Ch 36 Wastelander

Jericho met the backward thrust of Jenny's buttocks with his own firm, forward pressure, building up to a steady rhythm that maintained the mutually pleasurable friction between them. We're so much in sync: just keeping on keeping on, and jees does it feel good! Even when it seemed to lack real tenderness, sex with Jenny was always wild. Her cool, restrained exterior concealed a raging inner fire which would flare into life whenever their bodies joined together. Her hands gripped the end of the bed tightly, and she was moaning like a brahmin in heat.

And that was why this particular coupling had something special about it. Rather than the more discreet backroom of the Water Purifier, it was happening in Jericho's own shack, in his own bed. Not the cleanest of beds, it was true. Even Old Walter's, which they avoided using mainly out of respect, had less in the way of unmentionable stains, bugs and odours. But this was the first time they'd had sex at Jericho's place, and that had to mean something.

It had happened in a strange fashion. After the complete blackout following his encounter with Death, (which he now realised was not quite what it had appeared), he'd woken at some time around midnight to find Jenny hovering over him with an expression of concern, rapidly turning to relief. He felt more than usually weak, but she'd waited patiently while he threw up again and relieved himself. Then she'd given him some water to drink, and quietly prepared some mutfruit for him to eat. She'd watched him while he ate, without speaking, which had embarrassed him at first. Eventually though he'd found a kind of comfort in her silent presence. When he'd felt the urge to sleep again, she had lain down quite deliberately beside him, snuggling up like a child.

He'd slept several hours more, and waking, found her right there next to him. With sudden urgency, she'd parted the front of her jumpsuit, fervently demanding for him to reach inside with his hands, his mouth. He'd burrowed into her, finding the warmth and softness of her breasts, like an animal searching for comfort and sanctuary.

And then they'd made love over and over.

The build-up of pleasure was becoming too much to sustain. Knowing he had to release soon, he grasped her breasts from behind and drove several times deep within her. He could feel and hear her coming just before he did: sweet, involuntary cries. And as always he withdrew, sending long ropes of semen over her back and thighs. Not a very effective way of preventing pregnancy, by any means, but better than nothing in a world where most women's fertility diminished quickly after their early teens, and contraceptives were hard to come by.

Once they'd relaxed against each other, and collapsed onto the bed, Jericho was left feeling awkward again. He was at home, so couldn't very well leave. And Jenny was showing no signs of wanting to. Instead, she very gently slid her hand across his chest, ruffling the hairs, then reached up to feel the rough stubble of his chin, finally turning it with precision so that she could kiss him on the mouth, lightly to begin with, then with increasing passion. And he, astonished, just let her because, amidst all their acts of carnality, this was by far the most intimate moment between them.

After a while, they began to talk, at first without any focus or direction, but with less of the inhibitions that had restricted them before. Somehow the rambling, randomness of the conversation made them feel more comfortable with each other.

Eventually he asked her: "Does this mean you ain't ashamed of me anymore?"

"I don't know. Maybe it means I'm not ashamed of myself."

"Why the hell should you be?"

"I guess … because of the way I feel. Because of my desires."

"Look, Jen. That ain't nothing to worry on. You feel how you feel. It's when you try to deny it that things get twisted up the wrong way."

"Maybe you're right. But tell me: why are you drinking yourself near to death? Is it because you feel ashamed?"

He smiled, looked up at her suddenly. "Touche. That's exactly why. And if you're gonna say something like 'physician heal yourself', well I fucking wish I could."

And so the talk had gone on, until the first grey light began to show faintly through the shack walls.

With apparent indifference, she remarked. "Dawn's up, and I gotta go soon. Today your little Vault slut's coming back to perform heaven knows what miracles. Did nobody tell her that a prophet seldom gets any credit in her own town?"

He saw the bait, but couldn't resist rising to it. "I don't reckon she's mine any more. I do know you oughtn't to bad mouth her like that, whether she's welcome here or not."

She met his glare levelly, a cool smile on her lips. "And why the fuck shouldn't I? If you'd heard the stories I have about her, you'd think I was being civil."

He tried to avoid getting drawn deeper in. "People listen to a helluva lot of stuff that ain't so."

"Okay, but usually if there's smoke, there's fire. Surely you didn't think she was some kind of Vault virgin, pure as the driven snow before you dirtied her?" He shrugged, and she went on. "Not only was she not exclusively yours, she's not even exclusively straight. I know she's been with Nova. She would've gone with Lucy too if she'd let her. And that was just her first day here." She looked at him mockingly. "Heaven knows who she'd let fuck her when she was desperate for caps. She was at Moriarty's long enough for that old pervert to have had his way with her." Grinning. "Maybe even Gob got a piece of her arse before he bit the dust!"

"Get outa here!" He couldn't prevent his reaction, and immediately regretted it.

"Sure, it's more than high time. Gonna have a busy day serving all the kibitzers waiting for water to be turned into wine. Or maybe the other way round."

He wanted her to say something like 'See you later'. But she didn't. Just put on her damn yellow suit and left him to stew. Why do I keep fucking up? Just when we were beginning to get on. Female jealousy and distrust of reprobates like himself ran deep, and he ought to have allowed for it. It wasn't as though he hadn't called Arta some bad words himself.

