Chapter 8

Five people were seated at the table, two had their hands bound with thick chains. Light shone through the thin tent walls, bathing them all in a warm glow.

At the head of the table sat a man, aged beyond his years. He had a gaunt, weather beaten, face, with a short, rough, scraggly beard, and greying hair, though some color still came in at the roots. He was of medium height, though his spry, wiry frame made him look deceptively small. he wore black combat armour with a white eagle talon insignia on the breast. A half-pack of cigarettes could be seen, peeking from behind the breastplate.

He glanced to the blonde woman on his left. She was wearing a pale shirt with a dark vest over the top and a pair of worn jeans. Her blue eyes were quick and perceptive as she scribbled notes onto a pad of paper in front of her.

To the older man's right was an enormous dusky bear of a man, with a ten-gallon hat, and a sheriff's badge on his short-sleeved shirt. He sat up straight, his arms crossed and muscles tensed. He wore a permanent grimace, just visible beneath his bushy black beard. He had a Chinese assault rifle in decent condition leaning butt on the ground, the barrel against his hip.

The older man proffered a cigarette, but the sheriff waved him off and shook his head.

With a final note and an aggressively punctuated dot with her pencil, the young woman finished her scribbling and sat back in her chair, nodding at her companions.

The old man took a long puff on his cigarette, sprawled backwards in his chair. He smiled lazily across the table at his captives and said, "My momma always told me ta sit up straight, but I never did." With a ka-thunk he put his feet up on the table and leaned back until the chair was tipped on its two creaky hind legs. He said, "I sit like I was poured."

Across the table, Rose of Sharon Cassidy and Arcade Gannon glanced at eachother, but said nothing.

"Explain it to me again." prompted the older man.

"Not sure what's so complicated here, friend," Cass said.

"Your scribe just finished writing it all down." Arcade pointed out. The blonde woman shot him a glare, but said nothing. She tapped her pencil impatiently against the paper pad, and Arcade noted, not for the first time, the band of pale skin around the ring finger of her left hand.

The aged man across the table flashed them both a small smile. "Indulge me."

"So far west of here, there's a nation called the New California Republic-" Cass began for the third time.

"The NCR." The older man said, cigarette waving as he spoke.

"Right… and we're here for them."

"Ostensibly for them." Arcade clarified. "We're actually free agents for a third party called Mister House."

"Except we work for Jessica." Cass said.

Arcade sighed in annoyance. "Jessica works for House, therefore we work for House."

Cass shook her head, "I don't work for House."

Arcade grunted, "okay whatever. Good lord, this is ridiculous. Look, mister… Jackrum, is it?"

"Will neither confirm nor deny." The man said teasingly, puffing away on his cigarette. "Continue."

"So you have the NCR and the Legion," Arcade explained, gritting his teeth.

"And the dam in the middle." Cass reminded him.

"And the dam, yes-"

"Which supplies electricity to the City." The man named Jackrum prompted.

"New Vegas, yeah."

"And whoever controls the dam controls the city…"

"Controls the Mojave." Cass explained, "It's a gateway to the West."

"Chokepoint for armies. A beachhead for an invasion force. Lots of wealth. Lots of technology."

"Valuable property." The man with the Sheriff's badge intoned.

"Tactically and economically, yes." Arcade agreed.

"It's not just the NCR and Legion, though," Cassidy added, "There was a dozen tribes around the area each with their own issues and interests. And House. It was a clusterfuck."

"House?" The Sheriff asked as the blonde woman's pencil scratched more notes across the paper.

"Robert Edwin House. He owns the strip." Arcade shrugged, "A prewar tycoon. I don't know how he's still alive. No one knows anything about him."

"You work for House?"

Cassidy and Arcade both lit up in protest. "No!" "Absolutely not!"

"What's so bad about House?"

The two prisoners glanced at one another. "I uhh…" Cassidy shrugged, struggling mightily with the answer, "He's not… he's just a… I don't think he's always…"

"He's a tyrant and a staunch capitalist." Arcade said. Cass added, "neither of us trust him. No one does."

Arcade leaned forward, "so we work with Jessica."

"…Who works for House," Jackrum said slowly, "therefore…"

"Look, it's not a contract or anything. There's no quid pro quo. We're just her friends." Arcade said, "We can leave any time we want."

"But you don't…" Jackrum's head tilted to the side, "what's so special about this woman?"

