The Initiate: Chapter Sixteen

- Butch DeLoria -

Butch lay on the hard, thin mattress of the small cell. His head was pounding from his hangover and the beating he had taken during a fight he started with two burly deck hands at the Muddy Rudder the previous night. Butch hadn't put up much resistance once the fight got going. He had been beating himself up over the death of Janice for days and last night he just wanted somebody else to beat the shit out of him instead.

Brock and Sister managed to break up the brawl before Butch pulled out his Toothpick and really did something that he would have regretted; but they didn't manage to break it up before Deputy Danvers showed up and hauled Butch off to the drunk tank.

Butch still couldn't believe that his fiancé and unborn child were gone, but the hole that it left inside of him felt all too real. His days and nights had been a blur of alcohol and agony ever since Rivet City received word that the government had seized control of the Jefferson Memorial, taken several scientists captive, and killed several others – including Butch's future wife and child!

His emotions had run the gamut of denial, anger, pain, and heartbreak. Everything reminded Butch of Janice. Every area of Rivet City was a reminder of what he had lost. He couldn't eat at Gary's or the Weatherly, he couldn't sleep in his empty bed, he couldn't stand to be alone in his berthing. This jail cell, he knew, was home now. It was where he belonged.

For a short time at Rivet City, Butch had almost convinced himself that he could rise above his station, become a better man, somehow change his fate. But now he realized that the DeLoria curse was just too strong. All the purpose and meaning he thought his life was going to hold all vanished the instant his fiancé and child were taken from him.

He recognized the feelings that were now left inside of him. He had lived with hopelessness his entire life. Despondency was the feeling the DeLorias knew best. Butch had felt it every time his father came home drunk – every time his old man beat him or his mother. Butch had felt that same despair sitting at the trial of Floyd Lewis's murder. And he had especially felt it the day he was banished from the vault – exiled from the only miserable life he had ever known.

Now, even here at Rivet City, it seemed as if Butch would amount to nothing more than a two-bit street thug with good hair and a bad attitude. The DeLoria destiny always ended at the bottom of a bottle – and that was exactly where Butch was headed.

His father had told him as much growing up. Merle DeLoria was a violent, troubled alcoholic who never wasted an opportunity to tell his young son that Butch was good for nothing and, like all DeLorias, would amount to nothing. The young boy had wanted desperately to prove his father wrong, but now he realized the truth of his old man's words.

He remembered asking his father once why he thought their family was cursed. Merle had simply looked at Butch with a strange, sardonic smile and replied, "Even the Universe needs a place to shit, son…"

Well, Butch had learned just how absorbent the DeLorias were, but he was tired of taking shit from the Universe. From now on, Butch was going to dish some out – it was time to give as good as he got. It was time for the DeLorias to share the wealth of their shitty existence, and Butch was in a sharing mood.

The vault dweller had shut his eyes again. Somehow he found more solace lying here on this rotten cot than he had felt in days. The vault dweller would have been content to just lie in his cell forever, but the rattling of keys interrupted his short reprieve.

"Get up, Butch," Security Chief Harkness said starkly as he opened the cell door. "You've been sprung."

"I what..?" Butch waited for his eyes to adjust to the harsh florescent lighting once again.

"I've bailed you out, Butch," a man said from over the chief's shoulder. "Jail is no place for a Potomac Attire employee."

Butch didn't have to see Bannon to recognize the man's silky smooth baritone voice. Butch would have preferred to stay right where he was, but judging from the look on Bannon's face, staying in the drunk tank wasn't an option. Once again the Universe had discovered a way to ruin Butch's plans…

"Come along, son. Let's get you out of here," the councilman said tenderly. Then, after reading the young man's expression, Bannon added, "I'll brook no argument."

Butch hauled himself up and out of the cell. Between his pounding head and his aching heart, the young man didn't have the strength to argue with Bannon. Butch's body felt like it had been hit by a Brahmin stampede, but he had known the councilman long enough to know that arguing with the man was useless. If Bannon wanted Butch to "come along", then Butch was coming along.

"I lost a woman once," Bannon said as he helped his beaten and battered employee up a ladderwell that led to the councilman's Upper Deck penthouse where the rich and powerful people of Rivet City lived.

"I didn't know you were married, sir," Butch muttered, distracted by his own miserable thoughts.

"I wasn't," the man replied wistfully, "I was engaged like you, Butch. And, like you, I almost let it destroy me."