But he hadn't been able to stop himself leaping to her defence, even when he knew it would rile Jenny. Because in the end he couldn't bear to hear her mangle the truth in that way, despite his own accusations of betrayal when he'd abandoned Arta. There was something about the Vault woman that all the filth, corruption and greed of the Wasteland couldn't taint, a simple purity of spirit, even a kind of innocence. If she had become truly at home in his world, then it was without losing that essential part of herself.

He lay back and closed his eyes wearily. And that's why I miss her.

The noise of the wind was loud in his ears. It was blowing all around him, above, in front, behind, but especially beneath. He could feel it there, bearing him up, as though he were flying.

He was flying.

The ground was far beneath him, a great, slow moving landscape transformed by height and distance. Hills, ridges and valleys were black creases within the vastness of a white, moonlit plain; roads and bridges ran like ribbons, buildings were tiny rectangles clustered tightly together. The moon itself was above and slightly to the left, occasionally obscured by dark streamers of clouds, wisps of which sometimes enveloped and surrounded him in his passage through the air. Above the wind was another rushing sound, as of mighty pinions beating, each slow powerful flap in time with the rhythm of his heart.

All at once, the wing beat ceased, and he was gliding swiftly downwards, a ruined town on his left and the white span of a bridge ahead, surging up towards him with frightening speed, the skirl of the wind whistling past …

He was once more at the edge of the broken bridge, close to the place where he had left Arta and Clover bound. The site of the battle. The site of his betrayal. It was dark and the wind continued its banshee howl. For the first time, he realised he was naked, and shivered with the cold.

He looked up and beheld Arta herself standing alone on the section of the bridge they'd been unable to jump to. She was dressed all in black, not in her combat armour but some kind of flowing robes. The hood was flung back, so that he could see her face clearly. She seemed to be saying something, but he was unable to make out the words, as though she were mouthing silently. Then she held out her hand as if beckoning to him.

With almost no awareness that he was doing anything remarkable, he stepped forward automatically, his eyes fixed on her. He had taken a dozen paces before he realised that there was no concrete highway beneath his feet.

There was nothing.

For a sickeningly giddy moment he looked down at the drop, and flailed with his hands and feet. Then he looked back at Arta. She was much closer now, and her eyes caught and held him. They seemed different from usual, oddly flecked with gold amidst the blue.

Keeping his gaze focused only on her, he continued to walk forward. As he drew nearer he became increasingly aware of the pale golden light that glowed deep within her eyes. They no longer looked quite human. Still he kept walking until he stood beside her. She did not speak, and her expression remained serene. He did not feel self-conscious about being naked in front of her, but couldn't stop shivering.

Finding his voice with difficulty, he said, "I'm cold."

She reached down to grasp the hem of her robe, and pulled it upwards. He saw she was completely nude beneath it. She shrugged off the dark material entirely, and he was left awestruck at the sight. She had never appeared more beautiful, her body with its womanly parts perfect and without flaw, her pale skin shining a pure white in the moonlight. Involuntarily he found his manhood rising erect, the warmth beginning to spread throughout his body.

Amusement showed in her eyes, laughter that was almost human. She silently handed him the robe. He put it on, feeling incongruous in the priest-like apparel.

She turned slightly away from him, showing the exquisite perfection of her rear. Then she stretched her arms forwards and upwards as though extending a gesture of welcome to the heavens. The wind that had been tearing hither and thither instead blew icy blasts straight towards her, but she did not flinch. Above her dark clouds raced across the sky, seeming to cluster more thickly directly overhead. Suddenly a jagged flash of lightning tore the sky in half, and the bridge seem to rock as the thunder rolled around. He realised then that in her right hand was a rod of fire, upraised straight to the heavens despite the shrieking winds, as though she held the storm and the vault of the sky itself under her command.

The lightning flared again, and this time the thunder broke with sheets of rain, descending to sting their faces and drench them to the skin. He could feel it bouncing from his skull, dripping from his beard, could see it streaming over her naked form, could hear everywhere the trickling of the life giving water.

It continued for a while in a steady stream, then stopped.

Jericho opened his eyes. He was lying naked on his bed, and it was full daylight. In a corner of his room, a girl of about sixteen was squatting over a bucket, the one he used (mostly) to urinate in. Her trousers were in a loose pile around her ankles. When she noticed he was awake, a faint flush coloured her thin face, which might have been moderately pretty underneath all the dirt.

She said hastily, "Whoops, sorry! When you gotta go, you gotta!" Getting to her feet and hurriedly pulling up her pants: "All done now."

Jericho's surprise turned rapidly to complete embarrassment, as he became aware of his enormous erection, which was plainly visible and impossible to ignore.

Trying to look at it sidelong, the girl said, with an attempt at disarming humour, "Looks like you've been having quite a dream!" She swallowed and licked her lips nervously. "Well, I guess I'll be on my way, don't want to miss the main event!" Then, with a sudden, hopeful smile, "Unless there's anything you'd like me to do for you before …"

"No, just get the fuck out!" Jericho snatched for something to drape over his privates.

"Okay, no problemo, I'm making like the thunderbolt, pronto." The girl backed rapidly towards the door. She added, while working the latch, "Have yourself a real special day!"

As the late morning sun blazed down from almost directly overhead, every single one of Megaton's temporary and permanent residents was within its walls. Most were still exposed to the merciless rays, as they packed every available terrace and vantage point, making the town with its spiralling structure resemble a vast amphitheatre. The parallel continued in the air of anticipation flowing through the crowded masses, each individual hoping to witness something quite astonishing, or at least entertaining. Excited conversation mingled with disgruntled muttering, indicating that the mood could easily turn unpleasant should such expectations be disappointed. Perhaps it was with this in mind that Sonora Cruz's Regulators had taken up positions providing a strategic overview, and were holding their rifles unslung.

