"Number Nine"
Ch. 08: We don't need another hero.
Warning: sensitive material ahead. This chapter contains a non-descriptive reference to rape, self-harming behavior, psychological abuse, and violence. If you're sensitive to these topics, either don't read or proceed with caution.
"Out of the ruins, out from the wreckage
Can't make the same mistakes this time
We are the children, the last generation
We are the ones they left behind
And I wonder when we are ever gonna change?
Living under the fear, till nothing else remains."
- Tina Turner, "We don't need another hero"
As soon as she had watched his tall, darkened silhouette disappear behind The Strip North Gate, Six had already accepted that she wouldn't be seeing him again unless he appeared draped in red colors, the horns of the Bull sharpened and menacing at the other side of the Dam with him at the head of its armies. The Bull's Fox.
She would be lucky if she, in time, received an invitation to Fortification Hill through one of his agents as House desired… and she would count herself as extremely fortunate if many of her friends, Boone being the first, didn't end up abandoning her after this Zorro fiasco.
And what did you expect? – she mentally chastised herself – That he would abandon his post just to chase after you in your folly, pursuing a chip and a snake? I am afraid that you are not so special. – somehow, in her mind, her most criticizing side sounded like Burke. His deep, pleasant voice spinning venom that reverberated as sweet as any slow Blues – Be realistic, my dear: your so-called 'friends' only follow you out of either pity or boredom. There is nothing that can be found in your person that holds any worth beyond your capability at diplomacy while looking harmless enough that nobody would suspect how truly twisted you are on the inside.
His voice would haunt her even when he wasn't present. Disguised as wise, adult guidance, his words would echo inside her head, drowning her thoughts, hushing her personality away.
"Have you ever heard the proverb 'Children should be seen and not heard', Birdie, dear?" – he had told her once when she had expressed her discomfort around Tenpenny – "As long as you will be residing on Tenpenny Tower under Alistair Tenpenny's rule, you will be addressing him as 'Sir' and put a smile on that face of yours while remaining conveniently quiet until he finishes what he has to say to you; the manner of his addressing to your person shall remain indistinct of intention. You will listen and then report to me."
And then… when the panther-eyed woman had intercepted her in the lower corridors, she had been forced on a chair at the Café Beau Monde while she had been accosted by questions she had found all the more difficult to answer.
"I am curious." – the green-eyed demon with the face of an angel, Laura, had said while drinking a cup of tea delicately, her long shapely legs elegantly crossed while she had studied the small girl in front of her – "He seems very fond of you, although the reason behind, escapes me entirely." – with yet another small sip to her cup, she had added – "Are you his daughter?"
"No, Miss." – she had answered automatically. Short and pleasant, just like Burke had instructed her.
"He calls you 'Birdie'." – Laura had insisted, her feline eyes squinting with cold intent – "Are you his lover?"
"No, Miss." – had been, once again, her answer.
That seemed to have appeased her.
"Is the blonde bimbo from Room 102 his lover?" – her questions had been the questions of a jealous, very possessive woman who had already settled her interest on a prey.
Didn't she know that she had Burke's interest already? That sounded like they weren't lovers yet. Perhaps, if she meddled, they would end up together. That would make Burke happy, right?
"No, Miss. Susan Lancaster is the residential escort, but Mr. Burke, to my knowledge, has never used her services." – she had answered, her cup of tea still untouched before her; tense posture, hands twisting under the table, nails puncturing on her flesh as Burke had forbidden her to bite them - "He's not married or anything like that, if that's your next question."
Laura had leaned on the cafeteria's table, her sharp sight scrutinizing.
"Aren't you a perceptive little pigeon?" – she had asked, her voice sweet but her body language predatory – "Very well." – relaxing against the backrest of her chair, she had crossed fingers to put them under her chin, pensive. The same gestures, the same deceptive body language Burke used for business. Her instincts had screamed red lights, but she had been so naïve… too naïve… – "Now that both have shown our respective cards, let me ask you one last question: what are your thoughts on the old man with the silly British accent? And be completely honest with me, because I'm not going to buy it if you start complimenting his rule or his perverted inclinations, am I right?"
That had stung. So deeply that she had bled truths, truths she had been unable to trust with a single soul.
Laura had listened to her patiently, nodding in the right places, offering a handkerchief for her tears, and forcing the warm cup of tea between her trembling hands with soft movements. She had felt so relieved after telling her everything…
"Tell me, pigeon: what do you think would happen if the old pervert were removed from the equation?"
She should have known better.
"I… don't know. Chief Gustavo would probably take the reins. He has the men on his side after all."
But she had dared to hope…
"Do you think the Tower residents would like to have Gustavo as their new landlord?"
To hope that there was still a shred of decency and goodwill in that hell.
"I… don't know. I don't think so. At least not the richest ones. Chief Gustavo is intelligent, strong, and knows how to lead… but he's rude by their standards, and he knows next to nothing about Tenpenny's business with Eulogy Jones and the Talon Company…"
"And who do you think would make a suitable successor should Tenpenny have… let's say, a 'tragic accident'?" – her smile had been cold, her words calculated to the millimeter – "Say, little pigeon: will you help me win over Burke's heart? I would be very grateful."
She had been led to believe that, this way, she would be doing both the Humankind a favor by removing such a putrescent son of a bitch from the map and earning both Burke and Laura's favor by 'helping her' crowning him as the new owner of the Tower.
But there had been a side of the coin she hadn't considered the instant she had had the old man cornered, alone in his balcony, drinking scotch with one of his unwilling girls sitting at his feet like some beast.
"What's this?" – the disgraceful human being of an old man had asked, eyeing both her and Laura's silenced pistols with distrust – "What do you think you two are doing in here?"
Laura had grabbed the other girl by the arm, taking her aside as 'Birdie' had positioned with her pistol pointing at Tenpenny's brow, her right combat boot over the couch between the man's legs to impede escape.
"Alistair Tenpenny." – she had recited; a sick, vicious feel of invincibility rushing through her veins – "For the power the Constitution and the Government of the United States of America have bestowed upon me, I declare you guilty of charges of slavery-conducting business felony, kidnapping felony, sexual violence felony, and crimes against humanity." – when the old man had attempted to speak up, she had silenced him with a kick to his groin – "Therefore, I sentence you to death under Martial Law declared on the 16th of August, the year 2076, by the United States Army under the lead of General Constantine Chase."
"You cannot do this!" – the bastard had hollered, his wrinkled face red and twisted in an ugly sneer – "This is not the United States anymore, you fool! This is…!"
"Long live America." – she had deadpanned before pulling the trigger, not once or twice, but several times until the full cartridge had been empty.
However, the very moment a slow clapping had reached her ears, she had learned the truth.
Burke had stepped out of the shady corner where he had been hiding. He had approached Laura, who, after giving him a knowing grin, had shoved the other girl she had been restraining aside like a dummy and had gripped him by the tie of his unpolluted suit to crush her lips with his.
Then, explanations took place almost immediately.
Burke had praised her accomplishment, telling her that she had been a good girl and how proud he was.
"However, regrettable as it is, now we would have to present a culprit for this homicide to Chief Gustavo." – he had said placidly while her head had been spinning so fast, she had thought she would faint – "But don't you worry, Birdie dearest, for we have caught the killer and her accomplice just in time so they couldn't hurt anyone else." – he had added, taking the silenced pistol from her hands and throwing it at the other girl's feet.
