Past catches up with you

"You escaped from vampires, didn't you?"

In a strange way, I knew I was in a dream, and yet I didn't know. Dreams are strange like that. See, I knew I'd had this conversation before. I knew it wasn't the right place. This was my house, the one I owned in Columbus so long ago. Like 150 years ago, more than that. But it was happening in my grandma's kitchen, with the wooden table attached to the wall.

I looked at my sister. Her name was Amanda, and I knew she was living with me, but I couldn't place how long.

"Why do you think it was vampires?"

"I know vampires are real Theresa."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do. I saw one. He had fur growing up out of head. He had long ears like a jackass and huge teeth. He wasn't like the other vampires."

I was horrified. "Vampires aren't real, Amanda."

"We need to talk Theresa, we need to talk right fucking now. Camarilla or Sabbat?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do. It took me a while to find how to spell caitiff. It's an old term, a really old term. It means wretched and captive. It's not going to be used by modern gangs. But hundreds of year old? Yeah. Is that what they call their blood slaves?"

I had seen such fierceness in Amada all my life. It was always below the surface. But now it had almost a feral quality in its intensity. Her green eyes flashed in a way that made them look almost grey, and it wasn't a color change, it was just…how penetrating her stare was.

"No," I said, "The blood slaves are called Ghouls. I would have much rather been a Ghoul, as badly as they have it."

"What is a Caitiff?"

"It's….a vampire without a clan. Without a blood clan. See every vampire clan has a flaw, and a special set of powers. Caitiffs, don't have the flaw, and they can have all kinds of different powers."

"So you're a vampire?"

"No. Not anymore."

"How?"

"It's called Golconda. It's….enlightenment about the vampire condition."

"Is that why you went to Golconda?"

I shook my head "I had no help. No one wanted to help me, and they were all so evil, I couldn't trust almost any of them. So I made my way there and hoped for a miracle. They're horrible, Amanda. Don't seek them out, they are horrible people and most of them deserve to die."

"And, it's better to die than to be a vampire, that's what you were trying to tell me, wasn't it?"

"No Amanda, when I called you up, I wanted to talk to you about what it means to be HUMAN. See that's the thing, to understand the vampire condition you have to understand the human, and being a terrible person is wounding to your soul. It's worse for vampires, but not that much worse."

"So you think I'm not sufficiently human?" she remained calm, but I was very wary of answering that question.

"Not at all. But you're the only person in the family who still talks to me. You were the only person I could share it with. But how? How do you know? Are you a hunter? Like a vampire hunter? Is that why you quit teaching all of a sudden?"

"Nope." She scooted her chair back and stood up. She was considerably dressed down that morning, although in the dream it was afternoon. I could tell by the angle of the sun's rays coming from the picture window.

I saw Amanda make a face and she grew. She got a little taller and a lot wider. Her arms were huge, and her neck was pretty big too. Her clothes had shifted to accommodate her bulk.

"I'd call myself an Amazon, but I'm only 5'8. I'm a werewolf, and frankly, this is the best part about being a werewolf."

"Werewolves don't like vampires," I said, trying to remain calm.

"Yeah, I've known that since Underworld. Werewolves don't like a lot of things. Or each other….that's why I'm living here right now, werewolves can be good in general but there are so many assholes. Really violent, rip your throat out kind of assholes. I couldn't cut it. I had a nervous breakdown. I mean I like to fight, but at my caern, that's a werewolf base, we lost something like eight people in ten months. Out of a caern of about 40."

She closed her eyes again and returned to her normal size. "But I don't think I had it as bad as you. They let me leave. I think they were happy to see the end of me too." She, sat down, weary. She started to shake. "I couldn't talk to anyone about this. I'm a coward for leaving but I'm only 26. I, I don't feel like an adult. I'm still a kid…" she began to sob, "I want to get married! I," she sobbed "I want to have kids! I don't want to die before their first day of school! It's not right!"

