"Number Nine"
Ch. 07: A horse with no name.
"You see, I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain."
- America, "A horse with no name"
Vulpes awakened that morning with the smell of pancakes filling his nostrils with a vengeance.
His head felt dull and it hurt a little, his tongue tasted bitter and pasty, and his stomach and his bladder seemed to have agreed to torment him since the first hour in the morning.
Raising so slowly from the bed that he felt like a thousand bricks had been put around his body, he dragged his slouching form towards the bathroom inelegantly to find the door locked while the noise of water running from the inside could be heard.
Oh, how he hated the secondary effects of pre-War medicines while recovering from radiation poisoning…
"Locked, huh?" – he heard the already animated voice from the small brunette woman, Veronica, talking by his left while she stuck her ear to the locked room's door – "Tough luck. It's Arcade." – she added after a few seconds, retiring her ear from the wooden surface – "I just don't get what his deal with privacy is. I mean… he has nothing to hide, and the premises are for common use." – she reasoned – "It's not like the bathtubs here don't have curtains if he's so squeamish…"
Or maybe he HAS something to hide. – was Vulpes' immediate thought while the only sound his lips made was an annoyed groan as he pressed his forehead to the nearest wall, seeking to appease his dull headache.
"Yeah, Jimmy." – Veronica agreed, rubbing her eyes while yawning – "I totally feel ya on this one."
Not a minute later, the man called Boone joined them, a white towel over his naked shoulder as he had slept without the upper part of his pajamas. He still had the stupid sunglasses on, noted Vulpes, whose shitty mood kept rising as the minutes passed, his headache worsening with the damn door not opening.
"Owww… my head…" – a fourth voice moaned as muffled naked steps approached from behind them – "Wh… the fuck's with the fucking privy's door shut?!" – the Cassidy woman, as it was none other than her, after watching Veronica mouthing 'Arcade' as an explanation, started banging the door, to Vulpes' much chagrin – "Hey!" – she yelled, making the young man cover both his ears with his hands – "The privy's for everybody, asshole! If I'm not putting my sweet cheeks on a goddamned toilet within a minute, I'm fucking peeing all over your spare clothes!"
By Mars… – the Frumentarius thought while still covering his ears - These people are completely insane…
However, despite her methods, he had to concede some credit to this Cassidy woman when the door creaked open not a whole minute after her unsubtle warning.
A dense gust of steam washed over the four as a tall silhouette emerged from the mist already fully clothed, pajamas under his arm, wet blonde hair, and fogged spectacles over shy green eyes that were quite conscious of the hate looks he was receiving right now.
"Toilet Time!" – Cassidy exclaimed before making the doctor aside, her pants and panties already half down her thighs, not an ounce of modesty on that woman, as she presented her ass to the throne – "Shiiiiit… this is so good…"
The physician, Arcade, took a step aside as the other three poured inside the bathroom, any possible grudges having been quickly forgotten as Boone and Veronica picked their share of bathtubs. Meanwhile, Vulpes appreciated the near-blinding steam around so he could have some privacy, first when he relieved himself, later when he occupied the remaining available bathtub.
The warm water did wonders for his stiff neck and throbbing headache… until the curtain separating the bathtub from the rest of the room opened violently.
First, Vulpes was silently grateful that his body had been oriented towards said curtain so the person on the other side couldn't see his scarred back and reach unwanted, dangerous conclusions… but soon, that gratefulness quickly turned into plain annoyance when he saw the shameless smile that decorated the Cassidy woman's cheeky visage.
"So, the carpet matches the drapes in your case, Tribal Boy." – she said, sticking her tongue casually inside one of her mouth's inner walls. She was having a good time and didn't even bother to hide it – "Interesting."
Vulpes' nostrils distended.
"Occupied." – was his succinct answer, though his tone conveyed how little amusing he found the situation. It wasn't that he felt ashamed of his body, lean and fibered to the last muscle like any other legionary his age… but he didn't appreciate the leering he was being subjected to.
"Wanna share?" – was her impudent request, her blue eyes laughing as her body, covered only with her smalls, angled in a daring posture.
"No." – he replied succinctly again. His eyes squinted to thin, dangerous slits.
Don't she dare… or she would end up with quite a nasty surprise. Unlike his former mentor, his 'blending with the background' policy had its limits. And this was way off them.
With the Courier, given the potential allegiance interest she represented for Caesar, he could make an exception. But not with this woman.
He wasn't screwing a potential upper hand with the Courier just because this Profligate had an itch she wanted others to scratch.
Just like those perverted old rich women in the casinos who chased boys young enough to be their grandsons only because they were bored and they had enough money.
Only because they can.
However, unexpectedly, she threw her head back as she had a good laugh at his expense. Strands of bright red hair sticking to the sides of her freckled face.
"Relax, dude. I'm just messing with you." – she smiled with good humor – "You're too serious for your own good, you know that? Friendly advice: don't become a 2.0 Version of Red Beret Man. You'll be way happier." – then, she winked playfully at him and proceeded to draw the curtains again – "Besides, you're still too young for my tastes. I'll come back when you have grown a beard." – with this, giggling, she finished moving the curtains and left him finally alone.
Although the shame and humiliation he felt right now, his ears burning angrily, wouldn't be so easy to shake off.
He had to keep his temper in check before doing something he would later regret when the curtain by his left, the one that separated his bathtub rectangle from the next, was vigorously shaken.
"Hey, Jimmy!" – Veronica's voice exclaimed happily amidst the water noise of her shower at the other side – "Be a dear and play a song with your Pip-Boy, will ya?"
Inhaling twice, Vulpes regained his composure, thinking about how now he understood the Followers doctor's deal with privacy as these people hadn't the thinnest respect for personal space (although he wasn't the one to talk about privacy when he had spent more years than he could remember sharing tents, latrines, and buckets of cold water with other boys), and dignified an answer.
"What?"
Veronica giggled from the other side of the curtain.
"I bet Six has put some music on your device before giving it to you. She said her old one has lots of music in it, c'mon!" – she moaned like a whimsical little girl – "Play a song!"
Thinking about calming himself and nothing more, he complied and, after fumbling a bit with the Advanced Settings, he programmed the Pip-Boy to reproduce music using a small side speaker as an output channel instead of the earphones. Then, he picked a random song.
It was some sort of hymn, compelling. It kept repeating something about people who will be 'rock you', which he hadn't the slightest idea what it could possibly mean. Maybe it was something related to lapidation? For the lyrics seemed to suggest otherwise. (*)
"Yeah!" – he heard Veronica squealing, evidently delighted with his choice – "That's what I'm talking about!"
The song's extension was enough for all of them to finish their showers and for Vulpes' nerves to get back in place.
He emerged from his 'bath stall' wearing his pajama trousers and the white undershirt he always wore inside any clothing while incognito. He had earned quite the observations from many women he had approached intimately regarding that particularity, from "Awww, you're shy, aren't you?" to "Jeez, you're a tad weird, boy" or even "That's the unsexiest thing I've ever seen".
But that was infinitely preferable to having to tell them a sob story explaining his scarred back about how, at some point, the Legion had captured and tortured him.
Which, he thought sometimes, wasn't that far from the truth.