As the hour appointed for the 'miracle' approached, even the buzz of speculation and murmurs of discontent began to die away. Wastelanders of high status and low, well to do and destitute, mercenary and public spirited, sceptical and credulous were waiting like expectant children for something extraordinary to happen. With minutes to go before noon, the whir of the giant fan which drove the opening mechanism of Megaton's gate could be heard, and a collective sighing of indrawn, bated breaths. Slowly the main doors opened wide, and through them came a procession, of sorts.

In front, walking at an easy pace, were two women, one dark-haired, the other blonde. The latter was dressed and equipped in typical mercenary fashion: full combat armour combined with a high-grade Chinese assault rifle. The brunette was of more notable appearance. She carried a long, black sniper rifle and a sheathed sword of unusual design. Under a leather jacket emblazoned with a writhing snake, she wore a faded blue jumpsuit with the numerals 101 displayed in gold lettering. Both women had nicely trimmed and styled hair, and their gear had been buffed to a fine sheen.

Following directly behind them came a young man wearing a jumpsuit and a jacket that were near identical to the woman's, except for being in far better condition. His hair was brushed back in a distinctive pompadour style, and he was holding the hand of a boy about eight years old, dressed in the ragged clothing of a Wasteland urchin, but with a well-scrubbed and shining face. Two men and a heavily laden brahmin brought up the rear of the column almost ten paces further back. One was well known to most Wastelanders: the junk trader known as Crazy Wolfgang, curly-haired and somewhat sardonic. The other no one recognised, though his white lab coat, spectacles and scholarly air were strongly suggestive of a scientific background.

The final remarkable aspect to the procession was that the brahmin Wolfgang led was draped not with panniers containing his usual 'pick of the litter', but the armour and battle standards of several Raider clans, overlaid with rows of gleaming rifles marked with the signature bird claw flash of Talon Company. As though to further give the semblance of a trophy display, strings of polished human skulls hung from the brahmin's sides.

Despite the strange appearance of this beast of burden, the gaze of most of the crowd fell on the woman in the Vault suit. To those who had known her from when she first arrived in Megaton, it seemed her countenance was much changed. That she should have developed the 'thousand yard stare' of the Wasteland wanderer was only to be expected: the look of one who'd experienced too much suffering, and seen too many deaths. But far more striking was the impression that behind the grey-blue eyes of thoughtful intelligence was some hidden passion, some inner fire held barely in check. A passion that spoke directly to the soul. Believe. Believe that your salvation is at hand. This feeling might merely have been in the imagination of the onlookers, though it was almost universally experienced. Perhaps there was some link with the miraculous tales being related about the woman's sheathed weapon: the flaming sword of the Angel of Death.

The odd procession reached the pen near the bottom of the crater, and halted while Wolfgang tethered his brahmin. He opened one of its saddlebags, and took out a small silver suitcase, laying it down almost reverently beside the pen. Then he, the scientist, the young man and the boy shuffled aside, leaving the women standing by themselves. After a brief pause, the dark-haired one in the Vault suit took several paces forward, and spoke in a clear, ringing tone.

"People of the Wasteland, my name is Artemesia Wendell! Many of you will have already listened to my radio broadcast. I am here to show you the promised sign of hope, and to tell you of a great danger which must be averted. I will begin with the danger.

Some of you have heard rumours of a plot to explode the atomic bomb that for years has remained like a dormant but active volcano at the heart of Megaton. These rumours are true."

She picked up the silver case, rested it on the brahmin pen, and opened it. "This is a detonator capable of exploding the bomb and killing every man, woman and child present here today." There was a collective, horrified gasp. "But don't be alarmed. I've no intention of activating it, and will now give it into the hands of Sheriff Simms, who'll allow it to be examined by anyone with an interest in such technology." She glanced significantly in the direction of the guard of Brotherhood warriors surrounding the scarlet-robed scribe, and the group of metal-clad Outcasts. "Or by anyone who doubts our good faith. And as a further sign of that I present to you Dr. Weston Lesko, a scientist. In a short time, Dr. Lesko will disarm the bomb, rendering it harmless aside from emitting a moderate level of radioactivity. He assures me he can do this in complete safety, and …" she nodded to Confessor Cromwell "without removing the atomic core which many here revere." The Confessor responded with a benign gesture.

Lesko seemed to be enjoying the attention, and was bowing and smiling fawningly in all directions, but especially in the direction of Scribe Rothchild. Arta had only convinced the selfishly obsessed scientist to help by pretending she could get him access to Brotherhood technology. Now it looked like she'd have to fix things with Rothchild … but that could wait. She refocused her attention and raised her voice.

"However bringing Dr Lesko to perform this service on Megaton's behalf is not the only reason for my presence here. I've brought someone else to speak to you, to give you a message that even the greatest of the challenges facing us in the Capital Wasteland can be overcome. He has not yet shown himself because many of you will regard him as an implacable foe. Those who think that are mistaken, but lest you should doubt my words, I must advise you that Sheriff Simm's Regulators have orders to shoot anyone drawing a weapon. Please remain calm, and no one will come to any harm."

