"Number Nine"


Ch. 34: Destiny.


"But it must be destiny, destiny.
Not left to chance
With a wave of a hand, in a wasted land, we dance.
But it must be destiny, destiny.
For only we too
will know what the meaning of love can do."

- Bell, Book & Candle, "Destiny"


By the time the dreaded supper took place, Vulpes' nerves were so on edge that he could have literally throttled the slave bowed by his left, serving vinum dulce (1) among the commensals, just to express how incredibly stressed he currently was.

Sullivan was conversing animatedly with Lord Caesar while Lucius politely intervened from time to time between the two of them.

There were eyes upon the table from everywhere, not just the Frumentarii Order, but also the Praetorian Guard.

He wasn't sure what game Lucius thought he was playing by monitoring all of his and Sullivan's moves around the encampment, but Vulpes hadn't wanted to be left out of the fun and had put agents to watch over Lucius' agents.

Completely over the top, ridiculous, and pedantic? Yes, but absolutely unavoidable.

Besides, the Praetorian Guard wanted to play big? Vulpes was all game.

Taking a polite sip from one of the goblets and suppressing the grimace the slightly velvety bitter aftertaste the drink in question left on his tongue (dulce, his ass), the Master Frumentarius took advantage of the distraction his Courier was providing to get a minute of respite to reflect upon everything that had unpacked today.

For all of the nervousness and not very collaborative attitude she had displayed this morning, she certainly had adapted to The Fort's harsh, clockwork rhythm fairly quickly.

Perhaps he should thank Lupus for that.

He still didn't know how the boy had infiltrated the Castra Peregrina, much less how he had ended up inside his tent, but what Vulpes did know was that Sullivan's disposition, upon establishing contact with him, had improved considerably.

That was the main reason he hadn't chastised the boy, nor had he called for his neglectful Instructor to discipline the two of them. A stern earful and latrine duty for the child, ten lashes for the adult who supposedly had to watch over him.

When he had arrived at his tent, he had found Gabban spying the inside through a gap between the canvas folds. Upon reaching him, he had cleared his throat, about to question his brother's strange behavior, when Gabban had nodded with his chin toward the aperture from which he was looking to the inside.

Vulpes had found Sullivan sitting over his mattress with a smaller figure between her legs as they watched something on her Pip-Boy, Rex taking a nap next to them.

Bright blue eyes were open in amazement, following the fast motion of what, undoubtedly, was a movie of sorts. Slim arms wrapped around his waist, small chin having found a home on one of his tiny shoulders.

He had been leaning on her for support, and she had been but happy to cradle him with her body; the mutual trust baffling even to Vulpes, who knew them better than most people and still wasn't sure how they had managed to get along so well in so little time.

Their harmony had been so beautiful that Vulpes had hated to break it. It wouldn't speak well of a Master Frumentarius spying on his own tent. And there were eyes everywhere.

Upon entering, the first thing that the boy had done had been to bow his head, knowing very well he had been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

And yet, he had done it anyway. Vulpes wasn't really sure if he should reward or punish such boldness.

Anyway, Sullivan had squeezed the boy as if he had been but a plush while she had smiled.

"You didn't tell me this cutie would be around!" – she had exclaimed, delighted – "Otherwise, I would have saved some sweets for him this morning."

"He isn't supposed to eat sugar." – Vulpes had replied, eyes severe, tone even – "As well as he isn't supposed to do many other things." – he had added, addressing the boy severely, which had earned him the due puppy look. A classic – "However, it is fortunate you two have already gotten acquainted. That'll save me a lot of time with introductions and… unnecessary questioning."

That had been a warning for the girl, who had been quick on the update and had swallowed what had been, no doubt, compromising implications neither the boy nor the rest of the encampment were ready to hear.

He had permitted the child to stay, whereas he himself had picked the oldest pile of paperwork that had been accumulating on his desk for the last months and had started sorting out reports in silence.

If a little harsh for his tastes, he hoped his dry treatment had sent the correct message for the two of them, who seemingly had been a little put-off by his behavior but had resumed their previous watching activity as if nothing had happened at all.

While he had been classifying data, writing, and signing off letters, his right wrist had swelled a little after the abuse he had subjected it to; surprising him how easy it was for the human body to get used to the soft life. Three months ago, he wouldn't have broken a sweat for plain biting, whereas now, with a little scratching, his whole joint burned, and the tips of his fingers were tingling intermittently.

Gabban had remained outside on watch for the next half an hour until a slave had brought lunch, surprisingly, for five people.

The big mystery had been promptly solved as soon as Alexus had stepped in, bearing one of those insufferable grins that had informed Vulpes that the main reason for her presence had been for the simple pleasure of annoying him.

His unpredictable sister had brought her two dogs with her, thus crowding his tent almost immediately, leaving her new acquisition of a slave waiting outside with a measly sandwich for company.

"Cannot leave her alone in the tent." – Alexus had explained, shrugging as she had smeared a nip of flatbread onto the pepper, onion, and tomato garnish in which the corn rations were covered today. A nice improvement since the shortage in supplies from the western caravans had gotten them eating maize gruel for the last year – "Can't stand her half the time, either. Gotta have a word with the Slavemaster one of these days, see how can I make her more useful and less the asshole she has turned into since she has been permitted to terminate foolish morons who believe they can punch her to death at the arena." – raising her voice, she had yelled to the tent's entrance – "Isn't that right, Stella?!"

"What?!" – had been the muffled response she had gotten from the other woman, who clearly had been pissed off by having to wait outside, cooking in her own rags.

"That you're an entitled asshole!" – Alexus had shouted back.

"And you're a butthead himbo, Decanus!"

"Why, thank you, Ranger. I wasn't aware that you find me so good-looking as to call me a himbo!"

"Screw you!"

"Wash that filthy mouth first, and we'll discuss it later!"

"In your fucking wildest dreams, you dumb creep!"

Vulpes could have just throttled his sister for this little show. And Gabban as well, who had been biting the inner side of a cheek to contain laughter.

"Wait, you have an actual arena here?" – Sullivan had asked, cheeks full of bread and owlish eyes. Thankfully for him, she had seemingly found the exchange harmless enough – "As in with the gladiators and all?"

"Not as glamorous as you may think." – Alexus had replied, apparently entertained by the conversation after her short verbal sparring with the slave – "This is the portable version of what we have at Flagstaff: the old J. Lawrence Walkup Skydome. You cannot expect to build an honest-to-Mars coliseum from scrap, much less if all you have are pre-War metallic plates and repurposed trash from old factories at hand. Even as advanced as our architecture is, we still don't have the necessary infrastructures to deal with such large-scale foundations, so we simply reuse what we can salvage out of old buildings and recreate their former layout. It is usually easier in bigger pre-War cities, given that their blueprints are usually stored at their Historical Archives in the libraries or the town halls."

"And you can enter for free to watch the entertainment, or you have to pay to get a seat?"

"No offense, but that's so NCR policy: to put a price on everything they can." – Gabban had intervened, popping sweet corn grains into his mouth as if they were peeled sunflower seeds – "No, Courier. Our circus is as free as the medical services our healers provide to the population."

"The only difference being that you can actually place a bet at the circus on someone pushing daisies." – Alexus had snorted, grating on Vulpes' nerves.

Couldn't his sister kind of shut up? Too much info already.

"Wait… isn't that gambling?"

There we go.

"Well, it's regulated by the State, so there's only one legal way to bet. We catch any illegal bets running around; the directly involved have to either offer their services as slaves at the market for two years, face twenty lashes, or try their luck as gladiators in the arena. And the majority usually prefer servitude. Usually. In the case of legionaries, though, they are meant for the cross." – Alexus had explained, pinching her chin pensively – "Regarding the regulated bets, you cannot place more than two instances per day, each no higher than five Denarii, so as to control the excess of prodigality… but yes, it's technically gambling."

"Why won't the offenders face jail instead?"

"Why would we want to feed and clothe lazy morons waiting with a thumb up their arses for their serving sentence to expire when they can contribute either working or facing direct consequences? I say it's fair payment for breaking the law, and that applies to the rest of crimes, the time serving a sentence depending on the offense. Jails rarely straighten up crooked inclinations. On the other hand, serving time or plain corporal punishment does."

"And why, pray tell, legionaries don't get the same treatment?"

Before Alexus could keep running her mouth, Vulpes had spoken up.