Knowing very well what kind of hell she would be subjected to before the end, the aforesaid girl, terrified, had started running towards the balcony exit, howling in terror as she had found the corpses of the security guard and the other girl that Tenpenny still retained from the four he had kept for his leisure.
Six recalled how a sudden weight had been put between her hands as the other girl pushed the elevator button in the inner lobby desperately after finding the emergency staircase door blocked.
"Now, my dear girl…" – he had whispered in her ear amidst the violent beating of her heart – "… It would be a perfect time to show me how loyal to the cause you are… unless you want to take her place, that is. The choice is yours." – as the numbers on the upper side of the lift's doors had kept rising, he had added, planting a red right hand over her shoulder – "Finish your mission, soldier."
V.A.T.S., less than thirty feet of distance, and the easy manipulation of a 10mm had done the rest.
The elevator had brought Gustavo and three of his men who, having heard the ruckus, had decided to come up to assess the security of the place as their comrade wouldn't answer to the talkie.
Another three men had crushed down the emergency staircase door almost immediately.
From that point on, everything had been theatrics, smoke, and shadows while Burke had given the men his version of the events.
Unconvinced, as he had known Burke for so many years, Chief Gustavo had, predictably, attempted to seize the control of the Tower through half-hearted 'persuasive' means… but this had been a public display. Almost all of the Tower residents saw Burke as a hero for bringing down the killer and the accomplice with the help of his team. The wealthy residents felt safer with Burke in command… not to speak about Laura's vicious cohorts: the redhead monster of a ghoul, a crazed bitch the infamous Lone Wanderer had purchased from Eulogy Jones back on Paradise Falls… and an old raider merc who kept giving the security men the eye should any of them wanted to start a gunfight.
Gustavo had known that giving up was the most sensible option available. No one needed an inner war with ex-mercs versus Burke and his rabid woman's gang destroying the Tower and hurting customers in the process. Not when, since his rise to power, had made Burke expand Tenpenny's old businesses until caps had started pouring in for everyone.
Then, he had started looking to the West.
"Everything okay, Boss?" – was Raul's raspy voice the one that brought her out of her pit of misery, digging through memories and voices… so many voices.
Six blinked twice, the threat of tears burning the rim of her eyes.
Zorro was gone. Just like the rest would, in due time, when they'll learn the truth.
She saw concern in Vero's eyes while Rex whimpered, seeking to appease her inner suffering with his canine love.
But none of them got a moment of respite when a guy dressed in a tailored unpolluted suit, those suits Burke favored so much, came up while combing his dark, gelled hair.
"Ring-a-ding, baby!" – he exclaimed way too cheerfully for Six's tastes – "Good to see you!"
"A Chairman." – she observed rather distastefully. She was sad and angry with herself, and this guy just happened to anger her more with his Benny-like slang and odious city boy style – "What is it you guys do want this time?"
"Baby, ease off the gas!" – the guy exclaimed, not faltering a second despite her glacial disposition – "I come with a peace offering from all of us cats' compliments! You see, doll, at the rate you're becoming more and more the celebrity on this side of New Vegas."
"And?" – she hissed, becoming more and more the pissed-off celebrity by the minute.
"And Swank and the rest of us think that would be swell if you'll pop your pretty head in our place." – he answered, flashing a charming smile that would have disarmed a less embittered version of herself – "We would like to compensate Benny's rotten move to you and your boyfriend…"
"HE'S NOT MY FUCKING BOYFRIEND, DAMN IT!" – she barked, earning getting gently-restrained shoulders with both Raul's and Veronica's hands as her outburst had nearly made her pounce at the guy – "WHY DOES EVERYONE SEES A BOY AND A GIRL AND IMMEDIATELY ASSUMES THAT THEY ARE AN ITEM?! FUCK YOU!"
"Whoa, babe!" – the alluded took a step back, upholding his hands in a peace sign while a chorus of nosey folks stared at the odd scene – "Smooth moves. Smooth…" – he said, drawing words out as if he were dealing with a particularly angry baby Deathclaw – "Anyhow, just drop by with your friends, and the Chairmen will make it worth your while. No tricks, no funny business, okay?" – he added, trying to convey reassurance in his voice while he gave her a curtsy as he bid her goodbye – "We will be looking forward to you joining us on The Tops! Ta-ta!"
With that, the infuriating exchange was over, and Six found herself in Veronica's arms while the Scribe patted her back softly.
"Easy, easy…" – she was chanting to her, mantra-style – "It's over now, it's over…"
Six grabbed at the young woman's tank top and remained that way her good five minutes until Vero's voice acted as a sedative, and she relaxed her stiff posture.
After that, Raul, Lily, Rex, Vero, and she got back inside the Lucky 38.
Once they were again on the Presidential Suite floor, the girl immediately sought Boone.
"You okay, girlie?" – the man had asked once he had seen how tousled her hair and perturbed her countenance had gotten.
"Come with me? Please?" – she asked, doe-eyed and suddenly smaller than what was usual in her – "I need to finish some business at The Tops, and I would like to have you by my side."
"Sure."
And that was how she had grabbed all the due papers, the virus pendrive, and had departed without further words with Boone and Rex, the latter seemingly unwilling to leave her side, leaving a consternated Scribe and a worried ghoul behind.
"Awwwww, the poor little girl is sad now that her playmate has left." – said Lily, startling the two of them – "She shouldn't worry, though. Jimmy will come back."
Neither Raul nor Veronica said a word, but both prayed that the giant granny would be right.
To describe Vulpes' current mood as 'unsettled' would have been an understatement.
He was fretful, experiencing the kind of anxiety he had not experienced since Nipton as his white-knuckled hands supported the binoculars that currently served him to get a good view of what was happening down there.
Searchlight. A guard leaving his post, the fire station, trucks loaded with canisters full of nuclear waste… A plan cooked slow burn months ago.
He feared for his men.
He would never say such a thing out loud, of course, or even show external signs of what should be interpreted as weakness in the Legion. His cautious, insanely perfectionist nature would never betray those emotions Callidus Anguis had effectively suppressed during his training under his wing. Usually, the average recruit not older than sixteen - the age Vulpes had been when he had defied the chain of command and had earned the Legion a victory and whip scars all over his back that he will always bore as a memento – was physically trained but mentally unpolished, just as he had been at that time.
When his wounds had closed without infection under the caring hands of the Medicae, a very young, very roughened Vulpes Inculta had been sent to the tent of the Head of Caesar's Frumentarii without further explanation.
"So, this is the promising young Decanus that Caesar believes we can turn into an actual thinking mind." – the snake of a man had said dispassionately while he had examined him as if he had been no more than another slave – "Rough Fox. With such a name, I still have my doubts, though."
"Our Lord's wisdom is indisputabl…" – he had started to say automatically until a soundly slap across his face had effectively silenced him.
"I still have NOT given you permission to speak." – the older man had spat, though his voice had remained calm and perfectly composed, a slightly oily quality in its cadences that had repulsed the young Decanus to no end – "You have NOT earned it so far. That being said, from this very point forward, you will only speak when I address you. Not to your comrades, not to your other superiors, not to your former contubernium. From this very instant, you will solely answer to ME. Are we totally clear on this, boy?"
He had tried to ask about the specifics of this new particular inability to speak to the rest of the men, but a more brutal slap had crossed his face. To the point that his nose had started bleeding.
"You will answer me with either 'yes, Master Anguis' or 'no, Master Anguis'."
He had been left with no information whatsoever and a new master to serve. His men were reassigned to other squads… among them his own blood.