Arta hesitated, recalling her conversation with Agatha before leaving her house. You may think we're taking an unnecessary risk for the sake of a piece of theatre. But we have to take that chance to get people to pay attention.

She gave a signal to Stockholm, perched high in his sniper's nest. The gates of Megaton opened for a second time.

A huge Supermutant stood outside. His amber, slightly oily skin glistened in the bright sunshine, showing up the powerful, corded muscles. His bared, whitened teeth gleamed like polished ivory, and his bald, hairless scalp almost brushed the lintel of the doorway. It took only a few strides of his massive, pillar-like legs for him to cross the threshold entirely.

Never in the memory of anyone present, scarcely even in the memory of legend or story, had such a creature entered the precincts of the well-defended town. This time the gasps of horror were followed by a murmuring sound, growing gradually louder, as though all of the collective fear, anger and hatred of the crowd was flooding out. Arta could sense everywhere hands moving towards weapons in an instinctive reaction to the sight of humanity's most bitter foe. She remained poised to speak, noting how Sonora Cruz's Regulators, and Megaton's two snipers were frantically scanning the crowd, looking for signs of the almost universal hostility turning to violence.

But once through the gates, which began to close behind him, the Supermutant came to an abrupt halt. He stood, hands hanging loosely at his sides, as though to emphasise their emptiness. Something in that stance spoke of calm acceptance, of endless patience, of grace under pressure. His head very slowly turned to take in tier upon tier of watching Wastelanders. Those close enough to look into the deep-set, slanted eyes imagined they could sense there a profound reflection on the many mysteries and ironies of life. As the mutant continued to gaze upon them, the muttered menaces of the crowd grew less and less, until they had died away all together, and a deep silence reigned throughout.

Having apparently brought those watching under the spell of his presence, the creature moved forwards with deliberation, heading straight towards the bomb crater at the heart of Megaton. As he reached it, the disciples of Atom fell back on either side, and Confessor Cromwell himself stepped out of the pool, showing with a gesture that he was allowing the Supermutant to take the place he had occupied for so long.

The mutant slowly waded out into deepest part of the water, and paused, squinting up into the blinding rays of the sun as though looking there for inspiration, or waiting for the blessing of heaven to descend. Then resting one massive hand on the bomb, as a preacher giving a sermon leans on his lectern, he began to speak.

Few of those who heard him were in aftertimes able to recall exactly what was said. Chiefly they remembered the calm yet passionate tone, the sense of sad yearning mingled with the promise that hopes might be fulfilled, the radiation of an aura of friendship, trust and peace. Most of all, the extraordinary effect of experiencing such oratory from such a speaker.

Yet none of them would ever forget the first four words of the speech, delivered with a thunderous force and conviction that seemed almost divine sent, and repeated with ever greater urgency and power.

"I have a dream …"

The scavenger hauling his farting brahmin through the town gates had the sun-browned, burned out appearance of one who had spent much of his life in the deep Wastes. The kind who looked on most of the happenings in places such as Megaton with a philosophical calm after the living hell which was his daily existence. But he'd certainly never seen anything quite as remarkable as this. It appeared as though half the Wasteland had turned up, filling every available space. Even the town's whores seemed to have been given leave to come out and rubberneck.

He tied up his brahmin at the central pen, and strolled over to where Nova was standing with Lucy West, leaning her head gently upon her younger companion's shoulder. They were watching a crowd of excited, cheering Wastelanders thronging round a woman in a blue and gold Vault suit.

Puffing on the fag end of his smoke, he asked casually, "So what's the big fuss about, Nov'? All these folks come out here to gawp at one wimpy little Vault girl?"

Nova reached out to pull the cigarette from the man's lips, taking a long, relaxed drag on what remained. She exhaled nonchalantly into the scavenger's face, causing him to cough slightly.

"That's Artemesia Wendell from Vault 101. The one they call the Angel of Death. Remember that name. And don't be fooled by where she grew up." Her green eyes looked solemn. "Because take it from me, my friend, she's not somebody you want to go fucking with. That girl's tough as Yao Guai hide, and a true Wastelander."

Looking round at the sea of faces, many still awestruck by what they had witnessed, Clover said, "Well that seems to have gone down well."

Trying to fend off the press of curious Wastelanders seeking her attention, and even her autograph, Arta said, "Considering they're not trying to lynch us, I'd say you're right." Glancing towards the pen, she added, "I was a bit worried about Katrina sending Wolfgang with that display, but I think it helped to grab their attention."

"That kind of thing usually does. Though not everyone managed to listen right up to the end." Clover pointed to where Bryan had slipped away to play with some of the town's children, leaving Butch free to home in on one of the town's whores.

Arta laughed. "It's good to see they've already found ways to enjoy their new lives." She had already observed with satisfaction that Maggie was playing happily under Manya's watchful eye, and made a mental note to speak to them about Billy when a suitable opportunity came up.

"I certainly wish them a lot better success than some in this town."

Arta followed Clover's gaze up to a high terrace. A familiar figure was standing bewildered amongst the crowds of strangers milling around him, rearranging his chairs, putting their feet and beer on his favourite table, and even using his shack as a rest room. He wore the dazed and stupefied expression of a lost boy, or of a man bereft of all purpose and direction.

Clover said, "D'you think anyone will notice if I put a magnum round in his noddle?"

Arta said, "By the look of him, he wouldn't care that much himself."

"I could always put it in his ball-sack instead. That would go partway towards evening up the karmic balance. But, yeah, maybe there's some proof God exists after all."