"To avoid corruption, mostly." – he had said calmly, masticating the corn and swallowing before opening his mouth in-between munches – "We are the soldiers of Caesar's Empire, its law enforcers. It is a dishonor to face servitude the same way it is an unfair advantage, given our training and endurance, to fight for our freedom at the arena or to face a flogging we are very much accustomed to. If we allowed, let's say, old officers turned into our administrative branch to commit fraud at the expense of the Empire's arcs and then to clean their names through relatively easy routes, we would be endorsing for that very corruption to repeat itself indefinitely." – wiping his lips with a napkin, one of those scrupulous customs the majority of legionaries hadn't even heard of but his mother had instilled in him at a very young age despite their tribal background; Vulpes had added – "Our responsibility is our burden and ours alone to bear. And that is why, dear Sullivan, we stand out next to the common citizenry. We don't have the same rights because our function is radically different."

Once his explanation was over, Gabban had looked crestfallen, and Alexus had sighed loudly.

"Way to kill the mood, dude…" – she had grunted, finishing her plate.

After a short parenthesis eating in silence, Lupus had dared to open his mouth, surrounded by dogs on all fronts eating from his hand as he shared his leftovers with the animals.

"What if someone doesn't want to be a legionary?"

Vulpes had almost choked on his food, Gabban had disguised a cough – getting all red in the face during the process – and Alexus had simply deviated her eyes.

"Beg your pardon?" – he then had asked the child, who had backpedaled a little.

"I'm not saying that I don't…" – he had tried to amend quickly – "But what about other people?"

"What about them?"

He had known his flat tone had confounded the boy, but that hadn't dissuaded him from pursuing an answer.

"I've heard that there are… Profligates who have pledged loyalty to Caesar." – the child had explained, avoiding eye contact - "And they have become legionaries."

"Yes, and?"

"Couldn't it… happen the other way around?"

"To become a Profligate, you mean?" – Gabban had asked softly, clearly trying to direct the conversation in a less harsh way – "That's desertion, boy. It's called treason."

"No." – Lupus had shaken his head – "I mean becoming a citizen, while still being Legion."

The question had felt like ice-cold water being poured all over their heads.

And the worst part of it had been Sullivan's presence, watching their reactions in silence.

"When you'll retire." - he had tried, knowing such a curt reply wouldn't suffice.

"And before?"

Alexus had harrumphed, clearly attempting to go to his rescue.

"You're training to become a soldier." – she had reasoned – "A soldier's job is fighting and defending his home. What would you do if you became a citizen, huh? You would like to be a bloody peasant? For fuck's sake…"

Lupus hadn't answered, and then, Rex had decided to console him by giving his face a thorough wash.

The topic had been dropped until everyone had finished their lunch.

"Hey, Vulpes." – Alexus had called for him before taking her leave, closing the distance between them and lowering her voice so nobody else couldn't hear them – "About your rat…"

His ears had perked even if he hadn't dignified to look at her.

"Yes?"

"I've been looking into the issue since Gabban departed from The Fort to rendezvous with you two and… I might know who it is."

He had raised his eyes very slightly from the cushions all of them had used to sit in that both Sullivan and he were picking to leave them neatly organized in a corner.

"I'm all ears, Alex."

"Before I give you a name, I want you to know that I believe this is all a stupid misunderstanding, okay?"

Oh no.

"I'll be the one judging that." – he had replied curtly – "Who is the mole?"

His sister had pinched the inner corners of her eyes tiredly.

"There's no mole, Vulpes… just a stupid newbie who still doesn't discern between friend and foe among us."

That had told him everything he had needed to know.

"Who was the person he had the tongue-slip with?" – he finally asked, tired too.

"Petronius Probinus."

That had given him some pause.

"The Centurion?" – he had asked, trying to contain the excitement such a revelation had brought to him – "The one who was leading our defenses at Texas? The last news I heard about him depicted the good Centurion on the right path to become a Legatus."

"He got reassigned. The Campaign on the Eastern Frontier has been on a stalemate for a long time, and the Imperator isn't happy with the results… of lack thereof." – Alexus had informed him, already aware of what this disclosing would bring – "Petronius' situation isn't pretty at the moment. He's more vulnerable than ever now that he enjoys Caesar's favor no more… in case you're interested."

Oh, yes, he was indeed.

Petronius Probinus had been on Vulpes' blacklist for a long, long time. Especially after the Serpent had forbidden his newly-appointed apprentice from speaking to any other soul that wasn't him as part of his sadistic training regime, and the good Centurion, perhaps bored or maybe in dire need to release some pent-up frustration, had used the aforesaid apprentice as a punching ball when the young man had refused to verbally acknowledge his orders.

They say if you catch a pig, catch it by the leg.

And the good Centurion had returned just in time to cash in his much-delayed payday.

The man was likely aware of the Head of the Frumentarii's exploits returning the favors to those who had partaken in unsavory behavior around him, so he had played his cards to get back in Caesar's good graces while removing Vulpes from the picture entirely before risking the possibility of payback.

Little did he know that Vulpes had eyes even among lower troops fresh from the training grounds. His sister took good care of that. Perhaps, if he didn't fear so much for Alexus' secret to be revealed, Vulpes would have deemed her position as Decanus unbelievably convenient.

Both grabbed the forearm of the other in comradeship, and before she could dodge him, he pulled her close to bid her farewell in the way of their people.

"Fiel a La Jauría, hermana." (A) – he whispered in her ear.

She huffed in exasperation but had clasped his back in return.

"Fiel a La Jauría." – she confirmed after stepping out of the embrace and clicking her tongue twice to command her canine guardians to follow her. After she had left the tent, Gabban had resumed his post outside.

"Why won't you show the camp to our guest?" – Vulpes had suggested to a very pensive Lupus, who clearly had witnessed their display and had quite a few questions dancing in his head – "I have already sent word to your Instructor to allow you a dispensation for today, so you may as well do something productive to make up for a lost day."

Despite his neutral words, he had conveyed a soothing tone that had worked miracles in Lupus' disposition when the boy's eyes had shone with hope.

"I'm going to be a ductor?" (2) – he had asked, already excited – "For real?!"

"More like a deductor." (3) – he had corrected. Grammar was important, and it wasn't the same telling a child he ought to instruct a foreigner than boss her around the camp. He was giving him a responsibility, not a promotion – "But yes. You will escort Mercuria around The Fort to show her how it works."

"Alright!" – the boy had nodded enthusiastically – "Where should I begin?"

"May as well start here, at the Castra Peregrina since you seem to be awfully familiar with it." – he had replied, knowing his statement had made the child blush furiously – "Use your own words to describe the functions of every sector and don't tarry. She knows she must bear witness and not meddle in our affairs more than what's strictly necessary. Isn't that right, my dear?" – he had added, addressing Sullivan, who, besides getting redder than a tomato at being called 'my dear', approached him to pinch his chest with a raised index finger.

"I liked you more when you were all quiet and pretty back in Caesar's tent." – she had whispered to him, squinting eyes, attempting to put on a serious mien.

He had grabbed the daring little finger.

"Oh, I very much doubt so, darling." – he had whispered in return, raising the little hand to his lips to kiss the inner side of her wrist, noticing how her pulse had quickened almost immediately as he had purred in her ear the way he knew she liked it – "After all, you find my palaver kind of enticing, don't you?"

"Don't flatter yourself, you naughty… íncubo."

"Ah, íncubo, from incubus, incubates - past participle of incubare, meaning 'to lie upon'. Quite bold, disclosing your plans for this late night before going to bed." – he had known she had been turning into a big puddle of red and damn, but he enjoyed way too much making her squirm – "And I am the naughty one here..."

She had squeaked, hastily freeing from his grasp and dragging a perplexed Lupus outside with her, Rex in tow.

Vulpes barely had popped his nose from between the canvas folds out when Gabban had nodded to him, following the trio discreetly.

Lupus' presence had been a blessing in disguise, in need of some time alone as Vulpes had been. His mind already planning the next move over the board with the insubordinate young agent in need of discipline and the daring Centurion posing a small, though bothersome stone in the Master Frumentarius' shoe.

Obviously, the boy earned himself exemplary punishment, and the rest would bear witness to what happens to tongues that flap too eagerly. Perhaps the Weather Monitoring Station, as to avoid indiscreet ears. It had been a private affair, after all.

Regarding Probinus… he had sent an agent to gather evidence, indistinctly of said evidence's nature, against him. He wanted to know everything, from what he had had for breakfast to the color of his dirty linen. No man is exempt from sin and/or weaknesses, even among the powerful, and those Vulpes knew how to exploit even if he had to add a pinch or two of lies in the mixture.

And he felt rather creative today.

As creative as his present thoughts, still sitting at Caesar's table, regarding throttling and other murdering pleasantries were becoming the more he listened to Sullivan's conversation with Lucius.