"Was she pregnant too," Butch asked? The young man's need for commiseration was drawing him into the conversation. The startled look on Bannon's face, however, reminded Butch that he and Janice hadn't even had enough time to tell anyone.

"I'm sorry, son. I didn't know…" Bannon had his features under control again. There was nothing on his face now except compassion and sorrow.

"How did you prevent it?" Butch inquired after an awkward moment of silence between the two.

"Prevent what, Butch," Bannon replied as they finally reached the doors to his sizeable suite.

"Prevent it from destroying you?" Butch reminded the councilman as he entered Bannon's penthouse.

Butch hadn't ever been to the councilman's home, but it looked as opulent and immaculate as the young man had imagined. The expansive living room was covered wall to wall with plush white carpeting and an extravagant assortment of white leather furniture was neatly arranged against the haze grey bulkheads common to the carrier. Butch found the muted tones of whites and greys very soothing, and he realized that maybe there were more relaxing places than a jail cell cot in the Rivet City drunk tank.

Bannon gestured for Butch to sit on a plump leather couch and the boy obeyed while the councilman went to a wet bar between the spacious living room and kitchen and mixed himself a stiff drink. For Butch he made a mixture of tonic water and Med-X, and then brought the drinks over to a marvelous glass coffee table.

"Drink this," Bannon said, handing Butch the fizzing concoction.

"What is it?" Butch eyed the bubbling glass dubiously.

"Old hangover remedy. It'll set you right again."

"I'll never be right again," Butch lamented.

"I know it feels that way, son," the man sat back and took a sip of his own drink. "As I said, I've been right there on the brink where you are now."

"What kept you from going over the edge?"

"The memory of the woman I loved and lost," Bannon stated simply. "Memories can either destroy you are make you stronger, Butch. That woman saw potential in me that I didn't even know existed, do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, Butch whispered, his thoughts rushing back to Janice. "I know exactly what you mean…"

"She made me see that potential too," Bannon continued. "I couldn't let go of that when she died. I had to reach that potential – I had to do it for her sake. I had to do it to honor her memory and the belief she always had in me… Does that make sense?"

Butch nodded and sipped his tonic water.

"And in some ways, her loss made it easier to reach that potential."

"Easier how?" Butch wanted answers… he needed them…

"Politics is a cut-throat business, Butch," Bannon shook his head sadly. "It is not a game for the meek or the sentimental. But my heart was hardened by the loss of my love. I had nothing left to lose and everything to prove. I must admit, I was ruthless in those early years. I was cold and callous and attacked politics in a single-minded manner with little regard for who I had to step on to rise to the top."

"And you think that could work for me?" Butch seemed unsure of the lesson.

"No Butch. I don't want that for you. I wouldn't want that for anyone. I tried to fill the holes that my grief left inside of me with ambition and power. I let my quest to become a councilman consume me until I ended up with only a professional life that left no room for a personal life.

"What I want for you Butch is to let this experience define you, not destroy you. Take all the emotions you are feeling now and channel them, use them to become the man Janice saw when she looked at you. You two must have spoken about your future," Bannon hypothesized, "who was the Butch that Janice saw..?"

There were only two women who had ever made Butch feel the way Bannon was describing. In his whole life, only Amata and Janice had ever seen any potential in the vault dweller. Butch knew exactly what Amata saw in his future, but he wasn't going to tell Bannon about that ambition. Butch realized he wasn't keeping his quest to become a councilman a secret to protect Bannon's feelings. He kept the secret because, if politics really was as cut-throat as the councilman claimed, then Butch didn't want to warn the man that he was gunning for Bannon's seat on the council.

The thought also made Butch realize that perhaps the councilman was right after all – maybe being heartless could work to Butch's advantage…

"We talked about the barbershop," Butch said instead.

"That's good, Butch," Bannon exclaimed, "That's really good. You know, having a friend on the council can be quite beneficial for a young entrepreneur such as yourself… I've done quite a bit for the small business owners of Rivet City…"

Butch nodded agreement, hoping to mask the suspicion that was beginning to build within him. He could feel a sudden change in the dynamic between the two of them. It was a subtle shift, but the conversation was definitely heading in a different direction.

"I know that you've done a lot for this city, sir." Butch also knew that flattery was always a safe bet with Bannon when the conversation got complicated.

