muddy Rudder to hustle guys for more drinks and more caps.
Butch spent most his time at the Rudder too these days. Since Sister had escorted him to Rivet City, the vault dweller had been working for Belle Bonny as a bouncer at her bar. Belle was a crotchety old salt with a sharp tongue who didn't take crap from anyone. Butch could appreciate the woman's attitude, and he definitely liked the steady pay.
Belle seemed to like Butch as well. Although the Muddy Rudder already had a bouncer, she had hired the young man on anyway. She claimed that the Rudder was a "workin' man's bar" and Brock could use a hand keeping a lid on all the bar brawls that took place.
Ironically, the increase in fighting could largely be attributed to the arrival of Sister. The big slaver had a mean temper and a sour disposition. Despite his claims that he preferred Rivet City to Paradise Falls, the man certainly didn't seem to prefer the patrons of the Muddy Rudder.
Nevertheless, it all worked out well for Butch. Ever since the vault dweller had put a knife to Sister's throat, the two had gotten along rather well. For some reason, Butch had the ability to calm Sister down, which was probably the main reason that Belle had given Butch the job.
Butch ordered a bowl of chowder and told Belle to put it on his tab. Trinnie attempted to pout about her spoiled trip to the market, but she accepted the food and gulped it down ravenously. Butch knew she needed it, he remembered how his mother got when she was jonesing for a drink.
Normally, the vault dweller wouldn't have parted with the dough. He was saving every cap he made in order to start his own barbershop – the Rivet City population had a serious hair-style problem in the vault dweller's opinion. But today he was in a good mood. Today he was finally going to talk to Amata again.
It had been two weeks since he was exiled from the vault. After the dramatic events of the trial, Butch had been found guilty of a felony B&E and accessory to murder. Paul Hannon Jr. received a lighter sentence, but Butch, as the leader of the Tunnel Snakes, was banished to the Wasteland.
Amata had told him not to worry. She assured Butch that she had made arrangements to get him safely to another scientific community aboard a beached aircraft carrier. And, to Sister's credit, the big slaver had done just that.
Butch's shift was just ending, and he excitedly hurried into the small room that Belle was renting him and quickly locked the door. He slid the briefcase Amata had given him out from under his bed, and then reverently opened the lid.
The case contained a short wave radio that was able to communicate with the vault over an encrypted frequency. Butch hadn't spoken to Amata since his arrival, and he was anxious to bring her up to date on his new job and plans for the barbershop.
He gently placed the headset over his carefully coiffed hair and made the adjustments to the radio. There was nothing but static at first, and then he heard the click of a clear line on the other end.
"Tunnel this is Snake, how do you read me?" Butch said the phrase Amata had instructed him to use until they were sure they had established a secure connection.
"Hello Butch, the line is secure," Amata's angelic voice confirmed through his headphones.
The sound of that beautiful voice caused the young man's heart to skip a beat. Butch missed her more than he could have imagined possible. He wished he could see her through the radio, but he knew that would only make his heart ache worse.
"Hello darling. How are you?" he replied, his voice thick with emotion.
"I've been very busy restructuring the Office of the Overseer – replacing staff members, reforming corrupt policies, and cleaning up my father's mess…" Her voice trailed off with a note of sadness for a moment, and then she shifted gears and asked, "Any sign of the Prescotts yet?"
Butch scowled with the mention of that name. It seemed like that damned family was always coming between him and his beloved Amata. Butch had been as shocked as the rest of the vault when the mutant formerly known as James Prescott had burst into the cathedral and murdered Amata's father. Butch had been even further shocked when Amata told him that Joules and his mother might also still be alive.
Because vault law had demanded Butch be banished to the surface, Amata had asked him to be her eyes and ears in the Wasteland. She had asked him to infiltrate the Rivet City Science Lab and see if they had any knowledge to the whereabouts of Joules or his mother, Catherine. As the premier scientific community in the Capital Region, Amata was convinced that the Prescotts would be drawn to it like moths to a flame.
Butch didn't know how Amata knew so much about the Wasteland, but he didn't question her. She was going to keep him safe on the surface and he was going to do whatever his lover asked of him – even if it meant tracking down her former boyfriend…
"No sign of the Prescotts yet, but those lab rats are pretty tight lipped when it comes to their business," he complained.
"That is why you have to find an alternate way in," she said with a hint of frustration creeping into her voice.
"You mean like a back door or something?" Butch was clearly confused.