"So, let me sum the whole deal up." – she was saying – "You have bought a scavenged Howitzer from a merchant who happens to be chilling at the bar of the outer ring… and it turns out that the gun doesn't even work. Didn't you complete the transaction with the belief that you paid for a functional Howitzer or something? Like… I don't really think spare pieces from those are that easy to find two centuries later."

For Mars' spear, girl! They don't need to know that you're THAT clever!

"The firing mechanism is the only defective piece so far, Courier." – Lucius noted as civilly as his, no doubt, flaring temper allowed him. Vulpes wasn't sure whether Sullivan was doing this on purpose or not, but her little tour around The Fort, instead of tempering her demeanor, had simply made her bolder around the men – "The tribe calling themselves the Boomers is obsessed with such weapons, I've been told. Perhaps if we would be able to establish contact with them, they might have a spare piece among their seemingly limitless inventory to help us."

"Aaah, so you're now suggesting that I should be the one talking to the Boomers in order to acquire that very firing mechanism, right?" – turning to Caesar, she added cheekily – "First the AutoDoc, now a Howitzer. Assignments are piling on my desk for moments, Caesar."

"Thus, as a good Tabellaria, you should take care of the packages." – the Imperator snorted, disguising an amused grin behind his goblet – "We are giving you work to do. You should be happy."

"Oh, yeah? And what about compensation? Nothing in this life is for free, you know."

Please, make her stop… just make her stop…

"Ho, ho! Heard that, Lucius? Mercenary to the boot, our paula Tabellaria!" (4)

"As expected from a Profligate, my Lord." – the interpellated replied dryly, eyeing the girl with ill-concealed displeasure.

"Don't use the P-Word so lightly, Commander." – she gently tutted in response, raising an index finger jokingly as if she were a teacher of sorts – "I've been told I'm more of a Dissolute."

Vulpes wanted so… so very hard to put a hand over her mouth, pick her up, and run miles ahead with her until he would find a deserted spot in the middle of nowhere in which he could yell at her to stop sassing Lucius and stop treating Caesar like a… colleague of sorts.

"Dissolute are merely non-Legion individuals, Courier, but a Profligate is the one who asks for monetary compensation for a task that is meant to help the common good."

"'Common good' is an incredibly vague term, but alright, Commander, let's make it ammo compensation then. Preferably the armor-piercing kind, though hollow point is fine too. You cannot expect me to fire the bullets I have scavenged - risking my hide during the process, by the way - knowing I wouldn't get those restocked. You want a soldier; you give that very soldier materials to work with."

"I was suggesting a diplomatic approach, Courier, not a raid. Or aren't your tactics renowned for adopting the ambassador mantle before resorting to violence?"

"The ambassador mantle only works when the other party is willing to negotiate, Commander. Which entails concessions coming from both sides, not one of them making threats expecting the other to magically worship the ground they walk. Thus, refer to what happened to the Van Graffs."

Kidnapping-silencing impulses growing.

"Our prospect of weapon dealers, yes. Those you conveniently dispatched after contacting one of our agents."

"Those guys would have NEVER dealt with the Legion. The Republic fattens their arcs just nicely enough to make some of their weapons exclusive to their military. That sample shipment?: a ruse. The NCR is thirsting to get their hands on one of your spies. Bet it was probably a well-orchestrated trap."

"Well, Courier, that is an interesting theory. Care to demonstrate it?"

It grated on Vulpes' nerves the way his Lord was eyeing the exchange between Sullivan and Lucius as if it was merely an entertainment, hazel eyes pivoting from the man to the girl and back while masticating his brahmin veal steak delectably. A luxury he had decided to regale the Courier with as a subtle way of bribing her while many of the men outside of this tent had gone basically on maize gruel day in and day out until very recently.

"Actually, Lucius…" – he intervened before the situation got out of hand, given how hostile the Praefectus Praetor was getting with what he undoubtedly thought it was a smarty-pants roach he just wanted to stomp over – "Some of my men retrieved quite the interesting data from the decommissioned Silver Rush before the population of Freeside raided the building after the death of its owners. Among their papers, there were many contracts dealing with weapon shipments between the Van Graffs and the NCR military, thus backing the Courier's theory. The more prevalent signature on those purchases was from Aaron Kimball himself, so it was official."

Lucius' eyes snapped open for a millisecond before turning back to their usual vigilant mien while Sullivan directed him a shocked, then grateful look and the Imperator simply huffed in displeasure.

"And just when this was getting interesting for once…" – the Son of Mars expressed with a disenchanted intonation – "All this talk about past tense bores me, so let's get to more pressing matters: the Boomers, Tabellaria."

"What about them?"

"You say a diplomatic approach won't do. Why is that?"

"Oh, that's funny, actually. I wasn't aware that the Boomers dealt diplomatically with outsiders, Caesar. Last news from Radio New Vegas depicted those fine people as belligerent fanatics that bomb down anybody who dares to trespass their territory."

"Hypothetically, if you were to contact the Boomers, how would you tackle such an obstacle, Tabellaria?"

Vulpes almost shoved his empty goblet under the nose of the serving girl. He knew the beverage wouldn't even make him tipsy, but it acted like a placebo the same.

The worst part of having an unrestrained, opinionated Sullivan talking at leisure amidst a Legion camp was having Caesar encouraging such behavior.

What was his Lord thinking? Her demeanor was clearly perceived as impudent not only by Lucius, but all of the men watching the exchange from their guarding posts with grave faces, most of them unable to hide their disdain.

"Finding an alternate route other than Highway 93, of course. I wouldn't be surprised to find old service tunnels connecting Area 51 to the desert. Or maybe through the Nevada State Route 375 from Warm Springs… or what is left of the town, anyway."

"Area 51?" – Caesar asked, eyes sparkling with interest – "Wasn't that the codename for some legendary high classified pre-War facilities that, supposedly, held the kind of tech the Brotherhood of Steel would kill for?"

"Yep, alien tech."

No, not the extraterrestrial theories now!

"Pardon?"

"You see, there are these green people called the Zetans…"

"If I may, meus Domine." – Vulpes interrupted her before she went too far spreading fantastical ideas about space invaders that might unleash unpredictable results among the overall superstition and ignorance that still affected many of their men that were reconditioned tribals still clinging to their old customs despite such practices being severely punished – "The Courier here present expressed some time ago her interest about Legion's ideals." – he said, giving her a warning look that was saying 'You and I are having a serious conversation about this later' – "While I humbly exposed to her the finer points and values of our society… I believe no one is better suited to quench her thirst for knowledge than the very founder of the Legion. It may add to the arguments that many of our men have presented to her throughout her tour around Fortification Hill today."

Sullivan frowned, and Caesar unfolded one of his enigmatic smiles that usually preceded a magistral class on History and Philosophy. Way safer topics than the extravagances they had been about to engage in.

"Alright, I'll bite." – the girl expressed animatedly, returning to her cheeky manner – "Why is the Legion cool, Caesar? What does it have to offer to the Wasteland reality besides safety coming from a society that thrives on warfare?"

Vulpes repressed the impulse to facepalm himself while Lucius' teeth ground loudly.

But the Imperator? The Imperator, apparently unconcerned by the terse disposition of his men, looked like the cat that got the cream.

"Isn't safety what everyone craves in this godforsaken land?" – he craftily inquired – "For the chance of having food on their plates on a daily basis and thick, defended walls between them and the Wasteland, many people would easily sell their children without batting a lash. Those are the kinds of people that society needs the least."

Indeed.

"Instead of asking what the Legion offers, let's analyze what the NCR offers first." - Caesar proposed, evidently eager to discuss a reasoning Vulpes shared not merely just because he had to but because it sounded logical. If there was something he profoundly admired about his Lord, that was how far-reaching his vision of a future was, how deeply he must have had to change his mentality in order to address what was wrong with that same mentality in the first place - "People who would gamble and speculate with the goods and lives of their fellow men but without the drive to earn their place in the world beyond their self-interested machinations. This is the most accurate representation you'll ever hear about the NCR Council and all of their wealthy Brahmin Baron friends." – joining the tips of his fingers under his chin, he kept talking - "Unnecessary people occupying unnecessary public offices creating unnecessary laws that serve, most of the time, to justify the existence of those unnecessary jobs tailored specifically for them."

Complicated concepts that sounded completely ludicrous when they were brought to the table in simpler words. A chain of idle functionaries living at the expense of public funds.

Western mentality at its finest.

