"Number Nine"
Ch. 35: Hello.
"I've forgotten how it felt before the world fell at our feet.
There's such a difference between us
And a million miles
Hello from the other side.
I must've called a thousand times
to tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done."
- Adele, "Hello"
The migraine had lasted a couple, maybe three hours this time.
She must have lost and regained consciousness at least once, but no nightmares whatsoever. Not bad, if we consider just how bad they could get, lasting almost a whole day in worst-case scenarios.
It had happened before, and one of such momentous occasions had been when she had deemed traveling throughout the Devil Peak reasonable instead of following the Nevada State Route 161, then the I-15 like a normal person just because of Powder Gangers who, at worst, would ask her if she was a guy or a gal and if she could spare a couple of smokes. All thanks to Eddie's patrols, who knew she was the 'cleaning lady' who had also gotten them some cartons she had stolen from the owner of the Goodsprings' store to have something to bargain with the criminals.
That time up the mountains had been shitty. So shitty that she had been forced to lay down on a nitty mattress inside an abandoned pre-War trailer she had found lying there, in the middle of nowhere, with a whole operative radio broadcast station inside.
Despite evidence to the contrary, nobody had appeared to even take a peek when she had turned off the aforesaid radio broadcast to sleep in peace.
Nevertheless, she had felt watched, so, once the migraine had been mildly bearable, she had turned back the station on and abandoned the place to get back on her way to Primm.
At that time, she had thought the place had belonged, perhaps, to a lone wolf kind of person. Probably a creep or a disturbed conspiranoid that she hadn't wanted to meet at all.
Now, perhaps wiser since Benny's treachery at The Tops, she suspected more of a Legion or even Brotherhood of Steel involvement in the existence of a pirate radio frequency, probably attempting to gather intel or even trying to weaken Black Mountain and Radio New Vegas' signals.
Who knows? There were plenty of mysterious stuff going on in the Mojave, such as the Brahmin Wind Ranch (or whatever it was called, one crazy Nightkin herding radioactive tumbleweeds had been enough for her) Northwest of Vegas; the Molerat Ranch near the New Vegas Medical Clinic (murderous brahmin cow included); the Hell's Motel within the Mesquite Mountains crater (ghoulish thing ever, pun totally intended), and that skeleton with a hat she had found inside a broken fridge on the road.
Like… she wasn't really sure if all those things had even been as surreal as she recalled them, or she owed the dark, somewhat hilarious zaniness to her brain damage.
This time around, though, she wished she could just attribute Edward Sallow's deranged discourse on Hegelian Dialectics to the two bullets Benny, aka Gaudy Suit, had gifted her with.
She could just ask. Particularly to the warm presence spooning hers in the near pitch-black darkness of a Legion tent.
"You awake?" – she whispered, aware that the question was just basic courtesy. He likely had awakened when he had felt her tiny awareness, nervous movements.
He didn't answer immediately.
"Yes." – he whispered back at last.
She hesitated a little before opening her trap again. His intonation sounded curt. As if he were annoyed.
"Can we talk?" – she gathered the courage to ask.
"Definitely."
"I have questions."
"I'm sure you have, Sullivan. However, as a matter of urgency, we are going to deal with MY questions first."
"Is there something of the matter? You sound huffy."
"That's a mild way to put it, Sullivan."
"Is it because of me?"
"Primarily, yes."
She sighed. The physical contact and the position they were locked in would make things incredibly difficult for her if she wanted to defend whatever she had done to aggravate him. For, while the analytical left hemisphere of her brain would argue otherwise, her overly-feeling, hormonal right hemisphere would simply yell 'CUDDLE!' louder.
Crafty bastard.
"Okay." – she inwardly crossed herself – "Lay it all on me."
Put the blame on Mame, boy.
However, instead of beginning with a list of alleged transgressions (hey, innocent until proven guilty – thank you, Justinian I and Antoninus Pius) that she had committed, the murdering glint of a blade shimmered briefly before her eyes, laying barely a few inches from her nose.
She would have screamed if she hadn't just kind of forgotten how to inhale air.
"Care to explain this?"
Once her terrified eyes ceased focusing on the blade, shining blue in the thin slice of light that came from the tent's entrance, she was able to make out the rough edges of the carved handle.
Her bodily tension deflated so fast that she experienced mild vertigo.
"Shiiiiit, Fox-Man…" – she sighed shakily – "You almost gave me a heart attack here…"
"Answer the question."
He demanded, breathing deeply down your neck. – the girl thought, rolling her eyes.
"That's for you." – willing her voice to sound as innocent as possible, she replied instead – "From your… uh… what kindred you and Lupus share, again? Brothers? Cousins? Same bloodline, definitely."
She felt him tensing until a soft sigh came off his lips. To land right over the sensitive baby hairs of her nape.
She shouldn't find his sighs enticing. In fact, she shouldn't find a guy who opens a conversation with a switchblade in his hand… kind of sexy.
Hello, I'm that hidden part of you who secretly reads cheap dirty novels on your Pip-Boy with a straight, perfectly innocent fake face knocking on the door. Let me in.
"That boy…" – he huffed, evidently annoyed but substantially less hostile than moments ago – "He's too trusting."
"Hey, I simply offered to give it to you in his name, nothing more. Neither of us saw anything wrong with it at the moment."
"And when did lucidity finally come back to you, Sullivan?"
Lying was useless at this point when he could practically measure the subtle changes in her breathing and pulse by inclining his head a little more forward.
Which she wouldn't mind at all, to be perfectly honest.
"Erm… when we were, like, entering Caesar's tent for dinner?"
He exhaled with evident exasperation.
"Hey, we did dine fairly early for my standards."
"Couldn't you simply have handed it over to me when we were preparing to go to the Principia?"
"Oh, you mean when you were changing into your… whatever it is that weird formal armor you put on to dine, and you were all like, 'Hey, Sullivan. Wanna check what we legionaries wear under our tunics?'" – she replied sarcastically, blushing furiously at the memory – "Fucking greatest timing ever…"
"You thought we wore nothing, and that isn't true."
"Yeah, well, spandex cycling shorts wasn't what I was expecting. Where the hell did you guys get all that sports equipment anyway? In a DICK'S?"
"Pardon?"
"What?"
"I'm not sure if I have heard you correctly, but…"
"I don't know what you're… Oh… oh my god, you've got a filthy, filthy mind, Mr. Fox!"
"You were the one talking about..."
"Okay, you know what? Forget it."
There was a parenthesis of silence, although both were significantly less tense this time around. Her right index finger found the pointy slopes of his knuckles and caressed them up and down absently.
"That was all?" – she inquired, almost fearful of breaking their newly-found harmony. His skin felt so dry… she wanted to kiss it – "The stuff that pissed you off?"
"Not quite."
"But the main issue?"
"You could say that."
Definitely pissed still.
"Can you please go ahead instead of playing guessing games with me?"
Another predictable silent parenthesis.
"Your informal treatment." – he started, intonation slightly clipped, manifesting that bland annoyance she had grown to recognize when he was keeping his tongue in check, allowing his tone to speak for him – "To Lucius and, most importantly, Lord Caesar." – his breath hitched, stalling in his chest – "Never do that again."
She didn't reply to that. She didn't see the point in doing so.
She knew which cards she had played, and now she knew the ground she was walking on.
He leaned into her ear, allowing a brief instant of contact between his lips and the lobule of her ear before speaking up again. The touch made her shudder.
"Caesar isn't your equal, nor is he a friend of yours, Sullivan." – in his voice, she could hear a warning… but laced so sweetly with concern that her heart ached – "It is important that you understand the differences that separate you two, for only one will be giving the orders from now on while the other shall obey no matter what."
"From now on?"
"By answering Caesar's invitation, you have agreed to his terms."
"I have agreed to behave on his turf while I hear him out. And I'll have you know that what I've gathered thus far isn't calming my conscience one bit."
Again, no sense in lying.
He nuzzled her briefly, and she wondered if his affectionate disposition was part of his strategy to lower her defenses.
She wouldn't deny the bad vibe she had gathered from Sallow's insane scheme… but she still could simply omit stuff. At least for now.
"I realize I have brought you here with very little preparation for the inquiries you might have wanted to ask directly to Caesar; inquiries that I should have clarified to you before posing them as a means to challenge his leadership."