I nearly jumped out of my chair and hugged her. I'd only had a taste of the supernatural ghetto, but it's a bad place. Death stalks you like a leopard. You can't really trust anyone. I had no idea how bad she'd it. But I was there. And then I started sobbing.

"I only started talking to you because I changed. Cause if I had this about me, I had no right to hold yours against you! They kept saying I wasn't a human being! So I know what it's like when others try and tell you who you are. I'm so sorry Theresa, I'm so sorry!"

She let go and looked me in the eye. Tears and snot were coming down her face, "You believe me right? You believe I'm a human being? I'm not some changeling but in my mother's crib? That I'm really your sister?!"

I hugged her tightly, "Yeah, of course I do."

We cried for a long while. Mostly is was just release. Then, as dreams go other things happened but I can't remember, only they were too surreal to describe.

Then I was up. It was dark of course, but not pitch black like it was supposed to be. The room they gave me had no windows, what with this being a fort and all. But the door was open.

I should have known someone came in to wake me, but frankly, I felt sick from fatigue. That's the problem using implants to sleep; it fucks with your circadian rhythms. In a few minutes, I'd be fine, better than fine. But for the moment, I felt like I'd been run over with a truck. I tried to get up but fell back on my pillow, groaning like a dying animal.

I tried to steady myself and keep the room from spinning. In that moment I wished I'd have been camping outside, because I wouldn't dare to use the implants while camping outside. Out there, an instant response was a matter of life or death.

I took in a deep, very uncomfortable breath as the worst of the grogginess started to pass. I did notice someone was sitting on my bed, someone really heavy. I did my best to fling myself upright to see how it was. It was someone in power armor, T-51b from the shape.

"Morning Theresa," came a voice of an older woman. I knew who the fuck this was.

"What the? Charlotte Merriweather?!"

"The very same. You didn't come and see me. Did Doc Mitchell not give you my notes?"

I sighed, trying to catch myself. "No. I, I got them all right. I just got into town last night. Had to go up Highway 95. The whole I-15 is compromised."

"I know. I was wondering if you'd like to meditate with me. Meet the rising sun."

"What time is it?" I tried opening my eyes for more than a few seconds. I started to stifle a yawn, then thought fuck it and let that thing rip.

"It's 7AM sharp," she replied cheerfully. Uh, I'm not exactly a night owl, but morning people are the worst.

"Why are you in power armor?"

"I'm getting old. It's either this, retire or…use FEV and that's just not going to happen. Now, you want to come with? The sun's rising, you don't want to miss it."

I wasn't about to refuse. Charlotte Merriweather had a past as storied as my own. And that meant she was scary as fuck. She was the Vault Dweller, the one who defeated the Master and his army of supermutants back in the 40s. Truth be told I was still 'in my coma' at the time, but I'd run into enough supermutants to know an army of them would be truly a frightening thing. But what was really scary was that she was a 'US Marshal.'

Now, before the war, the Marshalls protected witnesses, served warrants, the like. NCR 'US Marshals' were something much scarier, and I'd say worse. This woman was above the law; like a Legion frumentarii, they were eyes and ears and of NCR and fixers and allowed to do anything to get the job done. She could in theory shoot up the Fort, kill everyone here, and walk away scot free short of congressional inquiry. Also, just trying to kill her was a capital offense. When things got fucked up, they sent in the Marshals to fix it. By any means necessary.

I quickly tried to get my clothes on: my denim pants (which are not quite jeans), I folded the top of the Vault suit to the side at the breast bone so I didn't look stupid when I put my jacket on. Struggled to get my socks and boots on. I grabbed my sunglasses, authority glasses for those trying to be hip. Even if it's just rising, it's still not good to look directly at the sun.

Merriweather looked older than when I'd seen her a few months ago. In July, she'd lead a team into the Big Empty and pacified the place. She was the one who did that. And she couldn't have done it in power armor because the EMP field the place that place was emitting at least as far as Highway 95 north of Corn Creek. Must have taken a lot out of her, because when we were caravanning through Zion a year and a half ago, she only wore that power armor while walking, never during downtime.

