Chapter 10
Jessica was escorted by Septimus' Optio to a hotel in the aircraft carrier's upper decks. It was run by a woman named Vera Weatherly and her tween nephew Bryan. Vera was sweet-tempered enough, so long as she knew she was being compensated for her services. Under Legion instruction they provided Jessica with some coffee and a comfortable room of her very own. Jessica even had a hot bath, albeit in irradiated water. Some radaway and rad-x took care of that with relative ease. As she bathed, Mrs. Weatherly's Mister Handy robot laundered and pressed her clothes for her. And so she found herself feeling clean and dry and thoroughly refreshed, yet startlingly hungry.
Her room was really quite lovely, really. Rich drapes and thick carpets disguised the ageing steel bulkheads, and covered the cold floor. Moody yellow lamps set a homely, intimate atmosphere. A filing drawer stood near the door with a globe atop it. A desk was in the far corner beside the bed. It had a radio, and a complementary pencil and note pad.
Jessica found herself wandering from oddity to oddity – spinning the globe, examining the paperweight, and doodling aimlessly on the paper pad. Anything. Anything at all to distract herself from the things she had just learned.
Thankfully, it was not five minutes before Vera came by with a sizzling hot Brahmin steak, a baked potato and some boiled carrots. Two small mire-lurk meat cakes sat on the side, along with some bread. Nothing was particularly well spiced. It was all very plain, and had nothing on the types of meals the star chefs of the Ultra-Luxe could throw together, but Jessica could see the pride in the woman's eyes as she set the silver tray down before her guest, and knew from that alone that she was eating better than most people in the Capital Wasteland could dream.
Vera said, "Would you like to have a look at the drinks menu, Dear?"
"Absolutely! Thank you so much!" Jessica gave the hostess a dazzling smile, "this all smells so delicious!"
"Oh," Vera smiled back and planted a hand over her heart, "Well thank you, Miss Chase. We do take great pride in providing the very best service and quality here at the Weatherly Hotel. You won't find better anywhere in the Wasteland."
"I believe it!" Jessica said honestly.
Vera beamed. "It is so refreshing to have a guest here who isn't… shall I say… of a certain military inclination…"
Jessica was not surprised; it was unlikely that the Legionary officers spent many caps at the bar. Even so…
"I would take care who you say that to," Jessica warned, you can get in serious trouble.
Vera's expression changed completely. "Of course. It's our pleasure to host the Legion. Hail Ceasar."
Jessica smiled encouragingly, "and what drinks do you have?"
"We have wine, beer, scotch, whiskey, and vodka. All by the glass or by the bottle."
"Any cocktails?" Jessica asked, mostly to keep the conversation going. Every second she did not have to wonder about her past was a blessing. The revelations were too much, and she knew she was going to have a restless night. If she ever slept again.
"Cocktails?" Vera looked bemused.
"Um… mixing drinks."
The Hostess raised a single disapproving brow. "If you're looking to mix wine, beer and vodka, you may try the Muddy Rudder in the bowls of the city. I hear at the end of every evening, young men sweep every spilled drink on the counter into a glass and dare each other to drink it.
"Oh no! No no no! Nothing so vulgar!" Jessica laughed.
Vera smiled with her mirth, "Well we do have a few odd bottles at the bar which never seemed quite right on their own. Flavorings and such. If you wish to use them up I would not mind it at all. I can use the space for stock that actually sells."
"I may visit the hotel bar later then. Thank you." Jessica said.
"Excellent! And a glass of red wine with the meal at least? On the house." Vera offered.
"That would be lovely, thank you."
"I shall have Bryan drop one by. Enjoy your meal, Miss Chase."
"And you. Have a lovely evening.
And she was left alone. Jessica leaned over the food, and picked up her fork and knife. He bent over her plate and cut into the Brahmin steak when the fires of Nipton scorched her inner eye. The knife clattered to the plate and she sighed, falling back in her chair and pinching her nose.
Yeeeaaahhh! Who won the lottery? I did!
I want you to teach everyone you meet the lesson Caesar's Legion taught here. They stood and watched as their fellows burned. One by one.
Had she, Jessica, ever taught anyone any 'lessons' like that? The Centurion, Septimus, had said that chieftains surrendered to her. Warlords slaughtered there troops. A prince had killed his father to take the crown in her name, and swear his troops to her master.
Left with silence, Jessica was overwhelmed by her anxious fears. How many atrocities had she committed? How many lives thrown away?