"I didn't challenge his leadership. I challenged his logic."
"Which is invariably linked to his capabilities as a leader."
"Because a leader must be, above all, logical and consistent if he wants for his mandate to prosper." – in her mind, her reasoning was convincing. In reality, her words felt lackluster, weak, and insufficient – "I know the Legion is right now a thirty-six-year-old Nation still growing… but the main question remains: when Caesar wouldn't be around anymore to make things work… then, what?"
Silence.
"Your Lord is ill, and you are trying so hard to hide it that it's impossible not to notice." – she pressed – "Silus was right on that one, wasn't he?"
"Sullivan."
"Those headaches aren't simple migraines or a bad case of stress management, and they are affecting his judgment."
"SULLIVAN."
"Don't 'Sullivan' me. I get it, okay? I get why Silus had to be silenced and why you have to be firm upon eliminating sources of inconvenient rumors, even if they contain a tiny slice of truth."
He huffed in evident displeasure.
"Thus, you will do good in keeping this information for yourself." – he hissed at last.
"That doesn't change the fact that your Lord isn't a young man, and he doesn't have an heir to carry on with his legacy once he dies. Which, given the current circumstances and your overall Legion policy on not tolerating synthetic medicines – thus, the chance at treatment - is a very likely possibility in the short term."
One of his hands laced with her own. Rather than being distracting, the action felt beautiful and natural but still tense and awkward. As if he were asking her to cut him some slack on this particular argument ground.
"There is an heir." – he said after a while – "Legatus Lanius, Monster of the East." – she didn't know what to make of his tone, conveying what she thought to be admiration and bile in equal shares – "Quite the man… if man he be."
She waited as long as he needed to continue, forcing out something he evidently didn't want to discuss.
"Caesar prides himself on selecting the right tool to overcome each new obstacle." – more bile, veiled and contained, but bile nonetheless – "In Lanius, he has found his hammer."
"Some of the men here might have mentioned this Lanius while I was around the barracks today." – she told him after waiting a prudent time, knowing how delicate this topic must feel for someone who clearly understood just how precarious the political balance with Sallow ill and the replacement being someone he described as a hammer was – "They spoke of him with fear and admiration, almost reverence. A legend, a man nobody has ever seen the face beneath the golden mask he wears." – yielding to her wish, she brought one of his hands to her lips and kissed the dry, taut skin delicately – "It's him, isn't it? The masked man that NCR posters advertise as awaiting at the Gates of Hell."
His thumb caressed her lower lip, and she resisted the impulse of licking it, opting instead for another small kiss.
"Never defeated in battle since his assimilation, he came to occupy the empty chair the previous Primus Legatus left after Hoover Dam almost immediately." – he said after turning her around in his embrace so he could face her – "Already an adult when he joined the Legion, he didn't pass through our rigorous training to adapt his capabilities to what would be expected of him at the head of our troops, not even a year." – she could almost see him closing his eyes, his silvery eyelashes glinting in the blue slice of light – "Yet, despite his lack of formation and discipline, fourteen tribes have laid down arms at his boots. Another five, rendered extinct."
"I see." – her hand fell upon his cheek softly, sweeping a thumb all over an eyebrow to end at the hairline near his temple – "You find his promotion unjust. You think he's unworthy."
"Unworthy?" – he repeated slowly, sounding almost surprised, eyes opening again – "It isn't the skill of the man what makes him unworthy, but rather the man is what makes the skill itself undeserving of wielding the power it commands." – taking her face in his rough hands, she felt like an opening flower, allowing petals to grow between fingers – "Calling Lanius 'ferocious' would be an understatement, Sullivan. In battle, he seizes the enemy in his jaws, and, no matter what, he will not let go. He thinks nothing of suffering losses, so long as the enemy suffers more." – scoffing bitterly, he added – "As much as his predecessor, though not dim, he is prideful down to a fault and values bloodshed with a passion only his cemented tribal roots could be blamed for. At the moment, his pride has worked along with his blade and natural leadership capabilities in a fulminant, effective manner… But his adult age and his unwillingness to learn how to lead our Nation otherwise than in battle make him an… unsuitable replacement."
That… wasn't what she had thought she would hear by any stretch.
"But…" – shocked by what she had just heard, she tried to find the logic behind something that an educated man like Edward Sallow, despite how profoundly wrong he was in his approach, couldn't possibly find logical at all – "Surely those 'leadership capabilities' includes… I don't know, like, social engineering and basic knowledge of logistics? If he has been chosen by your Emperor…"
"Sullivan." – he interrupted her; his voice slightly harsh – "He is an uneducated tribal, assimilated in his adult age." – he emphasized, becoming impatient by the second– "Have you not been listening? Why do you think we usually keep the children and get rid of the adult males once we assimilate a tribe? Think about the conversation we held at lunch: we are the law enforcers of the Legion, Sullivan. Its Police. Would you trust this immense responsibility to a bunch of uneducated, backward, feral tribals who still worship nature's idols and make human sacrifices in their name?" – in his voice, she could hear desperation and shame at acknowledging what he undoubtedly knew the West thought of them: a bunch of hollering primitives following the lead of a madman – "Lanius may be a fine leader in his field – war - but he's still a tribal to the core. One that doesn't value Legion's structures or laws beyond bloodshed. He considers war to be the entire point of living, and he believes violence to be a form of freedom, of divine sublimation derived from the repression of his tribal identity. And the worst part of it is that many men find him inspiring."
What the hell?!
"But…"
"All of us, one way or another, have experienced what it is like to transcend our tribal roots and become an improved version of ourselves." – he sighed – "Our training doesn't merely cover warfare and physical prowess, but also indoctrinates us. And, while you might find indoctrination to be a harsh, dangerous word, I call it education. Education to follow basic doctrines about laws and delinquency, good and bad, order and chaos. An education to discern what helps a society to grow and what kills it." – he grabbed her shoulders – "Caesar has brought stability where chaos ran rampant, Sullivan. He helped tribes reconduct their self-destructive ways into helping to build a stable civilization, turned delinquents into disciplined soldiers, pre-War ruins into self-sufficient cities… Lanius goes against everything our Lord has taught us to value and protect. He doesn't value any form of culture beyond our religion constructed around the idea of a God of War. He doesn't even know how to read, Sullivan."
"Then why… wasn't he culled along with the rest of his tribesmen?"
"Because he was a particularly difficult foe to subdue, and Caesar saw value in his bloodlust and the fierce loyalty he swore to the one capable of bringing him to his knees. He serves Caesar and only Caesar, not his Legion."
She felt fear. For all the innocent people who would suffer should this… Monster of the East would sit on Caesar's throne to guide them from massacre to massacre spurred by his beliefs. For all the innocents under Legion's rule like Lupus or Melody, the sweet girl at the brahmin pens crying over a broken teddy bear, the closest thing she had to a friend in a society that shunned and nullified her very childhood.
For Zorro, who clearly saw the danger where many others merely saw the epitome of what a warrior should be.
"I… I still don't get it." – she confessed, still shaken and deeply perturbed by what she had listened to thus far – "What is your Lord thinking by leaving a… a barbarian as his successor to lead a Nation he has constructed on philosophical, somewhat idealistic foundations?"
"That is, indeed, the same question that has been plaguing me for years up until very recently, when I learned about Caesar's malady." – Zorro whispered, rubbing his nose with hers – "I relayed a symptomatology record to Dr. Gannon under the guise of well-meaning concern upon a relative's health, and he ventured a diagnosis: brain tumor."
"So, you think…"
"That the tumor had been there before the fall of Lanius' predecessor? Probably. That the aforesaid tumor, as I have learned it very much can, has affected his criterion throughout the last years? Absolutely." – bringing his forehead against hers, his long lashes tickled her cheeks as he kept talking – "And here's where you enter the picture, Sullivan."
"Me? What can I possibly do? I'm no doctor, Fox-Man."
"No, but you have access to the services of a qualified, highly-competent surgeon."
That made her recoil in horror.