"When Tandi reigned, the Republic was a hereditary dictatorship in effect despite its laws saying otherwise. She was popular, and nobody dared to oppose her candidature, so her reign lasted 52 years with the people's love and blessings. A strong Nation with a strong leader at its head. And what happens once she dies?: Democracy enters the picture." – popping a freshly-cut slice of one of the many fruits the serving girls were putting in place of the empty dishes from earlier into his mouth, the Imperator added – "If the President's son, Hoss, would have followed in the steps of his mother and grandfather, the Aradesh Dynasty would still be in power so, the Mojave and, possibly, the rest of Nevada wouldn't even be among NCR assimilation top list, to begin with, and their indebtedness would be nonexistent." - masticating pensively, he said - "However, once 'the Founding Mother of the New California Republic' walked out of the picture, inner legislative problems began to arise. Everybody wanted a piece of the cake, so more seats were added, thus more unnecessary salaries to add on the public arcs' payroll."

And so on and so forth.

"As time has passed, it has created a more diffuse, slower, impractical State, which also conditions their decisions upon acquiring more resources as to keep inflating prices and repay the money they have been lent through favors. Eventually, that led them to corruption and nepotism." – Caesar concluded – "The fundamental weakness of a Democracy is to become a double-edged sword a Nation wields against its citizens' throats until everybody ends up beheaded. For not all individuals of a Nation are suited to make decisions for the rest if they can be bought either with gold or words, and that includes voting."

"And the Legion is the answer to Democracy?" – Sullivan asked, clearly unimpressed – "The ultimate solution to all the corruption that slows, complicates, and weakens a society that emulates obsolete institutions and views from before the bombs?"

"More like a counterbalance." – Caesar answered – "Have you heard about Hegelian Dialectics, Tabellaria?"

"I know a little about German Idealism, but I can't say I'm very familiar with Hegel's work." – she said, frowning as if trying to recall something – "Something to do with overcoming dualisms, perhaps?"

"Close enough." – the man conceded, clearly enjoying the teaching position he was taking in the conversation – "Despite being a founding figure of the Western Culture, Hegel is, regretfully, one of the most – academically-wise - neglected philosophers of all times given the difficulty his work poses for study, so I am not surprised at all that you know him by name and little else." – pinching his chin, he continued – "Hegel's writings are intended for those already familiarized with Aristotle, Kant, and Kant's immediate successors, Fichte and Schelling. This being said, Metaphysics plays an important part in his work. Have you read Aristotle's 'Metaphysics', Tabellaria?"

'Metaphysics' was something Vulpes had read a while ago, and still to this very day, he found it extremely complex to synthesize into simpler words.

For, how does one pose existential questions as the comprehension of the world that surrounds us, the matter or 'being' that composes the aforesaid world – thus, the cause, and how this world is bound to exist and evolve through changes in the matter that composes it… in simpler terms?

Sullivan seemed to struggle with her answer, for she took a long time before delivering a response.

"Who am I? Where do I come from? Where am I going? And, most importantly: why?" – she intoned, almost as if she were quoting someone – "Existence and the nature of things that exist, including us: beings. A study of the universal principles of being, the abstract qualities of existence itself, and concepts like substance and accident, matter and form, act and potency. There are Four Causes as to conform questions to analyze reality as we know it: Material Cause or the matter that composes the being; Formal Cause or the form of the being; Moving Cause or the things apart from the being that changed or moved it; and Final Cause or the purpose of the being." – rubbing her temples, as if the memorizing effort had been too much, she added – "None of them mutually exclusive… I think. That's all that I actually remember about Metaphysics. Plato's Cave was much more fun than Aristotle's stuff anyway."

"Any good idealist loves Plato's work." – Caesar opined noncommittally, shoving the topic aside with the grace of someone adept at conversing, effortlessly – "But what interests me is the idea of cause and effect exposed in Aristotle's Metaphysics. Beginning and becoming. But a being cannot become without going through a metamorphosis. And a metamorphosis requires more than one element to turn the beginning into a becoming; thus we apply the Moving Cause during the process of the being becoming. You see?"

"I… I think so."

"It is very simple: through a three-step process or Triad, Hegel, basing his work on Aristotle's, postulated about the inner contradictions of things, the beings, from their creation until they reach a conclusion. A synthesis." – raising his left hand as an example, he continued – "Let's imagine that here rests the NCR. The premise, the problem to be solved. A Thesis." – raising his other hand, he added – "And here, rests the Legion. The reply, the juxtaposition. The Antithesis." – joining both hands as a demonstration, he concluded – "Though the conflict of these two propositions is inevitable, the resolution of the aforesaid conflict yields something new - a Synthesis - eliminating the flaws in each, leaving behind common elements and ideas. And that premise can be applied throughout History itself utilizing a sequence of dialectical conflicts. Like a mathematical formula."

Blinking twice before opening her mouth, Sullivan's voice reflected something that Vulpes could not pinpoint at that very moment.

Something he wasn't sure he liked seeing on her.

"You speak as if the crumbling was bound to happen sooner or later." – she expressed slowly, as if trying to decipher the real meaning behind Caesar's words, eyeing him with caution. All traces of familiarity erased from her voice – "As if Legion versus NCR is an unavoidable consequence of what the Republic has created in the first place."

"And it is not?" – the Son of Mars replied with a small, feral smile – "The NCR has all of the problems of the ancient Roman Republic - extreme bureaucracy, corruption, extensive senatorial infighting… you name it. Just as with the ancient Republic, it is natural that a military force should conquer and transform the NCR into a military dictatorship. It has happened before, and History demonstrates that it will happen again." – he proclaimed – "Thesis and Antithesis. The Colorado River is my Rubicon. The NCR Council will be eradicated, but the new Synthesis will change the Legion as well… from a basically nomadic army to a standing military force that protects its citizens and the power of its dictator."

If impressive, his discourse left a remnant tingle coursing through Vulpes' throat that didn't quite feel right.

For the Synthesis he had been hoping for all these years… it wasn't bound to exist but inside his head, in a figment of his imagination.

For there was only war until they reached the far shores of the Pacific Ocean and then, the Atlantic. A war that will bring peace to future generations.

Si vis pacem, para bellum. (5)

Lost in thought as he was, he didn't notice the small hand beneath the table trying to reach his', seeking reassurance and comfort.

In Vulpes' eyes, she was speechless, dazzled by his Lord's vision, while, in Six's eyes, he was giving her the cold shoulder as she realized how much of a madman Edward Sallow truly was.

She couldn't believe how a man so delusional had been able to survive out in the Wastes, much less how he had managed to turn a delirious idea product of the many hours he had spent reading books into a reality.

She had been looking forward to this supper all day… and now, she could barely contain her disquiet feet from running down the hill to throw herself at the mercy of the ferryman, begging to turn heel back to Cottonwood Cove.

She shouldn't have come. She should have listened to Boone and tried her best to collaborate with James Hsu. At least the good Colonel was a down-to-earth man who would do what he would consider it was fair.

She should have convinced House to negotiate a pact with the NCR, even with the very Brotherhood of Steel, no matter how many bothersome tasks the Elder might have come up with before acquiescing to a truce.

She shouldn't have allowed to be talked into this madness. She shouldn't have trusted House's master plan at all.

Now, she was trapped inside a military encampment with people who inspired her pity as well as fear the more Six picked Sallow's brain.

For fear, throughout the day, had given way to doubt and even mild appreciation of what the Legion had to offer in the ways of practicality, order, commitment, and, surprisingly, sanitation.

The child, Lupus, had guided her around as her eyes had tried to create a fair balance between people doing their regular daily schedule and power abuses perpetrated, half of the time, by legionaries that were immediately punished if an older officer discovered them.

"Don't mind the slaves." – the child had told her in a manner that, probably, was simply parroting what he had been hearing since he was little when he had seen her wincing at the rough treatment a random man in rags was receiving from a random legionary. So many faces together had confounded her to the very point she hadn't been able to distinguish one from the next – "They know their assigned tasks well. If they do not perform as it is expected of them, they get punished accordingly."

Putting aside just how wrong those words felt upon the lips of a child, she had attempted to reach him by showing interest. Even if the topic was kind of spookish.

"And if a legionary underperforms? You too get punished that way?"

"It depends on the severity of your failures." – Lupus had replied as if it was the most natural thing to say – "Latrine duty or washing dishes are for minor issues. The rest might vary between doing push-ups, fasting for a whole day, being lashed at the post, or crucified."

"You can get crucified for underperforming?" – she had repeated as if she hadn't heard it right the first time.

"I… think so?" – the boy had said nervously, clearly uncomfortable. Whether it was due to his ignorance on the subject or the conversation itself, she hadn't been able to tell – "You know, if you do bad or disobey or try to escape when you're on a mission, Lord Caesar gives you the thumbs down, and you get crucified. That's underperforming too."