"She's just…" Cass said, "Jess is special. Look, the Mojave was in a pretty bad place, stuck between House, the Legion and the NCR, with a dozen tribes all vying for power. Then Jessica walks out of the desert and just starts fixing things."

The blonde woman and the sheriff exchanged significant glances.

"She brought all the tribes together under house. Played the NCR and legion off against each other, and managed to get pretty much everyone and everything the best outcome possible." Arcade said fervently, "and it's still going! Helping her build the Mojave is an incredible thing to be a part of, and so no. We don't just leave."

"But you don't know anything about her?" Jackrum tried.

Cass shook her head, "Jessica doesn't know anything about her. She got shot in the head and has amnesia."

"How convenient."

"It's a real condition." Arcade snapped. "And it bugs her, you know?"

"Did she ever search for anything bout her past? Did you?"

"Not really." Cass admitted.

The merc puffed on his cigarette as the woman beside him jotted down more notes. He said, "Someone who could juggle two full armies and a variety of tribes around such a valuable thing as the dam is not to be trifled with, but neither of you ever asked who she was, where she came from, or how she got the skillset to do all that?"

"Don't you go insulting us now…" Cassidy warned, leaning forward aggressively.

"We didn't just join up. Jessica proved herself." Arcade said defensively, "she helped us both out with some personal issues and got us out of some sticky situations."

"And not just us!" Cass said, "She helped everyone. Everyone! Every problem big and small. Jessica wants to make the world a better place for everyone. What does it matter where a person comes from if they prove themselves like that?"

Jackrum and his companions were silent, watching her carefully.

"Hmm…" said the Sheriff.

"Sounds familiar, Jackrum." The blonde woman offered quietly.

Jackrum just puffed on his cigarette, his face obscured in smoke, but Cassidy could still see his eyes, sharp and searching.

He said, "I need some fresh air," and rose to his feet. The blonde woman followed him, leaving the sheriff to watch their prisoners.

Outside the tent, the interior of Fort Bannister was bustling with activity. The last free settlement in the wasteland had expanded to three times its original size. A second wall had been built around a large chunk of the wasteland. People were growing what crops they could in the irradiated soil. Herds of Brahim were penned up as well for food, and to carry supplies on trading caravans. Children were being herded from place to place by some scientists and doctors from Project Purity and Rivet City, who were pulling double-duty as teachers. Talon Company mercenaries in black and white power armour hefted chunks of concrete and steel, constructing new homes and reinforcing the fortresses' ever-expanding defenses.

The uneasy cold war which Jackrum had manage to navigate between the Talon Company, the Legion, and the Enclave had ensured that at least the wastelanders had a few years of peace ahead of them. The Legion was powerful in its own right, but it did not have the strength to take on the Talon Company by itself. Neither did the Enclave, with the amount of gear and personnel the Supermutant war had cost them. However the Enclave was far too proud to ally itself with the Legion, whom they saw as usurpers. According to Jackrum's spies the two factions had engaged in more firefights than the Talon Company had with either of them, and they didn't look to be stopping any time soon.

Yet the Legion seemed endless. Every month more troops entered the wasteland from the west, and sooner or later they would feel confident enough to move with lethal force, rather than propaganda and diplomacy, which had been their strategy up until that point. They would move on the enclave first, and then used their advanced technology to wipe Fort Banister off the Wasteland map.

On their arrival, Jackrum had acted quickly and quietly gathering all the loyal fighters, farmers, and wastelanders he could find to Fort Bannister. He needed enough strength to negotiate peace with the Legion, buying his forces time to prepare for the inevitable. And the Legion had agreed.

But the price had been high. He had surrendered territory and people, and Jackrum worried every day that when war did once again rear its ugly head, his free city would not have the resources it needed to survive.

That it would not have the people it needed to survive.

And now the new prisoners, courtesy of certain allies Jackrum still kept around the Wasteland, had revealed that the Vox – or the Legion – whatever it was called, stretched across most of the continent. Their army was truly endless. It sounded like most of their attention was focused out west. They could afford to wait as long as they needed to – Jackrum's Talon Company, trapped on the wrong side of America, had nowhere to run.

Lucy stood beside him as he puffed on his cigarette and watched the bustling town. She leaned forwards, trying to get a read on his expression. She said, "What do you think, Jackrum?"

He grunted, "I think this Jessica sounds familiar."

"Like Jason." Lucy suggested, her voice somewhat lacking in enthusiasm.