Desperate for a distraction, she flicked on the radio. A sweet, wistful voice sprang forth, backed up with a nostalgic jazz tune.
Don't know why I left the homestead
I really must confess
I'm a weary exile
Singing my song of loneliness
The food is the spreadiest
The wine is the headiest
The pals are the readiest
The gals are the steadiest
The love the liveliest
The life the loveliest
Way back
Way back
Way back home (No place like home)
Sweet home
She flicked off the radio. Home sweet home…
Home. What did that word even mean? Day one had been Goodsprings. Day five it was Primm, where she had fixed ED-E. Days six and seven, Jessica had drowned her sorrows in the Mojave Outpost with Cassidy. Day eight… Nipton. Then three days in Novac, gaining Boone's trust and helping the Bright Brotherhood with their rockets. Then up to Boulder City, picking up Veronica along the way…
Then Benny. Then Ceasar. One thing after another after another until she found herself alone in the Divide, sneaking past marked men and running from tunnelers.
And Ulysses had called Hopeville her home. But was it? Or was it merely a Legion target? A long game for the Black Widow to play – gather opposing power and destroy it in one fell swoop, cutting the Bear's throat at the same time. That possibility made such horrifying sense.
Jessica sat back and tried to imagine not remembering a Day One. Tried to imagine spending five hundred days in one place. In one valley with a whole village surrounding her, helping to raise her.
She sliced off a chunk of the Brahmin steak and chewed it mechanically, not really registering any taste at all as she stared off into nothingness. Her meal soon disappeared, but Jessica barely registered it at all.
Why had she not questioned anything sooner? Had she even wanted to know then? Had it mattered so much? Even her pursuit of Benny now felt strange, somehow. True, she had been angry with him; who wouldn't? But that was secondary to her curiosity about the Platinum Chip, about why she had deserved death in the first place. Curiosity had driven her so far forwards, but she had never looked back at all. Not until the divide, and even then…
"Hello?" Jessica blinked, and looked towards the open door. Young Bryan was standing there with a glass of wine in his hand. "Umm… Auntie Vera said to give this to you?"
"Yes of course. Come inside." Jessica managed a smile.
The boy grinned and drew the door closed. He wandered over to her desk and set the wine down. He stood there, expectantly.
Jessica stared into the ruby red liquid.
"Ahem."
She blinked and looked up at him.
"A tip for good service?" the boy asked.
"Heh. I guess the American Entrepreneurial spirit is still alive after all…" Jessica fished out a few caps for him.
"Entraperneral. Sure." The boy said enthusiastically, "Seagrave Holmes has a Grognak comic book I want to read! Thanks Missus!"
He turned towards the door.
"Wait!" Jessica said.
"Yeah?" Bryan turned back, a tad impatiently.
Jessica swiveled in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her glass of wine in hand. She said, "You lived in the Wasteland before the Legion arrived?"
"I sure did!" Bryan said happily.
"Would you care to enlighten me?"
"I dunno." The young boy ran a worried hand through his hair, "I got chores and stuff..."
Jessica smiled and pulled out a handful of caps, much larger than the tip she had given him. His eyes followed hungrily as she let them clink, one by one, onto the table in a neat little pile. She said, "Would you care to enlighten me?"
Bryan grinned at her, "what do ya wanna know?"
The history of the capital Wasteland was everything Jessica had expected: a sorry tale of desperation and survival against all odds. An irradiated hellscape, rife with feral ghouls, rabid, violent supermutants, raiders and mercenaries. But there was also faint, flickering islands of hope in the darkness; a passionate DJ, a particularly devoted chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel, and a dream of pure, clean water for all.
Then it had all fallen apart. The Project had closed down. The brotherhood lost its power and was left to dwindle into nothingness, and the Wasteland to follow it into the twilight. It made Jessica wonder what on earth the Legion had seen of value there, beyond the mere sight of the coastline…
Twenty years of hardship before a new hope appeared, and led them through strife and war to peace, fresh water, and even the birth of a new nation.
"The Wanderer…" Jessica asked, "tell me about him."
The boy looked dejected, "Vera says we're not allowed to talk about him anymore. Everything changed when the Legion got here. The Newspapers say he's bad. Even Three-Dog says he's bad."
Jessica leanded forward conspiratorially, "It'll be our secret." I won't tell a soul. You can trust me…
Bryan's eyes shone with delight and enthusiasm, "Oh okay then. The Lone Wanderer is awesome! Oh, man! It's been so long since I got to talk about him! I met him once, you know. He saved me after my parents died. They saw he's been everywhere. Seen everything. They say-"
"Who is they?"