"How old are you now?" I asked as I walked into the corridor, heading towards the door.

"Not now," she said.

We didn't mediate in the Fort itself. Just north of the Fort was another vacant territory, it was a local park before the war. The Followers kept it watered and clear as a public space, a place to do therapy walks and other things for recovering addicts. I sat on a damp clump of grass, cross-legged, just after Merriweather sat down beside me.

I tried to clear my mind, to just feel. We were facing east, but we couldn't see the horizon over the dilapidated buildings and the 20 foot high Freeside wall. Still, the small light from the sun was peeking over the square black of the horizon, slowly turning the purplish sky a redder color. Frankly I would have much, much rather have done this out in the desert. The fact that I was in the middle of the tackiest city in America, and rather decayed at that. Strip aside, and really including the Strip, the city was a monument to the atrocities that were 20th and 21st century architecture.

And thoughts of how much I hate modernism in all it's forms really put a crimp in my attempts to feel. But then again, maybe it was appropriate to hate what was ugly. I used to live in a wonderful asymmetrical Victorian with a turret on one side and a triangular roof on the other. You'd walk inside and there was this big, open staircase leading to the second floor. See, Victorians designed with class. Second Empire, designed with class. Post-Classicism designed with class, and even art deco, designed with class. Modernism is all modern materials, brutal concrete, unadorned wood and windows that cook a building rather than illuminate. It's hideous. All of it.

See, people in the post apocalypse might not know this, but we did crawl out of the 1950s. For almost a hundred years. And then when society started collapsing, everyone started to dress and build like it was the 1950s again. Harkening back to America's golden age. I'm pretty sure the Enclave, formally or informally, was behind this, because it was that evil.

The worst part is that after a hundred years of fire and decay, only the modernist stuff built in 2040s and beyond has survived as recognizable. That was real insult to injury.

I say all of this, not to complain, but yes, I like complaining about the insufferable, but because all of these thoughts kept creeping into my head as I meditated. I didn't wish Vegas had been nuked as much as I wish there had been a giant fire that had burned all it's non-stone buildings to the ground. There was a time when I was in awe of Vegas, when I was very young, but by the time I was in my 50s I'd traveled enough to know just how tacky the place is.

I wasn't feeling very enlightened when Merriweather got up. I don't know why I was getting so worked up over ugly buildings. I didn't speak as we walked towards the Followers cafeteria. The Inside of the Fort was for treatment and research and housing the drunks. The real work was being done just outside. There was a long house where breakfast was being made for the 600 or so people or so who were living at the Fort.

See, Followers mostly get paid in food from local farmers or co-ops, so there's always decent grab. The longhouse was just where the cooking and dispensing happens, most people eat outside in the old park. Luckily for everyone, the cafeteria started at 6AM and stopped at midnight, so there never a huge line except around noon.

I got what's called Big Sister and Little Sister: Scrambled ant eggs with plenty of any meant with shredded cheese and clumps of bread in a big bowl. I also got a plate of bacon, real pig bacon, not Gecko bacon, cause that's not bacon no matter what people say, and sat at a long table outside. Merriweather joined me with some biscuits and gravy with two slices of cooked tomato.

I crumpled by bacon into bits and spread it on the sisters and ate heartily. No point in eating if you can't enjoy it. Oh and by heartily I meant I ate like a pig, loudly slopping the stuff down and belching whenever the air in my stomach commanded it.

Merriweather ate like a civilized person, with impeccable table manner. Knife and fork always on point, never touching the food with her hands. She looked at me funny at first, probably disapproving, but frankly she'd seen how I eat in the field long enough to know I wasn't going to change.

About halfway through the meal, about the time she got up and got us both glasses of water, she said "I want to talk to you, frankly."

"Yeah?" I made sure to swallow all my food down and right the bowl before devoting my full attention to her.

"Why are you going into the mountains instead of going after that Platinum chip?"

