The Initiate: Chapter Seventeen

- Overseer Amata Almodovar -

Even through the crackling static of the two-way radio's poor reception, Amata could feel the pain in Butch's voice as he informed her of his fiancé's demise. Although the young man was making a valiant effort to sound strong, he had to pause several times to collect himself. Amata waited patiently as Butch took one of those moments now.

Amata was glad to know that the Enclave really was "there for her" as the Prime Overseer had said it would be, but she was anxious to move on to other topics. The topic of Janice, understandably, had never been one of Amata's favorites unless it involved fresh intel on the Prescott's activities. But Amata knew Butch was hurting; and, because of her involvement, she was willing to offer him the proverbial shoulder to cry on until he got it out of his system.

The Overseer of Vault 101 was just glad to have the old Butch back into the fold once more. The young man sounded focused again, even more driven it seemed than before the incident. He pledged to stop at nothing to become Rivet City's next Civilian Representative. He vowed to do it partially to honor Janice's memory, of course, but he also claimed that he would do it in honor of the faith that Amata had always had in him.

Amata hadn't felt that kind of devotion from Butch in months. He was even talking about how the two of them would be together again someday. And once again he was determined to become a councilman. All in all, the Overseer thought, the Janice Incident couldn't have turned out any better.

When Butch finally came back on the line, he seemed ready to move on to other topics. During the midst of his blubbering over Janice, Butch had mentioned starting a new job for Councilman Bannon and Amata was anxious to explore that avenue in greater detail. The devil, as she had learned from her father, was always in the details.

Despite his lack of political experience and his distraction with the lab rat, Amata thought that Butch had done an impressive job working his way into the social strata of the Rivet City Council. She knew his position as Bannon's security guard wouldn't get him all the way there, but it was a clever way to earn the man's trust while Butch worked his way to the next level. And, from the sound of things, Butch might have done just that.

"You say Bannon bailed you out of jail and offered you a new job?" Amata prodded. Initially she hadn't been pleased to hear that Butch had gotten himself arrested for being drunk and disorderly, but it didn't sound like he had done any permanent damage to his Rivet City reputation as an upstanding citizen. In fact, as she considered it further, Amata thought the incident might play well with the public. The people would most likely understand the slip-up as long as Butch didn't make a habit of it. It was a natural and expected reaction to the loss of loved ones, and in the end it would probably make him even more appealing to the masses. Amata knew first hand to never underestimate the power of public sympathy…

"He did," Butch replied, sounding as relieved as Amata to be changing topics. "He has made me his personal bodyguard."

"His bodyguard," Amata smiled, "That's impressive Butch. He must really trust you."

"He sure does," Butch's voice sounded pleased. "You should have seen the gun he offered me."

"A gun?"

"Yeah, it was completely covered in silver – lock, stock, and barrel. It was a thing of beauty."

"Do you have it?" Amata inquired hopefully.

"No," Butch confessed. "I told him that I was more of a knife guy. I let him know that, being a former vault dweller, I hadn't ever even shot a gun. Besides, I assured him I do most of my body guarding with my fists and my Toothpick."

Amata decided that maybe Butch's decision had been for the best after all. It wasn't a good idea for him to be carrying around a weapon as recognizable as Bannon's silver-plated pistol, especially considering that Butch didn't know a thing about guns. But it was interesting to know that Bannon possessed such a weapon and she filed that fact away for later use.

"What about the council?" Amata asked with a hint of excitement. Now that they were back in her area of expertise she could feel her creative juices flowing. "Has Bannon given you any more insight into his office politics?"

"I'll say," Butch responded with some excitement of his own. It sounded as if he were finally beginning to snap out of his fiancé funk. "Bannon told me the reason he wants a body guard is because he's worried about this guy named Seagrave Holms. It seems Seagrave has been real vocal about contesting Bannon's council seat in the next election."

"Interesting…" Amata mused as she mulled that piece of information over. "Do you think Mr. Holms could actually beat Bannon in an election?"