"Just… everyone. People. Visitors. Stories from Three-Dog."
"What does the Wanderer look like?" She asked patiently.
"Like Captain Cosmos! He has yellow hair and he wears a big brown duster and a red bandana."
"A red bandana…" Jessica mused, putting the image together.
"They say he took it as payment for rescuing Wastelanders from a Supermutant slave camp!"
Jessica chuckled, "I think that might be an exaggeration, Bryan."
"Is not!" the boy shot back, annoyed, "he's a badass!"
Yet Jessica found herself smiling at his passion. Once, and oh, but it seemed so long ago now, she, Boone and Arcade had climbed the trail up Black Mountain in the middle of the Mojave. Each mutant took so many shots to bring down. They moved so quickly with such ferocity… it had been one of the most terrifying experiences in Jessica's entire life. She said, "Have you ever had to kill a supermutant?"
"No." Bryan admitted, "they kept me below decks during the siege. There's wasn't much to eat and I was really bored. I wanted to fight."
"Supermutants are very powerful and very dangerous."
"So is the Wanderer. He has a really cool gun. It shoots bullets like all the others, but you can't hear it. And he can disappear whenever he wants."
A stealthboy and a silenced weapon, Jessica mused, a powerful combination. Someone with Boone's skillset could make short work of most opponents that way. So long as he made the first shots count, he would hold a significant advantage in combat. Even against supermutants.
Jessica sipped her wine, savoring the light, tangy flavor and sweet bouquet, "Any other stories?"
"Oh, tons!" Bryan told her enthusiastically. He stopped suddenly and his eyes narrowed, "Wait… why're you so interested in him. You're with the Legion, right?"
Jessica raised an eyebrow and pointed at her Courier's duster and red beret which was lying on her bed. "Do these look like the armour of a legionary?"
"Well… no," the boy admitted, "but-"
Jessica leaned forward, once again allowing her voice to take on that special tone, "I'm not going to do anything to him, Bryan, I promise." You can trust me, Bryan. We're best friends…
The boy's eyes glazed over for a moment and then he smiled. "Yeah. Yeah for sure! Anyway he's super cool! He grew up in Vault 101, over by Megaton..."
The boy's words painted a grim picture of the Wanderer's life; a story of loss and grief and lonely, silent, dangerous roads. Of father's and family lost and found and lost again. Mutant hordes, raider camps, mercenaries, an entire city of slavers. Even the Enclave… all fell before him. A life of violence. And yet… at the Wanderer's core appeared to be a strong moral foundation. With every shot fired, he helped people. Time and time again he put others before himself. The Wasteland both revered and feared him. At first she had imagined someone like Craig Boone, but from the child's stories, the picture in her mind grew to more resemble Ulysses, who had so easily walked the most dangerous roads in the world.
The Lone Wanderer was an equalizer. A walking one-man answer to all the evils and injustice of this horrid place. A force to be reckoned with, as much as a person. Jessica wondered if Vorenus and Septimus truly understood what they faced.
She also learned his name: "Jason Howlett." Son of James.
"Yeah," said the boy, "But we all just call him the Wanderer."
There came a knock at her door.
"It's unlocked." Jessica called out. The portal opened with a loud squeal to reveal Septimus Servius, the Centurion from before. He was dressed in a rather simple red tunic, with a leather belt tying it together. His Machete was at his side. He cut quite a soldierly figure even out of uniform.
His eyes widened as he saw Bryan sitting on the bed, and he glanced at Jessica, "making new friends?"
"Absolutely." Jessica noted the way the boy tensed up around the Legionary. She said, "Can I help you, Centurion?"
"I thought you might like a tour of the city."
"Certainly." Jessica smiled. She gave the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "thank you for the stories, Bryan! Here are your caps!"
The boy took them and left without a word, shrinking to one side as he passed by the Centurion.
Septimus watched him retreat, and then turned back to Jessica, looking confused, "You pass your time with children's tales?"
"Local knowledge." Jessica got to her feet and grabbed her beret, slipping it onto her head, and tossing her hair back behind her shoulders.
The man scoffed, "and what knowledge would a child have?"
"The Locals always know more than any of our scouts could ever report." Jessica said, walking out the door. She locked it behind her and began down the hallway. "I always talk to them first."
She wondered which Jessica was saying that – the Courier, or the Immune.
Her question was answered a moment later as the Centurion fell into step beside her. "Spoken like a true agent of Caesar."