All his efforts to keep the three of them together, provide for them, and always be there as his older brother's duty demanded him… wasted.
From Centurion's assistant to Head of Intelligence's errand boy, his worth within the troops had greatly diminished. The former had flogged him, wanting to lash him to a cross for disobedience. The latter hadn't harbored any expectations beyond getting him on a tight leash like the dog he expected him to be.
Two months of social isolation putting up with Anguis' whims while missing terribly his two siblings had made Vulpes scarce, almost invisible while he had eaten in silence, slept in silence, washed in silence, and met more than one beating at the hands of a Centurion when he hadn't verbally answered to their commands.
"Silentium est aureum." (1) – Anguis had said once those two months had come to an end with him still in one piece – "This is the lesson I taught to you, for in silence there lies wisdom. And wisdom itself is the best friend a man can ask for."
He had been right. Mainly because, without his voice to fill the emptiness, Vulpes' ears had started working on their own accord. And he had learned a great many things that, before, he hadn't been aware of.
He had learned the secrets legionaries kept from others: a valuable item obtained through illegal means; too liberal interpretations of laws and orders given; an illicit homosexual relationship between two comrades; an Instructor rumored to get too close to the children; a man bedding the spouse of another legionary… rumors that had spoken about the Burning Man being still alive… the secrets varied from petty to dangerous, and he was supposed to inform about all of that. Who had spoken, what the crime had consisted of, who was/were the perpetrator/s… and how many others had known and hadn't spoken up.
His status had quickly changed from errand boy to rat. Because that was what Frumentarii were, rats.
He had sold many of his comrades' secrets in exchange for nothing but only the vague notion of undergoing a test.
He had ended up being right about that, eventually. And not without sacrifice.
"Acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt." (2) – Anguis had enunciated with great grandiloquence every time a secret had been unearthed – "For cheating in the name of egos usually leads to ignominia. To work for the gods, ergo, for elevated purposes, is to work for Caesar. To work for Caesar is to work for the common good. Thus, collective work should be observed as the ultimate virtue. The individual has no value beyond his utility to the State, whether as an instrument of war, or production."
However, after the due punishment had been administered to the guilty, he always would mock even his own words.
"Qui totum vult totum perdit." (3) – he liked to rehearse his quotations, twisting them inside his pupil's impressionable mind – "Through greed, there's punishment. Through gluttony for punishment, there's vice. And, in vice, there lies the human spirit in its most primal form." – indulging a bit in a small cup of vinum dulce, (4) a non-alcoholic variation of the real thing, he would add – "Truly, there are some vices, my dear boy, that both condemn and beautify the human soul, even wrecked and hollow as theirs are, don't you think?"
Vulpes would never forget his lessons, the compulsion of sinking venomous fangs to whatever living thing Anguis happened to cross by.
Seven lessons, he recalled. Seven lessons for seven Deadly Sins as the Malpais Legate had preached while covered in pitch, eyeing the torch that would signal his sentence before the yawning maws of the Grand Canyon.
Seven lessons for seven siblings lost amidst oceans of time. Seven lessons for seven days a week serving a purpose he couldn't put a name to while training both his body and mind.
Seven lessons… for seven times until he had realized he had scratched his wrists compulsively until he had drawn blood.
"Quod me nutrit me destruit." (5) – he had expressed one day, playing with words, twisting meanings, making his young pupil start to hate more and more the language he had been forced to learn since he was eleven – "Would you say that hunger drives us, boy?"
"I think I do not understand, Master Anguis."
"Do you hunger for something?" – the Serpent had asked again, without even looking at him – "Oh, you certainly must, for you and I wouldn't be having this conversation at all if you hadn't strived for higher things. Ambition usually fuels motivation."
He hadn't said a thing, but the due punishment, thus, the lesson, had followed suit nonetheless: he would hunger for the most basic of the basics in this world.
Survival.
He had been thrown into the scorching desert a whole month while being banished from any form of known civilization, meaning he had to provide for himself by taking whatever he could find from the land.
He had been thrown with little more than a tunic and no weapons whatsoever. Headaches and blisters had ensued almost immediately, followed by long nights practicing his camping abilities while making weapons out of little more than sticks and stones.
He had managed to hunt a gecko. Once. And it had been a hatchling. The rest of the time had been collecting banana yucca fruits and dipping his aching form on slightly irradiated waters while hiding from Yao Guai ambushes and Cazador nests.
During all of that time, he hadn't thought about fleeing even once. His curiosity, his pride, and the burning hatred he was slowly but surely starting to harbor for his mentor too strong a pull to ignore.
Besides, to flee was like turning his back on what was left of his family. His people. He would never fail them that way.
He had returned gaunt and wild, his white skin covered in wet, refreshing mud and his eyes partially bandaged. Lean, malnourished muscle pumping with nervous tics and exhaustion, avid tongue as he had wolfed down two offered Pork N' Beans cans, his least favorite meal along with maize gruel, the usual chow Milites (6) got at lunchtime.
"Fabas indulcet fames, indeed." (7) – Anguis had gloated as he had watched his ravenous display, his reptilian eyes fixed upon Vulpes' gnawed wrists, where he had sucked blood more than once to appease his maddening hunger – "Now, with your weakness mapped all over your skin, let's start the due correction, shall we?"
The aforesaid 'correction' had been the four remaining lessons.
Silent. Betrayer. Survivor.
Later, it had been the turn to Liar.
"Veritas vincit… Veritas, iustitia, libertas… Veritas vos liberabit…" (8) – Anguis had enunciated dispassionately – "At this point, I am sure you have heard these mottos and know them by heart as the ultimate virtue." – then, he had scoffed disdainfully – "Atrox melior dulcissima veritas mendaciis… (9) You will find, in due time, that truth's sweetness lies with empty purpose in the face of the power a well-placed lie can unfold."
He had shown him how a lie could destroy a man's life.
One of the Magistri (10) that showed more kindness than the others with the children Tirones (11) had been the victim.
A false accusation of pedophilia… and the man had been swiftly put on a cross, displayed bruised and naked against the scorching sun until heatstroke, starvation, and dehydration had done their job. Two days later, he was a crows' feast.
Following Anguis' orders, Vulpes had been the one who had started the rumor.
And he had felt nothing. The weight of his actions bored an emptiness so great in his soul that it had begun developing fangs of its own. A beast taking form slowly, still in its hatchling state.
The next lesson, he had enjoyed.
"Ex solem, in umbra." – he had stated once, to Vulpes' much confusion as the common saying was 'Ex umbra, in solem', not the other way around (12) – "Shall these words sink deep within your conscience, for we Frumentarii are soldiers… of a different stripe. Capable in battle, yes, but skilled as infiltrators and agents as well."
His first mission as a proper Frumentarius had led Vulpes South, along the Colorado River down to Arizona. A place named Dry Wells and a dangerous tribe that had served Caesar well by acting as his scouts.
But they ought to be assimilated within the Legion, for that was Caesar's will.
Not even seventeen yet, Vulpes had assisted his mentor in cornering the Twisted Hairs and subduing them by infiltrating means.
He had acted as Caesar's emissary, bearing his Lord's compliments and a promise of further reward for their loyalty.
As a lanky teenager with the bluest puppy eyes ever, none of the tribals had suspected a thing, and he had been invited into a celebration.
Vulpes had laughed, had danced, had sung, had eaten, and drank sour juice with them, blending in effortlessly, learning their huge encampment from inside out, their patrols, their defenses… and their weak spots.