"Or the Legate." Jackrum suggested.

Lucy raised her eyebrows.

"Tell me you don't see it, Miss West." the merc said quietly, nodding at the tent, "those two prisoners talk about this Jessica Chase the way Legionaries here talk about the Legate. The way the Wasters at Rivet City and Megaton talk about him."

Lucy said nothing, but he could tell by the way she hunched her shoulders that the thought made her very uncomfortable.

He said, "Someone like that on our side – who uses words the way Jason uses weapons – could help us a lot. You know our position, Lucy. The clock is ticking.

"It might help." She agreed carefully, "Quinn's spies spotted her being escorted to Rivet City with the Legate's Hounds."

Jackrum's eyes narrowed. "Those creeps…"

"If we want her, we'll need firepower, Jackrum." Lucy said.

He nodded, and voiced what he knew they were both thinking, "I think… I think it's time we try and contact him."

Lucy sighed and crossed her arms, turning away from him to look out across the farm, towards the empty wasteland. "Do you think he'll even answer you?"

"I ain't the only one who broke a promise to him, Miss West."

Lucy glanced down at the band of pale skin where her ring used to be. Her worried look turned into a scowl as behind her, the old merc struck a match. She said, "go fuck yourself, Jackrum."

The old Merc blew a cloud of smoke past her shoulder. "I had to give him the boot to keep the Vox soldiers off of us. That was the price of peace, but you…"

"That's not fair!" Lucy snarled, turned to confront him, "Kodiak was here. Jason wasn't."

Jackrum shrugged, unshaken by her anger, "Just sayin' he's been through a lot."

Lucy glared out across the length of the fort. "He called me Sarah once."

Jackrum glanced at her, eyebrow raised. "Really?"

She nodded, "even when he was there, he wasn't really there, you know? Then Megaton… and his dog died, and the Vox took Project Purity and the Wasteland."

"They haven't taken it yet." Jackrum grunted.

"No one's heard from him in months, Jackrum. Not even the New Brotherhood. Do we even have a radio which can reach the entire wasteland? Do we even have a way to contact him?"

The old merc was silent, staring out across the sun bleached wastes and the deep blue sky.

"It's possible he just up and left." Lucy said miserably. "Or those two Vox hounds found him in the wasteland somewhere and-"

Jackrum shook his head, "Nah. No way those goons could take him down. No. No, he's here. It'll just take some coaxing."

Lucy sighed and patted him on the shoulder, turning back towards the tents, "well if anyone can convince to come back in it's you, Jonathon."

"Thanks Darlin'." Jackrum muttered.

"No pressure or anything." She added as she walked away, "But if the Vox is as powerful as those two say, we're kind of fucked without him."

Jessica had seen a lot of awe-inspiring prewar weapons and technology in her time, and so the sight of the beached aircraft carrier, broken cleanly in two was not impressive. Just horribly pathetic, in a way. A symbol of military supremacy, of national might and majesty from a time even before nuclear intercontinental ballistic missiles reigned supreme, left to rust away in the irradiated waters of the Potomac. As with everything in the Capital Wasteland, it was a rotting remnant of the old world. Lacking the grand vision of Robert Edwin House, or the creative industrious ingenuity of the NCR to give it life and vibrancy, it served instead as the occupied bones of a once-greater civilization.

Even so, Jessica felt grateful for the brief philosophical distraction at the sight of the old world machine; she had spent the silent trip over in a state of constant anxiety. How had this whole mission gone so awfully wrong so quickly? With the eerie dapper figures flanking her, and the gag across her mouth, she had not felt this isolated and powerless since that horrible trip to the Sierra Madre.

Where were Cass and Arcade? Were they okay? She had hoped to maybe run into them in Rivet City, but the reality of the Legion's grip on the Wasteland did not bode well for them. Jessica knew should could have simply talked them out of any trouble they were in, but as she was; held prisoner by Martin and Krupp, the Burke twins, prospects of her being able to help seemed to be growing more remote with every step she took. She eyed the bullet holes in their hats - three holes each, right in the center of their fedoras. Someone had already tried to kill them, and paid for it dearly, no doubt.

And where was Liberty Prime? If the Legion already had it they could lay waste to New Vegas in a day. Even if through some miracle she made it out of this, would she come back to see New Vegas in ruins?