"Well, I've done some asking around since Bannon mentioned his Holms problem. Seagrave runs a supply place that is pretty popular. He's pretty popular too, for that matter. He lives on the Middle Decks, has an occasional drink at the Muddy Rudder, and seems to have a way of relating to the working class folks. He doesn't come across as aristocratic or as elitist as Bannon does sometimes... "

"I get it," Amata replied. "A real "man of the people". That can be a tough candidate to beat."

"Yeah," Butch agreed. "I think it had Bannon pretty worried until I told him about Holm's slaver ties."

"His what?" Amata exclaimed. She had been expecting this call to be a trudge through Butch's emotional devastation – which it had been – but now it was turning out to be the most interesting report he had given her in months.

"You remember Sister – that guy you hired to take me to Rivet City?" Butch also seemed to be enjoying his report. "Well it turns out he was also coming here to have a heart-to-heart with Holms. Seems ol' Seagrave used to collect more than just trinkets for his supply shop when he combed the Wasteland. But since he's had his eye on a council seat, his Rivet City 'supply' hasn't included slaves any more. So Sister was sent to deliver a personal message to Mr. Holms from Eulogy Jones himself."

"Fascinating…" Amata murmured. Her political wheels were turning so fast she could barely concentrate on what Butch was telling her. The mention of Sister, however, did spark a thought. "What about Sister? Have you solidified him as your 'muscle'?"

"I haven't needed him yet," Butch confessed. "But we're tight. I'm basically the only friend he's got on board, as long as I can keep him from getting shot."

"Shot?" Butch was losing her again. "You mean from the Rivet City Security force?"

"Not so much that. Chief Harkness runs a pretty tight ship and his forces do more arresting than shooting," Butch assured her. "But I ran into an escaped slave on board who was convinced that Sister was after her. She was willing to do anything – and I mean anything – to get her hands on a gun so she could take him out before he could take her back to her owner."

"Well is she really a threat?" Amata inquired.

"She's unstable, that's for sure," Butch replied, "but I'm pretty sure I convinced her that Sister isn't looking for her. I certainly wasn't going to help her get a gun, though. That crazy bitch is bound to shoot somebody…"

Amata was barely listening again. All the information was jumbled around in her brain like a scattered puzzle, but some of the pieces were beginning to lock into place. She started to see a way for Butch to turn all of this turmoil into a huge advantage, but their execution would have to be flawless. And when it was all said and done, they had to make sure none of it could be traced back to Butch himself.

"What exactly did Bannon ask you to do?" Amata finally asked Butch after a long moment of contemplation.

"He wants me to get proof of Seagrave's slaver connection." Butch replied. "He wants that message from Eulogy Jones."

"Can you get it?" Amata asked, her voice full of excitement again.

"I know someone who can get it for me," he replied. "Why? Do you want me to hand it over to Bannon so that he owes me a favor or something?"

"No, I want you to use this Seagrave situation to secure your seat on the council," Amata replied ominously, "and I'm going to tell you exactly how…"


- James Prescott -

The cell they kept him in was cramped, but at least it was larger than the one Alphonse Almodovar had built for him in the bowels of Vault 101. Even this cell, however, had been specifically modified to house the mutant. The cells in Vault 87 were originally designed for humans, of course; and even now, many contained captured Wastelanders awaiting conversion. Because James was larger than their usual captive, however, the mutants of Vault 87 were forced to convert an inner office of the vault's cell block into a holding cell for their extra-large guest.

The fact that James was big for a mutant didn't help his cramped-quarters situation. His pure-strain, vault-dwelling DNA had undergone the conversion process remarkably well compared to some of the poor Wasteland bastards he had witnessed in the four months since his incarceration in this godforsaken mutant factory.

Wastelanders didn't fare as well as vault dwellers, and those that completely broke down during the process were used as spare parts for the centaur vats or fodder for the gore bags. The crimes James had witnessed being carried out against science and nature were unfathomable and the mutated geneticist was ashamed to think his research had anything to do with the atrocities occurring in Vault 87.