Arta continued to stare, and finally caught Jericho's eye. He returned her look with the same blankness, then suddenly emotion seemed to stir within him. She had imagined this moment before, when she could revel in her triumph, could overpower him with the presence and poise of a strong, independent and capable woman. Now when she saw the pain and guilt written on his face, she felt only pity. She held his gaze for a long moment, until eventually he averted his eyes, and shambled away towards his shack. Several Wastelanders got their heads bashed together and were flung out, before the door was finally slammed.

Arta sighed, and turned away. "I guess we've got to do the rounds now."

"Well, well, young lady." Scribe Reginald Rothchild regarded Arta through hooded eyes. "A most impressive performance from your eloquent … friend. I can say with certainty I have never heard the like."

"I too." Like all the Outcasts, Protector Casdin's voice was mediated through his helmet speaker. "I did not even know these things were capable of thinking further than their next meal."

Arta suppressed a shudder. The Chief Scribe had a monk-like ring of white hair around his bald pate and a cold, severe look which evoked uncomfortable memories. As for Casdin, he had shown much of the arrogance typical of his followers.

She said, "Leo tells me that he's not alone amongst his kind in possessing a degree of intelligence comparable to our own. He has travelled extensively amongst the Supermutants, occasionally finding some willing to listen."

Rothchild gave the slightest of condescending smiles. "Our experience of the Supermutants is somewhat different to my old friend's. To fight an enemy effectively, one must know that enemy. We have known for some time that they can behave in an organised fashion. If it were not so, we would have long ago driven them from the Capital."

They stood on the high tier near Manya and Nathan's bus, watching the seething masses below. With the miraculous and sensational event over, many had decided to assuage their thirst and hunger by heavily patronising both regular and temporary food outlets.

Casdin gave a snort that sounded like a buzz of feedback. "Perhaps your failure was that you were unable to avoid needless diversions." He pointed to where a group of children was gathered round Leo, playing a game of tag. "Like infants who struggle to keep their butterfly minds for long on any one purpose."

The scribe gave a simper. "You should know better than us the distraction of shiny toys. But let us not quarrel like children in front of this uncommonly wise young woman. She at least recognises the value of unity."

Arta said quickly, "That's indeed our purpose in gathering so many Wastelanders together in Megaton. Our message is to demonstrate those values we can hold in common even with the most unlikely…"

Brusquely interrupting her Casdin said, "Yet its not the only message you bring. Surely this is a sign that the war against the Supermutants is not only unwinnable, but futile. We might achieve the same degree of success by leaving them alone."

Arta began, "That might work in the short run, however …"

This time it was Rothchild who broke in. "In this, dear Casdin, we may find some common ground. The Brotherhood has recently suffered some significant reverses. Our main outpost in DC, Galaxy News Radio, has been overrun. It may be necessary to draw in our horns, and evacuate to this side of the Potomac. However that will mean the river crossings must be even more heavily defended."

Casdin inclined his head, "We may be prepared to lend our aid in the lands to the west where the river grows shallow. But we cannot take all the burden of fighting on ourselves, especially when the search for technology occupies so important …"

Arta decided to seize on the moment of accord, "This is the kind of cooperation we're trying to encourage between all the factions, and to this end we're hoping to organise conferences over the next few days, to discuss the existing situation and plan for the future."

Rothchild nodded. "I agree to participate on behalf of the Brotherhood."

Casdin said, "And I on behalf of the Outcasts."

Mopping her brow, Arta said, "That's good to hear." As Casdin turned away to speak to other members of his party, she moved closer to lay a cautious hand on the sleeve of Rothchild's crimson robe. "And now, Chief Scribe, if I could just raise the small matter of a request by Dr. Lesko …"

"Clover!" Ymir let out a drunken roar which caused several patrons to spill their drinks in alarm. "At last a worthy drinking companion! Not one who falls over after merely wetting his lips." He indicated a nearby stool where Forty, another of Eulogy Jones' lieutenants, was slumped forward over the bar.

Clover composedly seated herself next to the sozzled slaver, and signalled Lucy to serve her a beer. "You've certainly made yourself at home in Megaton, darlin'. Seems like it's your kinda town."

"Of course! What's not to like? There is much good wine, beer, food and women!" Ymir leered at Lucy, who ignored him. In a theatrical tone, he added, "But, truly, nothing like the women we have back in the Falls. Or used to have." He clapped a meaty hand round Clover's shoulder, pulled her into a crushing embrace. "Ah, Clover, I've missed you! We all have! Well maybe Carolina not so much, but she and Jotun, they spend all their time fucking." Seeing Clover raise her eyebrows, he added, "Yes, it's a relief for me too. I was thinking the boy wasn't, you know, interested. I feared I must shell out to fix him up with a man-whore. Saved me much trouble and caps." With a sly dig. "Hope you found someone yourself to lay, eh? Like your new mistress? She looks a hot one!" Clover smiled and shrugged. "Ah, I thought so! Well, you got luckier than Crimson. By the gods, you used to hate each other like poison! But not nearly half as much as she hates that bitch Simone. Now Eulogy spends all his time trying to break her to his will, even though she mostly gives him the finger. Poor Crimson, I hear she hardly gets any, has to give the finger to herself, ha, ha!" Jabbing Clover again in a jocular fashion, he added, "Well, you got the best half of the deal, and did a better job than Eulogy in beating Simone's sorry arse, isn't that right? But he still gets to stick his cock up it every night, so maybe he didn't totally lose out."