"Wha… what are you talking about?" – she gasped, trying to will her defective brain to forget what she just had heard without success – "That I should… like, order Arcade of all people, to… what? Come on his own volition to Fortification Hill to intervene Caesar's brain at the risk of being enslaved while, in case of failure, face summary execution?!" – she was angry now, sitting as she was over the mattress while looking down at him with burning tears gathering at the rim of her eyes; the feeling of betrayal she had been trying to hush down throughout this journey, spurred by culpability, paranoia, and insecurity coming back with a vengeance – "No… you can't ask me to do that. I won't do it. I won't betray Arcade. Not like this."
He sat over the mattress too, shoulders tense and body language cautious, as if he were dealing with a corralled, dangerous animal.
"Please, Sullivan…" – he attempted a softer, unthreatening tone, but he wouldn't fool her this time – "Sullivan…"
"No!" – she exclaimed, her whole body trembling – "You're fucking delusional if you think that I will risk my gay, opinionated friend being killed over being gay and opinionated just because your pig-headed leader bans modern medicine, thus qualified physicians in his lands!" – pointing an accusatory finger at him, she allowed Burke's venomous tongue to hold control over hers – "That's it, isn't it? You've brought me here not because your Lord or YOU are interested in me, but rather my contacts! After all, what such an unimpressive, physically inferior, sickly creature like me can offer beyond…?!"
She should have kicked him, shove his Adam's apple into his throat to obstruct his respiratory tract while simultaneously silencing him. She still had her charged Stealth Boy in her bag to pass the security before they noticed the corpse. NCR Camp Guardian was up North, crossing the river. She still could descend the hill and swim to salvation, making it out in one piece.
Instead, while still putting up a fight she didn't really have in her, she allowed his arms to encase her trembling form, first to restrain her half-hearted enraged trashing, then to pat her back softly while shushing her, the very same way he had done months ago at Jacobstown.
Why couldn't he be unreasonable and hostile like before, when they still had been strangers looking for the trick, the 'but' in their fragile coexistence? That way, it would be easier to hate him instead of…
She cried. She cried because she didn't know what she was doing anymore.
She cried because, no matter where he parted ways with his Lord and his fascist regime, he still had a family to care for and protect. A lovely, united family that had come before her and her feelings for him. A family he wouldn't abandon, not for her, not for anybody. Not to a fate they could end up sharing under the boot of this Lanius.
She could understand such a sentiment, because she would do exactly the same were she in his shoes.
She cried for herself, for having been weak and hopeful, for having allowed her unfortunate attraction to get this far instead of playing along with the perverse script House had deemed the most opportune to get to this point.
She cried because, indistinctly of how Zorro might feel about her, if she had ever known love in its purest, more passionate, and irrational form, she knew it had been thanks to him.
And now that she had tasted its sweet poison, it was the more painful to let it go, feeling just how easily it would escape from her fingers as she would open her hand in farewell, like sand in the wind.
He felt, however, warm and solid and very much willing to stay for a while once her tears ran dry and he broke the silence once more, his voice as soft and sweet as his hands rubbing her back and shoulders comfortingly.
"I wasn't aware that you harbored such kind of notions about us, Sullivan."
If her eyes didn't hurt so much and she wasn't aware that she, right at the moment, was physically unable to shed more tears, she would just cry again.
"Sorry…" – she mumbled miserably, willing to accept a reprimand, knowing how childish she had acted. After all, she did kind of harbor ill notions towards the Legion, no matter her open-minded policy of hearing people out before judging.
It had happened before, with the slavers at Paradise Falls and the Chinese ghoul remnants at Mama Dolce's, back at DC.
With the Enclave too.
"Don't apologize." – he cut her – "It is a good thing you have relayed this issue upon me…" – taking her face once again between his hands, he swept thumbs over her puffy eyes to get rid of remnants of tears before adding – "… so I can actively discourage it."
His kiss took her by surprise, making the ball of misery and confusion grow bigger in her throat as opposing, chaotic sensations overflowed her system, setting loose the myriad of conflicting interests, values, and moral dilemmas she had been actively trying to repress since they had departed from Vegas.
Whatever choice she made, at the end of the day, she would end up betraying someone dear to her.
And only now she had dared to be completely honest with herself in this matter.
She might have toyed with the idea of letting the Legion sweep the NCR and, by extension, Burke and the Brotherhood of Steel under the rug… but she, ultimately, had but one goal. One mission.
And this goal will never be accomplished under the rule of Sallow or his replacement, a brutal warlord who wouldn't care about her allegiance or her deals with his dead Lord one bit once he'll be effectively in power to keep warring endlessly.
Zorro kept his forehead against hers once their lips broke contact, returning to their previous intimacy before her outburst.
"You may doubt my allegiances, my personal beliefs, or even my very words for all I care." – he declared breathlessly, fingers intertwining in her short hair – "But this?" – he took one of her hands and put it over his sternum, in the exact spot where his heart was beating as fast as hers beyond the layers of bone and skin. Two organs singing the same hymn in majestic synchrony – "This, you don't doubt. Never. Do you understand?"
He… he didn't mean 'us' as in Legion, but as in…
Dazed, unable to react properly to this new revelation, she nodded silently, and both remained in the same position for a while. Perspiration made their hands clammy, intertwined as they were, as in praying. Both swallowing, breathing, and beating alike as one being.
Whereas fear for all that had transpired this night wouldn't abandon her body easily, her selfish despair from moments ago calmed enough for her rational, damaged left hemisphere to take the reins at once.
She'll help him. He had asked for her help, and she would provide.
Not by selling Arcade out, but by finding a working replacement diagnostic scanner module for the AutoDoc in Caesar's tent, a Mark III model that Vault-Tec promoted on their advertising campaign before the bombs to be present in every Vault clinic. The Frumentarii were perfectly capable of kidnapping a Followers' doctor at their outpost or the safehouse South of Nevada State Route 157. She'll give them the due coordinates.
They also needed Power Armors if they wanted to stand a chance against the NCR and Burke, and she knew where to find a handful of those around the Mojave as well as old coordinates on pre-War military caches throughout New Mexico and Arizona that might still hold some value. She would train a few Frumentarii so they would know how to use them properly.
She'll provide them the tools their society needed to survive, and, with any luck during the upcoming battle, she'll localize this Lanius and she'll bomb him down with a Fat Man until he'll either die or turn into a humongous, ghoulish nightlamp.
She told Zorro all of this, and he gave her one of his beautiful smiles, dismissing the Legate bit as a joke on her part but laughing the same, the corners of his eyes crinkling in mirth.
"Though Power Armors would, in fact, help to tick the balance in our favor… I still must ask out of you one more thing, Sullivan."
She'll help him not because she felt guilty over her imminent treason… but because she dared to hope that he would survive the battle and return home with his family, where he belonged.
"Yes?" – she asked.
She couldn't set him free, but she'll help him… even though she wouldn't join him.
"After this evening's incident, should Caesar require your presence yet again once he recovers… would you do as he says?"
It will be her parting gift.
"You mean… working for him?" – seeing his hopeful, pleading look she nodded, giving up at last, knowing where all of this would get them; each at their respective side of the Dam when the time comes – "Yes. Yes, I will. I… suppose I don't have many options left, right?"
Because she loved him.
"And Robert House?"
And betraying his trust will be like stabbing her own chest with a knife. She might survive the wound, but the scarring and the internal damage will remain forever.
"As you might have noticed, he cannot compete with Legion numbers and resources."
This argument seemingly sufficed, for he expressed his gratitude by embracing her tightly to his chest and she didn't resist, already dreading the countdown their conversation had just set on.
Later, in the afternoon of the following day, Edward Sallow demanded to see her after having previously called his pet fox in advance to inform him of the new state of affairs pertinently.
Crossing the red canvas door toward the dictator, bowing the knee to him, and addressing him as 'sir', Six didn't feel ready in the very slightest to go through the next phase of the plan.
Nevertheless, the ghost haunting her Pip-Boy from his satellite connection, was.
Antony ached for a smoke.
It was a vice he knew was forbidden within the camp… but he and the other smokers already had a nighttime spot to inhale and exhale filth without being bothered. Reserves were flowing in again no problem with the caravans, and he wouldn't have to… you know, exchange services for two, maybe three cigs – the awful, musty Old-World stuff – per favor.
He wasn't against a quickie or a hand job from time to time – he'd rather have eager, willing guys than try his luck with the female slaves that usually first eyed his dogs with distrust, then looked at him like he was a weird creep. Besides, men usually knew better how to please him than the few women he had been with thus far –, but having to exchange sex for ciggies was a low spot he'd rather not find himself again in any soon lest he wanted rats coming in to sniff uninvited.