"No dear," her voice had returned to its tender tone, but somehow Butch felt like a child being gently scolded by his mother. "Infiltration doesn't always involve breaking and entering. Sometimes people make the best doors – once you figure out how to open them up…"
"You want me to cut somebody?" Butch replied, eyeing the Toothpick he kept strapped to his belt.
"No Butch," she sounded exasperated again. "I want you to seduce somebody. Doesn't the lab have some women in it?"
Butch was still a little confused, but her intentions were finally beginning to dawn on him, and the implications hurt his feelings.
"I don't want some nerdy lab rat, I want you!" he protested.
"I know darling," Amata soothed. "I want you too, of course. But until we can be together again we have to do what it takes to secure our futures."
"Doesn't the thought of me with some other woman make you jealous?" Butch argued.
"On the contrary, dear. I admire a man who can do what is necessary to get things done."
"Well I certainly don't want you seducing anyone!"
"Of course not, Butch," she assured him. "I am Overseer now. People will do what I say without coercion. But you're the new guy and that means you may have to get your hands dirty to get results."
"Yeah," Butch muttered, "I guess so. Whatever you say Miss Overseer," he added playfully.
"That's my man," she giggled. "Speaking of which, what does the political situation in Rivet City look like?" she asked, sounding all serious again.
"Not too complicated," Butch replied, proud that he could actually answer her question. Hanging out at the Muddy Rudder had taught him plenty about the city. "They have a council of three representatives. A civil rep, science rep, and security rep."
"I see…" Amata mused. "Are there any rumors of power struggles or discord amongst the council members?"
"Actually, I've been working as a bouncer at the local bar," Butch finally informed her – not that she had bothered to ask. "I hear all kinds of rumors."
"Hmm… a bouncer," she considered. "Not a bad idea, Butch."
Emboldened by her praise, Butch hoped to further impress her with his entrepreneurial agenda. "I'm saving up to start a barbershop," he said proudly.
"A barbershop!" she exclaimed, not exactly sounding as impressed as Butch had hoped.
"These Wastelanders have some messy, horrible hair styles…" Butch pressed on defensively, eager to explain his business case, "A fella could make a load of caps fixing these people up."
"Well," she was starting to sound convinced, "I suppose people do confide in their barbers – much more than their bouncers. And being a respectable business owner would make a good stepping stone into office…"
"Office..?" Butch was confused again.
"Listen darling," Amata said softly, presenting a business case of her own. "You are a bright, handsome young man. Beneath your tough, muscular exterior lies a gentle soul. You are the kind of charismatic leader that would make a great politician."
"Politician?" Butch had been enjoying her glorious words of praise up until that last one. "I don't know anything about politics!"
"That is what you have me for, dear. I will coach you all the way from a bar stool to a seat on the Rivet City council."
"Sounds difficult," Butch grumbled. "What would I want with that?"
"What you've always wanted, Butch." Amata replied quickly, ready for the question. "You've always been a natural born leader. You had the drive and tenacity to form and rule a small gang in the vault. Here's your chance to rule an entire city!"
Butch remained silent as he considered her suggestion. He had never thought about becoming a politician, but she was right. He did enjoy being a leader.
"Which sounds better to you, sweetheart," Amata urged. "Butch the Barber or Councilman DeLoria."
"Councilman DeLoria does have a nice ring to it…" Butch admitted.
"Yes, my love, it most certainly does." Amata replied pensively, then seemed struck by another thought, "What about capital?"
"Caps?" Butch said for clarification.
"Yes, dear. Politics is an expensive venture. You can't wage war with your coffers empty, and cutting hair isn't going to get you there. Can you get your hands on some campaign funds?"
"Well, Trinnie mentioned a trunk full of caps in Bonnie's room – but I can't steal from Belle…"
"Don't consider it stealing, Butch. Consider it an investment in your future. Once you're a councilman you can provide her a return on that investment…"
Amata always had a way of making Butch feel so much better – so much more confident. Her voice was like a drug. Trinnie could keep her Jet and his mother could have her vodka. All Butch needed was Amata Almodovar.
"I miss you," he suddenly spoke his thought aloud.
"I miss you too, Butch," Amata assured him, "and I'll figure out a way for us to be together again, but in the mean time you must stay focused. Learn all you can about the council members and figure out a way to access information from the lab. If you have to sleep with someone than do it – just think of me the whole time..."
"All right, my love," Butch conceded, "just realize that the same doesn't go for you. I want to be the only snake in your tunnel."
Butch could hear her giggle on the other end just before the line went dead.
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