The geneticist had learned a lot about the mutation program since his time in this vault. He had gained some of that knowledge listening to the mutants who operated the facility, but their vocabulary and understanding of the process were rudimentary at best. The real gateway to his insight was a computer terminal that the mutants had left in the corner of the office when they converted it into his holding cell. That device alone made the little office/cell far better than the one he had occupied for the last fifteen years in Vault 101.

James had been smart enough to play dumb during his incarceration at Vault 87. He hadn't uttered a word since his arrival. He grunted when he was required to respond and he rarely made eye contact with his mutant jailors. In turn, the Mutant Grunts that were charged with overseeing the cell block paid little attention to the 101 mutant, which resulted in an arrangement that worked out well for the scientist.

He also preferred to spend most of his day sleeping. His lethargy helped to keep him off the jailer's radar and also allowed him to stay up all night accessing his cell's computer terminal. After years of isolation in the depths of his Vault 101 prison, James couldn't get enough of the information that was now right at his fingertips.

His fingertips, however, weren't what they used to be. The scientist discovered immediately that a keyboard was not designed for mutated fingers. James was reduced to hunting and pecking using pencils he had scavenged from inside the office desk. It was a slow process, but he got the hang of it eventually.

The tedious pencil pecking was well worth it. The terminal was a wealth of information, and James was determined to absorb it all. There were scientific journals, vault schematics, a history of the Enclave's Augmentation and Evolutionary Expedition Programs, and even some pre-War history and novels. James had lost track of the myriad information he'd crammed into his knowledge-starved mind in the last four months, but he had learned a great many things about what had occurred in the Wasteland since the Great War.

From the terminal entries, James discovered that Vault 87 had been the genesis of the East Coast mutant infestation. James located files filled with hundreds of communications between a Dr. Wayne Merrick and the Enclave, outlining the doctor's Evolutionary Experimentation Program. Although James noted some flaws in the man's theories, Dr. Merrick had the one thing that James never had in Vault 101 – unlimited resources. With the full backing of the government, Dr. Merrick's lab received advanced equipment and all the latest research coming out of James' lab as well as nation-wide research from labs such as West-Tek, Vault-Tec and a place called Mariposa Base on the West Coast.

Utilizing all of the information coming from the West Coast and the various labs, Dr. Merrick's team was able to modify James' virus into a sustainable mutant formula. Although the team never thought to purposely radiate the virus, the background radiation in their test lab was high enough to mutate the mutation formula, which, according to some technician's entries, was due to an issue with the GECK Chamber's radiation expulsion ducts.

Nevertheless, the EEP team did have their share of modified FEV failures before they finally stabilized the virus. The failures ranged from quick deaths to slower deteriorations of the subjects' minds and bodies. Some of these experimental viruses resulted in abominations that the team kept on hand to study. Others were deemed too dangerous and had to be destroyed by a specially designed fire deluge system that could engulf a cell in cleansing flames.

Interestingly, amidst this data, James found another collection of correspondence between Dr. Merrick and a Stanislaus Braun of the Vault-Tec Corporation. It seemed that Director Braun was more interested in the doctor's failures than he was his successes. The Director had demanded that Merrick send him every scrap of data on the deadly FEV strain, and from what James could decipher, Dr. Merrick's entire team had eventually been moved to Future-Tec's Vault Zero laboratory somewhere in the Midwest.

James had also learned much about Director Braun's Garden of Eden Creation Kit. The mutated scientist had first read about the device long ago on Overseer Almodovar's secret terminal, but the Vault 87 terminal contained a much more detailed description of the GECK's purpose and functionality. Without the benefit of actual experimentation, the scientist could only base his hypothesis on speculation, but according to all that he had read, James was convinced that the GECK could have been a breakthrough in his work to rid the planet of radiation.