Inculta was back, and he had brought a souvenir from his travels throughout Profligate territory.
All the guys from the clandestine smoking space had been nearly insatiable last night, trading rumors nonstop like old midwives, cashing in old wagers, or losing a handful of Denarii (and cigs) over the Master Frumentarius' bedroom preferences. Some of them bold enough to claim that the girl he had brought wasn't a girl at all.
Not that he blamed them. That's the deal when you're waiting around The Fort for your contubernium to get reassigned. Lots of free time, little else to do other than the arena or the occasional petty squabble among legionaries around to distract the mind.
If they had asked him earlier, which they usually didn't – not that he minded; dogs were better company than humans anytime -, he would have solved the big mystery for them for free.
A girl, did Inculta bring. One of the Dissolute, a guest of Caesar.
A nice one. Short and cute, but with quite the temper to her name.
She reminded him of the Hangdogs women, opinionated, brave, and spiritual in one… before the Legion, that is.
She had stepped in his dog pens wanting to see the newborn pups despite being warned by her guide – one of the children wannabes in training – that Legion dogs weren't pets but resources she had to treat with respect.
Nevertheless, she had ended up squatting at eye level with the animals, baby-talking to one of the most sociable out of the litter.
Antony had been given orders not to bother Caesar's guest, Courier Six, and he, in truth, hadn't seen the need to. She had treated his dogs with sweet reverence, like sentient, feeling beings that could appreciate some petting as well as the next guy, himself included.
And most importantly: she had brought Lupa back from the dead.
"It's a boy now." – she had told him as she had allowed him to step close to the cyberdog accompanying her and the child – "His name is Rex."
After extending a trembling, hopeful hand to the creature, it had only required a brief whiff before it had effortlessly toppled him, face-up, and had started to lap at him happily, barking with enthusiasm.
She had remembered him. Even beyond death, his memory had left a strong imprint on her.
Dogs were sacred animals to Hangdogs, Antony's people; loyal, fierce, and caring at the same time. If one of them refused to live without you and kept watch of your grave until it exhaled its last breath, it was an honor.
But one that had died and ascended – in this situation, literally turned immortal –, choosing to keep your memory with them… that was a divine gift. A gift he had rightfully earned, no doubt, but only made possible thanks to this girl.
Even if he had known just how risky it had been, showing religious veneration to other entities than Mars himself, Antony had knelt before the girl, bringing her small hand upon his brow as a sign of gratitude and respect.
He had told her she could ask anything from him. He was honor-bound to fulfill her request.
A person who loves dogs couldn't be a bad person. Antony had been sure she wouldn't ask anything nasty out of him.
"If you really mean it, give Melody back her teddy bear."
It had been a blow to his pride. The stupid slave girl should know by now that even the rags on her back were a privilege. Anyway, his mongrels liked their new toy.
He had told her as much, and then, the black eyes of the sweet Dissolute had turned into a thunderstorm.
Antony's mother used to get like that before whacking his head anytime he did or said something stupid.
Sometimes, he missed the old hag. A lot.
"That's what you legionaries are trained for? To bully little girls and take their toys away?"
Slaves weren't allowed to keep secrets from the Legion. That girl had probably smuggled the stuffed bear, for slaves didn't have personal possessions.
The problem wasn't about a little girl smuggling a toy, but a future adult slave able to hide contraband chems and guns from officers. That was how riots started.
He had tried to explain it to her, but the Courier wouldn't have any of it.
"Wouldn't that be silly? The great and powerful Legion, dethroned by a little girl smuggling submachine guns under her skirts. If so, maybe you don't deserve to be in charge at all."
That… had skimmed pretty close to an affront. Antony would probably have backhanded her for her insolence if it hadn't been for the blonde Frumentarius watching the exchange closely from a nearby tent.
"One thing is to assess power over those who threaten the State… and another entirely different thing is to abuse that same power because you can."
He hadn't abused his power! He had contributed to the slave's education by showing her that nobody could break the law! He had made justice!
"You're supposed to protect that girl, not to bully her. You're an adult, and she's a child. What you've done isn't justice, but plain aggression."
Even if a woman shouldn't address a man, her superior, that way… Antony had to admit that she had made a good point.
Besides, he probably had been speaking to the consort of one of the Legion Primi. You don't get away from disrespecting a Commander that easily. Much less when said Commander is notorious for bringing down anyone who dared to look him the wrong way.
He had given her the bear, and she had taken Lupa with her.
He hadn't seen or heard of her or Lupa for the remaining day. He hadn't even thought he would see more of either of them.
That had made him incredibly miserable. The dogs had spent the rest of the evening trying to console him, whining when he had developed one of his recurrent anxiety attacks only a good smoke had managed to calm down.
However, around eight in the morning of the day after tomorrow, the Courier had stood before him once again with Inculta by her side.
Antony nearly had another anxiety attack, but she then had asked him if he could take care of Lupa whilst she did a job for Caesar.
And, since then, Antony had remained inside his pen, surrounded by his mongrels, Lupa's head over his knees, lapping at his hands. He planned on enjoying her company as much as he could.
Which… felt kind of short-lived when two - maybe three - hours later, the ground below his feet shook violently, making him almost trip over the new litter.
He had dared to take a peek outside the pen, a fat sleeping pup between his rough hands, when he had localized Otho, the Arena Master, amidst hundreds of flabbergasted legionaries asking what in Tartarus had just happened.
"Inculta has probably destroyed that Old-World weapon everybody is talking about." – he had replied with a self-sufficient smile, enjoying the attention his words were getting him – "He has infiltrated the hatch at the Weather Monitoring Station where others failed."
Otho was a secret fan of Inculta's work, happy to arrange fights for him every single time another Frumentarius dared challenge his leadership.
And from every encounter that Inculta emerged victorious, Otho would relish retelling the most gruesome details of the fight. The Master Frumentarius liked to fight dirty.
"That cannot be." – Antony opined, rubbing the pup's belly when it stirred from its nap – "The Dissolute girl he has brought had a task to complete for Caesar himself this morning. It can't be a coincidence."
But Otho had scoffed at that.
"The only task a woman is suited for, besides cooking and cleaning, is attending to the needs of her Master." – then, he added with a derisive sneer – "I'm sure Caesar has only sent her down there to give Inculta some motivation, if you know what I mean."
Later, he had to swallow his own words when the arena opened its gates to host a fight between the Degenerate trash the Praetorian Guard had detained a few weeks ago at the doors of the Weather Station… and the Dissolute girl now everybody acclaimed as Tabellaria Mercuria, Messenger of Mars.
If Vulpes had thought the day couldn't get worse, he had been sorely mistaken.
His ears beeped, he had a headache the size of a supermutant, and he was currently drinking as much water as he could stomach, for he was perspiring so much that his tunic, from neck to hip, was literally three tonalities darker than it usually was.
He felt sick. Sick, yet on edge.
The bunker, it had been filled with radiation. The kind that starts building in your system after thirty, maybe forty minutes of exposure at a fast pace.
The good thing had been that he had been permitted to use his Riot Gear to get underground with Sullivan; otherwise…
Besides, these were the instances in which he thanked that his Courier was such a hoarder, for her Rad-X pill bottle had been what had maintained him relatively clean in such a contaminated environment.
House had been waiting for them… in a sense.
"Awake already? Very well. I do wish to have a serious conversation regarding the current state of affairs that has led us to this impasse, young man."
The electric shock had left him disoriented, sore, and momentarily amnesiac as he had rolled on the floor like an eighty-year-old man to crawl his way up the console from where the synthetic voice had come from. The Geiger Counter of his Pip-Boy creaked intermittently.
True to Old-World aesthetics, the avatar in which Robert House decided to present himself was a rendering of his presumable physical appearance when he had been around his mid-thirties to forties: prim-and-proper, yet utilitarian clothing and hairstyle, trimmed mustache, mild polite smile, and a slightly cocked eyebrow as if challenging his interlocutor to prove him wrong.
An appearance designed to appeal to the respectability and success that came with age instead of the idealistic 'beauty' of youth.
Something Vulpes knew the pre-War society had coveted desperately: the promise of eternal life.