I sighed, "No one else was willing to do it. There's a guy who was supposed to be back four days ago and someone needs to look for him."

"Theresa-"

"It's only going to delay me two days tops. I tried to get out of it, but apparently no one else in Westside is willing to do it. For free anyway. Look, the kid I spoke to doesn't have two nickels to rub together. What am I going to do? Tell him no, I don't care whether your brother is alive or dead?"

"There are bett….well more pressing issues of your time."

I took a gulp from my glass, "Don't I know it. Wait, why are you interested in that platinum chip?"

"Theresa, now's not the time to be coy. We know exactly what that chip is for."

"We do?" I asked.

"Yes, allow me to show you?" She put gauntleted hand down on the table, and a picture projected from palm. It was distorted by the off white color of the table. And it was upside down "Oh, pardon me," and she twitched her hand and the picture flipped.

"That's better," now this is inside a pre-war weather monitoring station across the river from Hoover Dam, hill number 861. Notice the logo.

The picture was of a small, shabby windowless room with a computer panel. With metal trap door right beside it. She flicked her wrist and showed closer up picture of the console. It had the Lucky 38 symbol on it and an insert for a round object about the size of a poker chip.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She wasn't amused "You took the picture. I looked it up and you were the scout hired to survey this part of the Arizona beachhead. You know exactly what's in there. Well, you have an idea."

"OK…"I didn't want to give away what I knew, but I was very sure that Merriweather was going to tell me.

"That console requires a key of some kind to open. Proprietary software or you'd have cracked it then and there. That's your modus operandi. And about that chip: House has spent tens of thousands of NCR dollars through various shell companies excavating the ruins of Sunnyvale California for the past ten years. The work became more and more urgent until a few weeks ago, when, well the excavation continued but at a far more leisurely pace."

"Now, for numerous legal reasons I won't get into, it was decided we couldn't just confiscate the chip in California, but we tracked all the way from Sunnyvale to the Mojave Outpost, where you picked up the package. I was following you up through Goodsprings. Frankly I was astonished you were going to try and get to Vegas the direct way. We had another agent waiting to tail you once you got to 160, but it all went FUBAR and you never made it out of Goodsprings. I was really concerned when that Victor fellow hauled you in, it made a huge stir."

"Now, you were to be detained at the Freeside gate. That chip was never getting to House. But now it seems your assailant has possession of it. This is bad news for everyone. Shall I explain to you why?"

"Um, go ahead." I was trying my damndest to play dumb, and I think it might have worked on some people, but not in these circumstances.

"You do realize I'm going over this just to prove to you I know more than you do about this. You're not dumb. That chip is absolutely necessary for Mr. House's continued control of the Strip for two very important reasons. Irreplaceable reasons. One, is that the Securitrons are very baldly military grade robots, and are only operating with their secondary armaments. Anyone who's ever seen a disabled Securitron house missile launchers and grenades, both of which they don't use. And that's because Securitrons are dual purpose, mark 1 for civilian use and mark 2 for military use. No one, no civilian at least, was allowed to use tier three combat robots within the borders of the United States. House waited until the last second to break the law, and it cost him big. That chip has the mark 2 upgrades. It's also the key to getting whatever's down in the basement of that weather station."

"Now, it could be anything down there. It could be old comic books, or a manufacturing plant for GECKS, but what it almost assuredly is, is a storehouse for military grade combat robots. Probably Securitrons but also maybe Sentry Bots or Assualtrons. The man very obviously was setting himself up as a post-apocalyptic warlord, and he'd need a lot more robots than the ones we've seen to enforce his claim on the region. So we can't afford to let House reactive this robot army, and take Nevada away from us just as we win the next battle at Hoover Dam, because that's obviously when he'll strike."

"OK," I said, "That's an interesting theory you got going there. Any proof?"