"Don't mind much Cass." – with a black tank top and grey yoga pants that pointed out her outstanding developed musculature, Veronica joined him while following the pancakes' scent to the kitchen area – "It's a sort of initiation prank of hers, you know?" – she explained, giving him an apologetic smile – "Boone and Arcade have suffered variations of the same thing already, so don't take it too personally."
"I see." – was his noncommittal answer while his mind pondered on what 'initiation' this group meant exactly by doing things like this.
Once they reached the kitchen's entrance, they found Raul sitting alone in front of his workbench with a mug of coffee black as the night by his side while tinkering with the damaged eyebot, ED-E – oddly pronounced like 'Eddie' - Vulpes had learned how they called it, while Rex was napping at the ghoul's feet.
Next to him, however, sitting on the main kitchen table, were both Boone and Arcade smiling as they watched quietly how the Courier waltzed around Lily, earning from time to time soft patting on the head from the supermutant's enormous hand while singing along with the song she was currently playing on her Pip-Boy.
She looked happy.
"Ha estado así desde primera horita de la mañana." – the ghoul muttered as Vulpes passed by his side to join the rest on the table – "Está bien contenta con su chisme de vuelta. Gracias por ayudarla, chavo." (1) – he added, flashing a small, full of corroded teeth, smile.
Not knowing how to answer to that, Vulpes simply nodded once and sat at the table, eyeing the mountain of warm pancakes hungrily the instant it landed on the center of the table.
However, when his fork aimed towards the fragrant bakings, Rex approached him and now was putting his non-metallic frontal paw over Vulpes' hand while keeping equilibrium on both his hind legs.
Amused by the canine's behavior, the Frumentarius aimed his fork towards his coffee, and the dog repeated the action.
However, the animal barked happily as soon as he aimed toward some brahmin steak leftover from the previous day. Evidently, he was communicating what he wanted.
Vulpes had no problem in providing the dog his well-deserved prize and brought near the piece of meat… however, as soon as he angled towards the animal to give it to him, Vulpes noticed a faded red paint on the dog's metallic left side that almost made him choke on his own saliva: he would recognize the pattern anywhere, a red bull.
This animal was Legion's property. Caesar's property, to be precise.
Out of the corner of his eye, as everybody had finally gathered around the table, he noticed the Courier's black eyes over him.
It was subtle, as her expression wasn't betraying any emotion, but her eyes… her eyes were literally pleading him not to bring up the subject. Ever.
Hesitating only a microsecond, Vulpes gave the animal his prize and proceeded to serve himself without uttering a word.
Breakfast developed amicably, very pleasant, and even entertaining as everyone exchanged idly conversation while Six and Vulpes stayed apart by exchanging silent glances between them.
They weren't really sure about the other's intentions just yet, but the wariness that had been floating between them since they had abandoned The Tops' rooftop had quickly evolved into a timid easiness that spoke of hidden hopes none of them would dare to voice.
So, that had been how Six had ended up again washing dishes with Zorro after breakfast, eliciting an odd déjà vu sensation as if the previous day had started again and they were fresh out of a crazy night, weighing their chances over the chessboard.
However, this time Zorro was the first one to speak.
"I am temporarily needed outside The Strip." – he delivered as a way of explanation. And Six knew she wasn't going to get much more than that. She was grateful, though. She preferred not knowing a thing so her conscience wouldn't demand her to stop him before another exemplary lesson would be delivered to yet another Nipton – "Also, I have to… explain this new situation so they would allow me more freedom of movement."
Six paused her current task briefly to give him a questioning look.
"Is there a new situation?" – she asked very cautiously.
"I don't know." – he admitted, cautiously as well – "Is there, indeed?"
"What do you mean?"
"Should I want to, am I allowed to return here?"
Both kept silent as more dishes were rinsed and dried, mulling on possible answers.
"You are." – she finally answered, her voice a mere whisper – "Are you sure about what you're doing?"
"Are you?" – he returned the question.
"I have an inkling."
"So do I."
Once they finished, Six spoke again as she untied the apron she had put on to deal with the dishwashing.
"When are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow, first hour in the morning."
"When are you returning?"
The sudden concern in her voice caught him off-guard. He wasn't used to being missed, for he had nobody back in his Flagstaff house waiting for his return. It was an alien concept, and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.
"Perhaps in a week." – he answered earnestly – "Maybe a bit more. It depends on whether I will be received as soon as I arrive or the following day at the latest."
"That's how it works?" – she asked, her voice small.
"Always."
They were walking outside the kitchen now side by side, oddly at ease around each other.
"So…" – she started.
"So…" – he said at the same time, making the two of them momentarily silent, face to face at the door of the Master Bedroom.
"… What are you going to do today?" – she asked out of a sudden.
"Recovering?" – he answered, raising a very white brow – "I'm still feeling quite nauseated after taking those pills that, presumably, are cleaning my body from that disgusting injection the Chairman maggot stabbed me with." – he added with a grimace, earning a small giggle out of her.
"Don't worry." – she said reassuringly – "As soon as I'm getting my hands on Benny, he will pay for what he did to you too."
That was cute, he had to admit.
"Quite a big statement… coming from such a small girl." – he replied before thinking.
However, despite his tongue slip that, with any other stranger, would have likely earned an unfavorable reaction, she smiled brightly and punched his bicep playfully. Apparently, she liked that type of bantering.
"Shut up!" – she exclaimed, giggling – "I'm little but mighty."
"Are you now?"
"Of course I am. I will make the entire Mojave bow before me soon. You'll see."
"You and what army, Courier?"
"Me and my awesome sass." – she winked at him – "Dig, babe?"
Awful joke, given the circumstances... but both were smiling now. Tentative, but sure.
"Wanna play a game?" – she asked, her black eyes shining.
"A game?" – he asked, arching a brow – "What kind of game?"
"Come." – she said, extending her hand to him, just in the same fashion he had done with her last night.
His already tingling hand was more confident than his brains when their fingers connected. She guided him inside the Master Bedroom and made him sit on the queen-sized bed.
However, as he was about to ask her if they should close the door for more privacy, she sat by his side and started fumbling with her Pip-Boy.
"Go to the Data Menu." – she instructed, much to Vulpes' astonishment – "On the Miscellaneous submenu, you will find a folder called 'My Games'. Open it and search for an Executable File called 'Tzar'."
Vulpes felt totally at a loss. So… she actually wanted to play a game?
He had heard of these… pre-War virtual games that few people who weren't Vaulties had managed to get a hold of. There was even an old Recreative establishment on the Freeside run by a ghoul where many young men, mostly NCR soldiers, went from time to time with their pals to have some harmless fun while drinking some beers. Vulpes had been there once to assess the place, but he hadn't touched a single game. What was the point of buying round plastic chips you would spend on a machine that you cannot make any benefits out of?
"It's roleplaying and strategy." – the girl went on explaining – "You pick a civilization, a color, and make the best of it on a randomly generated terrain. Pick the 'Multiplayer' option. That's it." – she arranged the same settings for her device – "Now wait until both our devices detect their respective signals."
And soon, once she had prepared the necessary options on both their Pip-Boys, Vulpes ended up with what she called 'European Civilization' under a blue banner while she opposed him with an 'Arab Civilization' under a red banner.
It took two rounds of losing against her for the Frumentarius to grasp the game's mechanics. This was a sort of a virtual simulator on how one amassed and strengthened a civilization before going to war against the neighbor. Very interesting.