The information he had provided to Anguis had reached the desk of a Legatus… and, a week after, the Twisted Hairs were no more.
Inconspicuous had been his new accomplishment, another quality a Frumentarius should exhibit. His fifth lesson.
The sixth one, however…
With more infiltration jobs within more advanced civilizations than tribals came the need to learn the western Profligate culture. Their vocabulary, their beliefs, their aspirations, their hopes, their values and virtues, their morality and dissolution… and their baser needs.
Since his assimilation into the Legion, Vulpes hadn't shown the slightest interest in the fairer sex as any seventeen-year-old young man would.
He wasn't homosexual, of that he was sure… but his duties, first as a Decanus and later as Anguis' apprentice, had allowed him little time to think about girls.
Besides, to be completely honest, he had tried to avoid engaging in sexual intercourse with the slaves at any cost. They reminded him of what could have befallen his sister, pleasuring men she wouldn't have harbored any feelings other than fear and disgust. Even hatred.
There was the increasingly into abeyance breeding quota practice he had dodged at fifteen, plus the pleasure slaves he had been offered twice as a reward for his accomplishments… but, on the three occasions, he had told the woman in question to occupy herself with any other task while the two of them were confined within the tent in question a reasonable enough time to make it look like they were at it. He had limited to either feigning the deed with the slave's complicity, mending his armor, or tending his damnable chalky skin that needed daily care to avoid burnings.
That being said… he had been plainly inexperienced.
In New Vegas, gambling and sex were the two main pillars that sustained the economy disguised as human interactions. Vulpes had been pretty fast catching on to the many available games' mechanics… but the intimate part had been an entirely different matter.
The first time he had botched a job when he couldn't bring himself to 'go upstairs' with the bored wife of an NCR high dignitary that would prove to be an advantageous asset in gathering information for the Legion… Anguis had almost flayed him.
"A legionary who can't bed a Profligate whore..." – he had spat – "Pathetic would be a very kind term to apply in this situation, boy." – however, as the reptilian man's eyes had calibrated him with cold intent, he had added – "Perhaps… it is time to make a man out of you."
He had been forced inside a room at the Gomorrah with a prostitute. And Anguis had made himself a witness of the deed should the young man would attempt to dodge the situation as he had done in the past. The man, somehow, had known.
"Be grateful that I have hired a human girl and not a ghoul gigolo, cheaper as the latter are." – Anguis had hissed from the sofa he had languorously sat on, his cold eyes filled with perverse satisfaction while watching his pupil blanching more than it was already usual in him – "Proceed. I shall correct your... endeavors during the process."
Humiliated wouldn't have even begun to cover how he had felt at that very moment. Vulpes had felt violated in all the sense of the word.
The worst part of it had been that the girl had been clearly a drug addict desperate to make some coin to buy her next dose. Her unfocused sight and trembling hands had been a crystal-clear giveaway. She had even attempted to strike a seductive pose that hadn't even been half-convincing. Not to a consummate liar.
"Cease this ridiculous charade at once and tell me what to do." – Vulpes had hissed coldly, his blue eyes glacial as he had gazed upon the prostitute with disgust – "Neither you nor I want to be here more than necessary, so the sooner we start, the sooner we'll end with… this."
To his much chagrin, his nervous system had enjoyed the ride… however, his mind wouldn't cease tormenting him and how incredibly filthy he had felt once it was over.
The prostitute had left the rented room, and Vulpes hadn't wasted time going directly to the bathroom to cleanse himself of the overwhelming, disgusting sensation.
He had scrubbed himself until he had drawn blood.
But the lesson hadn't finished as he had found himself, face to face, with Callidus Anguis when the man had drawn the curtain of his shower and had grabbed him by the throat, slamming him to the wet tiled wall.
And he recalled locking the door of the bathroom.
"Necesse est aut imiteris aut oderis." (13) – he had whispered, cutting the warm water to leave his pupil shivering while pinning him against the wall – "Imitate what you have learned today and act in consequence. Hate it as much as you please, but bring results. The Legion doesn't need doubts or weaknesses…" – he had added, picking one of the younger man's hands, forcing him to look at his scarring wrists – "… Like today's display. May this serve you as a warning that you are not unique, you are not granted any special concessions, and you are entirely expendable." – with that, he had released him and had walked outside the bathroom, leaving a very vulnerable teenager to soak in his misery while feeding the beast born of his hatred until it had grown big enough to become an entity of its own. His own monster.
The next day, he had engaged that NCR high dignitary's bored, lonely wife again in conversation. And this time, he hadn't shied away. The job had been done once he had managed to coax the due information out of her.
The disgust and self-hatred would always leave a bitter aftertaste in his mouth… but orders were orders.
And he was Expendable. Just like any other legionary.
So, his last lesson…
BOOM.
A sudden gust of fetid air penetrated Vulpes' sensitive nostrils while a dense, dirty fog started to expand in the distance quickly from one of the big buildings through windows, doors, and any other available crevices on the structure.
As the fog expanded, plants around the zone and other vegetal life started to wither at high speed, wrinkling and burning as if some sort of acid were eating them away. It was a mesmerizing sight. One that made Vulpes sweat while an odd, sick warm sensation expanded from his chest to his belly, right almost to his groin.
He knew how obscene and visceral was this response in the face of destruction, a destruction he had plotted to unleash for months… but he couldn't help to feel how he felt. To hate the way he still hated, to drown his conscience amidst memories of lessons, of whippings across his back, of ill-conceived strategy, of marching since being eleven… of that entity, the Republic, that had blocked the Legion's advances across the Mojave.
The Legatus… the failing… the pitch… Dimidio… brother against brother… women painting their virgin daughters… Four years ago, he had thought Caesar invincible… and the Republic had proved them otherwise.
How did they dare? How did they dare antagonize the Bull and win? How did they dare show him this alternate reality where his tribe had been conquered by a foe the Republic could have easily repelled?
How did they dare to stand at the edge of the Dam, tall and proud, seizing power and victory… while looking down on many proud tribes that had sacrificed their identities to forge a better tomorrow just to face the past in its democratic, senseless bureaucratic, glory?
How did they dare not have rescued them?! Where had been the West when the East had needed them more?!
Profligates. Degenerates. Self-serving remnants of the Old World. They deserved to be humiliated and punished. His own lessons would surpass Anguis' teachings by far; a country taught by just one man; a civilization corrected by the will of one fox.
They'll wish to never have come to this desert. They'll wish to have lost the First Battle for the Hoover Dam and turn their tail back to Shady Sands.
They'll wish to have never left Vault 15.
His vicious thoughts and the violence in his bodily reactions were truncated the very moment he spotted human silhouettes running out of the now infested Camp Searchlight. Snipers mostly. Soldiers positioned far from the exploding dirty bombs that had caught sight of the insalubrious fog.
Where were his men?
After ten whole minutes without any news, the intense need to scratch his wrists had returned with a vengeance to Vulpes when he had heard distant shooting echoing in the deserted valley out of the blue. It had gone on for a while until silence had engulfed the area.
Heavy, dead silence.
Another good thirty minutes passed, and Vulpes had already switched to listening to some music with one of the Pip-Boy's earphones in a feeble attempt to empty his head.
The fog had coated the entire encampment with a radioactive yellow cloud. A bubble effect meant to asphyxiate any form of life inside… or to turn them into a monstrous mockery of un-life.
The Fox's eyes stung.
"Run for cover,
My sense of fear is running thin."
He shouldn't worry this way. He had dozens of Frumentarii agents at his disposal. The lives of those four held no worth for Caesar, nor for him. What did he care if they were dead?