Clever kid.

"And what about you kids? You too get punished for underperforming?"

"Sure! I still have scars from that time when our tent got up late, and Magister Arrius whipped our hands with a rod! Want to see them?"

"Ehhh…"

"This one, see? The healers say it'll never disappear! Isn't that awesome?"

"S-sure…"

"I can't wait to earn some more scars in battle! The more you have, the stronger you are, meaning you have bested your adversary and survived your wounds."

"I-I suppose every mark tells a tale…"

"Right! You understand our values well despite being a foreigner and a girl! If all the Profligates were like you, there wouldn't be the need for war."

"Hum… Thank you?"

Surrealist conversation, alright.

"You're welcome!" – the kid had replied with a smile so innocent it had told her he really meant that as a compliment.

It had been sad to watch.

And it had been even sadder to hear him talk about his encampment with enthusiasm, fondness, and pride. Apparently believing his stay here, at the front lines, being a privilege of sorts.

For, besides the occasional son or nephew from the officers stationed here, the rest of the children inhabiting Fortification Hill were all orphans, reconditioned tribals raised at the Temple of Mars. Brought here under the guise of "making a man out of each one of them" when the real motives behind their presence, in Six's opinion, might be more sinister than that.

Nameless, without cultural roots or a family to care for them, these children were, in a word, completely expendable.

And she was extensively familiar with what happens to expendable children living under a military regime.

She had grabbed his hand under the lame excuse of "feeling safer around the encampment that way", and Lupus, innocent as he was, had accepted with one of his cute smiles.

His hands, much like Zorro's, were long and elegant but hard and calloused out of hard work. She loved Zorro's hands.

The proximity had eased the child's manner once they had been allowed inside the outer ring after stating their business. She had wanted to see the less military aspect of the encampment.

Nobody had stopped them when she had gently persuaded the boy to show her the area where the caravans that dealt with the Legion rested and refreshed. Turns out there were drinking troughs and feeders for the brahmins, communal tents for sleeping, and a minibar of sorts run by an amicable old man who, besides serving water and meals, also had juices and soft drinks he, apparently, bought and sold among the caravanners since legionaries were forbidden from trading there.

The man had been kind enough to give her a glass of regular water for Rex for free and sell her a couple of Nukas, one of them she had gifted to Lupus, who had eyed the beverage with something akin to fear that had promptly transformed into delight once he had taken a sip, hiding as they had been from prying eyes sitting between the palisade of the outer ring and a tent.

"I didn't know juices could tickle your tongue!" – he had whispered excitedly, licking his lips in appreciation – "Nuka Cola, you say it's called? Do you know the recipe?"

She had almost choked with laughter.

"That's one of the best-guarded trade secrets of all times, kid." – she had giggled, amused by his sweet candor while patting Rex's belly when the dog had rolled in the dirt, paws neatly folded and tongue lolling at a side, asking for cuddles – "Before the Great War, that 'recipe', as you call it, cost several millions of dollars."

"What's a dollar?"

"Ah… the equivalent of a bottle cap?"

"What? This?" – he had asked, showing her the one he had obtained from his bottle with all the seriousness in the world – "This doesn't hold any value, Mercuria. It's trash."

"Ehhh… alright. Four dollars are, like, equivalent to one Denarius? Kind of?"

"Aaah, okay. A Sestertius, then."

"… Yeah."

They had drunk in silence, enjoying the cool drink in the shadow of a very searing Mojave day.

"Mercuria…"

It had taken a second for Six to acknowledge the name.

"Yeah?"

"Are you Legion now?"

Huh?

"Why do you ask?"

"Because… that's not your original name, isn't it?" – the boy clearly wasn't sure if he was permitted to ask such questions, for he had kept his eyes on the ground, drawing idle patterns with the point of his boot on the dry earth – "Master Inculta has called you 'Sullivan' at lunch. Mercuria is your Legion name, right?"

"Yep, that's right."

"So… if you have a Legion name, that means you're now Legion."

"What makes you think that, Lupus?"

When the child had blushed, she had thought it cute, but then, once he had spoken again, the one who had ended up blushing had been her.

"You're going to sleep in Master Inculta's tent, and he has allowed you to eat with him while partaking in conversation with his friends." – he had reasoned – "And you're not a slave, so that makes you his mistress."

She had almost spat the last gulp of Nuka in her mouth. Until now, she had overlooked that he had practically introduced her to his family. Alexus was Gabban's twin, and this child…

Oh, crap.

"M-mistress…"

"Yes. Are you alright? You look like you've caught a heatstroke. You're red."

Child logic, alright.

"Do you know what that word means?"

"It's the same as domina. As in uxor." (6)

"No, it is not."

"Yes, it is. Master Inculta has a dictionary, and I know the differences."

"Then, do you know what a… hmm… courtesan is? A meretrix?" (7)

The scandalized look he had given her had been oddly comforting. At least, that was a symptom that not all women were considered toys in the Legion.

"That's a bad word, and I haven't called you that!" – he had replied, evidently hurt – "I haven't insulted you!"

"So, do you know what it is?"

"It's an insult! Any legionary who calls a Legion woman that should be ashamed! You can only call Degenerates that because it's what they are!"

"And slaves?"

"You aren't a slave! I don't understand what you are talking about!"

"Alright, I believe you."

"I swear on Mars' name that I haven't insulted you!"

"I misunderstood you. I know you didn't mean to do it."

"I haven't!"

"Okay, okay. Sorry."

Once they had finished their soft drinks, the boy still looked upset, so she had allowed him to go ahead of her on his own while Rex had followed him, given that she had already visited all the areas inside Fortification Hill… minus the slave grounds, that is.

The Fort, unsurprisingly, was designed as the typical layout for a historically accurate Roman fortress: at the center, within the inner ring, lay the Principia or Headquarters - Caesar's tent – where all the strategy-related decisions were discussed. Thus, why the tent had been divided into sections in the first place.

By the East of the Principia lay what she had learned to be the arena and, beyond, the Commandant's House or Praetoria, where Lucius and his men resided.

West of the Principia, a terrain unevenness led into a ramp below the hill, where lay the pens for the animals and the Horrea or granaries. Beyond the Horrea, the Valetudinarium or medical tents. And beyond the Valetudinarium… her intended destination: the Weather Monitoring Station, heavily guarded and considered a restricted access area, so no dice for now.

By the South, well into the outer ring through the relatively zigzagging via decumana, lay the Centuriae or the common soldier barracks that pretty much covered the first line of defense in case of an immediate attack around the inner ring minus the main entrance and the Vicus tents for merchants, where the stables or miscellaneous sections should be.

Then, by the North through a short via praetoria due to terrain distribution, lay the Castra Peregrina or Camp of the Strangers, territory for Frumentarii and other special units.

She had assumed the canteen or Caupona was somewhere near the Valetudinarium while the slave grounds, or Servus, should be somewhere around the northern section of the outer ring, given that Lupus had purposefully avoided that area.

To her relief, exemplary punishments and crucifixions were undertaken nearby the Vallum, an earthwork consisting of a flat-bottomed ditch twenty feet across and ten feet deep, flanked by a pair of linear banks, themselves about twenty feet wide, set back thirty feet from the top of the ditch that ran around the outer ring of The Fort, near the entrance, thus, the shore.

After all, dead bodies weren't precisely a source of cleanliness and fragrant odors. It was only logical that they were displayed as far from the barracks as possible.

"Mercuria." – she had heard the child muttering, having considerably slowed his pace to match hers once more, one of his tiny hands scratching Rex's scruff absently – "How long is Master Inculta going to stay this time?"

Oh, now she understood the child's questions regarding her alliance. He wanted to know if Zorro would stay around a little longer than usual.

It had been sweet and sad at the same time. He clearly adored Zorro, and the Spymaster seemed to frequently turn a blind eye to the boy's minor transgressions around him.

Now that she had learned about the child's existence, she felt guilty for separating them all those months. Lupus deserved to be around Zorro as much as he wished. He evidently felt a little lonely thinking he was an orphan without a family to call his'.

She wasn't sure why Zorro had chosen not to tell him, but she wasn't going to question what was likely a safety measure for the boy's sake. She respected that.

"I don't know." – she had answered honestly – "I suppose it depends on how long it will take me to earn Caesar's trust."

"So, you two aren't departing tomorrow?" – he had asked with hope in his big eyes.

"Nope."

"Then it can wait."

"What can wait, kiddo?"

"Nothing."