"Oh plenty. While he was obviously trying to cover his tracks, the culprit is obviously in the employ of Mr. House and plans to either blackmail or betray him. In fact from descriptions of the man, it's either Benjamin son of Moriah, better known as Benny, the leader of the so called Chairmen of the Tops Casino, long time chief lieutenant to Mr. House. If the man who shot you has merely been altered to look like Mr. Benny, they were thorough in framing him because DNA on the cigarette butts by your grave match our profile of the man…which strikes me as unlikely."

"You have my attention," I said.

"Oh and there's more…Agents in Boulder City informed me that the cowboy Securtiron called Victor is traveling to Vegas as well, and he chatted with you in Novac and Boulder City. House is definitely watching over you, using Victor as a liaison."

"Oh Victor didn't tell me anything. Just said he had the urge to go to Vegas. Said he saw Benny in Boulder City. All hat and no cattle he said. But I'm not working for Mr. House."

"You soon will be. House doesn't have a charitable bone in his body these days. That Victor dug you out of that grave was almost certainly on House's orders, and if it weren't, his following you certainly is. He, I mean House, needs a new agent. If he wanted to recruit you on your own talents, he'd have done it years ago. He's desperate."

Damn, she knew just about everything I knew about the situation. Well, let's be honest, she knew everything and more. The most dangerous kind of 'civil servant': a competent, intelligent one.

She took her glass and shallowed the rest of the water down. "Now. Before he makes his offer, I want you to hear mine: 50,000 NCR dollars for that chip, and your services in securing I-15."

I was shocked at how bald she was about this, "50 grand in brownback?! That's…" I tried to do the math in my head but it was a bit early for that.

"20,000 in caps. And I won't ask you once to fight the Legion."

"Wow, that is such a good offer," I had never figured Merriweather to have more dollars than sense, "I don't have to go anywhere exotic? I just stay in southern Nevada and help you deal with the Deathclaws and Powder Gangers?"

"There's more to it, but yes. But as I said, I will not ask you once, not once to fight the Legion."

"OK, I'm game, what's the catch?"

"There's no catch. I'll be frank with you, General Oliver has royally fucked the occupation of the Mojave and with the Long 15 inaccessible, it threatens the logics of our entire field army. This is unacceptable, and President Kimball has sent me to deal with the matter personally, and I intend to do it in the simplest manner possible: recruit the biggest badass in Las Vegas Valley. You."

"I don't need 50,000 brownback, I want whatever's in that bunker."

Theresa looked at me sternly. Normally brown eyes give the impression of warmth and good humor, not on her. Not now, "Absolutely not. Unlike the Legion, we have great need for military bots of all kinds. That's why we want that bunker intact….after we've won."

"Why not try and activate the kill bots and use them against the Legion?"

Merriweather signed, putting two fingers against her temple and cradling her face with her thumb.

"Did I ask a stupid question?"

She sighed again, and looked very displeased "No, you've asked a very excellent question. The problem is that hill isn't just in the Legion camp, it's Edward's headquarters. It's in the center of damn thing. There's no way we can sneak someone inside unnoticed."

"But it would save a lot of lives if it could be reactivated."

Merriweather put her hand over her face, "Yes it would."

"The thought pains you."

She glowered at me. I felt my eyebrows arching. "I'm not mad at you. I'm apoplectic at General Oliver. I'm furious at Senator Mendoza, who filibusters every attempt Kimball makes to get out power armor units out of California and carving a path through the legion. I'm pissed that Kimball keeps reinforcing Hoover Dam with conscripts rather than paying the money to deploy mechanized units and sweep the Legion off its feet from the Bullhead bridgehead. We should be fighting the Legion with tanks and ACPs, not infantry…."Her skin was lightly tanned, but now it was turning red, "And, it's not my place. Strategy is the prerogative of the President, and I must respect that."

But she gripped her fist tightly on the table. Had it not been in a power armor gauntlet I would have expected blood to come out of her palm.

"So why not try it anyway?"