"Let's see who's the best out of three victories?" – she asked, a big sufficient smile plastered all over her face.
"Make it five." – he answered, clearly piqued, his brow furrowed while the insulting 'You have lost' message flashing on the device's screen mocked him – "Two consecutive defeats don't secure immediate victory to the adversary. Experience is the teacher of all things... And I am a very adept student."
"Ha! Prove it."
"Oh, you are going to regret saying that, Courier…"
And they played again.
And in this third round, his, even by little difference, had been the first of many victories.
Chief Gustavo's attention that morning wasn't as focused as he would have liked.
It happened every time the Lady waltzed all over his territory as if she owned the entire place.
Which, if he had to be honest, wasn't far from the actual truth.
It wasn't that he didn't think she was quite an eye-catcher because she damn well was the hottest chick around… but what Gustavo found particularly as unnerving as repelling about her was how unpredictable and violent she got the more time she spent at the Tower doing nothing.
And they say that the Devil makes work for idle hands to do.
Perhaps Burke found her restlessness amusing, something to keep the rest of the Tower's residents on edge, so they won't forget who was boss there… but Gustavo was growing wearier and wearier every time he saw her with those laser pistols resting on her twin bandoleer's holsters while she vigorously shook her hips, assessing the watching posts with martial intent, daring any of the present men to give her the wrong look so she could shoot their brains off without even batting a lash.
Half the Tower staff hated her, and the other half was terrified of her presence, none of the poor bastards daring to exchange a single look with her, and they only spoke when she addressed them.
Curse their luck, but life in the Tower had been way easier when Tenpenny was still alive.
It was true that the ghoul menace from Roy Phillips and his people four years ago was no more if the dried human skulls impaled at the outer entrance were of any indication… but at what cost?
When he had signed for Tenpenny Tower Head of Security work, Gustavo had known right from the start that he wasn't working for a good man.
But hey, he hadn't been a saint either prior to being hired. Being a merc usually knows no bounds when payment is particularly good enough, no matter how gruesome the job may be.
He hadn't suspected a thing when he and his men had rescued a particularly well-dressed fellow whose exquisite manners and smell of expensive cologne had spoken volumes about the amount of caps they could get from him if they complied with his wishes.
This fellow, shadier than a starless night, had taken a liking to them and had extended a contract of permanency that Gustavo and the guys had promptly signed; the promise of shelter, a regular incoming, and a shred of civilization in exchange for watching over an old pre-War refurbished building and shooting off the occasional troublemaker or Wasteland critter a too tempting opportunity to let go.
But nobody had told them that, as soon as this charming fellow had started expanding business dealing with a rogue Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel and their key agent on the purified water trade, the Tower's ownership would change hands in such a violent fashion. Burke had been a cunning son of a bitch working out an allegiance with the only faction in the entire Wasteland that didn't rely on third parties to thrive.
Not to speak about his deal, back on Shady Sands, on the far West.
If ambition itself had a physical incarnation, that would undoubtedly be Burke. Gustavo had never known a man who could be so unyielding and ruthless without losing an inch of style and elegance. The man knew his business well, too well.
His former employer hadn't known what manner of evil he had on payroll.
Tenpenny had been a whimsical old man, a pervert, and also a slave trader… but that hadn't affected a great deal on Gustavo's working days. Sure, he felt a little bad for the kids, especially for the petite brunette that Burke kept as his personal pet, but that hadn't been any of his business. Those kids could count themselves lucky not to have to deal with the harshness of the Wasteland and their nearly nonexistent chances of survival out there all by themselves.
On that, the brunette girl hadn't been as fortunate as the others.
Feeling rather than seeing the instant the Lady re-entered the building, the weight of her predatory green eyes finally lifted from their backs followed by a wave of relief washing all over the present men, eliciting the return of conversation and easy camaraderie that was usual among them.
However, despite sharing the sentiment with the guys, Gustavo couldn't stop thinking that the monstrous ghoul that always accompanied the Lady hadn't returned from his mysterious trip several weeks ago.
If the zombie still retained some scrap of sanity inside that rotten brain of his, he likely wasn't going to come back.
"Muahahaha!" – the tiny girl's voice chuckled in a joking imitation of evil intention – "This is it, Fox-Man, the definitive battle that will settle the outcome of this war!" – she exclaimed, totally at ease with her alleged villainous role. A role that had him nearly on the brink of snorting at her antics. She could play amazingly goofy when she wanted – "Any last words before your civilization meets impending demise?"
Vulpes had managed to remain serious so far, but his blue eyes were sizzling with laughter.
"Given that we are both four-score draw, I wouldn't fill my mouth with such empty threats, Mailwoman." – he replied, inflecting a fake bored tone on his voice – "Besides, we haven't established the surrender conditions of the loser yet."
"Aha! Negotiations, is it, then?"
"Of course. I want something in return if I win this round."
She smiled with such an innocence that informed Vulpes she hadn't grasped the tone he had used with that last sentence.
"Whaddya want if I lose?" – she asked.
Without saying a word, he had taken her by her small chin, closing the space between them to the point their lips had been but a hair's breadth from each other's.
"I'll tell you once I have seized my victory." – he whispered, for her to hear only, finding immense satisfaction as he watched her face and neck turning pink.
"Naaaaaughty." – she gently chided him while quickly extracting herself from his grasp – "Okay, I'll do my best. Wouldn't want to disappoint." – she added while pointing the red beret over her head, a sort of a lucky charm the NCR dog, Boone, had trusted her with during their game.
He had found them sitting on the queen-sized bed while Vulpes had just won his third game in a row and had positioned himself behind the Courier, first gifting the Frumentarius with the umpteenth hostile glance, to immediately stick his eyes on the girl's Pip-Boy screen.
"What are you doing, girlie?" – he had asked.
"We're playing a game!" – she had exclaimed happily like some five-year-old with an entire box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes in her power – "It's about strategy and stuff. He has a faction. I have another one. We have to conquer the other."
The man had squinted at the chosen colors.
"Is he the red one?" – he had asked with a calculated look, his faded green eyes darkening behind his shades.
That had alerted Vulpes immediately. The man suspected something and wasn't bothering to cover it, although he approached the subject with a certain degree of finesse.
But either the girl had been completely oblivious of his reservations, or she had chosen to utterly ignore them.
"Nope, I am." – she had answered.
Frowning deeply, the man had put both his hands over her shoulders.
"What made you choose that color?"
Her answer had been as sweet as her bright, toothy smile.
"Because of your beret." – she had said, pointing with her index finger at the aforesaid garment over his shaved head.
The small eyes of the man had softened behind his sunglasses. After that, he had taken off his beret and had put it over the girl's head while muttering with evident warmness just three words: "Give 'im hell."
After that, he disappeared from the room's door and hadn't returned.
Which suited Vulpes just fine. The man was clearly unstable and wouldn't take it kindly if the newcomer attempted to seduce the little girl he thought the Courier was, even if it was just kind of playful, given the shyness of the aforesaid girl. He hadn't come this far for a paranoid ex-soldier to start ruining his plans. He wasn't undergoing his best and most profitable spy work to just come back to Caesar empty-handed. He had to ensure that the girl wouldn't change her mind later when he returned from his excursion to Searchlight.