Clover lowered the bottle from her lips. "You know, Ymir, I was gonna ask how things were back in the Falls. But you told the story all on your own."

"Ah-ah! I tell you about everyone but myself! And this no good prick that nobody cares about." He kicked out at Forty, who collapsed onto the floor. "Well, life is mostly good for me as always. Except I have to come here to see a stupid Supermutant shoot off his mouth. Peace and love, what a load of crap! I go back and tell Eulogy not to waste any more time on it."

Clover said, "But Ymir …"

"Look, it's nothing against you, okay? These people are your friends, right? Fine and dandy for you. But Eulogy doesn't have to get involved. It's not good business for him."

Clover said, "I think you're mistaken about that, Ymir."

"I mistaken, how?"

"You see, it's not that we're giving Eulogy a choice about getting involved. The way we see it, you're either for us or against us. There's the side that's for humanity, that's gonna be strong and united. And then there's the other side, that won't be. You join our side, or you're gonna get crushed." She knocked back the last of her beer, placed the bottle firmly on the table. "You figure for yourself where the good business lies." She got up and left the suddenly silent Ymir.

At the door of Gob's Bar and Grill, she met Butch, who had a giggling, scantily clad girl on his arm.

"Hey, Clover, how's it hanging?"

"Well, I don't have a whore clinging to me, is that good or bad?"

"Oh yeah, about that." Moving closer to her, Butch said confidentially. "Truth to tell, I didn't bring much stuff with me out of the Vault, so I don't have any of these caps things, and …"

"You don't pay round here, they break your face first. You don't need your face to pay them, see?"

"Ah … right, I figured something of the kind. I mean, just for now, can you lend me fifty caps? Plus maybe a little beer money?"

"Forget it!"

Butch raised his hands pleadingly. "Oh, c'mon, girl! It'll be just for a while. And I know you're absolutely loaded, so surely you can find it in your heart …"

"No!"

The girl, somewhat drunk, was beginning to take notice. "Somethin' wrong, Butchee?"

"Nothing to worry your head about, Serena my sweet." To Clover, urgently, "Aw, please, with sugar-bombs on top!"

Clover was about to refuse again, was struck by a sudden thought. She gave a sly smile. "What the hell! Here's a hundred caps. No, two hundred!"

"Oh, girl, you are the best!"

Winking Clover said, "How 'bout this, I pay the management, and tell them to give you very special treatment. Right out of the top drawer."

"You'd do that for me! C'mere and let me kiss you!"

Avoiding Butch's embrace, Clover walked back to the bar. Nova was polishing glasses, and absent-mindedly admiring Lucy's rear.

Keeping her voice low, Clover said, "My friend here needs some female company. But he has some very special requirements; you might call them perversions. To start with he has this thing about being tied up and gagged …"

Arta let out a long breath. "God, this high diplomacy is so draining! I never thought that just talking to people could be more tiring than a march through the Wastes!"

Sheriff Lucas Simms gave a grunt lacking in sympathy. "What did you expect? Maybe from the safety of a Vault its possible to entertain all kinds of idealistic notions. Out here in the Wasteland, people pay attention to their bottom-line means of survival. Those representatives you've talked to have their interests and those of their factions at heart. Its gonna take more than a fancy piece of theatre with a Supermutant to bring them together."

They were walking up one of the steep slopes leading to the edge of the crater, the late afternoon sun slanting over their shoulders.

Arta allowed hers to slump. "But that was the whole point of this. To bring people here with a common accord." With a flash of irritation, she added, "If they can't be persuaded to unify this way, maybe they'll have to pay attention to force after all …" She bit her lip.

I shouldn't be boasting like this in front of Simms.

The Sheriff gave her a keen glance. "Gone all close-mouthed? I'm not very surprised. But if you think people a lot smarter than me can't see through to your hidden agenda, then maybe you did spend too much time in that hole in the ground."

Arta said crossly, "I really don't know what…"

"I think we've been here before, haven't we, when you swore blue you weren't about to pilfer my possessions? I've heard the rumours about this 'Raider religion' same as most folks here have. Its only I can join the dots up a bit better than your average Joe. There's a hell of a lot of Raiders out there, but most tribes are normally mutually antagonistic. A faith that could unite all of them could potentially drum up one hell of an army of fanatics. With that kind of force at your back, you're suddenly a big player in the Wasteland."

Arta shrugged. "Surely that's better than the kind of roving bands of plunderers you have now?"

"Maybe. But the point I'm making is that certain people will fear that kind of power in one woman's hands, whether she calls herself the Lone Wanderer or the Angel of Death. And they'll sure as hell take her seriously." He snorted. "Do you think you got the Brotherhood, the Outcasts, Paradise Falls and the Regulators here just to goggle while you delivered the Sermon on the Mount? Sonora knew within hours what was going on. The Outcasts' scouting parties see everything that moves in the Wastes. And the Slavers and the Raiders have always been close. When something that big occurs, its gonna get attention from the people that really matter. You'd be kidding yourself to think otherwise."

Arta smiled a little sheepishly. "It seems you've got me pegged, as always. But what if I tried to convince you an army like that could be a force for good in the end? That it could start a crusade that would purge the Wastes of chaos?"

Simms snorted again. "I'd be just a little bit sceptical. Because what you're talking about is war. And war never changes."