Frumentarii were expendable.
"Undercover,
Just like a candle in the wind."
His stomach had started churning when his binoculars caught sight of two human silhouettes dragging a third by the armpits.
"Tell everybody, tell everybody:
Brothers, sisters, the ending is coming."
A chorus of voices perforated his left eardrum chanting their hymn for the fallen as the three silhouettes grew nearer and their facial structures registered as familiar on his retinas.
Four had gone, three had returned.
Vulpes didn't take off his earphone as he felt it was, right now, the only thread that held him together with reality.
"Every morning,
I'm staring shadows in the eye..."
The lost fourth was a rookie… but the wounded one the other two dragged was Maximus.
Under his boots, a trail of dark blood painted the landscape.
"Oh, good morning,
will you just wait until I die?"
Three bullets had punctured his right knee to a bloody pulp, and another had perforated his torso under his ribs. The liver.
The hymn for the fallen raised their dead voices again as Vulpes kneeled swiftly at one side of the dusty mattress where the men had laid Maximus. Their return met a silent commotion from the rest of their camp, the sight of carnage and blood shocking to the youngest ones.
He was already preparing a self-made cooked version of a Stimpak when Maximus' hand grasped one of his burning wrists.
"Commander…" - he gasped, blood oozing from his nostrils – "Don't… waste resources on me…"
"Now, now, who's the Head of the Frumentarii, legionary?" – Vulpes said, attempting humor even when he knew that an internal hemorrhage was way out of his medical expertise – "Stay put."
Nonetheless, Maximus' hand squeezed his forearm.
"I do not want… to live in disgrace… as a crippled man, Commander…" – he whispered, signaling with his tear-filled eyes the destroyed knee – "Please… give me… an honorable death…"
Vulpes' blood froze in his veins. His blue eyes darted from the dark blood pooling under Maximus' body to the eyes of his subaltern.
This could be Coyote; this could be his brother.
He left his side to dart to the storage tent and emerged merely a few seconds after, a large hunting knife in hand.
Kneeling again, he grabbed Maximus' forearm, and the young man imitated him. A comrades' salutation.
"Vale, Maximus." – he murmured before perforating his heart and twisting the blade to, almost immediately, seize his head and break his neck, his voice lowering, switching languages – "Sea cual sea la Otra Vida que nos aguarda, te la has ganado a pulso." (A)
That way, he had allowed the other Frumentarii to dispose of Maximus' corpse as he mulled over the letters he should send to which spouse and relatives, communicating the tragic loss.
For, before adopting the name of Maximus, the young man had gone by the name of Maximiliano, from the neighboring tribe 'Los Nuevos Nahuas'.
Now, 'La Jauría' and 'Los Nuevos Nahuas' served Caesar… and died in his name.
Every last of them was expendable.
"I just want to take it in.
Even when your fire runs out,
will you start it up again?
We are fallen!" (*)
Every last of them died alone.
The instant Anguis' blood had flowed between his fingers when the Fox had satiated his thirst for vengeance by tearing open the Serpent's gullet under the approving eye of Caesar; the venomous man, even in his death, had taught him a valuable lesson.
Invictus, the Fox had risen from the arena, yes.
But he had done it alone.
Silent. Betrayer. Survivor. Liar. Inconspicuous. Expendable.
Alone.
But alone, he didn't feel at the moment. Right now, the Courier's spirit was with him, whispering through lyrics parts of her experience; the message she brought, suddenly, made much more sense to him.
Mercuria has spoken.
"The Parties now wish to lay down in writing the terms and conditions for the execution of the Project Proposal. Whereas…"
Not the first sheet of that shit of a contract had been read by the lips of the girl… and Swank was already developing a massive headache.
It was just his luck that one of House's human emissaries had come not to be buttered up, but instead going straight to business after stating the reasons for her presence in their casino.
"… As used in this Agreement the following terms, either in plural or in the single form…"
He was sweating again. The girl had not come this time with her boyfriend – Danny had insisted that she didn't like addressing their relationship as such, whatever – but rather accompanied by the NCR bully from the other night and… ugh… the filthy cybernetic mongrel that was drooling – again – all over the motherfucking carpets.
"Duties, Terms, and Compensation: the Employee's duties, term of engagement…"
Shit, this was sounding less and less like a contract and more and more like a life sentence. It was like marrying House. Swank didn't know what notion made him sick the most.
"… During the term of this agreement, the Employee shall devote as much as his productive time, energy and abilities…"
… And profits. – Swank thought bitterly. He had already listened to the percentage part, and he will be agreeing to let go a good 12% more than when Benny had signed. That was the penalization for their former leader's crimes. Let the just pay for the sinner.
He hated Benny so much right now.
"… both Parties understand and agree that the Contractor may have access to the confidential information to the Employee Party…"
Benny vamooses, and he had been left holding the trash bag. He couldn't even convince his Brothers to escape and become Boot Riders again. House's securitrons wouldn't allow them to leave The Strip without bearing a startling resemblance with kitchen colanders.
Fuck Benny. Fuck everything.
"So?"
Returning to the real world, Swank blinked twice before meeting the cold, black as ink, gaze of those eyes he had found so charming at first sight.
"You were saying, baby doll?" – he ventured, keeping his elegant façade while not imprinting as much sass to his voice as he would under normal circumstances.
The girl in front of him huffed with impatience.
"I didn't come to exchange gallantries with you, Swank." – she stated, her petulant inner teenager resurfacing from that Ice Queen business shit that sounded so unnatural in her – "So, do you agree with the terms of the contract or what?"
Finally, a person instead of a fucking parrot. Not that Swank had even seen a parrot in all his life, but whatever.
"Oh, yes, yes. I agree." – he confirmed, relieved to leave the monotone contract/discourse behind – "Sure as lack of rain."
"Good." – she nodded, almost shoving the papers to his face – "You ought to sign both copies, you understand. One for you and the other…"
"… For Big Man in the Shining Tower, yeah. Got the hint already, babe." – he ended for her, taking his trusted stylus from his jacket's front pocket, feigning a bit of re-reading that got the gal more puffed-cheeked than she already was, signing his best signature on both last papers – "Done and done." – he said triumphantly as he handed House's copy back to her – "And now that we've got this unpleasant business out of the way, baby, I would like to extend my apologies to you and your b…" – he stopped mid-sentence as her eyes acquired a murderous gleam. Sheesh, since when having some groping, smooching time, and a bit of hey-hey with a guy made gals so defensive about it? – "… I mean, friend, for the possible damages Benny may have inflicted upon you two."
"And?" – goodie God, she was the demanding type. Teenager indeed.
"And I would like to give you the key to a deluxe suite in case you might grow…" – inclining forwards as if divulging a secret, he added – "… you know, tired of Big Man's constant monitoring of your pretty faces inside the Lucky 38." – she accepted the key without uttering a word, her eyes telling him that she already knew what he meant – "Plus, a one thousand credit free of charge worth in chips you can either spend in games in our casino or simply change for caps or another foreign exchange at our cashiers. Sounds good, eh?" – he smiled, pleased to close a bargain so quickly. And without having to include alcoholic beverages or other consumables in the deal.
"And I would have total access to any area in The Tops." – she counteracted, earning his hands raising in a defensive gesture – "No gorillas telling me where not to go, no persuasive shit, no nothing. If I damn please inspect your fucking private room or throw a party at the Presidential Suite, I'm doing it. Got it?"