"Yes, and I could do a lot for you, Butch," the councilman assured him. "In fact, I'd like to hire you on as more than just a security guard and part-time salesman. I think the extra work would be good to help get you refocused and the extra caps will certainly help towards the barbershop."

The proposal sounded good, but something about Bannon's presentation reminded Butch of the way Alphonse Almodovar used to talk to him about jobs he wanted the Tunnel Snakes to "take care of" for him. Butch was suddenly stricken by the notion that Bannon could just be another overly ambitious politician using the ex-gangbanger for his unusual skill set.

Butch also realized that, at the moment, he didn't even care if that were true. Bannon was the closest thing that Butch had to a friend in Rivet City and he was a powerful one at that. For now, Butch was willing to do whatever the man asked, legal or otherwise.

But he wouldn't do it blindly. Butch wasn't the same punk kid that allowed Alphonse Almodovar to pull his strings. Butch had left that ignorant child in the vault when he was banished to the Wasteland. And with the death of Janice, the vault dweller had learned just how harsh the wasted world could really be. So, if the Universe was determined to curse the DeLorias that was fine with Butch, but he was bound and determined to control his own fate as he marched down that path toward his accursed destiny…

"What kind of extra work did you have in mind, sir?" Butch finally asked.

A smile played across Bannon's well-manicured face as he leaned back in his plush leather chair and took another sip of his bourbon. He seemed much more at ease now that they were shifting from affairs of the heart to the affairs of the city.

"As I said, Butch, politics is a cut-throat business. Even in a city as refined and dignified as this one, there is always someone out there threatening my position."

Butch couldn't argue with that, but there was no way that Bannon could suspect Butch's true ambitions – was there..?

"Threats to council member's positions, or even the council members themselves, are not uncommon." Bannon explained in a matter-of-fact tone as he reached into the drawer of an end table next to his chair and pulled out a magnificent, silver-plated 9mm handgun. "That is why I must always protect my position and myself."

Butch felt a sudden jolt of fear as he watched the councilman examine his weapon. Maybe Bannon was aware of the vault dweller's designs on his council seat. By now the whole ship knew that Butch was devastated by the loss of Janice. It wouldn't be hard for Bannon to make it look like the vault dweller took his own life while the councilman graciously attempted to console him. Could Bannon really have invited him to his suite just to kill him..?

"In fact," Bannon continued, "there is someone right now, as we speak, gunning for my position." The councilman looked up from the gun and into Butch's eyes.

"Where do I fit in?" Butch responded evenly, his cotton-mouth was bone dry.

Bannon flipped the gun around and handed it to Butch. The vault dweller reached out and took it, hoping the shaking in his hand wasn't noticeable. He had no real experience with handguns, but he was happy to have the weapon in his hand instead of the councilman's.

"I thought that along with guarding the shop, you could look out for me as well," Bannon replied.

"You mean, like a bodyguard?" Butch said, a sigh of relief escaping with his words.

"Of sorts," Bannon nodded. "I know you are a capable young man, Butch, and despite your misguided skirmish last night, I understand that you can hold your own in an altercation."

"I do alright in a fight – usually," Butch agreed.

"Then let me make a gift of this fine weapon to you, Butch. And in turn you can use it to keep our adversaries at bay."

Butch considered the proposal. He had no reservations about becoming Bannon's bodyguard – Butch was certainly suited for the job – but he wasn't fond of guns and he wasn't thrilled by the idea that he might need one to protect the councilman. Along those lines Butch asked, "What kind of adversaries are we talking about?"

"Nothing too dangerous, Butch," Bannon assured his associate. The councilman seemed to realize that he might be scaring the boy.

"Well, with all due respect sir, I'm better with blades than firearms," Butch confessed as he returned the councilman's gun. "But I'd be honored to be your bodyguard."

"Splendid," Bannon smiled as he retrieved his weapon. "Don't worry about the gun – it was mainly just for show. But there has been a man stirring up trouble for me in the council meetings lately. It seems Mr. Seagrave Holmes plans on contesting my council seat during the next election cycle."

"Seagrave Holmes the slaver?" Butch blurted out in astonishment.

Bannon couldn't have looked more shocked if Butch would have shot him with his own silver-plated handgun. The councilman nearly spilled his drink all down the front of himself as he bolted upright in his chair.

"What do you mean slaver, son?" the councilman asked carefully.

Butch realized that he had the councilman's full attention, which probably meant that he had some valuable information. How valuable it was to Bannon remained to be seen, but Butch decided not to hold back as he began his story.