So, he waited until the next randomly generated terrain was produced before them both.
Oddly, it represented two different, almost identical pieces of land divided by an elongated portion of water that separated his faction from hers, like a sort of river.
He would think about that particular virtual battle in the months coming.
Red Menace everywhere.
In the air, in the earth, in the sky… on his left wrist, propaganda disguised as comics and videogames that sought to enlist kids to play war.
They were the good guys; the Commies were the bad guys. It had been so simple…
Red Menace everywhere.
Liquid black gold, many political interests, electric cars for everyone. Martial Law enforced a year before that…
The Commies were everywhere.
First, Chinese immigrants. Later, Latinos, Indians… the Muslims, the Jews... and many more.
You have your orders, soldier. (*)
The girl, the chamber.
A father, a fanatic, a protector… a maniac. His shadow cast upon the girl.
Red Menace everywhere.
Chase forcing him to remember what his orders were. Chasing him, chasing down his dreams. Chase the chaser.
You have your orders, soldier.
The training had been brutal; the mission, impossible. Liberation had been but an illusion. Smokes and shadows. Grenades, firebombs. Guys in Power Armor shooting kneeling civilians, having a good laugh at their expense.
Red Menace everywhere.
The Purge… the Purge had been an atrocity.
And they had approved it.
You have your orders, soldier.
A row of Chinese children weeping, covered in red, their language pleading and spiteful the same. Many had learned it so they could make out what they had been saying.
Red Menace everywhere.
Red Stars, Crimson Dragoons. The Red General.
A row of soldiers preparing their rifles in front of the weeping children.
You have your orders, soldier.
They had pulled the trigger.
Red Menace everywhere.
He had pulled the trigger.
You have your orders, soldier.
Just like many before him had done.
The bombs fell, his comrades fell. The simulation had become a reality… and he was a permanent player doomed to lose. Marching for years on end.
There were left no heroes, no villains alive. No Commies, no Stars and Stripes. Nobody left to blame, just ghosts of the past.
Many lifetimes had passed… but orders were still orders.
He could write them down again by memory. He could produce countless copies telling the same tale. Paper can only last for so long.
Chase was no more… but there were other masters available on this bitter land. They might not understand the orders, but they tended to grasp the situation pretty quickly.
You have your orders, soldier.
She had grasped the situation faster than many. She had pitied him once.
She has her orders, and you have yours, soldier.
She would pity him no more.
Anchorage was very far away right now.
There was nothing to do. ED-E, definitely, had abandoned them.
For hours, she and Raul had tried to make the eyebot operative again by unbending and reassembling its damaged frame parts, changing the entire wiring system that had been charred literally in its eighty percent, cleaning its ventilation system, checking the condenser, the delicate memory card, the hybrid CPU, the control system, the manipulators, the flying drivetrain… and nothing.
When Six had gotten her hands on the bot, she had managed to bring it to life with a couple of Sensor Modules, some scrap electronics and metal, and a lot of imagination by recalibrating servos and gyroscopes and, ultimately, bypassing some of the primary systems to aid the secondary ones to compensate.
How a seventeen-year-old had come to such a complicated yet elegant solution in less than an hour with the constant threat of ex-convicts raiding the town of Primm, where she said she had found the bot in the first place… was beyond Raul and Veronica's comprehension. However, Six, either because those two bullets had scrambled her egg in a good way… or rather that she had always been a sort of a mad genius, couldn't be described as a regular teenager.
If she hadn't been able to bring ED-E to life for a second time, it was clear that nobody could.
"I just don't get it." – Veronica said while huffing in frustration – "We've got the entire wiring new, and the CPU hasn't been damaged at all! It should work!"
"Thing is, Señorita (2) Veronica, that the robot doesn't have a proper on-off switch to test that the circuitry is properly ensembled." – Raul replied, tired and frustrated as well – "We have no way of even knowing if it's getting any electric current. And we have already checked it with an amperemeter. This machine surpasses all my robotics and mechanics' knowledge."
"Mine too." – confirmed the Scribe sadly – "This is Enclave tech. For years, the Brotherhood attempted to regain some of the lost tech RobCo and the Old-World U.S.A. Government left scattered across the country in different military and scientific secret bases. Seems like they had much more refined projects than we could even begin to fathom."
While reading the twelfth issue of Today's Physician a few paces from the frustrated duo, Arcade's fingers bristled over the worn pages, trying very hard to concentrate on his reading rather than overhear a discussion he, theoretically, had nothing to do with.
Theoretically.
However, if briefly tempted to add his little grain of sand to the present issue, his weak resolve got even weaker the moment Six came through the door like a tornado with Gerhard Trede's American Swing at full volume. (*)
"I won, yay!" – she was exclaiming happily while dancing around the kitchen table madly – "I wowowowowowon, I wowowowowowon!" – she sing-sang along with the musical piece's first seven notes – "Dubi-Dubi-Du Dah Dah…"
Clearly distracted with such a fuss, Veronica took her eyes off the offending inoperative robot and directed them first towards the noisy whirlwind of a girl, then to the kitchen's entrance, where a tired-looking Zorro Salvaje was gazing at the official winner of their virtual match with a mixture of not liking one bit having been defeated, but looking satisfied and even a little amused at watching her self-indulgent victory dance.
He may not realize it, but since his arrival, Six was way happier than any of them had seen her since they had known her. It wasn't just the Pip-Boy returning thing, but rather that the young man, of all people, indulged her by just going with the flow of her extravagant requests.
And the best part was that he was also having fun.
Veronica felt a surge of gratefulness towards him. Before his arrival, she and Boone had been the closest ones by age to Six… and they were a whole decade older than her.
Veronica considered herself a joyful person who could be rather childish sometimes… but she wasn't a teenager.
She had tried to be there for Six, to share her interests, to partake in her jokes and odd idiomatics… but, sometimes, Veronica had felt older than she should. Older by looking at this small girl with damaged memories and even more damaged self-esteem, and seeing the only viable road to take if they wanted to change the world. To change the current situation of thousands of people.
This girl was the only one willing enough to push it to the limits to achieve her goals.
Maybe those two bullets had deprived her of any self-preservation sense by trusting a bunch of strangers with her dreams and safety… but her gentle intentions would have won over any good-natured person. If she wanted, she could have many more idealistic people following her, not to House, Caesar, or President Kimball.
She only had to ask. To try. To persevere. Veronica wished to believe so, and nobody would tell her otherwise. For her broken family in the Brotherhood, for her also broken dreams… for the sake of her own sanity after Elijah and HELIOS One five years ago.
Maybe she, as emotionally unstable as she was, was following the lead of a crazed person the same way she had done in the past… but they had something great in progress. Or wouldn't House have invited them into his sanctuary if he didn't believe Six was worth much more than being a simple courier?
She had been older than Six when she had decided to accompany Elijah on his scandalous banishment disguised as an impossible mission on the Mojave. She had been older than this brave girl, and she had done nothing.
She had been meek, docile as a lamb going to the slaughterhouse. She still had Elijah's notes with her to remind her of the only person she had seen as the grandfather she never had… and her blind adoration for said person.
The Brotherhood had been her only world until Elijah's mistakes at HELIOS One and her constant exposure to his talking back attitude to the Brotherhood's figures of authority had earned her a permanent, although unofficial, banishment. Just like Elijah.