"You're a cynic, Lucas. With that attitude, nothing will ever change."

"Its not me, girl; its human nature."

Arta threw up her hands disconsolately. "And so on round in circles. Well, I'm glad we talked about it anyway." They walked in silence until they reached the upper level. Then Arta suddenly gave Simms a nudge. "Look, there's Sonora on her own near the Water processor."

"So?"

"Don't you think she's a fine-looking woman? And I'm sure you two have lots in common, like … being law and order types." She gave a little nod. "You should go talk to her. Use your manly charms."

"I should?"

"Trust me, I know when two people are gagging for it."

"Gagging?"

Smiling at the memory of Jeffrey Bernard, Arta said, "It's an expression British people use. C'mon, use your imagination!"

Maybe this'll distract his attention a little.

"Arta!"

The Vault woman whirled at the sound of Bryan Wilks voice. He was gasping for air, leaning for support on Harden Simms' shoulder.

In his usual solemn and matter-of-fact tone, the Sheriff's son said, "Guess he ain't accustomed to running up hills this steep."

Finally catching his breath, Bryan said, "We ran all the way to tell you. The Rivet City people want to talk to you. They said it was real important and couldn't wait."

Arta sighed, "Then I suppose you'd better show me where they are. Though it seems like the whole world wants to talk to me right now."

Taking her hand, Bryan said, "Better than having no one to talk to, isn't it? Or to look after you. You know, I've an Aunt in Rivet City called Vera Weatherly. I asked the guard lady in the black armour, and she told me she's still living there."

Bending down to pull him close, Arta said tenderly, "Bryan, you'll always be very dear to me. But if there's anywhere you want to go where you'll be happier, I'll do my best to make it happen." He pressed himself against her, and she held him there for a while. Eventually she said, "C'mon, let's go now." Hand in hand, they walked together back down the sharply descending path.

The Sheriff and his son were left standing looking at one another. After a pause, Lucas assayed a jocular "Hey, shooter! How goes it?"

Watching the retreating figures, Harden asked gravely, "Pop, why can't we have a new momma like Bryan has?"

Picking him up in his arms, Lucas Simms, regarded the boy for a moment, then gently kissed his cheek. He said, very seriously, "Because it ain't always easy to find one, and be sure she's right to be your mom. But maybe if we're lucky like Bryan, it'll happen. Maybe even soon." He replaced Harden on the ground, gave him a pat on the head. "Go on now, go play with Maggie. Daddy's got some important things to do."

The Rivet City delegation looked every bit as intimidating as the other powerful factions Arta had previously met. The black combat armour worn by the Deputy Head of Security and her escort reminded her of Talon Company, and their helmets resembled those of Vault Security. With those unpleasant associations, and the rather unsympathetic expression on the woman's handsome but careworn face, Arta was prepared for another tough negotiation.

"I'm Lana Danvers, deputising for Chief Harkness of Rivet City Security." She had penetrating grey eyes, light brown hair arranged in a conservative but still feminine style, and appeared to be in her early thirties. "This gentleman with me is Claude Bannon, representing our traders within the city council." She indicated an older man, nattily dressed in a patterned waistcoat over a white shirt, who gave an elaborate bow. "We have our own special concerns about your … diplomatic initiative … considering that the position of Rivet City is a strong but sometimes isolated one. However we will discuss those presently. Meanwhile one of our delegates wishes to speak privately with you."

Trying to hide her discomposure, Arta said, "I'm sorry, but why should that be? I've never been to your city or met anyone from it."

Danvers smiled a little wryly. "That last statement is incorrect, as you will shortly discover."

The ranks of the Rivet City guards had parted to reveal a middle-aged woman in a white lab coat. She had delicate Asiatic features: a slender nose beneath eyes set wide apart, with a somewhat hunted look in them. Her dark hair was slightly waved, and as tightly controlled as the set of her tiny, prim mouth. The immaculate condition of her clothing suggested that her scientific role was less 'hands on' than Lesko's.

With the same faint smile, Danvers said, "I present to you Dr. Madison Li, head of Rivet City's science lab. Dr Li is also a full Council member."

I go to so much trouble to find a scientist, and now one comes to find me. The thought passed almost automatically through Arta's mind, for though she was convinced she had never met Dr Li before, there was a strange familiarity at which her memory tried to grasp, as though recalling a face seen in a dream.

Danvers went on, "Dr Li, this is …" but the woman had already begun to address Arta, her voice pitched high, and trembling with emotion, her expression suddenly animated.

"My heavens … you look so like him."

The disorientating sense of recognition Arta was experiencing grew stronger when Dr Li spoke.

She said, in a dazed tone, "Wh … what?"

Li seemed to gather herself. "You're James Wendell's daughter, aren't you? I thought you were supposed to be in a Vault somewhere, but when I heard a recording of your radio broadcast, I recognised your name at once." Arta continued to gape at her and the scientist's voice grew somewhat curt. "I can tell from your reaction James never mentioned me. Typical. Despite our working together very closely … on Project Purity. I see you've heard of that at least. Perhaps though you'll be more interested to know I was present at your birth, that I actually helped to deliver you."

Arta felt the same light-headedness that had overcome her when Moriarty had spoken of her past. She fought against it. "You were there when I was born … and my mother died. How … and where?

Li looked astonished. "In the Jefferson Memorial, of course. Which was the site of Project Purity, very close to Rivet City. You don't know these things? Unbelievable! What could James have been thinking?"