"A slaver was hired to escort me safely from Vault 101 to Rivet City," Butch began. "Along the way, he told me his purpose for making the journey. It seemed that a Wasteland scavenger named Seagrave Holmes used to round-up the occasional wastelander and sell them to the slavers to finance a business he was trying to start in Rivet City."

"Rivet City Supply," Bannon whispered.

"Right," Butch confirmed. "Unfortunately for the slavers, since Holmes got his shop up and running, he doesn't send any business their way anymore."

"That is unfortunate," Bannon mused.

"But the slavers aren't looking for the occasional wastelander from Holms anyway. They want to start dealing slaves directly to Rivet City. They figure there's a lot more caps in that than there is taking slaves piecemeal from Seagrave."

"Makes good business sense," Bannon smiled wickedly, the wheels in his politically honed mind were turning rapidly.

"But Seagrave isn't playing ball. He tells them he's done with all that and he's going straight – becoming an upstanding citizen and business owner."

"And possible council member…" Bannon added.

"Right," Butch nodded, "but the slavers aren't real good at taking "no" for an answer. So they sent a guy down here to deliver Holms a message."

"Make him an offer he can't refuse," Bannon deduced.

"I guess," Butch shrugged, "but so far he's refusing. It seems like he really wants to walk the straight and narrow."

"Of course he does," Bannon smiled. "At least, he does until he becomes a councilman. But then… who knows? Think of how much influence a councilman has over the city's trade policies. Think of how valuable that kind of influence could be to the slavers. This is a travesty waiting to happen. This is human tragedy on a grand scale. This is something we cannot allow."

"Yeah, I guess so," Butch tentatively agreed. "But what do we do about it. It is all mostly speculation at this point."

"Let me worry about that, Butch," Bannon exclaimed. The councilman was positively glowing with excitement. "Do you think you could get ahold of that message?"

"That might be a little difficult," Butch considered. He wanted to solidify the councilman's gratitude. "The slavers aren't too keen on their business going public. Seagrave probably isn't either. It could be a pretty dangerous venture."

"I'll tell you what, Butch," Bannon replied, offering his hand. "You get me that message and I'll get you your barbershop."

Butch smiled as he reached out and shook the councilman's hand. Maybe, he thought, the Universe wasn't out to get him after all…


- Initiate Joules Prescott -

The Great Hall was filled mainly with veteran paladins and scribes. The Pride was there, of course, seated around one of the large half-circular tables. Rothchild and his Project Prime Time team members sat around the other. Joules was the only initiate invited to today's war council. He was on his way to becoming a member of the Lyons' Pride and he was already a member of Project Prime Time, but the main reason he was here was the fact that today's discussion centered around his mother and Project Purity.

"Aye, I saw her," Knight Captain Colvin was informing the audience. "I was putting a bullet in one of the vertibird pilots – God rest his soul – when I saw a group come bursting out of the memorial. Several Enclave soldiers were helping the Colonel and another officer stagger to a 'bird. Several others were helping Scribe Prescott-Rothchild.

"And she was alive..?" Rothchild verified.

"Aye," Colvin confirmed. "She was walking with the help of the soldiers. They all loaded into the same bird that contained the Rivet City scientist, Ms. Holt, then they were gone. I didn't dare try to fire at the vertibird once it was airborne."

"Of course not, Knight Captain," Elder Lyons agreed. "You did the right thing."

Joules nodded as he followed the conversation. He knew that blasting the vertibird out of the sky wasn't the right call, but he still wished there was something the Brotherhood could have done to prevent his mother from falling into the hands of the Enclave. He couldn't get the image of her shivering in some stark interrogation cell while Colonel Autumn hammered away at her with questions – or with something even worse… Joules knew he was only punishing himself with that line of thinking, but it was hard for him to think of anything else since his mother had been taken.

He glanced across the circular tables at Sarah, who looked gorgeous as always, seated next to her father and listening intently to the debate. She was dressed in civilian clothing for the meeting and although the dress she wore was simple and understated, she somehow made the garment seem regal. She had set her long, blond hair free from its usual ponytail and it flowed down around her beautiful face like a mane, making her seem even more like a lioness among her pride. She truly was a warrior princess, Joules thought as he quickly looked away before she caught him staring.