She had gently prodded him until he had decided to disclose his 'surprise'.

"A switchblade?" – she had asked, arching a brow when he had hesitantly shown it to her. The weapon's craft was handmade, rough and out of recycled components save the handle, which was an unpolished hollowed piece of wood carved with what could either be initials or a Roman number: VI.

"Magister Arrius taught us the other day how to make one." – he had explained, a little defensive – "I was praised for my good work, so…"

"So, you thought it would make a good gift." – she had finished for him, smiling – "You wanna give it to Zo… I mean, Inculta." – weird, his Latin name sounded weird on her lips.

The child had nodded in silence.

"Would you like me to give it to him?"

"You would do that for me?"

"Yup. It costs me nothing."

"You think he'll like it?"

"I'm sure he'll love it, Wolf-Man. Don't you worry."

At the moment, she hadn't thought much about stuff like means of obtaining a weapon she could conceal. Now, sitting at Edward Sallow's dinner table, she felt the temptation whispering that she should use it, making the weapon burn against her inner thigh.

She hadn't liked the ex-Follower's explanation of how he perceived the incoming battle as something that was meant to be, like predestined.

Fate and causality were two concepts diametrically opposed that this man, somehow, had ended up believing he could mix however he pleased. That History was proof enough that he was right, that all of the events that had led Humanity to this point were mere mathematical chain-linked formulas acting as consequences out of sums.

That his victory upon the NCR wasn't only inevitable but also confirmed. Because of History. And books.

"You ask what the Legion offers in turn, to complement the Republic's stability regarding commercial treaties and culture?" – the dictator was still talking, apparently unconcerned by her sudden silence, giving arguments when she was still trying to digest what had just unfolded – "We offer law and order, simple as that. While bureaucrats decide to postpone crucial decisions to the detriment of the citizenry creating undecipherable Federal Registers, my laws are forthright and my methods strict, but efficient."

House also made his predictions out of statistical databases, as if people and their very feelings were just numbers. You simply have to nudge them in the right direction, and the prediction will come true.

But then, if cold and based on percentages that still could fail, there was reason and method behind his schemes.

Kimball saw this war as a game of chess, logic and strategy defining how human troops should act upon how certain events unfold so his careful plans could bear fruit. Indistinctly if the outcome turns into a pyrrhic victory.

Method. Suicidal and greedy, but methodical in the end.

And Burke… Burke never saw human beings in the first place, but resources he could do and undo at his discretion, for he was the only one who was capacitated enough to tell others what to do since human nature was intrinsically flawed despite its inner potential for good.

A megalomaniac and a sociopath, yet methodical.

Never trusting History as a fundamental part of his plan, but trusting more the innate animal instinct within the human being to, ultimately, always turn to greed and self-interest. Two flaws that happened to be widely exploitable.

"Those who won't abide by my laws shall face punishment instead of loitering in prison. And this, in due time, would act as an educating conduit to help the population learn respect toward the rules that make an individual suitable to live in society. I assure you that's the only feasible way to eradicate crime, for there's nothing more convincing than respect."

Or fear, for all intents and purposes.

"And when the Son of Mars, eventually, would join his divine Father… what then?" – she finally dared to ask, voice even, licking her lips nervously as she forced herself to vomit a reasoning that wouldn't make her stay at The Fort any easier or even less stressful than it already was – "History has also demonstrated that every single empire has faced unavoidable crumbling throughout the ravages of time. Even Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Atilla the Hun, Thutmose III, Charlemagne, Ashoka, Tamerlane, Ch'in Shih Huang… or Gaius Julius Caesar himself weren't eternal." – she hadn't been aware how tightly she had been clenching the seat of her chair until a tiny splinter pricked her finger, making her flinch instinctively – "Would the Legion be the lasting empire this time around… or, once it loses its dictator, will it crumble like a house of cards? For neither education nor respect are forever, Caesar."

A deafening silence ensued until Sallow's right eye twitched, and then, face reddened and mouth agape about to reply, words died on his lips as he clenched teeth viciously to give way to a pained groan.

There was a coppery taste on Six's lips as she watched, mesmerized, how the older man grabbed his head with both of his hands, proffering a profanity she didn't quite catch, as she was brusquely grabbed by the shoulders.

"Domine!"

Then, out of the blue, several pairs of hands grabbed Sallow as more bodies shielded her eyes from what was happening.

Or maybe it was her sight, swimming as it was in tears of pain, swift and fulminating as one of her recurrent migraines had decided to attack her head.

"What the…?"

"Why is she bleeding through her nose?! She's doing something to him! Make her stop! Kill her!"

Doing… something…?

"Be quiet and get Caesar to his bed! And you, Inculta, take the Courier with you and don't show your face until your presence is required again! We're done here!"

What…? Had she done something wrong…? Her head hurt so… so damn much…

"But Commander Lucius, sir, she's clearly doing something! She might be a witch for all we know!"

"You ignorant fool! Witches don't exist!"

"But sir…!"

"You dare insinuate that the Son of Mars, a demigod, is susceptible to the vile arts of some woman?!"

"N-no…"

"Then bite that impudent tongue down before I cut it myself!"

"Commander, he's having a seizure! What do we do?!"

"What in Tartarus are you lot?! Children in need of supervision?! Just turn him on one of his sides and call for the Medicae!" (8)

For the rest of the yelling, she didn't get a single word as soon as the night's cold air hit her square in the face. She had no control over the speed of the world spinning around her as she was carried away from noise and light.

And she willingly embraced the darkness, and the darkness embraced her with long, fine-boned hands in return.


Gabban's day had been, in a word, exhausting.

And it didn't seem to get any easier – or shorter, for what was worth – the more he read the same paragraph of one of Vulpes' books for the fourth consecutive time.

Virgil's Aeneid is his most representative work, he said. It's an epic tale, he said.

More like a bloody headache.

How could his brother stand these books? They were fucking indecipherable! And in verse, no less.

It was easier when it was just comics. And the occasional compilation of Aesop's and Samaniego's Fables.

But this? Holy shit…

He ignored the umpteenth pained groan by his right and turned the page with a bored expression.

"The Aeneid, huh?" – Alexus said, sitting at the opposite end of the stretcher they were guarding. Sort of – "The sack of Troy's alright; but the wanderings up and down with the vessels and stuff, and the gods, and that shit with Dido? Boring as fuck. At least the whole ordeal ends with a revenge death."

"Have you read it?" – he asked, more out of taking his mind from the bothersome reading than genuine curiosity.

"Pfff, more like skipping pages to get to the good stuff."

"And that is…?"

"Not much, to be perfectly honest. Guy who wrote it must have been damn good, for I don't understand shit."

Another groan of pain turned their eyes briefly to the stretcher. Alexus tongue-clicked.

"Read some aloud."

Gabban sighed loudly before humoring his twin.

"And shall th' ungrateful traitor go," she said,
"My land forsaken, and my love betray'd?
Shall we not arm? Not rush from ev'ry street,
To follow, sink, and burn his perjur'd fleet?
Haste, haul my galleys out! Pursue the foe!
Bring flaming brands! Set sail, and swiftly row!"

"Sounds like pure melodrama." – he opined lamely upon finishing.

"Sounds like pure Vulpes." – Alexus nodded cheekily, prompting light snickering between them.

Then, a new groaning protest coming from the stretcher distracted them.

"Quit whining and suck it up, dude." – Alexus scolded the immobile figure laying upon the stretcher – "You've brought this upon yourself, after all, so man up and endure until it heals. Pain is part of the learning process."

The figure gathered a bunch of fabric from the stretcher's sheets in his mouth and bit them down to muffle his annoying protests.

Gabban hadn't been present, busy as he had been throughout almost the entire afternoon watching the Courier, the boy, and the dog wandering around The Fort - with her doing as she had fucking damn pleased, attracting unnecessary attention first from the Houndmaster, then Lucius with her 'righteous' quest retrieving a stupid stuffed bear for the slave child at the brahmin pens -; but Alex had borne witness of the exemplary punishment Vulpes had bestowed upon the mouthy Frumentarius who, unbeknownstly, had rat them out.

Hearing it from Alex's lips, Gabban would have deemed the retold a little exaggerated… had it been any person other than Vulpes.

After all, their brother liked his 'lessons' way too much, an unfortunate trait he had picked from his predecessor that he had turned into a mastery of his own.