And she had resigned herself to live as a scavenger, to be at the 188 Trading Post and swallowing the bitter pill of being a laughable 'Procurement Specialist', a renegade who couldn't woman up and forsake her Brethren to seek a better horizon… until Six had appeared.
Veronica recalled the encounter as if it had been yesterday. She had been looking forward to buying some brahmin sirloin, fresh potatoes, and carrots to take them to the bunker… until a small girl had approached her with an Enclave eyebot and a gruffy NCR sniper in tow.
Veronica hadn't known how to react, even less with members of apparent opposite factions traveling together as if it had been nothing.
"Hiya! That kid over there says your name's Veronica." – the small girl had said with a big smile, her index finger pointing to Clay or, more commonly known as 'The Forecaster', a (presumably) 'gifted' child who lived on his own at the 188. The stranger had been dressed as a boy, but Veronica had seen enough Brotherhood women bearing little apparent difference between them and their male counterparts to tell – "He also says that you're sad. Wanna have some Nuka with us?" – she had asked, pointing this time to her silent NCR guardian.
Despite her reservations towards an NCR war veteran and the dangerous origins of the floating device, Veronica had accepted. And, since then, her world had regained a bit of sense.
First of all, said girl had almost no qualms about the origins of her followers, so making a Brotherhood Scribe travel with an NCR ex-sniper, an Enclave eyebot and, later, a Followers' doctor, an ill ex-Legion cyberdog, an NCR ex-caravanner, a ghoul repairman, and a Nightkin farmer totally made sense to her.
And second, while being a social person, Veronica had sometimes felt intimidated by some of Six's companions… until she realized that every one of them was, in a way, as broken as their leader was.
They simply were good people eager to make a difference.
Six's crusade could provide that to them. So, Veronica had stayed.
And now she didn't conceive a life without them, such was the fondness she felt for each one of these nut heads.
And now, this awkwardly silent lanky boy was becoming yet another member of their odd family.
Veronica had already accepted him.
"Hey, and what's this?" – Six's delighted squeal awakened Veronica from her reverie – "You two got ED-E functioning?" – she added, pointing to the apparently set up bot.
She and Raul exchanged a very significant look.
"We are… still working on it, Boss." – the ghoul replied diplomatically, unwilling to break the news to her just yet.
The girl's happy expression faltered a bit until she cradled the device lovingly between her arms and squeezed it.
"Don'cha worry, ED-E." – she cooed, to Zorro's momentarily great shock, eyeing her as if he were expecting her to be joking – "We're gonna find a fix for you too." – with that, she left the eyebot back on the workbench with the utmost care in the world – "When we'll manage to save enough money for Rexie's brain, we can ask if Old Lady Gibson has some spare robotic pieces as well. I think I got an idea of what could be wrong with ED-E."
"Money?" – Zorro's soft voice asked behind her – "You mean… that you are going to buy your dog a brain?" – he sounded genuinely interested – "What for?"
Six turned to face him.
"Surely you've noticed that Rex takes long naps and tends to tire way too soon after brief activity." – when he nodded, she continued – "Well, the thing is that he has neural degradation, a result of aging. Bio-Med Gel can only preserve a living brain for so long… and, by dog's standards, Rex is pretty much ancient." – she explained sadly.
"And you cannot pick the brain of just any other dog for free because…?"
Six squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze until Boone's voice irrupted the scene.
"We are talking about strength, resilience, and loyalty." – the ex-sniper clarified while going to the coffee machine – "Three qualities already hard to find in humans…" – he punctuated, clearly an underlying warning to who he still perceived as a stranger – "… all the more in an animal, thus why 'just any other dog' won't do." – while he poured himself a cup of the dark liquid and put it inside a working microwave, he gave the younger man a severe look – "Or would you rather trust her life…" – he pointed out by signaling Six with his eyes – "… with the protection of some rabid mongrel that likely would turn tail at the minimum opportunity?"
Wow. That had been quite verbose for Boone's standards. The man could be articulate AND bold when he wanted.
"Though Rex's inner cybernetic software provides him with a 'backup copy' that would secure not losing all the vital memories he has acquired over time, the brain exchange will not come without consequences." – Arcade intervened, both to inform and to clear the charged air Boone's evident distrust was achieving by the second, leaving his magazine aside – "Though I am not, by any means, a specialist in biomechanical science, I have read these pre-War studies about monkey brains transplanted on robobrains. If said brains turned out defective or developed a tumor, the bot's backup data would retain some of the old monkey's psychological traits… but these would end up 'mixing', if you will, with the memories of a new transplanted brain, thus creating, in consequence, a new hybrid personality." – he explained – "That is why we need the brain of a fierce but loyal dog that can reconcile both memories and would end up protecting and loving it's old/new master."
Veronica could tell that this information had intrigued Zorro a great deal, for he remained pensive the rest of the evening, paying extra attention to Rex, who had already assigned him the honor to be his human pillow most of the time while the young man sat learning more about the many functions the Pip-Boy had in store, and the dog would simply nap over his lap while giving him lazy licking.
They even fell asleep beside each other when everybody decided to retire after yet another intensive session of Six's pre-War movie collection. This time, some philosophical trilogy about the fate of humankind at the hands of the revolution of the machines. 'The Matrix', she had called them.
Although Veronica was sure that many of them – Arcade and Raul naturally excluded – hadn't gotten half the symbolism of the movies, she was grateful to get an insight into how her companions perceived the action. Cass had constantly been saying how hot and badass Trinity was (an opinion Veronica vehemently shared with her). Boone had made a couple of questions about why humankind in the movies had gotten in such a shittier situation than the real world already was. Lily had sighed dreamily when Trinity had kissed Neo the first time… and Zorro had said nothing, but his focused look while he munched on cookies and fries had been enough to inform Veronica that he found the story fascinating.
Six hadn't picked an unintelligent ninth companion, that was for sure.
However, Veronica didn't know what to make of him the next morning as Six announced that he was leaving for a week.
None of them had left Six's side since they had been incorporated into the group before. It had been a sort of a silent pact between them, and having the newest addition breaking it so easily had given the young Scribe a pang of something akin to betrayal.
Nonetheless, the instant he had asked Six if the dog's new brain needed some kind of special treatment before transplanting it, Veronica had dared to hope.
And, when a puzzled Six had pointed him to the prepared insulation portable capsule with Bio-Med Gel the old doctor in Jacobstown had provided them with, Veronica knew the girl hadn't made a mistake with him when he had taken the capsule, saying that he would return with a worthy dog's brain.
So, the instant she had come down The Strip's streets with Lily, Raul (of all people Zorro could be in their good graces, it was the grumpy ghoul who seemed to be the most comfortable around him), Rex, and Six to bid him goodbye, she had extended her hand to him.
"See ya soon, Jimmy." – she had said with a smile.
Momentarily surprised at her amicable display, he had taken her hand to give it a firm shake.
"Goodbye, Becky." – had been his cheeky answer, still maintaining the poker face façade he was, apparently, so comfortable with.
The feeling of treason had immediately vanished from Veronica's trusting, although naïve heart.
The bastard was heading East.
Perched on the little space that provided one of the Presidential Suite's balconies, Boone observed through the lens of his scooped hunting rifle how the albino brat was taking the route from The Strip North Gate towards the East Gate of the Freeside.