Jessica chose not to answer at all.
"This way," Septimus prompted, "we'll visit the markets first."
As they moved through the halls, Jessica watched the way the people shrank from the Legionary. He strode through the hall like he owned it, one hand resting easily on the hilt of his machete. The residents of Rivet City moved by like ghosts around him, keeping their heads down and avoiding eye contact. As he passed, Decani and standard troops snapped to attention.
"Vorenus said a chieftain had surrendered to you." Jessica remembered.
"Correct." The Centurion said briskly. "We were fighting the Tribe of the Black Powder in a canyon near the Mississippi. A large, powerful tribe."
"Black Powder? As in gunpowder?"
"Yes. They made their own explosives, and were extremely skilled. They had dug into caves at the mouth of the valley, and killed a lot of men. My Centuria and I were sent in along with two others to try and force them out, but they had every inch of the surrounding countryside zeroed in and we could not gain a foothold."
"What did you do?"
"The other Centurions threw their men against the hills again and again, but I was not so foolish. I knew the Tribe were keeping their explosives in cave systems under the foothills. So I had my Centuria dig a series of trenches and dams and aquifers. We redirected the flow of a nearby river. Into the canyon. It flooded their caves. Spoiled all of their black powder and destroyed their home. Drove them out into the light of day, where my men were waiting. The chieftain surrendered to me there and then."
"An intelligent move."
"Septimus nodded, "I crucified his entire family for the trouble they gave us. Chained him to a stone before them so that he could watch them die. I've never liked wasting my men's lives, or watching my warriors die. I prefer my victories to have as low a casualty rate as I can." He stopped in front of a portal at the end of a long hallway.
"You don't think that might have been a little excessive?" Jessica asked.
"Excessive?" the Centurion barked a laugh, "no. The Legion exists to bring order to the Wasteland. From Chaos comes Order. From the many comes the One. Killing savages is what it takes to bring America to heel. All they understand is strength. Mercy is weakness."
"Of course," Jessica said smoothly, "but you weren't afraid of retaliation?"
"Retaliation?" he rubbed his chin, "No. If any tribesmen had struck back then their families would have been on the crosses too. If that still did not stop them, then we simply wipe them off the face of the earth. That is retaliation, Immune. I will not tolerate the senseless murder of good men. Each tribe is given three chances to survive. They can surrender immediately. They can have their leaders killed, or they can be wiped out. They are given choices. It is not unfair."
Once again Jessica said nothing. Septimus turned a few corners and opened up another portal. This one opened into a large interior space the size of a hanger. Which, she realized after a moment, it used to be. But the planes had been long since removed – probably scrapped for parts. What lay before Jessica was a marketplace. It probably counted as enormous by Wasteland standards, but to Jessica, who had grown used to the strip's neon signs and throngs of crowds, it was underwhelming. A pair of rough-looking figures were selling guns and ammunition in the largest booth. But Jessica also saw a clothing kiosk, a chem shop, and a full restaurant.
"You should have seen this place when we arrived. It was a den of debauchery. Young men swallowed by drugs and alcohol. It took us months to straighten it out. But now it runs like a well-oiled machine, and the people have peace. Drunkards and brawlers are flogged, whores and adulterers castrated, and thieves and murderers crucified." Septimus pointed down to the far end of the hangar, near the restaurant. Two steel beam crosses had been put up. One was empty. On the other hung a rotting corpse. Jessica tried to keep her distaste from showing.
The floor of the marketplace was patrolled by Legionaries, and once again Jessica observed that tense silence. There was speech – customers bartered with the salesmen, and over the restaurant hung the quiet buzz of conversation. But no laughter or boisterousness. People went about their business with their heads down and theirs eyes averted.
"Nightcap?" Jessica asked, gesturing at the restaurant.
Septimus shot her a sharp look, "A good soldier keeps his mouth dry and his mind sharp."
"And a good diplomat mingles." Jessica replied with a half-grin. C'mon. You wouldn't let a girl drink alone, would you?
She watched as the spark of suspicion faded from his eyes. A half-smile spread across his face and he said, "You are an odd one, Immune, but I must set an example for my men. I will not drink alcohol."
She led him down to the restaurant, and they pulled up to the bar stools. A pretty young waitress sidled up easily, but saw Septimus and grew instantly cautious. She kept her eyes down, and quietly asked, "Welcome to Gary's Galley. What can I get for you this evening?"