The Jefferson Memorial! Arta remembered the building with a rounded dome she'd distantly seen across the water from the Citadel, when Mei Wong had swum the Potomac. Had she known then its significance, would she have gone with her?

Shakily, she said, "He never told me anything about my origins outside the Vault. To stop me wanting to leave. I've had to discover everything for myself."

"Ah, I begin to understand! He wanted you to remain protected in the Vault. A pity you didn't take his advice!"

Arta was seized by a sudden anger. "No, it wasn't. There's no way I was staying cooped up in that hole!" Seeing Li recoil, she forced herself to control her voice. "Please. I need to know. About how things were then. About my mother and father."

"Very well." Li tentatively put a hand on Arta's arm, and drew her apart from the rest of the delegation. "Your mother … she was a good woman, and a very dedicated scientist. You're father loved her very much. It was tragic that she died shortly after your birth. She had been so excited to meet you. There were unexpected complications … and with the primitive equipment available to us … "

Arta felt tears moisten her eyes. She wanted to ask if there wasn't more that Li could've done … but what was the point? It would only upset or anger her.

Instead she said, "Tell me about my parents and Project Purity. What were they trying to do, and why didn't they succeed?"

Li frowned, as though unwilling to recall past failures. "Essentially it was a simple idea. Obtain fresh, clean water for everyone by drawing it from the tidal basin and through the purifier we'd built at the Memorial. But when the process was applied on a larger scale there were problems. The project was abandoned before they could be overcome."

A vision stole into Arta's mind; of a domed interior, interlaced with glowing pipes of liquid, of her father operating machinery before falling dying to the floor. But it was a dream!

"Why, what happened?"

"You happened. After losing your mother, your father couldn't bear the thought that something terrible would happen to you as well. He became solely concerned with ensuring your safety. So he left the project to take you to a Vault."

"And no one else could carry it on?"

"Unfortunately not. We were under constant threat from mutant attack, and security was provided by the Brotherhood of Steel. As head of the project, your father was the only scientist Owyn Lyons had faith in to make it work. After James' departure, the Brotherhood withdrew their support, and we had to leave. I took refuge in Rivet City nearby, and established my own lab, which mainly conducts research into hydroponics. I'm frankly astonished that your father wants to return to the project almost twenty years after leaving."

"How d'you know he does?"

Dr Li blinked. "Because I've talked to him, naturally! He came to my lab begging me to help restart it, convinced that he had found a way to make it work. But after such a long time … and with all my commitments … how could I …"

Li's words were cut off, as Arta seized her by the shoulders and shook her violently. "You've seen my father! Where the hell is he? Tell me at once!"

"Please … let me go and I'll tell you what I know!" Arta released her abruptly, and Li paused to catch her breath, irritably waving aside the Security guards who had rushed to her assistance. "He said he was going back to Jefferson. I told him not to, that it was too dangerous with Supermutants in the vicinity. But as usual he didn't seem inclined to listen to me." She smoothed down her lab coat. "There were two Brotherhood knights with him. Why don't you go ask them?"

*Jericho's dream had several sources of inspiration: a flying Deathclaw glitch which allowed me to see the Wasteland from above (by firing a dart at it), and the films The Ninth Gate (dir. Roman Polanski) and Dune (dir. David Lynch). Although near the start of the chapter, it was the last thing to be written. I hope it doesn't seem out of place!

Fertility: I'm assuming that that the effects of prolonged exposure to radiation would be to reduce fertility and the chance of a live, healthy birth, particularly in older women. (Jenny is supposedly in her mid-twenties). Contraceptives would mostly be improvised or scavenged, so the withdrawal method might find some adherents, even if it's certainly not to be recommended, and provides no barrier to STDs. (Something I've particularly been reminded of since playing Fable2!)

As the citizen of a Vault, where population control is crucial, Arta would probably be chemically sterilised, and inoculated against most diseases, making precautions unnecessary in her case. Her mother, who seems to have been somewhat older when giving birth, quite conceivably grew up in a similar, protected environment.

No prophet is accepted in his own country: this saying is attributed to Jesus Christ, explaining why his reception in his hometown of Galilee was less than ecstatic.

Water to be turned to wine: Possibly Christ's most famous and definitive miracle. In the Wasteland, of course, the reverse procedure of creating pure water might actually be more impressive.

I have a dream: Following the rhetorical pattern of Martin Luther King's inspirational speech on racial harmony, surely one of the greatest and most influential of all time. I always tear up when I think of him making it, and that he died not long after. Leo's speech would have been even more inclusive, as Supermutants affected by the Forced Evolutionary Virus (F.E.V.) presumably count as a whole new species.

The Sermon on the Mount: an important mission statement delivered by Christ to a multitude of people, and containing such notable sentiments as: blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Referred to somewhat ironically by Simms.

Gagging for it: Brit slang for being absolutely desperate for something, usually sex. Couldn't think of a good US alternative.

Claude Bannon: of necessity I had to completely make up his first name, but it sounds so right for a clothier, and I can just see the designer label.

Rivet City Council: It might be questioned whether they would risk sending two Council members as delegates to Megaton, including their most eminent scientist. My feeling is that Bannon would demand to go, considering his manipulative nature. Dr Li, by contrast, would be reluctant to leave her work. However, in the circumstances, the rest of the council might lean on her to comply, assuming they knew of her link with Arta.*