"Loyalty. Loyalty is a widely known concept that many people fail to grasp to its full scope. The more if such a concept, perverted by naivety and stupidity, ends up crippled when handed over to the wrong hands." – Alex had told him how Vulpes had initiated his monolog as he had addressed Titus, the youngest of them all; barely a year among their ranks, perhaps too inexperienced and with very few memories of their deceased people to understand the ties forged in blood and survival that united them as tribe, beyond what Legion may have instilled in them – "To demonstrate loyalty is crucial. Loyalty is the base of coexistence, of civilization itself, for without loyalty, there is no trust. And, without that very trust, human beings are no better than animals baring teeth to one another over rotting meat. Civilization without loyalty… is doomed."

If melodramatic and grandiose, per usual in Vulpes… his words had gotten even through Alexus' thick skull if the Decanus had managed to reproduce the Master Frumentarius' discourse this faithfully. Truly, Vulpes had quite an inspiring palaver if one obviates the creepy calmness with which he infused his discourses. It gave people the wrong idea about his character, thinking he was arrogant and a cold-hearted psycho.

Well… he could be a little arrogant sometimes. Just a little.

"Loyalty is a gift an individual bestows upon other individuals he can trust, people he can rely on no matter the circumstances; people he, in exchange for their commitment, swears to protect." – Gabban could only imagine the look on Titus' face, terrified yet indignant, not fully aware of the sins he had been chastised for. Titus was legionary material through and through; his inclusion in the Frumentarii Order had been questioned by many, knowing where the loyalties of someone assimilated at such a young age truly laid – "That is how groups of individuals, tribes, can live together in harmony. They trust their neighbors and families to help and protect one another when needed. And so, when a member of the tribe betrays that precious balance, no matter their intentions while doing so, the rest of the tribe is bound to mourn such betrayal, then seek retribution. Today, Chacal, son of Cuón, you are going to pay retribution to your brothers and sisters for your disloyalty by suffering the same pain you have inflicted upon us. Your tribe."

And yet, the boy had apparently thought himself cleverer than his Commander by invoking their duty to the Legion. Saying his loyalty, as they were taught at the Temple of Mars, ultimately belonged to Caesar.

"Your loyalty comes first to your people, then Caesar. For you were tribal before legionary, Jauría before Legion." – Vulpes had answered severely, raising the due regulated whip in the air – "We have survived assimilation because we haven't forgotten, because we have stuck together, because our unity has made us stronger. We are Legion, yes, and we are many, with ties forged in battle. However, before Legion, we are tribe, with ties forged in blood. And blood is family. You betray your family; you sever all ties with your identity and become yet another nameless soldier that nobody will mourn his passing among the piles of corpses under the Bull's banner."

Twenty lashes had been the price the boy had paid in turn. His ignorance carved forever on his back, a shame he would have to make up for the rest of his existence.

This, almost the entirety of the tribesmen present at Fortification Hill had borne witness in reverent silence inside the Weather Station Monitoring building, staining its floors with blood.

Now, two weeks of recovery awaited Titus, wings of shame upon his eroded back along with the healing powder and poultices the Medicae had smeared all over his skin, as the raw welts went from the boy's nape to his buttocks. Vulpes had done a thorough work.

Nevertheless, as rumors run like rivers throughout The Fort, both siblings had been tasked with having the first watch to guard Titus until another Frumentarius and a veteran legionary from Alexus' contubernium would come to relieve them. Just in case someone decided to present at the Valetudinarium to inquire about the nature of Titus' punishment. Denied of swifter healing means, such as their recipe for Stimpaks, Titus' loyalty would be questioned even throughout his convalescence, so they had to ensure his mouth remained conveniently shut. Especially in front of a certain someone.

That someone, apparently, didn't have in him the required patience to wait for another day as he entered the big healing tent seeking his target with avid eyes.

Gabban and Alexus saluted the disgraced Centurion, none other than Petronius Probinus, the whole set of armor still in place despite the late hour, with polite indifference.

"It is my will to present my best wishes for recovery to the Frumentarius." – he had paused, evidently waiting to be left alone with the boy, a pleasure neither of the twins gave him – "Alone."

"Your graciousness to my comrade has been taken into account and received." – Gabban replied calmly – "However, given the recentness of his wounds, he isn't permitted to be left alone in case the blood loss affects his ability to ask for the Medicae should an emergency occur."

Probinus' face turned into an ugly shade of scarlet as he swiftly lost composure.

"How dare you speak to me in such an insolent tone, you lowly worm?!" – he raised his voice, indifferent to the commotion he was creating around convalescent men who needed rest – "This is Inculta's doing, isn't it?! The great and almighty Fox, sitting on his throne of infamy and putrescent lies, shielded from justice by the likes of you!" – he accused with bitter hostility, pointing an index to a still calm Gabban – "How are you enjoying your second-best position, worm, hmmm? Does he even put a cushion below you every time you're on your knees, mouth agape, willing to receive his generosity?!"

"Speaking from experience, Centurion?" – Alexus intervened with a sidelong grin, evidently affronted but venomous the same – "Why, I wasn't aware of such an alternative way to get a promotion! I'm sure the hopeful cocksuckers below your station that you had singing praises back at Texas didn't mean anything by changing you for the mutants there. Maybe they just like them bigger."

"You… you backstabbing piece of shit! Inculta knows it thanks to you, doesn't he?!"

"Ay, ay, ay, Centurion, if your bragging and bellowing couldn't be heard from one end of the encampment to the other…"

"I can't believe my eyes! A member of the Centuriae collaborating with the rats! Wait until I send word to your Centurion, you sniveling weasel!"

"What, should I crap my pteruges or something? Unlike you, Centurion, I confront my enemies upfront, without resorting to underhanded, cowardly stratagems to get my sorry ass back on the Imperator's lap."

That tidbit had been the last straw for the man, who launched a punch Alexus wasn't going to bother in dodging but, in the end, was stopped midair by the gigantic hand of Caliban, the oldest veteran legionary from Alexus' contubernium. Apparently, the watch relief was already here.

Generally, Centurions were bigger than the average recruit, and their armor contributed to creating such an impression… however, next to Lanius himself, Caliban must be the second biggest man in the Legion. And with all the brawn such height, combined with the due training, granted him.

He maneuvered with the Centurion until the man was effectively out of Alexus' range, acting as a human wall when he tried to get to the insolent Decanus yet again.

In the end, hissing and spitting obscenities nonstop, Probinus left the Valetudinarium seething with humiliation, promising reprisals for all of them. Took some time before his yelling got muffled by distance, signaling he was definitely gone.

"Thought he wasn't gonna get lost any sooner. The shrieking little bitch." – Alexus huffed, stretching with the same grace as a Yao Guai.

"You shouldn't have provoked him." – Gabban said severely, ceding his chair to Ignatius, who had also come to relieve him – "Now is his word against yours if he decides to take matters one step further."

"Let him try." – the Decanus replied arrogantly. So similar to Vulpes, yet so impossibly different – "I'll call for an honor duel. My Centurion will have my back; he says I've got talent. Probinus is so finished he's still reeling from the shock. Now that Vulpes is back in Caesar's good graces, his reputation is in tatters. Nobody would vouch for him. His word's worth shit next to mine."

"Damnit, Alex, would you please land down to earth like the rest of us mortals?!" – Gabban snapped – "You're not fucking untouchable, no matter how much Vulpes…!"

"Vulpes is the reason I cannot develop to my full potential!" – Alexus replied irately. Always the sore one with the only topic they both knew was out of the question - "Why shouldn't I take this opportunity instead of playing along until he takes care of everything like he ALWAYS fucking does?! I don't need a bloody nanny!"

"Your childish behavior says otherwise!"

"Fuck you!"

"Yeah, fuck you too!"

Stomping, the furious Decanus was the first to abandon the Valetudinarium as Gabban sighed loudly.

"Leave her be." – Caliban spoke with a soft voice quite unbecoming of his size – "She'll see reason tomorrow. She has been frustrated since we got assigned to The Fort, and that slave of hers isn't making things any easier. She just has a lot of pent-up frustration. Leave her to vent it off."

Gabban sighed once again, shaking his head. It had been a long day. For all of them.


Hecate had ended up being… strangely reasonable when she had formulated her requests.

Ivory didn't know why, but he had been expecting a crazed woman, more on the hysteric side, with a penchant for grandiloquence and theatrics preaching about her divine will and the like.

But no. Despite all the face paint, the tribal regalia garments with an assortment of colored feathers, and the tinted dreadlocks that reached far beyond her waist, Hecate was a well-spoken, cultured woman who switched between theatrics and serious, businesslike demeanor depending on the situation and who she was dealing with.

Ivory felt… oddly pleased that she had chosen to come on to him blunt and direct, without useless adornment, affected speech, or empty threats that, given his situation, were entirely unnecessary.