"A shot of scotch and a Nuka-Cola, please." Jessica said, cheerfully placing a few caps onto the bar. Septimus looked ridiculous, sitting with his chest puffed out, and his arms tight at his sides, obviously extremely uncomfortable cavorting with the plebs. A few of the patrolling Legionaries shot him curious looks, but said nothing and did not approach. A few of the older soldiers saw that he was with Jessica, and merely smirked to themselves and went about their business.
A nuka-cola bottle was set before them, along with an ounce of scotch in a rocks glass. Jessica picked up her glass and clinked it against his bottle. "Cheers."
He raised his cola uncertainly, and took a gulp, "you are a diplomat?"
"…among other things, yes."
"But you do not favor violence." He sounded genuinely confused.
Jessica shrugged, "there are far better ways to get what you want from people. Easier ways. Safer ways."
Septimus frowned. His brow twitched as he gave this statement due consideration."
"There's a place for it in this world, I know. But I don't like it."
"What use is that? Power is expressed through violence."
"Okay… let's take your three rules, for example…" Jessica suggested, grinning enthusiastically.
Septimus smiled with her, "Okay."
"Say you tell a tribe's leader to surrender. He doesn't, so you kill him and his family."
"He has earned his punishment."
"So his tribe retaliates and attacks, and you kill all of them too."
"They have earned their punishment."
"Yeah but you have no people to rule."
"Well…" the Centurion shrugged, "we have their land. Their resources…"
"Yes but no one to work the land. No one to tax. Just empty space."
"Not every tribe is wiped out. Most surrender, and are folded into the Legion."
"Yes but what happens after you conquer every tribe and there is nothing but Legion from coast to coast?"
"Then we have won." Septimus said proudly.
"Yes but then what?" Jessica pounced, "If all you can do is attacked and kill then the Legion will eat itself. Violence is power, yes, at its simplest form. At some point if you want something you've built to last, you have to be able to talk to others."
The Centurion sat back in his seat. He was giving her his full attention, watching her with a faint smile on his face.
He said, "I suppose… I am just a soldier. Those questions are for Caesar. And for you." Jessica felt her cheeks flush. She quickly brought her drink to her lips, and he did the same.
She set her glass down and said, "So why is the Legion here?"
Septimus glanced around the hangar. There was plenty of noise and everyone, including the bartender, was preoccupied with their own business. It was, oddly, a great place for a private conversation: too much noise and activity for their words to stand out. Jessica would have felt a lot more nervous speaking of it in a quiet bar, or private place where listening ears could easily hear them.
Septimus must have come to the same conclusion, because he said, "There are valuable assets here."
"Such as?" Seemed pretty empty to me…
"There was a robot. Its remains have been taken north for a… project. I understand there is a powerful organization up there which we need to destroy. A Frumentarius is working towards that goal."
Jessica felt ice slither down her spine; the Legion had House's robot. But at least there were other people somewhere fighting back – someone presented a large enough threat to occupy the most powerful technological weapon in House's pre-war repertoire.
"Besides, the wasteland has the Purifier. With the purifier, we can keep our Legions supplied with fresh clean water wherever they are. We can fight across tough terrain, cross the deserts where our enemies cannot. A significant tactical advantage."
"Absolutely," Jessica agreed, her heart sinking further. But she smiled at him to keep up appearances.
"It was not easy to take," the Centurion said sourly, "My Centuria was sent after our Frumentarius failed to report in. We had thought it this land was basically empty. A land ravaged by war, with a few settlements occupied by savages and nothing else but wildlife."
"I'm guessing this wasn't the case."
"You are correct. They were organized. They had a standing army with a leadership structure. The remnants of that are still alive, clumped together in a large fort in the north. They call themselves the Talon Company. They are very well armed and they always fight. These wastelanders seem to know nothing else. They are savage opponents."
She asked, "You can't simply crush them?" I thought the Legion was stronger than that…
"We are strong!" Septimus said forcefully, but his indignation receded as fast as it had arisen. "…but even our power has its limits. We are three hundred strong. They are half that number but they defend their home with such ferocity… if we attack we will lose a lot of men, and we will be unable to maintain order here and in Megaton. We have requested reinforcements, but until they arrive…"
"Was it just the Talon Company who gave you trouble?" it was a leading question, but Jessica wanted to get as full a picture as she could.
"No. There is a man here." Septimus said grimly. "A man I need to kill."