Many empires had fallen when knowledge had stepped on a second plane, and only beauty and ephemeral pleasures had taken the reins.
In this regard, the Old-World giant had seemed more preoccupied with the message he wanted to convey rather than his own ego. Which, ironically, had spoken volumes on his self-entitlement.
From his gigantic monitor, he had been talking to an ant. A particularly bothersome ant he had wanted to put in line with the rest to obediently walk the anthill.
Which… reminded Vulpes of the other ant he had gone underground with.
"Where is Sullivan?" – had been his immediate demand upon getting face to face with the monitor.
Despite the static nature of the rendering, he thought he saw a calculating gaze peering from the picture's dark eyes.
"I find it curious how a defective specimen such as yourself has made it this far not merely in the barbaric society that you call 'civilization reborn', but also in the overheated, irradiated desert America has turned into." – the God of New Vegas had stated with mild disdain, but also every bit curious as his words implied – "Maybe there's still wisdom in human instinct, making a physically unfit individual competitive enough to match and even surpass his healthy peers in matters of intellect and survival."
"Where. Is. Sullivan?!" – he had yelled at the screen, dropping his chipped helmet to the ground, strands of silvery hair stuck everywhere with congealed blood product of the head trauma – "What have you done to her?!"
"Contrary to the draconian customs in which your western overlord has educated you lot, I'll have you know that coercion through abduction isn't among the list of strategies one can employ to squeeze optimal performance out of your employees." – House had replied calmly, his inner snob in full capacity as he had addressed a variable that his predictions apparently hadn't contemplated – "The simple fact that we are having this conversation, you and I, is proof enough that I believe in the entrepreneurial reward and recognition system. There is nothing more powerful than motivation to make businesses flourish."
"What are you talking about?"
"You see? I have been observing you these last years as you came and went around The Strip, young man, and, despite your remarkable intellect among the herds of sheep, you are what your upbringing has made of you. You only understand fear or outright manipulation to be the right tools to ensure cooperation."
"And coin is, Mr. House?" – he had snarled back – "Do I have to remind you how your beloved Capitalist system - a system solely based on greed, where monopolies and giant Corporations were the real rulers behind puppet politicians willing to sing the song money would ask of them – was the actual orchestrator behind the nuclear war you just decided to throw because it was profitable?"
"I find it amusing that you may think your own society and your Caesar to be above greed, of all things." – the Orwellian man had scoffed – "However, for the sake of dialectics, let us ignore momentarily our pre/post-Apocalypse differences and focus on human nature instead." – he had conceded – "Whereas fear is a survival mechanism we resort to in the face of depredation, greed is but a natural response when the ones who predate are us. We are territorial animals, young man, and it is that very instinct what drives us to push our limits toward greater achievements." – if the situation couldn't have been more surrealistic, there he had been, discussing evolution with a pre-War abomination – "With the appropriate education and adequate channeling, that very animal instinct can be transformed into work. And work usually comes hand in hand with progress."
"But, without motivation, there cannot be work. And then, if that motivation turns into coin, a means of material acquisition, thus a conduit of greed again, we can construct a stable society using an unending chain of economic predation as its foundations?" – he had scoffed – "Your arguments don't hold any long-term ground. You are but doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again."
"There are only two types of men in this world: the tools and the engineers. Greed is for the tools, who cannot conceive their work beyond petty gain and their visual scope is limited to their place in the big machinery. On the other hand, self-determination is for the engineers, who use the tools at their convenience on that very machinery they maintain and perfect over time."
"And you are an engineer, I assume?"
"Yes. And you are a tool. And you will continue being a tool as long as you keep thinking in black and white instead of appreciating the richness of gray."
"Says the engineer to the presumed tool he's trying to bend to his will… to what purpose, I wonder?"
"There it is. An agile mind. A great potential wasted in the hands of one ill man believing a re-enactment of ancient civilizations can reconduct human derailment by sheer stubbornness. Human nature cannot be changed, only shaped to avoid past mistakes. And each new generation tends to easily forget the mistakes of their elders."
"The Legion does take the past into account." – why he had tried to reason with an entity as unnatural as House was, had been beyond Vulpes' comprehension. Perhaps in the hopes to make him see how much of a difference the Legion could make in the Wasteland… or perhaps to shut down that tiny voice inside of him conceding that the abomination did have a point – "The Roman Empire was one of the most stable, long-lived societies of all times. The same the Legion counters the NCR's poor handling of Democracy, Gaius Julius Caesar set a precedent by overturning the corrupt Senate. Only when - thanks to Octavian Augustus - the Republic turned into an Empire, did the Civil and Servile Wars end and prosperity began to flourish."
"And yet, the ravages of time and basic human nature still managed to destroy an Empire legendary on all accounts." – House had impassibly replied – "If organized, your savage society doesn't offer an alternative other than keeping regurgitating the past until it will inevitably wear down, pretty much as the NCR does. Besides…" – he had interrupted Vulpes before the Frumentarius could open his mouth again in protest – "You are in the wrong thinking the Legion takes the past into account. Caesar is the one with historical sense." – maybe there had been sensors or cameras installed on the console, for House had made a pause when Vulpes' face had lost all color – "Maybe you do, but your Legion only follows Caesar, not his ideals. Take him out of the picture, and all you will have is a bunch of militarized brutes wielding a power they don't know how to administer. It will crumble, eventually. Maybe not overnight, but give it a few decades, and Edward Sallow's dream will be nothing but dust." – it had been terrifying to listen, the words Vulpes would never dare to utter out loud put over the table by an abomination that shouldn't understand the inner works of their society that well – "And you will be there to witness it. But older and tired, perhaps wondering if you could have done something when there was still time."
At that moment, a wave of nausea had hit him in full force. He had doubled with a gloved hand upon his mouth, eyes watering as he had searched around the underground room until they had landed upon the discarded Rad-X pill bottle. It must have fallen when he had run into the blue force field.
He had gulped down at least three pills in one go. A minute later, he had forced another two just in case while he had rolled up a sleeve and had injected the needle of a RadAway IV bag he had supported with his teeth. He would need at least one hand to try sorting out the code for that blue force field.
House must have activated it once Sullivan had first passed through the next level entrance. He recalled her screaming while his sight had gotten black and he had lost consciousness.
It did occur to him that she maybe had tried to sort the code without success and had pressed on forward to the nexus of the bunker.
He had checked the Pip-Boy's clock. He had been out almost an hour, and still no sign of her? She was a Vault dweller, so the place must be enormous or labyrinthic.
"You might want to wait inside the elevator. The radiation leak is, unfortunately, a side effect of the bunker's reactor having gone neglected for two hundred years."
The reactor. That's a piece of information she should have. They had gone underground with clockwork C-4 plastic explosives she could just program to detonate after the amount of time she would need to get out of there.
However, as soon as he had hit the chat and the message-sending signal went on an uploading loop, House had spoken again.
"Don't waste your time trying to reach her. This particular bunker was designed following certain specifications. The signal won't travel between levels."
Why was he feeding him so much information? It was as if the abomination wanted him to know.
The force field console didn't have an entry port, so he had scanned it with the Pip-Boy to see if the device gave him some kind of information.
The only data the device had been able to provide had been that the security code had been composed of four digits. From 0 to 9, that made the odds of the combinations… 1 against 9,999.
Shit.
He had begun to patiently type them down from '0000' to '9999'. It would have taken hours to go through them all, but it had beaten sitting on his hands doing basically nothing.
"Though I find your drive admirable, I believe it is time to stop being so stubborn and begin with the due negotiations."
The RadAway had emptied already, so he had taken the needle from his cubital fossa and spat away the plastic bag.
"There is nothing to negotiate about." – he had replied breathlessly, still typing down the combinations.
"Oh, but I do believe there is plenty of room for negotiation. No pun intended."
Vulpes had ignored the abomination until it had spoken again.
"You surely are aware that I can change the passcode whenever I want, and you wouldn't find the correct one in a million years."
He hadn't been aware of the tension he had been repressing when he gave a violent kick to the wall in frustration.
"Do I have your attention now, or would you rather have another five minutes of primate fury?"
"What do you want?" – he had asked, checking the time between doses to gulp down another Rad-X pill.