And East meant only one thing.
"You really should stop being so paranoid." – he heard Arcade's voice behind him – "Six trusts him. That should count for something."
Boone was silent, his right eye still on the scope.
Behind him, Arcade sighed.
"Look, I get it." – he said – "She disappeared that night, and you find that this boy has been with her all the time. You felt like he sort of kidnapped her, and you are in your right to be angry with him. Even with Veronica, who's the one who left her alone in the first place at the seediest possible casino in all of Vegas. And I should know because I was pissed off as well." – as he saw no movement coming from the sniper, he sighed again – "Nevertheless, bear in mind that becoming suspicious of all the young men who aren't wearing the uniform of the Two-Headed Bear is the equivalent of suspecting a good half of the population on the Mojave. And it's going to make you miserable, just like you were back in Novac." – now that had earned a slight tension building on the sniper's shoulders – "It's true that I don't know who he is, and maybe you will end up being right… but you should consider that he's a human being and that he suffers, just like any of us. Six's inclination to recruit the most broken, sad, traumatized idiots around should give you an approximate idea, and that boy is no exception." – after that, Boone heard the balcony door being pulled and closed.
Boone's grip on his rifle faltered a bit and tightened again when the sound of the balcony's door being open and closed again, carrying with it a distinct smell of whiskey.
"Look, I didn't want to say anything before because I know what a fucking paranoid loony you are, but…" – Cassidy's voice got briefly cut as she took a swing of her already second whiskey bottle in the morning – "Just saying that you might, and I say MIGHT, not be so wrong after all."
He had lost him. His scope would only reach as much distance.
"What do you mean?" – he asked, turning around to face the woman, who was calmly leaning against the opposite wall.
"Well, you see… I've fucked a lot of your soldier types." – she smiled, already slightly inebriated – "I still do, from time to time."
"Your point being?"
"My point is… that I have grown to recognize your body shape quite well… and Tribal Boy just happens to share that particular trait with you."
Silence.
"You're saying he's NCR?" – in Boone's voice, incredulity could be heard.
Cassidy snorted.
"Fuck, no." – she said, clicking her tongue – "What I'm saying is… that I recognize the body of a soldier. Which kind of soldier is an entirely different question."
Boone's grip on his rifle tightened until his knuckles became white.
"You think he could be Legion?" – he asked, briefly tempted to chase the little chalky rat down. He still had time.
Cass shrugged.
"Dunno." – she admitted – "I've never seen a goddamned legionnaire washing dishes before, but everything's possible."
"Why tell me then?"
Suddenly, Cass' attitude switched, and she was serious now.
"Because I don't want some motherfucking pretty soldier boy breaking her heart by using her as a means to get a promotion, being General Oliver or fucking Cesar the one giving it, I care a molerat's ass about, really." – she spat – "Don't you see that she's famous now? Maybe House now holds the upper hand when it comes to her services as a courier… but, as soon as she finishes her contract by killing the fucker that stole the Chip from her and returning it to Machine Man up here… she might not be able to step out of the Mojave's affairs so easily, for many people wants her by their side. And Oliver and Cesar cannot be the only ones."
That gave Boone some pause, seeing the logic behind the redhead's words. She, too, cared about the girlie a great deal, after all.
Could this be true? That their current stay at the Lucky 38 had awakened a web of political interests within the two primary factions occupying the Mojave? So soon?
Being this true, he already knew what had to be done.
"Let's keep this between us." – he decided – "When I can't keep an eye on her, you'll be covering my position. The point?: not leaving her alone until we learn what game the albino's playing. He has the others in his pockets already, so I can only trust you."
Cassidy smiled lazily. Coming from Party Pooper, this had to be hard to come by.
"Deal." – she agreed, extending her hand and quickly regretting it as Boone got quite the bone-crushing grip on his hand.
"Hope you're aware of what implies making a pact with an NCR sniper." – he said very seriously.
But Cass, despite any situation, couldn't remain as serious as many probably wished she would.
"The 'working in pairs and relying on the companion' shit? Yeah." – she watched Boone's stony face with anticipation as she dropped the bomb – "At least that's what one of you boys told me while attempting to give me some lip service. Most boring fuck ever."
The only indication that she had bothered him was one of Boone's jaw muscles twitching twice. For Cass, that was enough.
There was a new bounce in his step.
It was infrequent for him to feel such giddiness, given that he identified such a state as childish, unfitting for Caesar's greatest Frumentarius… but Vulpes also knew that indulging the ego a little from time to time was a means to raise one's morality, thus perfectly healthy.
While he hadn't managed – yet – to make the Courier fully pliable to his wishes, he hadn't left her group's company empty-handed.
And he meant it quite literally: besides the RadAway intravenous bags, the Buffout, and Rad-X he had managed to sustain from their stock, the Courier herself had insisted that he took something she had called a 'Riot Gear', a rare piece of pre-War armor she had owned, although she didn't say how she had obtained it.
"It's about your size." – she had explained when he had asked why giving him such a valuable item – "It will cover your skin entirely so you won't be getting burnt out there; and Arcade, who's the only other that could fit in it, finds it a bit too claustrophobic for his liking."
He hadn't expected her to know what his skin condition entailed, but he had appreciated the gesture. This way, he would remain relatively clean until he arrived at Searchlight. No more mud-smearing over the skin.
It was true that the armor got a time-adjusting process, since he found it claustrophobic as well, but this was way better than wearing a tanned coyote headdress, so he wasn't complaining.
In fact, he wasn't complaining at all: this had been, with a difference, the most profitable, interesting, and exciting undercover work he had done in a long time.
And he was very looking forward to continuing it should Caesar give him his approval.
Vulpes was confident that his Lord would see this as an excellent opportunity to gather more intel while working on attracting the Courier's interest to aid the Legion. He had proof enough that the girl wanted him by her side.
And so did most of her companions. If the cookies the supermutant had given him and the cordial handshake he had gotten both from the ghoul and 'Becky' counted for something, that is.
Not to tell the unbelievable load of food and water supplies everyone except the NCR dog had insisted he took with him.
So, he had ended up not only with new protective gear and a brand-new Pip-Boy, but also with a duffle bag full of supplies, medicines, and, most importantly: dynamite.
Dynamite he intended on using soon if everything went according to his plan.
He spent two nights camping outdoors and an extra one inside Wolfhorn Ranch, one of the Legion safehouses, as he deemed the main roads way too crowded with NCR patrols for his liking. Not that he had something to fear from them, but his gear was so unique that it would raise suspicion if he allowed it to be seen too frequently around Searchlight.
For he wanted his Fox/Zorro persona to remain totally unrelated with Vulpes Inculta. And many people on The Strip had already seen him wearing the gear without the covered helmet, so he wasn't taking any chances.
He had changed inside the safehouse and had left the gear along with the portable brain capsule with a 'Property of Vulpes Inculta' note so none of his Frumentarii comrades would get the wrong ideas about using either of the items, most prominently, the armor. It was his, the Courier had gifted it to him, and nobody else had the right to wear it.
He had earned it, just like the Pip-Boy.