"Who?" Jessica asked, though she could easily guess; all conversations seemed to lead back to…
"The Lone Wanderer." He snarled through gritted teeth. A quiet madness had settled in his eyes. "He has killed… so many of my men. So many. And…" he fell silent and blinked, looking down into his bottle. "I was in charge here, before Legate Vorenus. We had orders to pacify the region and collect supplies and technology for the glory of Caesar."
"Did not go as planned."
"No."
Jessica took a shot of whiskey down and set her glass gently on the table. "Neither did my assignment here." You can share anything with me, Septimus…
Septimus nodded. "Nothing goes right here… I tell you, immune, I've marched across the east and I've never seen a place quite like this. In other places there is an order to things. A hierarchy amongst both man and beast. Here anything can appear anywhere at any time. An endless parade of irradiated bears, or mirelurks or deathclaws or raiders and all of them will throw themselves at you in a suicidal charge. There is no knowing from minute to minute what is around the next corner. It is chaos!"
"And what of the Wanderer?"
"Our target." The Centurion said bitterly, "He was killing my fighters by the dozen. Crucifying them. We finally began crucifying wastelanders in response and he stopped. But we've never found him. Or his Brotherhood. He has gone silent, but he is not dead yet. And so my sleep is elusive."
"A man like that is probably able to survive on his own for a long time."
"I have no doubt he is." Septimus agreed. "I'll be honest with you, Immune –"
"Jessica." She corrected gently.
He smiled at her, "Jessica. I respect him as an opponent. I have never before encountered such a capable warrior. He knows his terrain. He knows his tools. He knows our weapons and our limits… he uses every advantage he can. I wish every Legionary shared his cunning and skill. We would be unstoppable."
"So… how did you beat him?"
"We haven't yet. His blood has not yet wetted my blade."
"But he was a problem, now he's gone, like you said. That's at least some kind of a victory."
Septimus sighed, "I suppose."
"So how did it happen?"
"When your brother arrived, he… attacked in a different way. As you said, sometimes power takes different forms. Vorenus tried a new strategy: Isolation. We turned the population on him. Took the territory away from him. Broke his alliances. Drove him into the wilderness. Yet I know that he is alive and waiting for an opportunity."
They fell silent, considering his words. Septimus looked relieved. An expression Jessica had seen many times; people always felt better upon talking about their worries and problems. Even, apparently, Legionary Generals.
"What would you do?"
Jessica raised her brow. The question had come from nowhere.
"You'd listen a woman's advice?"
Septimus smiled, "I would take the advice of Caesar's right hand. I have decided that woman or not, warrior or not, you are an intelligent person, Immune. Worthy of respect, and of benefit to the Legion."
"Thank you…" she felt taken aback. To him, that was probably the highest praise he could offer her.
"So what would you do?" he asked, watching her and listening intently.
Jessica pursed her lips. The honest answer, the first which occurred to her was: Crucify more wastelanders until the Wanderer gave himself up. The Legion could find recruits elsewhere. Neutralizing such an effect threat would be top priority.
But it worried Jessica how easily that thought had occurred to her. She reminded her self that cruelty and barbarism were not what she stood for anymore, regardless of whom she might have been. She had seen enough of the Wasteland to understand the bleak suffering existence which most of the people here endured. They did not deserve such treatment. No one did. She said, "I would find something that he values dearly and hold it hostage to lure him out. Then you will either defeat him in battle, or capture or kill him. Right now, you are fighting on his terrain and his terms. That is what has to change."
As they walked back through the market, Jessica spotted a flash of colour in an old poster hanging from the wall of the junk shop. It depicted a handsome man with flowing blond hair. He was wearing a skintight spacesuit and holding an energy weapon of some kind. The bright cheerful title of the poster read: Captain Cosmos Space Station Playset Has Arrived!
She approached the counter and was met by a cheerful man in a motorcycle helmet. "Welcome to Rivet City Supply!" he said jovially, though his grin faded somewhat when he spotted the Centurion at her shoulder.
"How much for the poster?" Jessica asked.
Beside her, Septimus chuckled, "What could you possibly need that for?"
Jessica smirked back at him, "A little local knowledge."
"Ah." He gave her an appraising look. Then he turned to the shop keeper, and laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Fetch the poster with the Space Monkey, or suffer the wrath of the Legion!"
The shopkeeper quivered like a mouse.
Jessica pinched the bridge of her nose. "Does ten caps sound reasonable?"
"For that old thing? Absolutely." The wastelander let out a sigh of relief, and retrieved the poster for her.
"What do you hope to learn from it?" the Centurion asked as he escorted her back to her room.