"I will keep this as short as possible, so we understand each other alright: you are an ex-legionary, a former Slavemaster, and a trainer. You know the inner workarounds of the Butcher's encampment and, very possibly, his plans of attack. I want to know everything about his strategy, his character – from how he is perceived by his men to how he perceives his position of power over them -, the number of fighters at his disposal, the armament stock he plans on using, and the particularities on his assimilation. The Butcher is not a man of the West; that much is clear to me now that I have you in front of me."

He had asked her why she thought that.

"Only certain tribal cultures fear the ones born with your condition, and the Butcher took great pains to make you suffer before you died. He didn't simply want to kill you; he wanted to torture you, shame your virility, and keep your… chindi essence from returning to his encampment by crucifying you with a woman. A keeper of souls in his culture. One particularly resilient to torture as well."

Khadija.

"Yes, she fed me quite the Odyssey of two star-crossed fugitives not only managing to free themselves from their cross – truly, a mighty feat that has earned my admiration and respect – but also stubborn enough to keep navigating the desert night even when, at some point, none of them were able to discern the direction in which they were traveling."

If he had to admit one thing, that was the unparalleled luck of having had another soul tied to his cross to help him out of it. For, now, he was certain that he wouldn't have managed to free himself on his own. Nobody could; that was why crucifixion was so effective both as a death sentence as well as an instrument for indoctrination. There's nothing as persuasive as fear.

"While I don't believe in fate, most of my people do. And they had decided that the return of the lost son of my Commander - their most immediate symbol of strength and hope - is a sign from the heavens. A sign that speaks of the chance of crippling Caesar's power here. Whether you believe it or not, your arrival has slowly but surely boosted the morale of my warriors. Truly, a blessing after the disappearance of two of my most prized agents… but they don't need to know your direct involvement in such a state of affairs, do they?"

How she had known so much, he hadn't dared to ask, afraid of confirming the stories about this unnatural woman gifted with the ability to look into the hearts of men, exacting out their most terrible secrets.

"Oh, I won't delude myself into thinking that you, out of a sudden, are loyal to my cause or my people despite sharing common goals. But you live in my city now. You eat my grain, drink my water, and use my medicines. Out of a simple elimination process, I gather you don't have many options about the fate that awaits you should you decide to leave us."

Now, with a clearer mind product of all the time he had gotten to reflect upon his plight, he could admit that maybe the way he had approached his new situation had been all wrong. To admit that, perhaps, he wasn't better off alone. To admit that he had needed someone to survive out there.

The same he now needed Hecate and her people to keep living whatever life he still had ahead of him.

If… kind of a parasitic development, he couldn't deny that he was better off here sweeping trash than hunting radioactive geckos up Idavada with his useless hands and crippled foot.

"You are ex-Legion, you are an albino, and you aren't in any shape to survive out in the desert on your own. The West has closed its gates to you, and the East wouldn't have you back… so, now, all you have is the chance to work for us."

Intelligent woman. Cruel in her sincerity but realistic.

"Tell me, Moonchild… what would you do if I offered you a place among us, not as a protected slave, but as part of my war council?"

The chance… of being someone, again. Of having control over his choices… once again.

"You have known war even before you knew who you really are. And war has known you way deeper than any other human soul has dared to dive into your lights and shadows. Such a symbiosis is remarkable out in the Wastes, though few are truly able to see its real potential until expertise is the only difference between surviving or not another day. And you are a veteran already."

Of having a life he could choose how to lead. Of being valued and respected, having a place in this world without being dependent on charity. The decision was only his'.

"You have survived Legion training, then the havoc the Malpais Legate wreaked at Hoover Dam, then the Maneater, then the Butcher, then the desert. If anything, Lady Luck must love you with a passion, Moonchild."

"What do you know about the Maneater?" – he had asked fearfully, recalling the many nightmares that encounter had brought him, marking his sleepless nights with terror for the unknown… terror for those snakes and maggots writhing in red, swallowing in gluttonous mastication.

And Thunderfoot's rotting head impaled on a spear.

"I only know what the legends only dare to whisper… but what interests me is what you saw when you looked into the Maneater's eyes."

He had seen a monster.

"I saw a deranged cannibal."

"Then, a deranged cannibal it must be. Once tasted the flesh of men, there's no turning back. It is a hunger that devours the soul, widening the hole the more it consumes."

He, then, had asked what she would know about cannibalism, and she had smiled enigmatically.

"Among the damned, I am a queen… but there's a chieftain among those who partake in flesh consumption that have mastered their condition, tamed it so it won't turn them into hollow husks. Vojda the Flesh Maiden, spiritual guide for outcasts. Or vampires, as they prefer to name themselves. She learned her ways from inhabitants of the Far East, from a place called Meresti, who came here fleeing from an evil ten times worse than angry mobs or bounty hunters."

The Flesh Maiden was the head of a large tribe of nomadic degenerates, human scum not worth the soles of Caesar's boots nor his time. Too unpredictable, too dangerous to control.

They moved fast, never remaining in one place more than two, maybe three weeks. Difficult to track, impossible to establish contact with. The Legion explorers and Frumentarii who had attempted negotiation with the so-called vampires had never returned. Not a bone, nor their very armor found, as if they had never existed.

The vampires never got close to human populations, preferring instead to prospect old pre-War hospitals or hunt down solitary prey, the more if they perceived them as a threat. They never touched caravans. And there weren't children among them, for their code forbade them from siring more of their kind.

And Hecate wanted them by her side once the Butcher decided to make his move. She had already convinced the Vipers – her main forces -, then remnants of Brahmin Wood and the Dirt Haven tribes from Chicago, Illinois, having moved West with the advancing forces, first of the Brotherhood of Steel, then the Legion.

Now, without the Sorrows' alliance that she had sought through her two agents, the Flesh Maiden was the last available force she could turn to. Even if it was by appealing to her people's thirst for blood.

Ivory shall be Hecate's informant and counselor. Her Sons and Daughters, her hammer. The Flesh Maiden, her message: the same you took our flesh and blood, now we reap back what you have sown, Caesar.

For, if there was something about Hecate that the rumors had gotten right, that had been the inextricable hatred for Caesar festering on her heart.

A hatred she never spoke about.

"Don't ask questions that aren't meant to be answered. Not until the head of Edward Sallow shall be mounted on my wall."

Oddly ashamed of his prying, he then asked how she knew about Lanius' plans to attack Ouroboros.

"Bound to happen, one way or another. My spies have delayed Caesar's messengers as much as they could, but the last he sent grew wise, slippery. I assume Caesar's word has already reached the Butcher, demanding the blood this Campaign of his' promised, ordering him to move his troops onto Hoover Dam once Ouroboros falls."

Startled, Ivory had asked why the city would fall.

"Because its walls run deeper than what meets the eye. We shall hand over a pyrrhic victory to the Butcher, whose will it is tightly bound to Caesar's… as well as his head. He'll get Ouroboros… at a price he'll wish he'd never paid."

Ivory hadn't understood the need to surrender the city at all, fond as he had grown of its streets and the smell of scrambled eggs and freshly baked bread at the canteen in the mornings despite everything… but Hecate had smiled thinly.

"Whereas the Butcher's tactics are honest and straightforward in a way… his weakness resides in what he prizes to be his strength: honor. He'll attack Ouroboros expecting a siege… when, in truth, he'll be running into a trap."


(1) - sweet wine
(2) - Commander
(3) - teacher/guide
(4) - little Courier (feminine form)
(5) - "If you want peace, prepare for war."
(6) -
madam - wife
(7) - prostitute/whore
(8) - Healers (feminine form)


SPANISH:

(A) - "Loyal to The Pack, sister."


A/N: nerdy chapter is nerdy as hell. If FF wasn't so anti-link policy, I would post the fantabulous images on a Roman fort layout, which Obsidian kind of copied (kind of because I had to make some adjustments so the actual Fortification Hill layout fit with the Roman fort schematic. Yes, I'm that obsessive with details).

This is the chapter I had to research the most to write it, so bear with me a little.

Yes, even within the Legion there's bound to be little bitches, such as this Centurion demonstrates. Even if I'm not quite exploring the inner politics of Caesar's army per se right now, this is a precedent for things. Shit will hit the fan later once Lanius gets back. Just saying.

And... yes, side stories are making slow progress so everything will converge when the time comes.

Infinite thanks for the new Fav and to Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R., who is a Great Beta Reader and the best help I could ask for.

Now I have a part-time job, so that'll affect my usual writing schedule. I'll try to keep the updates consistent with a month/month-and-a-half bare minimum, don't worry. Cheers!