Two days had passed since he had kissed her, and he hadn't seen much of her in that time. To be fair, the war council had been in session nearly round the clock, but Joules felt that it was more than just Sarah's busy schedule that had kept them apart. His impulsive kiss seemed to have strained their relationship. Whether it would affect their friendship in the long run, Joules didn't know, but for the mean time he decided just to lay low and play the role of the dutiful initiate. Joules certainly didn't want the incident to become a distraction or he might end up patrolling the inner city with Initiate Pek.

"I say we just let them have the memorial," Paladin Vargas was saying. His eyes were as dark as his Hispanic complexion and shadowed further by his furrowed brows. He had never been a strong proponent of restarting the project, and now all his reservations seemed valid. "There is no evidence that the purifier is going to work any better this time than it did the last." He added as several of the other paladins grumbled their agreement.

"Vargas is right," Paladin Tristan continued. He was another Purity opponent. Tristan had seen too many of his brethren die defending the derelict project, and this latest round of casualties only strengthened his opposition. "Purity is a long way from functioning. We've barely brought the project back to where it was a decade ago… Let the Enclave waste some resources on it for a change."

"Suppose they do," Madison Li replied. She had agreed to stay at the Citadel while the Brotherhood negotiated a response to the Enclave attack and she was helping Senior Scribe Rothchild where she could. "Suppose the Enclave is able to extract enough information out of Anna and Catherine to begin purifying water on a massive scale. How dangerous do you think that is to the Brotherhood's survival?"

"Dr. Li is right," Elder Lyons agreed. "If we allow the Enclave to control the flow of pure water, they will control the wasteland. If we lose support of the local population, we will be forced to abandon all that we have fought and died for these past years."

"If the wastelanders are foolish enough to side with the Enclave then they deserve abandonment. We can't protect them from themselves." Knight Artemis exclaimed. He had never been in favor of providing aid to the local population.

"We must protect them from themselves. That is our sworn duty." The Elder fired back.

"Our sworn duty is to protect mankind from itself by safeguarding technology until such time as mankind is mature enough to possess such power," the knight argued. "Not by safeguarding this ungrateful wasteland population.

"Is Liberty Prime not the most important and potentially dangerous piece of technology in America – if not the entire world?" The Elder rebutted. "Should we just abandon that into the hands of mankind?"

"If that is truly the case, then why can't we use the mighty robot to reclaim Project Purity?" The knight asked.

The Elder looked at Rothchild and Joules followed his gaze. In fact, it seemed as if all eyes were now on the Senior Scribe as he stood to address the gathering.

"We have made considerable progress with project Prime Time," Reginald began. His tall, thin frame seemed weary as it rose. No doubt the war council's endless debating was taking a toll on the Brotherhood's lead scientist, and he was surely exhausted from answering these same questions time and time again. But he spoke as vehemently as always when he addressed questions about Liberty Prime. "Even as we speak, my team is implementing some of Dr. Li's new ideas on microfusion. She has developed a solenoid structure in which the magnetic axis and plasma particles follow a helical path to form a toroidal helix rather than a simple ring shape. The twisted plasma induces twists in the magnetic field lines to effect drift cancellation – "

Joules noticed Sarah lean over and whisper something to the old scribe. Reginald got carried away sometimes and forgot he was talking to warriors. He blushed slightly as he cleared his throat.

"To summarize," Rothchild finally continued, "we have nearly solved our power problems, but at this moment Liberty Prime is not fully functional. Sending him into battle against Enclave battalions with vertibird support would be futile. The robot would be destroyed without its full complement of weaponry at its disposal. We just need a little more time…"

"We don't have more time," Dr. Li exclaimed. Her features were drawn up as tightly as her hair and her words reflected the harshness in her eyes. "The Enclave could be extracting devastating information from our scientists as we speak."

Both Joules and Rothchild winced at that visual, but Madison didn't seem to notice. She was on her soapbox now and clearly felt that the time to talk had run its course.

"We can't allow them to bring the project to fruition. We can't allow the Enclave to control the wasteland. The time for action is now."

"What would you have us do, Dr. Li," The Elder asked as he too rose to speak. "We don't have the fire power to take back Project Purity. We certainly don't have the resources to storm Raven Rock. How do you propose we stop the Enclave?"

"We prevent them from obtaining the one thing they need to complete the project," Madison declared. She had obviously been waiting for the right time to put her proposal before the council, and it seemed as if that time had come. "We have to acquire the matter-altering GECK before they do!"