"You mean sneak into the middle of Legion camp, break into a heavily guarded weather station, because let's not kid ourselves, Edward is nobody's fool, sneak into the bunker and hope it contains a robot army AND that it can be activated and deployed against the Legion?" She shook her head, "Sounds like something out of spy story. All kinds of malarkey can fly in those kind of stories, but here in the real world, there are just too many variables."

"For a 20% cut of the value of the Securtrons in the bunker….wait, whatever bots are in the bunker, I'll get that army up and running."

"No."

"Then I'm not interested."

Merriweather looked at me with cold eyes, and began drumming her fingers on the table. "I hear you're part owner of the Lollipop Saloon, a seedy little brothel on 160."

"Um yes, although I would dispute the seedy."

"Among the ahem, employees of the brothel is a young lady named Maria. She claims to be 31, but looks like she's 12. I hear she has quite the cult following."

"Ah yes, it's called LeCron's disease, we had her tested at the Vegas Medical Clinic. I can get her files on demand from Dr. Usanagi. We have several employees of that description and all of their records have been submitted to the appropriate NCR authorities."

"I'm sure. However, Lollipops has been actively recruiting others with Le Cron's disease."

"Yes, and?"

"Your business partners should have really thought about it before making skin mag with them."

My eyes widened in horror. "I'm going to kill Hilly. I'm going to strangle him with his own intestines. I swear to God."

"And who prey tell, is Hilly?"

I tried to remain calm "He's, the other owner. Bartender."

"And wouldn't it be a scandal for the great Courier Six, Theresa Miller, the savior of so many communities to be included in an indictment of organizing a kiddie porn ring?"

I hissed "That's slander. I have been involved in no such thing. The charges will never stick. Not for any of us, they've all been tested, they are all consenting adults, and I can prove it."

"That may be true, maybe not. I'd have to jail you until the current crisis is over. But think of what it will do to your reputation. It's not quite being slaver or selling fiends to the Sawneys to be eaten, but wait, you've been accused to doing that too."

"It's not being a slaver, when it's raiders you're selling."

Merriweather thought about that. "I can respect that. Now, the law doesn't, but that was all before NCR arrived in the territory, and you've proven yourself time and time again as too valuable to waste. So let me ask you: why? Why with all the money from adventuring, looting raider camps and those big bounties we paid you for all those criminals you've hauled in, why risk all of that on operating a brothel?"

"It was fun…"

"Well then, helping me clear the Long 15 will be fun too." She smiled at me, and it was more or less pleasant as well.

"I thought we were friends after what we did together in Zion."

"Oh, we are friends, and I believe you when you say you're innocent, but I need to get the Long 15 open and I need to get it open yesterday. And for that, I need your help. And you will be paid, every single penny."

I took a deep breath. I was sorta scared shitless, but not as badly as I was before "So I'm not going into the mountains?"

She looked at me surprised, "Oh no no! We're going into the mountains. I have business in Jacobstown and you have a rescue to perform. We're going to help each other out."

"You're not…going to attack Jacobstown? They're peaceful folk up there."

"Oh, yes, I believe you. No, I want to hire as many of them as I can to clear the 15."

That was a relief. That was a huge relief actually. Despite her threating me, I liked Merriweather, and didn't want to kill her. But if she was going to try and liquidate Jacobstown I was going to have to. "Oh thank God…"

"NCR is America Theresa, we're the good guys."

"You really believe that's true, don't you?"

"Nah, I'm making sure it stays true."

I believed her on that.

"Now, are you finished?"

I gulped down the rest of my food, I was almost finished in any case. I gasped out "Yeah, I'm good."

We took our dirty bowls and silverware to the side of the long house and put everything in the hopper that went inside the building.

"Let's get acquainted with your companions, and tell them the good news."

She offered her hand in iron glove, which was very apt, all things considered. Not wanting to lose influence, I stuck out my hand and she shook it ever so gently. And that was the good thing about Charlotte Merriweather: she was authoritarian as any in NCR, but always considerate doing the right thing. Still I was annoyed because threatening me was a jackass thing to do. I was just playing hardball.