"Simple: my employee, Miss Sullivan, pertains to a rare type of worker the likes I haven't seen since before the bombs – inventive, diligent, hard-working, polyvalent, persevering, and even sporting a little bit of idealism that I find most endearing. She's a rare gem, and I intend to keep her as my protégée at any price." – after a brief pause, House had kept talking – "And her price, apparently, comes with ensuring the safety of those she, at the risk of sounding corny, deems 'close to her heart'. Her own words, of course." – Vulpes hadn't liked where this was going. He hadn't liked it one bit – "And you, young man, belong in such a category. And rightly-deserved, if you permit me saying so. You have elevated your work to a point in which you aren't capable of telling duty apart from genuine interest."
He had ignored the jab in favor of addressing the question at hand.
"If you are suggesting what I think you are suggesting, the answer is no."
"Quite an honor you are spurning, not even willing to give it a thought even if it may earn you a privileged position among Olympians."
"I have never aspired to godhood. Much less when it is purchased with extreme poverty for the majority of a population while a privileged minority observes from their crystal dome as time passes and justice or social changes are ultimately nullified. Getting History, in Hegelian terms, effectively terminated."
"Please, do you even hear yourself? A legionary of all people preaching about egalitarianism when all he knows is the cult of personality that his leader has formed around an idea of divinity to appeal to the regressed tribal customs of his subjects, which he 'legally' treats as criminals serving a perpetual sentence, slaves of the State." – House had scoffed, making Vulpes feel, for a brief moment, incredibly insignificant – "Even after two hundred years, Communism is still a blight that even occidental minds believe to be the ultimate solution for the suffering they have brought upon themselves thanks to their ignorance." – then, perhaps Orientals had the right idea after all. At least they had wanted to construct a better society instead of allowing chaos and greed to control their lives - "Do you even know what Hegel preached about History? He saw it as an intelligible process moving towards a specific condition: the realization of human freedom. 'History is the process whereby the spirit discovers itself and its own concept', Phenomenology of Spirit."
"What you propose is but another form of slavery! One that deals in human vices! One that doesn't contribute to progress in any way!"
"I do not deal in human vices; I simply offer them as a temporary escape from the woes of the Wasteland reality. The money they spend is repurposed to create solid infrastructures, stable jobs, and a healthy market. Everybody wins."
"Only they live in poverty because they spend the money they earn on their vices instead of supporting their families economically. That is how societies grow old without younger generations to keep them alive since nobody bothers about having children they cannot feed."
"Therein lies the power of choice of an individual: I offer to them what they otherwise wouldn't acknowledge to fervently desire. They simply have to say no."
"Controlling others through their desires is outright manipulation. The human condition is weak and has to be reeducated through constant, well-meant supervision."
"And then, you are treating adult people as if they were children. Which I approve, mind you. However, unlike your Lord, I have no interest in abusing others, just as I have no interest in legislating or otherwise dictating what people do in their private time. Nor have I any interest in being worshiped as some kind of machine god messiah. I am impervious to such corrupting ambitions."
"You are a relic from the past, too focused on your idea of how things should have played before the bombs that you cannot even comprehend that the very reason the world has turned into what it is today, is because of 'visionaries' like you!"
"The world is what it is today because we gave power to the military. It was the last mistake, and it shall not repeat again. That is a lesson Caesar has yet to learn: war, no matter its ultimate goals and intentions, never changes."
Suddenly, the floor had trembled violently, and House's monitor had developed interferences.
"Success always depends on forethought, dispassionate calculation of probabilities, accounting for every stray variable…." – when House had spoken again, it had sounded like pre-recorded sound clips this time, as if this had been but the consequence of one of the choices Vulpes had taken throughout their conversation – "Your inability to see the bigger picture makes you useless to my endeavors and your history of aggression towards the NCR has rendered you too 'expensive' to keep around given your current devalued price on the market, so to speak. I am afraid that, from now on, there will be no safe haven for you."
After that, the monitor lost connection, and a shrill white noise had filled the room, making Vulpes cover both of his ears in a futile attempt to keep the overwhelming, deafening sound away.
This time, there had been more quakes accompanied by what he thought to be the sounds of chained explosions.
The blue force field had scintillated briefly before disappearing, and then, not a minute later, Sullivan had reappeared at the door jamb of the next stair level to, without saying a word, grab his hand and force him to run along with her.
She had practically tackled him into the elevator and immediately pushed the button to get them back to the Weather Station level.
Halfway up, there had been a blackout, and the elevator had stopped along with the artificial lights inside.
They still had been in each other's arms, panting and trembling in the dark. She then had maneuvered with her helmet, taking it off and dropping it to grab his face between her little gloved hands and crush her lips on his.
Between the rush of adrenaline, the strange talk with the abomination that still had his mind in tatters, and the overall situation, Vulpes hadn't thought it much when he had responded in kind with desperation.
There had been a strange urgency in her kisses that he, at the moment, had found most thrilling. It had excited him, aroused him.
It must have operated the same effect on her, for she had begun to do things that he was sure she wouldn't have dared to even attempt under normal circumstances.
The most 'daring' thing she had done in the past had been nibbling his neck. And now, her hands were everywhere, finding every nook and cranny where his armor was thinner, less protected, so he could feel her fingers caressing him through the cloth layers.
She had undone his tactical belt, and he had allowed it. She had set the breastplate's lower straps loose, and he had allowed it.
She had insinuated her fingers under the breastplate AND the clothing layers, and he knew he had been grinning like an idiot. A lucky idiot.
He hadn't really cared that an elevator hadn't been the most ideal setting to go through their mutual sexual thrill. She was touching him, and he was but happy to go through what he saw as progress.
She found him as desirable as he did with her. She trusted him. He wasn't going to thwart that.
She even dared to slip two fingers beyond the elastic band of his boxers, and the action made him salivate.
"You're warm." – she had whispered, and her voice had sounded husky.
He hadn't been warm. He had been burning.
"Yes." – had been the only reply his brain had been able to come up with.
It was terrific how thoroughly she was stimulating him without even grazing nether parts. This was, literally, the diametral opposite of his previous experiences.
Women usually needed a lot of time building up their desire. To the point that he had always employed a lot of effort to get them ready, thus neglecting his own stimulation, which, to be perfectly honest, had been the central pillar of his encounters.
When a partner doesn't entice you in the very slightest, you ought to employ physical stimulation and a lot of imagination for things to work out smoothly.
He had rarely encountered a woman who had wanted to prepare him thoroughly. They weren't gentle and believed his masculine condition enabled him to be ready anytime, anywhere.
But a girl he felt attracted to who took her time learning what tickled his fancy? This was new.
And he had been loving every second of it.
Nevertheless, fate seemed intent on conspiring against him ever getting some, for noise barely a level above had begun growing closer until the two of them had been able to discern voices.
"Get that door open!"
After a few banging, the tip of a metal lever had peeked from in-between the highest part of the elevator doors and forced them open. The sunglassed face of one of the Weather Station Praetorian guards had peered to the inside.
"Well, well, well." – he had said, quickly changing his frowning expression into a knowing grin – "Not only are they alive, but they're also celebrating, it seems."
Sullivan's hands had still been in his pants, and he had been holding her. No matter how you wanted to paint it, it looked what it looked like.
Vulpes had profoundly resented his comrades' hooting and whistling when Sullivan had taken her hands off him as if he had scalded her, quickly moving to the opposite end of the small quadrangle.
Then, reality entered again in their lives as the guards helped them to get out of the reduced space. Luckily for them, the elevator had stopped halfway to the bunker entrance.
After that, they had been immediately led to the Principia as Caesar had been impatient to hear the news.
"I felt the ground shake a while ago. I'll take that as a sign you got the job done."
The RadAway had started to hit Vulpes' system, and he was perspiring violently. Plus, the concussion had made his sight slightly double.
On the other hand, Sullivan had been serene when she had recounted a slightly adapted version of the events.
Because she hadn't mentioned them getting separated even once.
"House was waiting underground. The bunker's connection was satellite-controlled, but the security system was pre-programmed. We had to hack a couple of terminals to disable his turrets. The protectrons, though, were another entirely different thing."
She had sported plasma abrasions on her armor, and Vulpes had a bleeding concussion. His Lord had questioned nothing.