"Whatever you wish, babe, whatever you wish." – he acquiesced.
Satisfied with his answer, she had taken her damnable papers, her brute, and her mangy mutt and went straight to the cashier zone.
Predictable. – Swank mused, lounging in his new President armchair, enjoying a glass of the good stuff Benny used to reserve only for himself – I bet Screen Moustache pays peanuts unless there's something in it for him.
That girl didn't know who she had signed with.
Hands full of blessed (and much-needed) caps, Courier Six pressed the calling button after making a tour around the available elevators and finally guessed which one would bring her to the thirteenth floor.
Benny's room floor.
It hadn't taken much nudging for Swank's new right-hand guy, a dude with an eyepatch named Tommy Torini or something (she would eventually forget the man's name, so she didn't give a fuck about it), for him to hand it over the aforesaid room's key.
Once inside the small quadrangle, Rex's soft panting had been the only sound filling the sudden silence once they were out of the rambunctious Casino Floor.
"Nice maneuver down there, girlie." – Boone said out of the sudden, his soft voice barely a whisper. An amused whisper of all – "Guy was so nervous he was sweating like a pig."
Six grinned.
"He's got exactly what he deserves." – she answered – "Fuck the Chairmen, Boone."
"Yeah, fuck them, girlie."
And this was why she loved Boone so much. Straight to the point, yet effective. He reminded her of her Big Bro so much sometimes.
"It's true that we work for House now?"
The question held a cautious undertone that Six couldn't help but notice since the first syllable.
Turning around, she gave him a tired look. Whatever she would say to Boone, she would say it while looking him in the eye.
"I've… signed a contract of sorts with him." – she answered cautiously as well, waiting for her most trusted companion to digest the notion – "Please, share your thoughts, Boone."
He took some time before answering. It wasn't that Boone was slow as many people thought. It was that he wouldn't speak to say nothing of importance.
"I don't like it." – he admitted – "Man's got a reputation for being a controlling freak. Many people think he's not even a man, but a really-good programmed machine from the past."
"About that…" – Six hesitated, unsure how much information she should share with Boone. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but she didn't want to put him in danger for knowing too much – "A man, he is. A human man, I mean." – she could tell Boone's curiosity was picked, so she elaborated – "Either a human brain inside a jar or a two-hundred-sixty-one-year-old man with a mutation of his own making him extremely long-lived, I cannot tell for sure."
Boone's small eyes had gotten the size of platters behind his sunglasses.
"You mean… that he's the actual magnate that ruled Vegas before the War?" – he sounded unconvinced – "Either he's a ghoul, or he's a fucking computer, I say. No human man lives that much."
"You have no idea how advanced bio-medicine and tech, in general, were before the War." – she replied – "He was the founder of one of the most powerful technology companies that had ever existed. RobCo Industries' partnership with Vault-Tec was and still is considered the most successful joint venture in American industrial history. Not even Apple, Walmart, Amazon, Ford, Nuka-Cola, Chryslus Motors, or Poseidon Energy were as profitable as RobCo was. He's the real man, I assure you. He has invested a great deal of money to be where he is today."
Half of those pre-War Companies, Boone had never heard of.
"How can you tell, girlie?" – was his appalling question.
How could she, indeed, be so sure about something nobody had been able to prove to the date, he would ponder… And how was she supposed to answer that?
The training… the Power Armors… the Pip-Boys… the Vaults… even the very rations that had come for exclusive military use during the War were thanks to Robert Edwin House's generosity, his vision of the impending nuclear Armageddon calculated to the millimeter, his investments in military technology a means to stop the nuclear missiles that had rained all over North America and Mexico.
If the former desert of the State of Nevada was radiation-free for most of its parts, it was thanks to House's predictions and preventive repel attack once the missiles from China had been halfway through the globe.
Her Big Bro always said that the truth would liberate her… but she was so scared.
Scared of what Boone and the rest would think of her if they found out.
"The Vaults provided us with such documentation." – she stated lamely, signaling her Pip-Boy – "Everything's here."
She could see the myriad of questions forming in Boone's eyes, linking threads, trying to decipher the big enigma he had in front of him.
However, their haul upwards of thirteen floors had ended, and they walked corridors in silence until they stood before Benny's old suite.
Upon inserting the key in its lock, Six openly ignored the state of disarray the several adjacent rooms - including the bathroom – were, and crossed the smoke-stained carpeted floors to the hole in the wall.
If Boone was impressed, he didn't show it at all when Benny's workshop came into view.
"Oh, hi again! Can I help you with something else?" – the synthetic voice of Yes Man greeted the two of them while Rex bared his fangs in silence – "Wow! And you came with more friends? I'm very honored, but… how many people do you intend to let know about my existence? Not that I'm complaining, but if you want to seize control of New Vegas all by yourself… It is best if I remain a secret, you know."
However, upon hearing this very declaration, the NCR ex-sniper's brows furrowed tightly.
"What's this, girlie?" – he asked – "What's this pile of circuity talking about?"
"Well, that's very simple!" – Yes Man exclaimed cheerfully – "You see…"
"Yes Man." – Six cut it mid-sentence – "You're not being helpful."
"I am not?" – the AI pondered, confused – "Tell me how I can be of use, then!"
"You can be useful by shutting up."
"But…" – the AI faltered.
"Shut up until I say otherwise."
"Alrighty!" – it exclaimed, cheerful and creepy as always – "I'll wait for your command then!"
Six met Boone's steely gaze once she got the annoying AI silent.
"What. Is. This. About?" – he repeated, punctuating each word.
Six sighed.
"A Plan B." – she admitted – "Just in case House turns out to be not so agreeable in the long term."
"You plan on betraying him?" – she could hear the incredulity in his voice.
"No." – she said, turning around to the pirated securitron to search for a connector of some sort – "At least… it's not my first option. But, in case he gets too high on his horse, I want to have a viable alternative plan by overwriting his internal network with Yes Man assistance. That way, his control over The Strip's securitrons will be my problem to deal with instead of lamenting my poor judgment in employer-choosing matters."
"Why?"
"Because, like you, I don't trust House's deal with power. He fancies himself an autocrat, and, while I have to concede to him that he's truly a visionary, there are no guarantees that the centuries isolated hadn't damaged his psyche. I don't want to help a dictator rule over so many lives."
"And what if he ends up being just that?" – he asked – "Your plan is ruling New Vegas all by yourself?"
"I don't know, okay?!" – she exclaimed, frustrated at not finding a single USB/Mini-VGA/DVI port – "Maybe, after working out some deals with the Republic, I might give the power of New Vegas' securitrons to them. Anything but letting other parties have the upper hand on this."
That had calmed him a bit, so she got some time to think.
"Yes Man." – she said after a fruitless search all over the securitron's outer case – "Does your hardware happen to have a port of any sort?"
"Oh, definitely not!" – it exclaimed happily – "Benny and the woman who programmed me were very thorough by not installing any direct connection in my external case! Should anyone would want to mess with my software using an external connection, they would have to do it through wireless means or dismounting me piece by piece!"
"Okay, can you open your Bluetooth connection and allow my Pip-Boy ID access to your memory?"
"Right away!"
It took less than a minute to establish a solid connection.
"Amazing." – she murmured after peering at the program's inner code. It was like poetry translated into Python language: clear to a fault – "I need for you to copy your AI matrix to an SD card I'm going to insert in my device." – a little jewel she had found while assisting Novac in getting rid of the feral ghouls' plague; she had formatted and renamed it a while ago – "This one."