The Burke clones, Martin and Krupp, knew about her power. That was the most chilling part. They knew her, and what she was capable of doing, and upon capturing her, had immediately proceeded to gag her, and tie her hands behind her back. Yet they had otherwise left her unharmed.

They had spoken to her, about her, as if they had already met. They had called her an Immune. A Legion Mission Specialist similar to the Frumentarii spies. Is that what she had been? Had she been Legion all along? Some errand girl for Caesar?

Impossible. Jessica reminded herself that The Legion did not take women into their ranks. At least… Edward Sallow's Legion hadn't… but these new Legionaries marched under the Deathclaw head, not the Bull.

Behind Jessica marched Jericho, who had not said a word since the Citadel. The few times Jessica had glimpsed his face he had looked the same as she imagined she did: pale and disheartened.

Rivet City reared up against the Wasteland's southern skyline. Beyond it, across the channel, Jessica could see distant skyscrapers and crumbled ruins. They seemed to stretch forever. The flight deck of the beached warship was crawling with activity. Guard posts with riflemen were spaced evenly along the railing. The bridge towered above it all, festooned with sniper outposts and stations with fat man mini nuke launchers, and miniguns. Enormous black banners bearing the white deathclaw emblem hung from the railing, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind as to who controlled the city.

There was a long line of people stretching across the riverbank, all waiting to speak to the guard at the city's gatehouse and climb the ramps up to the drawbridge. Wastelanders dressed in rags. Men and women in leather armour or combat gear with all sorts of weapons. There were traders too, with pack Brahmin and guards. No doubt there to sell their goods and buy more supplies before heading back out into the wastes. Krupp and Martin ignored the line entirely and marched Jessica and Jericho past waiting throngs towards the gatehouse.

As they drew near the ramp up to the draw bridge, Jessica could hear the steady drum of marching feet. One of the dapper Burke clones, perhaps Krupp, grabbed her shoulder and held her still. As she watched, a Legionary column emerged from a nearby subway station. They marched in pairs, with a tall, broad Centurion at the head of the column, horizontal fanned plume bobbing in time with his marching feet. Behind him marched his Optio – the second in command, and the Tesserarius – First Sergeant. The column seemed to take forever to exit the subway station. It must have had between eighty and one hundred warriors, their red armour shining smartly in the waning sun. Their perfect synchronous drill and spotless uniforms were hypnotically pleasing to watch, despite Jessica's dire situation. Each man carried a hunting rifle on his shoulder, and a machete at his hip. Wastelanders lined the flight deck railing of Rivet City to watch the display. Some were cheering, others looked sullen.

The Centurion barked strict orders in Latin and the column split, wheeling off to the right and left, forming smaller contubernia – squads of ten each with their own Decanus. Their banners and helmet plums swayed gently in the light seaward breeze.

More barked orders and the hundred or so soldiers grew still, gathered in their squads. The Centurion spun on his heel and stamped, raising his machete to in salute to the enormous banners which marked Rivet City. Then he lowered his blade and marched towards Jessica. Behind him, his optio took command, and began to inspect each squad, moving through the lines of the centuria, commenting on uniforms and weapon conditions.

"Ave! Hail Caesar!" the Centurion barked, greeting Krupp and Martin. He raised his right hand, palm open in salute, and yet there was something in his voice… sarcasm. And the tight, grim line of his mouth also revealed that he was not pleased to see the two strange, dapper men.

"Ave." "Hail." They responded, their nasal voices sending shivers down Jessica's spine. They each responded with a salute of their own.

"What news from the wilderness, Centurion Servius?" Krupp asked.

"The Brotherhood continues to evade us." The Centurion admitted grudgingly, "We had a dozen of them cornered, but there was a bright light, and they vanished."

"Vanished…" murmured Martin.

"The Legate will not be pleased, Mister Martin."

"Not at all, Mister Krupp. We cannot be seen to be losing prisoners to the profligates and their upstart rebellions."

"This is a strange land, but we will see it brought to heel." The Centurion snapped, "I come to the Legate to resupply before we hit them again." He eyed Jessica and sneered at Jericho, "and what have the Doctor's abominations caught? A couple stray dissolutes?"

"We have recovered a Legion asset." Krupp replied evenly.

"I see." The Centurion's eyes narrowed as he gave Jessica a further examination, his deep brown eyes shrewd and calculating, yet not unfriendly. It was hard to make out many of his features underneath the heavy mask and armour of the Legion, but Jessica felt the instinct to smile at him. She winced against the tight gag which had been tied about her mouth.