But Vulpes, deep inside, had felt distressed. He knew why she was lying on his account, but lying to Lord Caesar in this regard, somehow, had felt wrong.
"Once we were in front of his big secret, he offered a deal. And then, when that didn't work, he gave us an ultimatum, threatening to bury us down there. He had the power, cameras everywhere… but he hadn't counted on the C-4 we brought with us."
He had been entrusted with a mission: supervise and ensure that one of the Dissolute didn't backstab them by aiding Robert House in whatever plans he had concocted for his secret weapon underground.
He hadn't done that. He had fallen unconscious, and then, he had been held hostage by House to make Sullivan collaborate.
She had done her job. He hadn't. He deserved to be whipped for his failure.
"And what sort of weapon did that bunker contain?"
What, indeed.
"Missiles. Nuclear missiles." – she had answered quietly, her voice going smaller with every following word – "Fortification Hill, pretty much like Hopeville or Ashton, is a pre-War silo. Not for nuclear testing, but privately financed by House to use at his discretion."
She had been talking to House as well. And then, she had taken back her contract at the evidence. If there was something that Sullivan abhorred, that was nuclear energy used as a weapon.
That gave him a pang of something strange that he couldn't quite pinpoint.
"Did you… hum… know about the Searchlight incident?"
"Since destroying even a single one of those would have been suicidal, we merely destroyed the main computer and crippled the connection by blowing the generators so House couldn't get access to the missiles or the update for the OS of his securitrons."
So, House's master plan had been… threatening them into complying to his wishes unless they wanted their territories peppered with radiation? The man who had programmed such a sophisticated anti-missile defense system to counter the Chinese offensive now had decided to bluff his way into making warring nations submissive to his nuclear power?
That… felt kind of contradicting, even if it did make sense.
"There's already a leak in the reactor, and I cannot imagine just how much damage the explosive charges did down there. I would recommend moving the encampment a few miles to the South, closer to Hoover Dam. As soon as possible."
Interesting choice. Not that Vulpes couldn't see the wisdom in her words, given how dangerous the radioactive leak had turned into in a matter of hours. He couldn't begin to imagine what an exploded reactor might have created underground.
However, Caesar didn't seem so concerned.
"Duly noted." – he had replied unconcernedly, making a brief nod with his head – "Meanwhile, I believe this is a momentous occasion for celebration. Not every day a giant from the Old-World is brought to his knees, forced to recoil to his wizard tower to rely solely upon the military power his robots lend to him."
However, Vulpes' nerves frayed when Sullivan decided to open her mouth yet again. And without having been given permission to speak.
"But sir… surely the threat of radiation poisoning leaking into your encampment should take priorit…."
"Your… suggestion shall be considered." – Caesar had interrupted her brusquely, fanning his hand in a dismissive gesture – "And I shall be tolerant this time, given your recent incorporation to our ranks, by overlooking your speaking out of turn." - his eyes, then, had darkened – "When Caesar speaks, you listen. Understood, Tabellaria?"
Sullivan had pressed her lovely lips together into a line, and she had nodded silently.
"As I was saying: House's defeat today is…" – and then, Vulpes' blood had run like ice when his Lord had spaced out, his hazel eyes becoming frighteningly cloudy as Sullivan had given him an alarmed look, then to Lucius when apparently nobody else but her seemed to acknowledge what was happening – "… Urh…"
The more seconds Caesar had spent staring into empty space, the chillier Vulpes' sweat had turned out.
Two seizures. In such a short time span. His Lord's condition was worsening at a fast pace.
"… Sir?"
Sullivan's voice had cut through the tense silence inside that tent like a knife. Lucius had cleared his throat twice until the Imperator had reacted.
"Huh?" – the way he had sounded… as if merely waking from a catnap… – "Yeah… yeah… House. Him."
"You were speaking about his defeat, sir. Don't you remember?"
"I'm... I'm not sure." – he had sounded tired… confused… It had been one of the most gut-wrenching moments throughout the Master Frumentarius' existence – "What was I saying…? That's right." – and then, as if nothing had happened at all, Caesar had picked up the thread of the conversation back – "With House's defeat, you have proven yourself reliable… and there are rewards for doing as I command. Today…" – his voice had faltered, as if trying to remember – "… your reward is vengeance. You get to decide how Benny dies."
Sullivan had patiently waited for him to finish.
"Go to Benny, let him know what you've decided. My Praetorians will perform the execution… unless you want to perform it yourself." – pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly, he sighed as he rose up slowly from his throne – "I will retire for a few hours. Talk to Lucius about seeing Benny, and then communicate it to him once you make a decision. That will be all… we'll talk later."
After that, aided by his guards, the Imperator had disappeared inside his lodgings, leaving thousands of questions in the air.
The situation had made Vulpes feel impotent and utterly insignificant. All of this, in front of Sullivan.
But the worst had been yet to happen once the girl had disappeared in Lucius' company.
"I don't see why should you accompany her, Inculta." – the Commander Praetorian had stated severely, arms tightly crossed in front of his puffed chest – "Your labor ends here, and mine starts. Besides…" – he had added when Vulpes had been about to reply – "… You should take that concussion to the Medicae. Maybe, that way, you'll finally get that haircut you are in dire need of."
"Then, first, take her to the Hound Master so she can get back her canine guardian." – Vulpes had stated stubbornly, which had earned him an insulted glare.
"You don't get to order me around, Master Frumentarius." – Lucius had replied, slightly annoyed as well as a tad arrogantly – "Maybe you are now favored by the Imperator, but that doesn't enable you to tell me how I should do my work." – he had hated that, the lukewarm treatment. The more when it had come from Lucius, whom Vulpes could safely say was one of the few high-ranking officers that didn't hate him for being a 'prodigal child' among older men who didn't get the same fussy scruples around Lanius – "However, if you are so preoccupied about her safety around me, I shall indulge your… petition."
At that, they had abandoned Caesar's tent, leaving him behind literally fuming.
They had returned an hour later, cyberdog in tow, with Lucius bearing a serious mien as Sullivan had stopped in front of Vulpes while he had been gulping a bottle of purified water he had been brought by a slave along with his field uniform – probably Lucius' doing.
"What have you decided?" – he had asked, curious as to how she would tackle Benny's punishment. However, watching her hesitant disposition, he had pressed – "Sullivan?"
"This should be interesting." – Lucius had commented from the canvas gap that guided to Caesar's chamber – "She has decided to challenge that Vegas' scum to a duel. Caesar might find this worthy of entertainment, at the very least." – he had added somberly before disappearing behind the red cloth.
If Vulpes had been permitted to yell at that moment, he would have done so.
"What do you think you are doing?!" – he had hissed low enough that not even the guards could make out what they were discussing – "Have you lost your mind?!"
"I… I can't do it." – she said, her voice trembling, her eyes growing bigger and watery by the minute – "The Commander offered me to shoot Benny in the face with his own pistol just like he did to me… but I simply couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger."
"Then give me that pistol, and I shall end his miserable existence myself!"
"No." – she shook her head – "This is something I must do alone. It's my battle, not yours."
"That is preposterous!"
"In a culture that values strength and honor, it isn't preposterous." – she had replied gravelly – "If I hand over Benny's execution to another, I'm weak. If I execute him without giving him the chance to defend himself, I'm a coward." – smiling weakly, she added – "You taught me this much at Nipton, remember?"
Yes, he had told her about Legion's views on justice, and now he wished he had been gone by the time she had arrived to witness the deed. That they had never met.
That Alerio would have been the one giving her the Mark instead of him, that Vulpes had never crossed paths with her.
This way, she wouldn't have been forced to choose between House and him in that bunker. Because she wasn't loyal to Caesar.
She was acting on his behalf. She was putting up an act because of what he had told her.
He may as well put her in danger by extending the invitation. He saw that now.
Whereas he had hoped for her an ambassador role in favor of the Legion, Caesar expected a soldier.
And she was simply following the script.
As soon as the Imperator had emerged from his lodgings bearing a knowing grin of approval, arrangements had begun.
Vulpes had been sent to the Valetudinarium along with her so the healers could patch his head and prepare her for the duel.
It was customary for both combatants to be as healthy and body-abled as possible before a fight at the arena to balance the probabilities, so Benny received the same treatment.