Based on the vault schematics and what he had gleaned from the mutants, James had deduced that the GECK was located in a large laboratory just around the corner from the holding cells, and that it had been largely ignored by the vault inhabitants. Like most things in Vault 87, the device had ported a considerable amount of radiation into the chamber where it resided over the past century. This, however, was not the reason the mutants ignored the device. Radiation didn't effect mutants – at least not after they were converted. The reason was more simplistic; the mutant's shattered minds couldn't comprehend a use for the device and therefore the mutants didn't waste time concerning themselves with that part of the laboratory. They preferred to focus on the conversion vats.

James, on the other hand, was fascinated by the idea of a matter-energy replicator capable of generating new molecular patterns. He had always been consumed by the idea of reducing the effects of radiation, but after his conversion, he dreamed of developing a way to reverse the effects as well. He had obvious reasons to pursue such a lofty goal, but the desire went beyond his own personal condition. Since he had arrived at Vault 87 and witnessed what atrocities were being done with his research, James was more determined than ever to "cure" the wastelanders who had been subjected to the Enclave's version of the Forced Evolutionary Virus…

There was a commotion outside his cell that roused the mutant from his mid-afternoon ruminations. James rose up from the concrete floor and lumbered over to the bars facing the cell block entrance. His groggy mind woke up quickly as the impossibly large mutant known as the General burst into the cell block.

The General had arrived several weeks ago after some sort of battle in the city. James wasn't clear on all the details, but he heard the beast complain about the bucketheads taking over its base. The scientist knew that "bucketheads" was the nickname the mutants used for human combatants wearing armor, but where those humans came from James didn't know. He assumed that it was a faction he had read about called the Brotherhood of Steel. It didn't make sense that the government would attack the mutants considering the beasts were part of the Enclave's Augmentation Program.

Whatever the case, James didn't like visits from the General. The Mutant Overlord was larger than the other mutants – even larger than James himself. The General was also smarter than any mutant James had encountered, and it was the overlord's intelligence more than its size that made it dangerous.

Since its arrival, the overlord had taken a special interest in the mutant output of Vault 87. James deduced from the conversations he overheard that "the green stuff" necessary for the conversion process was running low. The Vault 101 scientist knew from experience that cultivating FEV took time and patience. The Enclave had apparently devised a process to cultivate the virus on a larger scale, but even that seemed to be too slow for the General.

The massive monster shambled through the cell block, stooping down to peer into the cells as he passed. He stopped at one that contained a male and two female Wastelanders. One of the women had already lost her mind to fear and captivity. She spent her days and nights curled into a fetal position at the back of the cell softly whimpering and refusing to eat.

"These ones," The General grunted to one of the jailors.

The Mutant Grunts opened the cell and hauled the Wastelanders out into the passage. The whimpering woman began to mumble a string of incoherent protests, but the other two went along quietly, apparently resigned to their fates.

"That one to Centaur Vats," The General ordered, indicating the crazy woman.

James couldn't disagree with the overlord's decision. The woman's mind couldn't even hold up under incarceration – there was no way it would withstand the conversion process. She was already a lost cause and would only waste their short supply of green stuff. Again the scientist was surprised by the keen perception of the General.

As the Wasteland prisoners were escorted out of the cell block, another group of four was ushered in to replace them. James had noticed that the General liked to let the captives stew in their cells for several weeks before they were hauled off to the conversion chambers.

The mutated scientist suspected that the overlord was using that time to observe the candidates to determine which ones would be marked for conversion, which ones were destined for the Centaur Vats, and which ones would wind up in gore bags. It was a brutally clever way to categorize the captives and even though the deplorable act sickened James, he had to admire the scientific methodology behind it. The practice caused James to realize just how dangerous an intelligent mutant like the General could be to humanity, and regrettably the scientist was glad that the conversion process destroyed the minds of most humans.

James' mind was currently consumed with the familiar panic welling within him as he snuck a quick glance at the new arrivals. After fifteen years, the vault scientist was resigned to his mutated fate, but here in this hellish mutant factory he lived in constant terror that someday he would see his wife or son pass through those cell block doors.