"Let Caesar's might guide your blade, Centurion." Martin prompted.

"Thank you, Frumentarii." The Centurion gave Jessica one last look and marched back to his columns.

"We must hurry, Mister Martin," Krupp said, guiding Jessica up the ramp. The guards allowed them to pass without a word.

"Indeed, Mister Krupp. The Legate would not want to be kept waiting."

They crossed the bridge under the eyes of the vigilant Legion snipers, and entered the Aircraft Carrier into a small space with some stairs in the center. Signs and arrows gave directions to different areas of the ship, but Krupp prompted Jessica to climb. Even as she began up the stairs, she noted that Martin had headed off in a different direction with Jericho. Jessica wondered where they were going, and whether she would ever see the old raider again. She came to a halt and began a muffled unintelligible protest. Krupp shot her a glare, and she glared right back at him.

His expression grew into a sneer. "…protest will only endanger your friend's life."

They glared at eachother for a moment longer, but Jessica gave in, her shoulders slumping. She was unwilling to call the strange man's bluff.

As she climbed she felt apprehensions rising. Who was the Legate? Who was waiting for her at the top of Rivet City? What did the Legion want with her? What would they planning to do with her? She felt so tired of being pushed along from catastrophe to catastrophe with no control over her situation.

At the top of the stairs was a single door marked with a single sign: Bridge Tower.

Krupp grabbed the hatch wheel and turned it easily, opening the door and gently but firmly guiding her through. What followed was another short staircase and a hallway. Jessica could hear the ship all around her now; the faint echoes of multitudinous voices on the decks below, and the creaking frame of the ship itself. Its grey walls seemed to close in on her as she moved ever forward.

The room at the end of the hall was an officer's mess, with plenty of Decanus and another Centurion all seated around a table, drinking wine and eating Brahmin steaks. They greeted Krupp with mixed enthusiasm, but always respectful and deferential. Clearly regular Legionaries felt as unsettled by the strange dapper abominations as Jessica did.

More flights of stairs followed. Up and up until at last they came to a single room with a large table in the centre and a desk in the corner. A map of the capital wasteland had been mounted on the wall, with several major locations marked out upon it including Rivet City, Megaton, the Citadel, and a spot up in the far northwest labeled as Fort Bannister.

A Legionary was there, facing away from her. He was engrossed in a smaller map which had been laid out across the table, yet as she and Krupp approached he turned towards them. Jessica recognized the golden armor of Legion Legate. It was decorated in silver filigree, with red and black trimmings around the shoulders and waist.

The man had raven-black hair, cut short, and brilliant green eyes. His complexion was pale, despite the sunlight which he so clearly got every day. He was handsome as well, with strong cheeks and an affable smirk. Across his nose was a light dusting of freckles. One strong hand was still on the table, the other rested on the hilt of the ornate machete at his side.

When he saw Jessica, his jaw dropped and he went still, staring at her in awe.

"Hail, Legate Vorenus!" Krupp drew himself into another salute, but the man ignored him completely. The Legate took a step towards Jessica, who shifted nervously, not sure what to expect. The man did not look as if he was about to strike her, but he was Legion: that was reason enough to be wary.

"Jessica…" the man breathed. "Heh…" he smiled at her for a moment as if sharing a private joke just for the two of them, but then hurt and confusion flooded his wide green eyes again, and back to awe. The corner of his mouth twitched as a myriad of emotions passed through him. Despite everything, Jessica felt at ease around him. She was not in danger, she knew. Though how and why had yet to be answered.

He said, "I… I didn't… want to believe it."

"Legate Vorenus," Krupp began, "with all due respect, you should know that-"

"Shut up." the man named Vorenus barked, his attention solely on Jessica. Krupp's mouth snapped shut immediately, and he shot his superior a resentful scowl.

The Legate stepped forward looking her up and down compassionately. He took in her bound hands and gag, and his brows knotted in anger. He said, "Caesar's Speculatores reported that you were still alive, but I didn't want to believe it!"

Another step forward, and he placed one warm hand on her arm, the other affectionately against her cheek.

"Oh, my sister…" Vorenus said, breaking out into a smile as he stared joyfully into her eyes, "I'm so glad you're alive! We thought you had died but now you're back!" he pulled her into a tight hug, his lips against her ear, "Welcome home, Jessica! You're with the Legion. You're safe now. Welcome home!"