"Wow!" – Yes Man exclaimed, a shred of what can be only cataloged as genuine interest seeping through its synthetic voice – "How clever you are! You are going to keep me hidden while you act under your boss' nose!"
"That's a very mean way to put it." – Six replied, her eyes following the percentage of copied archives closely – "But basically, yes."
After a while, primarily due to the slowness of the Bluetooth connection, all the files got inside her SD card, and she breathed with relief. She had feared the SD card space would have proven insufficient to host a whole AI.
"Very well." – she sighed, addressing the securitron once more – "Yes Man, indicate to me where is the computer mainframe of The Tops. We are going to do some hacking work."
"I will load you a map!" – the synthetic voice cheered, to her much dismay, from the speaker of her Pip-Boy. The fucking AI acted like a virus! It had seized control over her device! Soon, to her astonished eyes, the Pip-OS of her device mutated and showed a smiling interface that resembled suspiciously the one she had seen on the securitron version of Yes Man – "Here you go!" – it exclaimed happily while opening the file and incorporating it into the 'Map' section. She didn't have to manually switch the menus – "I like being in here! There is much more room for improvement than with the Mk I Operating System the securitrons have!"
Directing Boone a consternated glance, Six looked again at her new creature, attached to her wrist. Rex wailed softly, licking her right hand as if wanting to console her.
"God… what have I done?"
Not a day after his infiltration and ultimate destruction plan on Searchlight had come to fruition, Vulpes Inculta had directed his steps to Cottonwood Cove.
Once there, he had exchanged a few words with the Slavemaster, Canyon Runner, about the next batch of supplies and armament that would arrive from the Northwest Raid Camp to, almost immediately, jump into Cursor (14) Lucullus' boat.
Once aboard, instead of making polite and mostly vapid conversation with the ferryman, he had bid his salutations to submerge himself in his new device's 'Classical Music', starting by some composer named J. S. Bach that lulled the long hours he had ahead until they would reach The Fort's shore. No lyrics, all feeling.
He had been conscious of the hard stare the affronted ferryman was directing at him, so he had switched to reading a book… still with the earphones on. He chose something entirely different from what he would have felt inclined to read and, instead, selected to read this long message the Courier, employing lyrics, books, and some chosen movies, was trying to communicate to him.
She meant something by those words translated into cultural references. He had to discover what.
So, he had started something called 'The Neverending Story'. It had seized his attention since page one.
He resented the instant they had reached the mainland, for he had to abandon Atreyu and Bastian to become the protagonist of his own life once again.
"Ave, Vulpes Inculta." – a Decanus greeted him. Another of the countless, nameless faces that came and went through the waves of war. This one looked young – "Our Lord Caesar was eagerly awaiting your report on Searchlight."
"Ave, Decanus." – he saluted, knowing very well how his reception had been carefully programmed. A Decanus was a good sign instead of being received by a Centurion or even worse: a Praetorian – "The sun is still high in the sky, I surmise this would be a good time to pay our Lord a visit?"
The other man blinked nervously.
"You would have to check that with Lucius. It is not my place to say, Master Frumentarius." – something was wrong. Usually, a petition to concert an audience with the Imperator was met either with a "Yes" or a "No". This strange ambiguity made Vulpes immediately tense – "Now that your presence in The Fort is official, I must return to my duties. Vale." – after that, he had scurried away.
Strangest conversation ever. Terse sentences, ambiguous answer, prompt farewell.
He had to speak with Lucius right away.
Fifteen minutes later, he felt utterly disheartened.
"He's not feeling well." – had been the Praefectus Praetor's answer – "He's sleeping now. He suffers from headaches from time to time and retires inside his tent to rest. It has been like this for a while, though."
"Why wasn't I informed?" – Vulpes had demanded.
"The same reason Lanius doesn't know as well: because you two only deal with Caesar's orders through letters and emissaries. You are not here to watch him stare into space, blink a few times, then keep talking like nothing happened."
Vulpes had reserved his thoughts about a possible early case of senile dementia. He wasn't sure how old Caesar was, but even by NCR standards, he was old. Old enough to develop brain deteriorating-related illnesses. Or so Vulpes presumed. He was no doctor after all.
Nonetheless, he had abandoned Lucius' tent slightly depressed and a bit frustrated knowing that he would have to wait until the next day to return to The Strip… should Caesar deem it convenient, that is.
That had left plenty of time for him to walk down the hill, directing his steps to the children's training area.
He hadn't understood the need to bring children Tirones so close to NCR territory, needlessly exposing them to danger as they were still legionaries in training.
But he had begun to appreciate their presence within the camp, mostly due to the fact that…
"Ave, Magister Arrius." – he saluted – "Our future generations are well, I hope?"
"Ave, Vulpes Inculta." – the veteran, an old man with a goatee and a mohawk, only suitable for forming purposes now, saluted him with a brisk inclination of his head, his eyes never losing the little boys between the ages of eight and twelve struggling to make ten pushups in one round or to keep jogging around the camp without becoming a nuisance to the rest of adult legionaries – "The same as always, I guess. I know I am harsh on the children sometimes, but they will become excellent legionaries. I'm quite proud of them."
"They will, indeed." – Vulpes nodded, searching with his eyes one boy in particular – "I have come to check on my pupil. Has he finished with his daily training and duties?"
"I would think so." – the older man confirmed before picking a metallic, kind of rusted whistle from the collar that hung from his neck, making it emit a powerful, although irritating sound – "Numerus Novem!" – he barked – "Present yourself here!"
Numbers. Legionary boys were given numbers for the lack of a name that loving parents would have otherwise bestowed upon them. Those were the orphans, either reconditioned from tribes or raised since they were babies inside the Temple.
If they survived training, their name was something they usually earned upon reaching fifteen.
A sweating, panting boy not older than nine or ten approached the adults, his pale, freckled face illuminated briefly the very instant he recognized Vulpes.
His eyes were big and bright, colored in a galvanic blue.
"Master Inculta!" – he positively beamed until he caught himself under the hard stare of his Instructor – "I mean… Ave, Master Inculta. True to Caesar!" – he expressed proudly as he imitated the salutation Magister Arrius had taught them, fist over one's heart, then extended arm.
Vulpes nodded and, with the silent acquiescence of the Instructor, took the boy with him as they picked on a steady pace towards the Master Frumentarius' tent, nodding briskly at the many salutations Vulpes received upon his arrival.
Once inside the tent, a tent Vulpes, luckily, hadn't to share with a single soul, the Frumentarius dropped the pretense.
"How are you, Lupus? How are you?" – he asked, crouching to the boy's visual level, cupping his full cheeks with both hands, combing the child's thick rebellious light brown eyebrows with his thumbs with evident fondness – "How has it been in here? Have you been working hard? Have you been learning your alphabet as I told you?"
The boy smiled brightly. Master Inculta would always be so nice to him. He had appointed him as his assistant. He had even given him a name! It was a secret name, though; he was still too small to be officially assigned a name.
But the name Master Inculta had chosen for him made him feel proud. Master Inculta thought that he was as fierce as a wolf. He would be Lupus when he would be of age.
"Yes!" – he exclaimed, his blue eyes shining, his slightly overlapping front teeth bearing the most innocent of the smiles – "Would you like to hear it?"
Vulpes smiled. He never received welcomes warmer than the ones this child would give him.
"Go ahead." – he encouraged while sitting on a wooden stool he had in his tent, one of the few luxuries he could afford being the Head of Intelligence besides a small table, a small metallic vat to wash, a bedroll, and a couple of footlockers where he stored his meager belongings – "Let us start with the 'A', shall we?"