"Not sure yet." Jessica murmured, staring down at the face of Captain Cosmos and trying to imagine what the man would look like standing before her in a duster and a red bandana.
He said, "Well let me know when you learn."
Many wastelanders believed that there was nothing of value in the northwest corner of the Wastes. Many of them reached Old Olney and decided that there was nothing but deathclaws and Rad Scorpions. It was one of the last unknown areas in the Capital Wasteland. Here be Monsters…
This of course, was not quite true. Tucked away in the flat, sun-beaten desert was a small fenced-off compound. During the supermutant war, it had been raided, and its inhabitants murdered or taken to be added to the Supermutant's army.
Sometime since, the empty buildings had been reoccupied. The fences rebuilt and expanded. The animal pens stocked with molerats and Brahmin. A small, but productive garden had been planted around the back. It grew corn and potatoes. A small water purified chugged away, bringing clean, fresh cool water up from the ground both for the garden, and the compound's occupants.
They were an odd bunch. A young man in patched waster rags was gently but firmly milking one of the Brahmin. A supermutant tended the garden, handling each flowering plant with love and care. A young African-American woman in a red jumpsuit was crouched on the ground in front of the water purifier. She had a set of tools spread out beside her, and she was elbow deep in the machine. A guard post with a slanted shade roof had been set up on the southwest corner of the compound. It was patrolled by a ghoul with a sniper rifle, who watched the west for death claws, and the south for other human beings. A child could be heard, fussing and crying in one of the shacks which dotted the edge of the compound and a soft male voice attending to it.
The compound was a peaceful place, and tucked away as it was, it received almost no traffic or visitors. Which is why it came as a surprise to the ghoul sniper when human shapes melted out of the yellow and blue desert mirage. He watched them for a moment – black dots on the horizon. He raised his sniper rifle, resting it on the sandbags and thick concrete divider which served as cover.
Through the scope he could make out glinting machetes and the long barrels of hunting rifles. Red armour made from repurposed sports gear, and the distinctive headdress of the leader told the ghoul all he needed to know. There were ten of them in total.
He turned into the compound, "Red. Hey, Red!"
The young woman at the purifier swore quietly and pulled away from it, crouching on one knee and wiping her hands absentmindedly on her jumpsuit. "What is, Quinn?"
The ghoul named Quinn pointed out at the approaching figures. "Legion patrol!"
Red's annoyed look vanished instantly. She rose to her feet and rushed to the Brahmin pen. "Shorty, Legion incoming! Go tell Leo to hide in his hole."
"Fuck!" the young man let the vexed Brahmin go, and jumped the fence into the Garden. "Leo, Legion patrol. Get to the basement."
The supermutant rose to its feet and crossed over to a trapdoor hidden behind a bush at the rear wall of the compound's central building. It lifted the doors open with practiced ease and vanished underground, shutting the trapdoor behind it.
By now the alarm had been raised across the compound. More people appeared – six in total, exiting from various buildings. Two of them were ghouls. They each carried assault weapons and hunting rifles of their own. They took up positions inside the camp, crouched behind crates, sandbags, barrels, and tires. The junk looked inconspicuous until one realized that it cleverly kept the residents hidden from outside view, but protected and ready to rise and turn the front gates into a killzone of overlapping fields of fire. All of their weapons were in perfect condition, and hidden inside each piece of cover were crates of ammunition. The residents handled their weapons with care and precision, and moved with the telltale automation of a well-trained militia.
A man exited the largest building, carrying a Chinese assault rifle. He was lean, with broad shoulders. His clothing consisted of a merc adventurer outfit, with a green cotton shirt, a leather vest, knee pads, elbow pads, and a brown bandolier full of ammunition. His long blonde hair was kept back by a headwrap. Between that, the highway patrol sunglasses, and the thick beard he sported, one could hardly make out any of his actual facial features. Nor the colour of his eyes. The other residents paused to let him pass, before continuing on with their own preparations.
He stood at the gate, the militia behind him well hidden. The compound looked inconspicuous enough, and the Legion patrol approached with their weapons held loosely in their arms. Their sergeant, the decanus with the headdress, approached and waved, greeting the man on the other side of the fence.
"Ave, dissolute."
"Hello." The waster said, his voice strained, and his fingers tightening against the assault rifle in his hand.
The Decanus took a moment to examine the compound, with its heavy walls and fences, and the ghoul sniper perched on his lookout tower. The wasteland around them was silent, save for the rasping whisper of dust clouds carried by the wind. The Legionary turned back regard the man on the other side of the gate. A combat knife was at his belt, well used and well maintained.