The scientist had learned that the mutants were fairly indiscriminate in their gathering of conversion candidates. Men and women from all corners of the Wasteland were herded into the holding cells. Occasionally even children were captured, but that didn't occur often. In his time at Vault 87, James had only seen two boys brought in from a place near the vault called Little Lamplight, but they were immediately marked for gore bags and hauled off by the butchers. The lack of child captives led James to believe that children didn't fare well during the conversion process, but the exact criteria the mutants used to weed out their captives was still a mystery to the mutated scientist.

The General noticed James eyeing the new captives and the gigantic mutant lumbered over to the scientist's cell. The Mutant Overlord seemed fascinated by his Vault 101 prisoner and never wasted an opportunity to antagonize the mutated scientist.

"You like humans?" the monster asked as it lowered its face the cell bars.

James looked into the massive face that loomed above him. The monster had a jagged scar that ran from just below its right eye down to the corner of its scowling mouth. The inflamed scab was relatively fresh and had apparently been inflicted during the beast's battle in the city. The hideous creature also had several nasty burn marks on its bald head and across its singed chest that were also fresh and raw and obviously a result of the battle as well.

In response to the creature's question, James licked his lips, trying to force some saliva out of his mouth in an attempt to appear appetized by the humans. He successfully caused a streak of drool to trickle from the downturned corners of his permanent scowl.

"Humans make you hungry?" the General's intelligent human eyes appeared intrigued. The Mutant Overlord never seemed to know what to make of the Vault 101 mutant.

"Maybe I give you gore bag." The General continued to taunt its captive. "You like to eat Human?"

James grunted, hoping to sound indifferent to the proposal. So far he had been surviving on the few dead dog and mole rat carcasses the mutants had thrown into his cage. It wasn't a matter of digestion, the scientist's mutated system had no issue with raw meat, but there was no way James was going to eat human meat.

The ugly creature stared into the scientist's eyes for a long moment. Normally James would look down in a display of deference, but the General always demanded eye contact. James feared that the beast would detect intelligence in his eyes, and struggled to make his eyes reflect that fear and nothing more. Fear was the one emotion mutants liked to see when they looked into a human's eyes. Pain was another.

"No," the General finally growled with a nod of its singed bald head, "you get scraps. Vault men will get you soon. Maybe they feed you humans…"

The overlord was apparently making a joke and the beast roared with laughter at its own words. After a slight hesitation, the General's dim-witted jailors joined in with their leader's laughter.


- James Hargrave -

James hadn't done much work for Butch lately – not since they had finished cleaning out the location for the barbershop, and not since Janice… The boy missed Butch – well, the old Butch anyway. The new Butch just wasn't the same. It was hard to explain, but Jimmy knew that Butch had lost that spark he had possessed when Jimmy first met him. Butch still bought Jimmy meals and looked out for the young boy, but the new Butch didn't joke around like the old one used to. All he talked about now was business and politics and money. Jimmy couldn't shake the feeling that his best friend was slowly turning into another asshole adult, and there was nothing the boy could do to stop it…

Still, Jimmy wanted to help Butch however he could, and putting his light fingers to work seemed like the perfect way to remind Butch what a valuable friend the boy could be.

Today's mission didn't seem too risky. To be honest, Jimmy had never broken into anyone's stateroom before, but locks were all the same whether it was the door to someone's shop or the door to their living quarters. Lucky for Jimmy, Seagrave Holms lived on the mid decks, so there wouldn't be many prying eyes at this time of day, and ole' Seagrave would be at his shop until sundown so Jimmy didn't have to rush.

Nevertheless, no job was foolproof and Jimmy was aware of the danger of complacency when thieving. He had to stay alert at all times, no matter how routine the job seemed.