The boy nodded enthusiastically.
"A for 'Abomination'."
The boy was clever.
"B for 'Blasphemy'."
Not many children his age would learn such complicated words this easily.
"C for 'Contrition'."
And actually knowing what those very words meant.
"D for 'Damnation'."
It had to show, eventually. When he had been around Lupus' age, Vulpes had been his mother's pride when she would ask him to pronounce archaic and very elaborated words in a language only the two of them had spoken amidst Spanish speakers.
He had never disappointed her.
"E for 'Eternal Damnation'."
Vulpes smiled, a knowing look making his eyes spark.
"Have you just attempted to make it past two words as one, Lupus?"
The boy visibly blushed.
"Try again."
"Erm… E for… 'Equanimity'?"
"Very good."
Their mother would be so proud of both of them.
One of the things Gabban found about Techatticup Mine to be more dangerous than the barrels' dump full of radioactive debris at the bottom of the mine… was its dangerous closeness to Nelson.
Parallel to the destruction of Camp Searchlight, his brother had been plotting for weeks to overtake Nelson by force, and that was why he had arranged strategic positions for Decanus Dead Sea and his men outside the abandoned Brotherhood of Steel bunker, Northeast of the NCR settlement… and Decanus Alexus on Techatticup Mine, Southeast.
He hadn't known at the time that the mine had been irradiated. Otherwise, Dead Sea would have been the one stationed there. His brother had suffered a brief violent breakdown when he had been informed. He had almost bordered on psychotic. Gabban had been the one bandaging his bleeding hands and wrists after that.
He sometimes feared for his brother's sanity. The last years had been incredibly stressful for both of them.
Stopping at a prudential distance, Gabban cleared his throat twice before howling.
He repeated the action a second time, and he was soon rewarded with a chorus of howls, human and animal alike, that signaled his welcome.
A sudden warm feeling washed over the nineteen-year-old as he stepped into his twin's territory. Every last of Alexus' men had pertained once either to 'Los Nuevos Nahuas' or to their tribe, 'La Jauría'. Gabban was glad his twin would be surrounded by trusted men who would keep their mouths shut about Alexus' secret.
It had taken some years, but thanks to Vulpes' rank, Gabban and him had been able to put together the remnants of both tribes who were old enough to still remember either under Alexus' command… or within Frumentarii ranks.
And the wives of all those men were either Neighbors or Sisters as well.
Gabban sometimes thought that his older brother's sentimentalism about their lost family would one day be the death of him… but, if Vulpes fell, many men and women would follow him without hesitation. And not without spilling some blood first.
Loyal to your Neighbors, loyal to your Pack.
Soon, happy barks preceded pawing and licking from the many Legion mongrels Alexus kept as guardians. Gabban wasn't as keen on dogs as his two siblings were, but he nonetheless accepted the canine love.
"Ave, Gabban." – he heard Alexus' unmistakable ambivalent voice addressing him as he approached, a click of the Decanus' tongue, and the dogs sat on the dusty ground, still wagging their tails happily – "I wasn't expecting you. Your visit wasn't scheduled."
"Charming as ever." – Gabban teased, clasping his sibling's forearm in salutation – "Ave, Alexus. I brought gifts from our brother."
"Who else?" – Alexus growled with slight annoyance, eyeing the duffle bag Gabban had brought still – "Good stuff?"
"The best." – replied the other, producing the box of Sugar Bombs intended for Alexus.
The Decanus' hand seized the prize and, tearing the envelope, fished avidly for a handful after taking out the close feathered helmet.
"Shit, I adore this crap so much." – Alexus growled between munches.
"Careful now." – Gabban laughed – "Our brother would chastise you for using such vocabulary."
"I don't give a fuck about what he thinks." – was Alexus' reply, still between munches.
"I'm sure he's aware of that." – said Gabban, still smiling, relieved to look at his twin's semblance and detect no immediate traces of radiation poisoning. The physical resemblance between them was so evident that many people tended to overlook the tiny, very subtle details that separated them – "Also, this as well." – he added, producing a bottle full of Buffout.
Alexus grabbed the new offering and hid it quickly inside one boot as if fearing other eyes could be watching.
"Thanks." – the Decanus said dryly.
Gabban sighed. Now, to the most challenging part.
"And now…" – he inhaled, predicting his sibling's subsequent reaction the instant he produced the RadAway – "He instructed me to inject you with this."
Alexus bared teeth.
"Like shit you're giving me that garbage."
"See this?" – Gabban raised his left forearm, showing the small hematoma decorating his inner elbow to the other – "Same treatment."
"And you allowed him to do that?"
"Following his new electronic toy's meter, I was already an aspiring ghoul. You, by now, I venture would be closer to a Glowing One."
"Fuck you."
"You know he feels responsible." – Gabban's voice lowered – "He cares for you. He fears for you. This is his way of showing it."
Alexus groaned in defeat. Every time Vulpes came with his big brother issues returning love in exchange for every rude remark one could conjure, it was already a lost battle.
And Alexus detested losing battles.
"You bumbling pair of pussies." – the Decanus hissed – "Fine. But not here."
Gabban followed his twin inside the mine. He would follow her at the very Gates of the Avernus if necessary. That was what brothers were for.
That was what family was for.
Several miles Northwest, ahead of the REPCONN Headquarters, a large group of raiders inside an apparently abandoned farm met their gruesome demise at the hands of a lone wandering figure.
A giant mound full of vicious fire ants barely half an hour walking Northeast was next.
A subtle stench of rotting decay and a carpet of bullet shells, the only signature left behind an apparent common pattern to the untrained eye.
However, for a more experienced tracker, the trail of an unmistakable men's size 17 combat boots heading North on a very straight line would have informed that the lone figure had an intended destination: Camp McCarran.
LATIN:
(1) - "Silence is golden."
(2) - "Mortal actions never deceive the gods."
(3) - "He who wants everything loses everything."
(4) - sweet wine
(5) - "What nourishes me destroys me."
(6) - recruits
(7) - "Hunger sweetens the beans."
(8) - "Truth conquers... Truth, justice, [and] liberty... Truth will liberate you [all]..."
(9) - "The bitter truth is better than the sweetest lies."
(10) - instructors (only the ones who train children).
(11) - aspirants/recruits (only the children)
(12) - "From the light, into the shadow" - The common saying was "From the shadow, into the light.", thus why Vulpes is confused.
(13) - "You must either imitate or loathe the world."
(14) - A Cursor or Optio navaliorum is a soldier in charge of boats.
Side Note: yes, Vulpes' mentor was quite fastidious with his Latin quotations.
SPANISH:
(A) - "Whatever afterlife awaits us, you have earned it."
A/N: Thank you so much for your support, readers, Favs, and Reviews all! I'm sorry there was no Caesar on this one, but it was long enough as it is now, so I decided to make Caesar's grand entrance into the story for the next chapter. I have already written his conversation with Vulpes, so don't you worry ;)
Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R: I took into consideration your suggestion to put the Charon parts at the end of each chapter, and I did so in this one while I corrected the seventh to match the desired "hunting down" feeling. It truly adds tension, so excellent input!
I'm glad you're enjoying Six and Vulpes. They are the center of the story, so I am not really developing Burke or other characters as much as these two (even if they have their due relevance). ^^
Thank you again! Cheers!
PD: yeah, Disney's Hunchback of Notre-Dame reference. Kill me.