Knowing that Sullivan had smuggled some of her healing chems with her, he had arranged that Siri hid a Stimpak in her tactical armor pockets. At this point, he hadn't cared that she displayed the usage of Profligate medicine publicly. He just wanted her to survive the battle.
For Benny might be a little beaten up, but he still was every ounce of the traitorous snake both of them had witnessed at The Tops. If he had managed to survive all these months out in the desert on his own while concocting a plan as to how to infiltrate The Fort, that spoke volumes about his physical endurance. He was a man not to be underestimated.
Taking this into account, Vulpes also bribed the Arena Master into giving Sullivan Cassidy's combat knife instead of a machete, which the man had acceded to do with great pleasure, thinking a smaller weapon couldn't possibly counter the slashes of a short sword, which is what a machete essentially was.
The Master Frumentarius' reasons had stemmed more on the manageability side since Sullivan couldn't possibly wield a machete the way it was meant to.
Besides, the edge had been conveniently poisoned with a tribal recipe. If she managed to get a good slash at Benny, he could count himself as good as dead. Though not immediately, to avoid suspicion.
His sweet Courier had come over to his stretcher to kiss him briefly when nobody had been looking.
"I'll be back." – she had tried to sound convincing even when there wasn't anything she could do to sugar-coat the situation, for her voice distilled insecurity and fear. Her hands trembling between Vulpes' – "I… I just wanted to tell you that I… I too have fe…"
But then, the Arena Master had opened the Valetudinarium entrance to announce that the arena was ready whenever they were.
Vulpes had never seen so many legionaries concentrated around the same spot throughout The Fort. Not even when it was lunchtime.
Several feet above the spectators, Caesar's privileged spot on an atrium conveniently shielded from the glaring sun made Vulpes - obediently standing by his Lord's right side - regard his comrades as bloatflies swarming around a ripe Mesquite tree, following with gluttonous anticipation what they hoped to be a carnage.
Maybe it was the dehydration speaking for him, but Vulpes found the setting plainly nauseating.
This wasn't any different from what The Thorn at the Westside had offered up until recently.
The two combatants had been placed opposite sides of the arena junk walls, likely being told not to move until they were given the signal.
The rowdy revelry around the rounded space ceased the instant Caesar, sitting on a more modest version of his throne, raised an open hand.
Then, that very open hand turned into a fist that only left the thumb extended.
Rotating the hand ninety degrees, the thumb went down, and a roar enveloped the spectacle that the snake Benny, without further preamble, initiated.
"Primus Legatus, sir! An envoy from Lord Caesar himself has arrived, sir!"
Convenient, Lanius had thought as he had risen from his kneeling position over a whimpering slave. Turning around, the legionary's reaction had been instantaneous: bowing head to avoid direct visual contact with his General, the Monster of the East.
A pity. The Butcher could have used an exemplary execution today.
In a way, Lanius relished the power his masked face inspired among his troops… but he savored even more the fear his unmasked face awakened among those foolish enough to look upon his naked features.
Or what was left of them, anyway.
The pitiful female had made the same mistake her predecessors had made. Curiosity was an unfortunately common trait among the weaker sex. One that was seemingly impervious despite his warnings.
Only one woman had been allowed to look upon his mauled face and keep her eyes.
The only one he had deemed his match, fearless and unbending in front of the carnage he had unleashed upon their tribe, a single question hanging from her hard, sensuous mouth as she had taken his mask between her hands.
"What have you done?"
His answer? Seizing her lovely pale throat with his right hand. Her reply? Spitting on his face, fangs baring in warning, nails seeking his flesh.
Quill. His equal, his polar opposite. You cannot extinguish the life from the one you have decided to bound your soul with… even if death would have been but a mercy for her.
For both of them in truth.
Walking to the bowed legionary, the Butcher had stopped mere inches from the trembling man, making him flinch as he invaded his personal space.
Pathetic.
"Turn around." – he had ordered, to which the man had obeyed immediately – "Read it aloud."
For the legionary had carried a piece of parchment in his hand.
Obeying docilely like the good lamb he was, the man had unfurled the sealed message and had read with a voice clear as thunder amidst rain:
"I, Caesar Imperator, Son and mortal vessel of our divine Father Mars, Founder of the Legion, Conqueror of the East, and sole Legislator of our August Empire, exert the divine power that the Old Gods have bestowed upon me to commend my Primus Legatus in his endeavors throughout the last four years he has spent campaigning the Utah and Arizona for my greater glory." – Lanius' chest puffed with pride, relishing in the words of praise received from a greater strategist than himself. A warrior speaking through paper to another warrior – "However, the time to erase the heresy caused by the Mother of Prostitutes from our sacred lands has finally come. For I ordain that her city of impurities, the one they call Ouroboros, shall be erased from the map, their existence committed to oblivion, and their vile worshiping of a false deity, suppressed." – oh yes, the Great Whore shall pay her presumptuousness for elevating herself to the heights of the Old Gods. Filthy, belligerent strumpet, he shall have her first – indistinctly how old and barren her body may be –, and he shall teach her her place before she'll beg for release on the edge of his blade – "As a testament of your victory, I entrust you with the mission of bringing the decapitated head of the witch upon your arrival to lead our troops to victory at the Wall of the West: Hoover Dam." – that, he shall provide – "Make haste, Lanius, for this is the fifth time this message has been brought to you, and the messenger is aware of what would happen should he fail this time. Caesar Imperator has spoken."
As soon as the man had stopped reading, Lanius grabbed him by the throat, hoisting him in the air with the sole strength of his arm. He had the base of the legionary's fragile skull bent downwards as the other wriggled and gasped until it snapped under his thumb like a twig.
Lanius allowed the corpse to fall gracelessly onto the beaten ground and looked at the empty space in front of him.
Four times. Four times the will of Caesar had gone unheard. Four times his words hadn't reached him.
Four times the Great Whore had laughed in his face. The previous messengers must have been intercepted somehow by her.
Intolerable.
Breathing through the open scarred tissue below his right cheekbone, where a row of powerful molars could be seen through the gap, the Butcher made up his mind.
Ouroboros shall fall this very day. He already had at least two operational plans to tackle the issue with their robotized turrets and the trained Deathclaws they kept in the northern pens.
They would pay for this insult. The whole city.
And the Great Whore would experience in her own flesh how it feels like to surrender to one's enemy. He'll make sure of it.
Small whimpering seized his attention once more as he turned around and saw the pitiful silhouette of the slave crawling around with a hand covering the bleeding, empty socket from the eye he had taken from her earlier.
She was a maggot, just like the rest of the men in this encampment, proclaiming themselves as warriors when not even half of them knew how to wield a machete properly. All meat, not a single worthy adversary, not a single soul deserving of wearing his mantle, of being his equal like Quill once was.
"You'll leave this world… with nothing but blood… and dust…"
Like Black Dusk, on their final confrontation, had been.
I would not have it any other way. - he thought somberly as he took a step toward the slave.
A/N: have I stressed enough just how much I hate Lanius?
The part I hate him the most about?: how twisted our socio-cultural perception is to get to the point of depicting someone as horrible as him as the next Hellenic hero to write an epic about.
I mean: the Ancient Greek (thus, Roman as well) heroes were just plain HORRIBLE characters who, quite often, relished in their conquests, no matter how sanguinary or cruel they may be. Achilles is the most relevant example, but Heracles didn't fall that far from the tree. All of them were egotistical in their own way, didn't care about how they might hurt others, and were favored by the capricious Gods who, quite often, had sired them in the first place (looking at you, Zeus).
Lanius is the most perfect representation of this brand of so-called "heroes", and that is just so very NOPE for me.
Is he a patriot? No, his body is his temple. Is he a moral compass that all legionaries should behold as an example? No, he doesn't fucking care about examples if it hasn't to do with depicting him as the Ultimate Badass. Does he have a code? To squish whoever dares to oppose him under his boot. Does he hold some respect for anything? Yes, for the ones that are stronger than him.
Like, dude... the battlefield is not just about you and your ego, but also the men you are supposed to command. Just a thought.
Anyway... I didn't know that I wanted a Vulpes VS. House deep conversation until I started writing it. That, and the love confession, which sort of flowed on its own.
The next chapter will be more action-oriented, to take some of the dialogue heaviness out of the story.
Like it? Yes? No? Lemme know your thoughts!