Speaking of staying alert, he had to quickly duck into an alcove, bend down and pretend to tie his shoe as Deputy Danvers suddenly turned a corner and headed down the passageway. Lana wasn't too bad as far as adults went. She seemed to have a soft spot for the downtrodden and she always treated Jimmy kindly despite his criminal activity. But the first rule of committing a crime was not to get noticed – especially by an officer of the law. The last thing he needed was for Deputy Danvers to recall seeing him in the vicinity of Seagrave's room if the man reported a robbery.

Luckily she passed by without noticing the boy. People usually had a way of "not noticing" Jimmy, which was another reason why the urchin made such a good thief. Jimmy liked to think that it was his skill, however, that earned him his notorious reputation. Then again, he thought, not being noticed was kind of a skill…

When the coast was finally clear, the boy crept over to Holm's door and began to quickly work the lock with a couple bobby pins he got from C.J. He slid the first pin into the bottom of the lock and put a slight tension on it. He slid the other pin into the top and began to wiggle it until he could feel the bottom pin begin to give way. This was the point that required a bit of finesse. If you got too anxious, you could break the pin off in the lock, and then nobody was getting through the door.

Jimmy was a patient lock-picker. He never forced a pick and hardly ever broke a pin anymore. He did detect footsteps coming from up around the passage again, however, and he knew he had to finish quickly or duck back into the shadows. The seconds ticked by as he wiggled the top pin around to find the exact spot that would allow him to twist the bottom pin the rest of the way. He was about to abort and retreat to the shadows when he finally felt the lock click open.

He quickly ducked into the room and quietly closed the door just as he saw a foot begin to step around the corner and into the passageway. He leaned against the door a moment as his racing heart rate slowly returned to normal and his eyes adjusted to the darkness of Seagrave's stateroom. He waited until he heard the footfalls pass beyond the stateroom door, then the boy quickly got down to business.

Jimmy flipped on a desk lamp and took a cursory glance around the room. Seagrave was a scavenger and a tinkerer, and his room was a cluttered collection of all manner of mechanical components and odd gadgets that the man had either made or gathered on his travels throughout the Wasteland. Every flat surface in Seagrave's crowded room was covered with components in various stages of assembly and Jimmy started to wonder how he was ever going to find anything in the disorganized chaos.

But being a good thief meant doing your homework and knowing your mark. Jimmy knew Holms' habits. The boy had been in Seagrave's supply store tons of times and, much like the man's room, the store was a cluttered collection of crazy components. Holms had told the boy once that people appreciated the mess. He claimed it gave his customers the experience of scavenging the Wasteland within the comfort and safety of a city shop.

Jimmy liked the disorganized shop because it was easier for him to steal stuff without Seagrave even knowing something was missing. But there was one area of the shop that was always kept meticulously free of clutter, and that was the area around the cash register. When it came to the possessions that really mattered, Seagrave kept things tidy.

Looking around the room now, Jimmy saw the only area that wasn't a disaster was Holms' sleeping area. The bed was made with a military tightness and the footlocker at the base of the bed was clutter-free. This was obviously the area that housed Holms' valuables.

The footlocker was locked, of course, but it was no match for C.J.'s bobby pins and Jimmy's skilled fingers. The boy had the chest opened in no time and was soon rummaging through all the things that were precious in the life of Seagrave Holms.

There was the usual collection of valuables. Jimmy discovered the deed to Seagrave's supply store and some other important paperwork, several sacks full of caps, and even a couple guns. He dug through some jewelry including a wedding ring that he knew was intended for Vera Weatherly if Holms ever got the balls to propose. And finally he came across a packet of holotapes all banded together.

Jimmy couldn't tell which one was from the slavers, so he pocketed all of them and then carefully restored the remaining contents of the footlocker to their original positions.

After ensuring the sleeping area was pristine once again, the boy switched off the desk lamp, checked that the passageway was empty, and then quietly exited the room. Jimmy made sure to lock the door again before he closed it. With any luck Seagrave would never know he had been robbed until word of his slaver activities went public, and by then it would be to late…