So, with mud smeared again on his exposed skin as he donned his officer explorer armor and the regrettably necessary Vexillarius coyote headdress, he had walked from Wolfhorn Ranch to the near Legion Raid Camp where, for months, his men had been stocking piles and piles of ammo and food supplies they had been intercepting from NCR shipments meant for Camp Searchlight to weaken their defenses.
And the moment, after months of careful preparation, of teaching them an exemplary lesson, had come: his men had informed Caesar about a blatant breach on Searchlight's defenses since they were sure they were running low on food and ammo as well when many of the soldiers had ventured outside the encampment to hunt down some geckos for meat, thus wasting resources and making their position more vulnerable than ever.
And Caesar had given the order to proceed.
So, here he was: his arrival at the Raid Camp had gotten all of his men in their positions, ready for him to command.
"Ave, true to Caesar." – he had greeted the first one stepping in to welcome him – "Tell me where Gabban is, for I wish to speak with him before further orders are given, Maximus."
The alluded, a young man not much older than Vulpes himself, had given him a brisk salutation.
"Ave, Commander Inculta. You will find Gabban at the tabernaculum repono, (A) ready to assume his position as your Second-In-Command."
Vulpes was briefly tempted to correct the other man's Latin pronunciation, but he knew how hard Maximus was trying to learn their language, so he let it pass for this time.
"Not this time, Maximus, for I will appoint another as my Second-In-Command for this mission." – upon seeing Maximus' soft brown eyes lighting up with hope, Vulpes had already made his decision. The young man was strong and capable, and many other young Frumentarii respected him. It would be unfair not to allow him to prove his worth – "Upon my return, gather three of the least assuming men and don a caravan disguise. After that, wait for my orders."
He could tell that Maximus was having a hard time hiding his excitement.
"Yes, Commander Inculta!" – he exclaimed – "Thank you, sir!"
With that, Vulpes bid him Vale and approached the tent where they kept all the stolen NCR supplies.
"Ave, Vulpes Inculta." – Gabban saluted him unceremoniously once he got inside.
"Ave, fratris meus." (B) – Vulpes replied, earning an immediately shocked look from the younger man – "Everything in order during my absence, I hope?"
"Don't do that!" – the alluded replied, lowering his voice considerably – "You wanna get us both killed?!"
"Ah, exaggerated as always, I see." – Vulpes said, keeping a cool façade while his right hand went to cup Gabban's face – "She was right when she said your cautious nature would give you a heart attack out of excessive worrying the more you keep growing older. And what's this?" – he added, taking one of his interlocutor's hands to show it to him as well – "Bitten nails. How many times do I have to remind you that this evident proof of nervousness, ergo weakness, will gain you no favors among the rest of the men? You have an example to set."
"Stop that!" – the other exclaimed, taking his wrist out of Vulpes' grasp – "You know how some can misinterpret that behavior of yours!" – he sighed, taking his eyes to the rammed ground under their feet as if it were the most interesting thing in the world at the moment – "It's not like it hasn't happened before…"
But Vulpes had taken a step to him, his hands holding both sides of Gabban's face gently when he planted a kiss between his brows.
"Cualquiera con ojos lo bastante observadores entendería la naturaleza de mi afecto por ti." – he whispered – "Después de todo, ¿acaso no está un hombre en su derecho a demostrar aprecio hacia su propio hermano?" (3)
Gabban's galvanic blue eyes saddened, but other than that, he allowed the contact meekly. He, too, missed when both were children, and no one would question how right and healthy it had been to hug each other. But life hadn't been fair to any of them.
"I bring presents, both for you and… for her as well." – Vulpes whispered conspiratorially while he presented his duffle bag to the younger man.
"She would kill us both should she catch us talking about her this way…" – Gabban muttered back, his hand already fishing inside the bag – "Dynamite?" – he asked, raising a thick brow as he showed Vulpes the result of his rummaging.
Vulpes chuckled, his shivering shoulders the only sign of his amusement.
"Try again."
A delighted gasp later produced a brand-new box of Sugar Bombs.
"Oh, man!" – Gabban whispered excitedly, his eyes shining like a five-year-old at his birthday party – "These are so good!"
Vulpes smiled brightly, watching the other becoming, if briefly, the boy he still was.
"There is another one for her." – he confirmed, pointing to the bag with his eyes – "And now… I am afraid the next gift that awaits you is going to be… less pleasant as I would have liked, but it is a necessary evil." – he explained as he produced an intravenous RadAway bag – "Give me your left arm and pay attention, for you will be required to do the same with her."
Gabban looked at the offending bag with horror in his eyes.
"You gotta be kidding!" – he hissed – "That's forbidden, and you know it!"
"I couldn't care less, dearest brother."
"Maybe you don't, but I do!"
"If I tell you that I have been subjected to the same procedure, will you feel better?"
"What?! Are you fucking crazy?!"
"Watch that mouth, or I will have it cleaned with soap."
"You're NOT treating me like a child! I don't care if you're older!"
"Then stop behaving and sounding like a child."
"You cannot possibly mean to inject that… thing into her and me!"
"Oh, but I do."
"Based on what?!"
"Based on this." – at that, the odd bulky gauntlet that Gabban had observed on him came to life, emitting a soft amber glow as Vulpes navigated through the menus – "Do you know what this is?" – he asked, showing a particular menu to the younger man.
Gabban's jaw had suddenly gotten all loose.
"That's…" – he muttered, astonished – "That's what those people from the Vaults…"
"Not the device, you dummy." – Vulpes groaned impatiently – "The meter I am showing you."
Gabban blinked twice before answering. Oh, he could be so infuriatingly slow sometimes…
"It reads '2 Rads'." – he answered lamely.
"And what do you think that means?" – Vulpes pressed.
"That you only have a minimum radiation quantity?"
"Very good." – the albino confirmed, fumbling a bit with the menus to show the same menu to Gabban again – "What does it say now?"
"Uh… it reads '411 Rads'… Wait." – his eyes widened as he came to a conclusion – "You're saying that's my radiation level?!"
Vulpes nodded.
"You're kidding, right? I simply cannot be halfway going ghoul!"
Funny how the girl had put it with those exact same words after the first scanning.
"Now, imagine the radiation levels she must be showing after all this time on Techatticup Mine." – he deadpanned.
Gabban had run out of words at this point. Could this be right? That he and she were… dying?
Not for nothing, radiation poisoning was called The Phantom Death among the legionaries. You couldn't see it, you couldn't hear it, you couldn't even smell it. It basically built up in your system. You would never feel it until it was too late.
"Now, give me your left arm."
The younger man didn't argue further, but he soon became apprehensive by observing how a needle perforated his forearm artery.
"Pay attention." – Vulpes' voice hissed, commanding – "If you fail to learn how to do this, you will be failing her."
Gulping a great deal of saliva, Gabban nodded and endured the creeps the entire procedure gave him. It was just a needle; it was just a needle…
"Already done." – Vulpes announced as he patted Gabban's now free of needles' forearm – "You would need to hydrate yourself more than you are used to, so keep at hand several bottles of clean water."
Gabban nodded absently until he was trusted with more medication: Rad-X to endure possible radiation poisoning while on Techatticup Mine and… Buffout.
"Oh, good…" – he sighed, relief evident in his voice – "She was running low on these."
"I know." – Vulpes mumbled quietly, taking the dynamite with him and entrusting Gabban with the duffle bag – "You will be departing at this very instant."