"What do you want?" the man asked shortly.
"I am Sextus Aventius - Decanus of the seventh Contubernium of the fifth Centuria of Caesar's thirteenth Legion,
The man looked unimpressed, "James Fletcher. What do you want?"
"We've been sent to carry the message of Caesar's peace to all of his subjects across the Capital Wasteland."
"Then speak your message and leave."
The decanus glared at him. "Take care, wastelander. You are a citizen of the Empire, now. You must treat your betters with respect."
The stranger's lips twitched. His jaw was tight, mouth drawn into a thin, angry line. "My apologies. Please enlighten us."
"How many of you are in this compound?"
The wastelander paused for a moment, considering his answer. He said, "around a dozen or so."
The decanus pointed up at the ghoul, "you give safe harbour to abominations?"
"We take in strays. If a man comes to our gates seeking food and water we help him."
"That thing is not a man."
"I respectfully disagree." The wastelander answered immediately. Up on the perch, the ghoul let out a soft growl, glaring down at the legionary.
"That is not a choice you have the right to make anymore, wastelander," The decanus said, "have your people stand that I may address them properly."
"I am standing. You can talk to me."
"Hmmm… You are testing my patience, wastelander."
"Speak your piece."
"You are all now subjects of the Caesar…" the decanus reported, "This conveys many benefits. As citizens, the men of your… dwelling… may own property, buy and sell slaves, and join the ranks of Caesar's glorious Legion to seek glory and adventure!"
Silence.
The wastelander shifted his Chinese assault rifle, holding it up with is right hand so that its butt rested in the crook of his elbow. He used his left hand to scratch at his beard.
This not being the reaction he expected, decanus grunted and shifted uncomfortably. He continued, "being subjects you are now guaranteed His protections against the dangers of the world. The Legion is here for your safety."
"We just want to be left alone, friend." The wastelander said quietly.
"We have conquered this territory, waster. You have the guarantee of Caesar's protection, however if you disobey His laws, you will be punished accordingly."
"We just want to live our lives in peace. You go do your business and politics and war somewhere else."
"I am honor-bound to uphold the law. The harboring of fugitives or abominations is illegal." The decanus nodded at the sniper in his perch, "If I come back here and I see ghouls, or anything else, I will be obligated to destroy them and anyone protecting them."
"Leave. Us. Alone."
As citizens you will be expected to pay taxes, and your children will be trained in the ways of the Legion-"
"Go away."
The decanus let out a huff, "I have been more than patient with you, waster. More than reasonable. I can come back here with five times my number."
The waster said nothing, but carefully reached to the bolt of his assault rifle and pulled it back, letting it slide forward, chamber a round. The clean click-clack of the well-oiled mechanism rang out across the desert. As one, the nine legionaries raised their hunting rifles, all pointed at him. In the compound, the other wastelanders appeared, each of their weapons sighted on a member of the Legion scouting party. Finding themselves suddenly outnumbered, the legionaries' wavered, and shifted in uncertainty. The wastelander tilted his head to the side, sunglasses flickered in the bright morning sun. In the compound behind him, the woman named Red watched through a gap in a pile of tires. She let out a long, worried breath, and glared at the back of her leader's head.
The Wastelander and the Decanus watched eachother carefully, each daring the other to make a move. The decanus began, "we do not have to fight today. I have come in peace, bearing good news-"
"And you can still leave in peace. It is all we want."
"And you may have it… so long as you do the right thing and obey the law."
"The law isn't always right."
"The punishment for this kind of impudence is slavery and death! Caesar has razed settlements for speech such as this. Will you not think of your people?"
"I think I've said my piece."
The Decanus took stock of the situation. His men were outnumbered by a full third as many people, all of whom were better armed with automatic weapons, and stationed defensively behind cover. Whereas his own patrol was a mere nine other men, all with hunting rifles and standing clumped in the open. He said, "Very well then I leave in peace."
"Good choice."
The decanus made to turn away, but looked back for one last time and said, "we will be back, wastelander. Do not be here when we return."
The waster stepped up to the fence. He carefully reached up and removed his sunglasses to reveal striking blue eyes, alive with cold rage. He said, "bring ten more men. Bring a hundred more men. Bring Caesar himself and I'll say the same fucking thing: Leave me alone!"
As the decanus and his patrol melted back into the desert, the wastelander looked up to the ghoul, "keep a weather eye out, Quinn."
"Always."