"Wait, what about Camp Searchlight?" – the younger man protested.
"What about it?"
"Are you not here to launch an undercover attack?"
"That, I am. Yes."
"And I'm not supervising it?"
"Would you seriously expect me to send you to an NCR nest full of radioactive containers we pretend to blow off so the filth would spread to the whole encampment?"
"But that was your original plan!"
"Yes, and I am not including you in it. Maximus will be covering your position."
"Why?"
"I think the answer is quite obvious."
Biting his tongue so he wouldn't incur disrespect to who still was his superior officer, Gabban took the duffle bag while huffing in utter displeasure.
"Once you're done in Techatticup Mine, I want you to take the road to New Vegas and wait for me at The Atomic Wrangler casino in Freeside." – Vulpes instructed – "There should be enough money to buy you a few days of lodging at the Wolfhorn Ranch, Southeast of here." – he continued – "During your stay at Freeside, keep an ear on the ground about the Courier's group whereabouts. Gamble and blend in until I contact you."
"Is that everything?" – was Gabban's petulant answer.
From just any other, Vulpes would have knocked the teeth out of their mouths before that whole sentence fully came out.
The bastard knew very well that he and she were his Achilles' Heel.
"Tell her that I love her." – was his immediate answer, earning a soft glance from the other.
"She would kill me if I dared to say that to her." – he chuckled.
"Then say that I ordered you to say it." – replied Vulpes, grabbing Gabban by the nape, embracing him – "Fiel a La Jauría, hermano." (4) – he whispered in his ear, clapping his back fondly.
The younger man returned the gesture.
"Fiel a La Jauría." – he confirmed before stepping out of the embrace and leaving the storage tent.
Inhaling and exhaling twice to keep his nerves in check and ignoring the sudden need he experienced to scratch viciously both his wrists (thank the Pip-Boy gauntlet he wouldn't be achieving such a feat on his left one at least), Vulpes Inculta steeled himself for the mission ahead, dynamite cartridges already in hand for his men to see.
It had been a happy coincidence that he had found them, so he wouldn't have to sacrifice any of his men if they abandoned the encampment fast enough.
Maximus and the other three men were already dressed as caravanner and caravan guards, respectively. The trick would be to convince the NCR soldiers that their caravan had been attacked, thus why they lacked the due brahmin carrying the load.
"Good." – he confirmed, pleased that his men looked, indeed, like Profligate commoners – "Let us proceed."
Admittedly, Sloan had seen better days.
Chomps Lewis could attest to this. He had been one of the first moving to the place when the NCR had gotten ahold of the limestone quarry and had promised the earth to the workers in their fine speech shit… but, as usual, at the minimum trouble, they had been unable to provide.
It was nearly the sixth month since those ex-convicted bastards had stolen all the dynamite that had triggered the Deathclaw plague on the junction. And there was no sign of NCR troops coming to their aid yet.
True that the kid with the Pip-Boy had assembled the main generator correctly so they could enjoy electricity, and had promised to speak on their behalf to the authorities at the Mojave Outpost, Southwest of there… but that had been like eons ago…
Lewis was worried about his daughter. Between the Deathclaw infestation and her stupid decision to join the Great Khans… Lewis hadn't been able to speak with her in nearly a year.
She had promised to write, but… you know, young people… they loved keeping their old fellows in suspense. Just like the selfish, self-centered little pricks they were…
He was enjoying his morning coffee sitting at the small barricade they had managed to put together in the middle of the road, sledgehammer on his back should one of the monsters would decide to take a hike down the line… when a tall silhouette from the South cut a long shadow against the already scorching sun.
Yet the umpteenth lost traveler going to New Vegas taking the wrong route… - Lewis thought as he sighed heavily, preparing the usual warning he gave all the time.
"Hold up!" – he exclaimed, raising his right hand – "There are Deathclaws all over the damn place North of here. I'd turn back if I were..."
However, as soon as the words left his lips, he took a step back when he saw not only that the newcomer was at least a head taller than him, broader than a goddamned bodybuilder, and armed to the teeth… but that he was also a ghoul.
Thank God for some small mercies, a sane ghoul, if his strong gait full of intent was any sign of a still human mind.
However, while he observed the necrotic passing by his side as if there wasn't a barricade and a human in the way, Lewis got out of his trance and hollered:
"Wait! If you want to get to New Vegas, you're better off heading East from Primm and then looping North! It's a heck of a lot safer!" – however, as the stranger kept walking, Lewis attempted it one last time – "If you insist on going North, don't be expecting a rescue when you get into trouble!"
That prompted the ghoul to stop briefly, turning the skinned head back to give him the coldest look he had ever seen in another man, human or not.
"Do I look like I care?" – the ghoul rasped before resuming his brisk pace. Chomps Lewis didn't see him again.
But what he saw a couple of days after the incident was the first human face arriving from the North passage, pale and terrified, describing the carnage adorning the road ahead.
Lewis had gathered a few armed men to assess the situation by themselves. They didn't see a single Deathclaw shadow until they had come far enough to stand at the entrance of the Quarry Junction.
Bright crimson glowed everywhere as several chunks of unidentified meat signaled the path ahead.
Not willing to risk life and limb, Lewis had thrown one of his emergency flares, ready to start running at the minimum sound… and that had illuminated the rocky space just enough to see what had become of the previous occupants.
It had been so gruesome that one of the men had started throwing up.
For, lying on a pile of undistinguishable rotting organic tissue, there was a conglomerate of bones, peeled-off limbs, broken giant eggshells, bowels, plucked fangs, horns, and claws. A macabre testimony of what had happened there.
Sure thing, Lewis was happy to help clean the bloodied mess so they could restart the work… but he couldn't stop the treacherous thought that crept up the back of his mind about having been the only one who had seen the face of the meanest, toughest, roughest bastard in the entire Wasteland.
Even feral ghouls, by his standards, were way saner than the redhead motherfucker that had managed to wipe an entire Deathclaw nest in just one round.
SPANISH:
(1) - "She had been like this since early in the morning. She's very happy with her gadget back. Thanks for helping her, lad."
(2) - Miss
(3) - "Anyone with sharp enough eyes would understand the nature of my affection for you. After all, isn't a man in his right to show appreciation towards his own brother?"
(4) - "Loyal to The Pack, brother."
LATIN:
(A) - storage tent
(B) - "Hail, my brother."
A/N: I'm sorry I didn't show my appreciation to the last Favs and Reviews last time I posted! I was so emotionally drained that my brain just skipped good manners and went whining about First World problems and blahblahblah.
To Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R. I have to say... that I didn't know who Wesker was until I happened to bump into Resident Evil Wikia hehehehehe. Thank you for comparing (I gathered as much) Vulpes' manner of speech with such a charismatic villain, but he's not the only one "starring" this fic (although I tend to give him way too much time On Scene, as it showed here today). Thank you for commenting ^^
Thank you as well to Judy and CenturionMarcus. Even short reviews encourage me to keep writing.
So... this chapter had been a mixture between character development, emotional stuff, and (finally), getting out of that damned casino for once! Even if it is fun writing the characters interact, I was getting sick of everyone making themselves at home on the Lucky 38, so now, in the next chapter, we will get a glimpse of the Fort and Caesar himself! Some action, finally!
Hope you liked this new chapter, see ya soon!
