Jeremy Plinski

Of course, that happy ending I was just talking about had to be gotten to. All in all, responding to a rampaging supermutant was quick. It took them and hour and a half to get up the mountain, a convoy of four vehicles: an armored truck, an armored van with the word 'Coroner' painted on it, and two military grade trucks with a machine gunner standing out of the cabin roof. The machine gunner wore black blast armor at least from the waist up. I couldn't even see their faces. I could see the large yellow letter SHERIFF across the back of their shoulders.

I felt a nudge on my shoulder. It was Willow, and her lips were puckered and eyes watched the convoy intensely. "That's a lot of firepower for a single mutant."

"All that firepower isn't for the mutant. It's for the Jackals, and the Vipers and maybe some Friends crawling out through the sewers."

"There could be Fiends, here?"

"Sure Willow. If you don't have wheels, the sewer access is your fastest way to get from one end of Vegas to the other."

She shuddered her tiny shoulders. "I've heard the most terrible things about Friends out here. I mean, I heard they were bad in LA, but everyone said the Friends here are…"

"More or less feral?"

"Yeah they did."

"It's…don't worry about. I'll keep us all nice and safe. Now I gotta meet the officers and give a statement. Pardon me."

I gave my statement to a very wary lieutenant and was promptly chewed out for using a memory erasing optical flash when I'd already subdued the mutant. But I took it in stride, also the cop's complaint wasn't that I'd brutalized the mutant, but that in destroying his memories I'd destroyed evidence. I know the Clark County Sheriff's Office: always looking to be a model frontier outpost. Do things exactly by the book.

A whole team of coroners and cops came out of the van, while two specialized cops in full body armor and face masks and wicked looking cattle prods secured the mutant. Still naked, the mutant….I mean the man, was drug out of the cave, his shoulder shoved back into socket and wrapped up in a giant straightjacket. By this time, the nose had stopped bleeding, and huge blood spot aside, was starting to form itself back into shape. Then to make sure the mutant couldn't run away, heavy magnetic manacles were put around both his ankles. Lots of photographs were being taken just outside my field of vision, because the officers had drug the mutant to the campsite. Out of a sense of decency, I got a roll of duct tape and made an ad hoc bikini for him out of the tape. I would have used a dirty T-shirt or something from the campsite but the coroners wouldn't let me near it until they'd photographed everything.

An hour in, they were done with the crime scene itself, and the lieutenant wanted to wake the mutant up and get a statement. This precipitated an argument with Merriweather who thought it was stupid to wake up the creature before it was taken into a secure holding cell. Besides, if my optical flash had worked, there would be nothing the mutant could tell us.

This argument continued, tensely but politely for several minutes. I happened to agree with Merriweather on grounds of safety, but the Lieutenant. Felt it wasn't proper to take a man in without reading him his rights, let him know what he was charged with. I could sympathize. But I leant my voice with the Lt. I wanted to know who this…this man was. Who'd I had either partially liberated, or partially destroyed.

At this point, most of the sedative I'd injected would have been metabolized, and that meant just smelling salts would be enough to wake him. And that's exactly what the Lieutenant did.

The mutant was lying on his side on the ground and snorted as the salts. He coughed bit then went into a hacking hit and began moaning. "It hurts," he said

"I know it hurts" I responded, not thinking that it was the lieutenant who wanted to speak to him. And I was bidden to keep silent for my trouble.

"Are fully conscious, sir?" the lieutenant asked with authority, It phrased and intoned as 'I have business to attend to with you, so make it snappy.'

"Wha?"

"I said are you fully conscious, sir?"

"Yes…yes I am….what's wrong with my voice?" The straightjacket shuddered as he tried to move his arm and then he shrieked, well shrieked as much as a deep voiced Supermutant can shriek, "Gah! My…what's wrong with my shoulder?!"

He was wide awake now, and starting to panic. Unable to use his arms to assist himself, he struggled to his knees and from there was about to stand up when a deputy nearby clicked a button in his hand and the manacles locked together, sweeping the mutant off his feet and back down onto the ground.

"Help!" the mutant screamed, "Help! Help!" Like a beast caught in a thicket. His whole body writhed like a worm a few times until his panic was overcome and he realized he couldn't move. "Who are you, what do you want with me?!"

The lieutenant stared at the mutant through dark, all-encompassing glasses. "My name is Lieutenant Dan Rickerson, Clark County Sheriff's Office. I have a few questions for you."

"Clark County? Where's that?"

"Vegas son, we're just outside of Vegas."

The mutant's face went blank with confusion. "I…wait, what's wrong with my voice?"

I interjected, "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I...oh no…the Mutants! They bound me up. They had me over this vat and…no. No God no. No, no no no…" He looked at us and said "They turned me, they turned me into one of them."

The Lieutenant nodded.

This big blue thing began to heave and choke. He started convulsing and then threw up a little, mostly, it ran down is right cheek before seeping in the grass.

He sobbed, and he sobbed and he sobbed. I'm not sure how long it took, but no one tried to stop him or interrupt him. Not even Niner, who God love him, never struck me as the most sensitive of people. It was kind of amazing to see a Supermutant cry, because for all I knew they couldn't form tears.

Finally, the mutant asked, "Why am I here? Why don't I remember anything?"

The lieutenant adjusted his sunglasses and bit at his top lip, his bottom lip overtaking a bunch of his mustache hair. "What's your name son?"

"My name is Jeremy Plinski, I'm…32 and I'm from Vault 17 in California."

The lieutenant nodded, "Well Mr. Plinski, I hate to inform you, but you're under arrest for triple homicide and one count of cannibalism. Ms. Miller here," he nodded in my direction "has declined to press charges, so you're not being charged with assault with attempt to kill."

Jeremy had a very typical look on his face. It's the look of someone who's done something very bad while blacked out. It's half incredulous, half horrified.

"I, I don't remember anything," he stammered.

"And you're not going to, because Ms. Miller wiped your memory with an optical flash, something which is normally highly illegal."

"Not when you're hunting schizophrenic and violent supermutants," I snapped, "All my paperwork is in order."

"Schizo-what?" asked Jeremy.

` "Schizophrenia," said the Lieutenant. "It means that that you experience vivid hallucinations. According to Miss Miller's statement, you told her that something called…let me see here…Cinbon….what's a Cinbon? Told you that it needed her blood and she was, and this is a direct quotation, 'out to steal your earlobes.'"

And since there's no way to react to a story like that well, Jeremy Plinski laughed. "You, you can't be serious. This is joke."

"It's no joke son."

"Why would I have this 'schizophrenia?'"

"Prolonged Stealthboy use. Do you know what a Stealthboy is?"

"No….I don't think so."

The lieutenant was about to explain, but I put out my hand and stepped forward. I activated the Stealthboy on my belt and with a 'twing' I became translucent. I took a step towards Mr. Plinski and waved my hand far from my body to show him the effect, and then turned the field off and became visible.

"That's a pretty good demonstration," said the Lieutenant. "Now, Mr. Plinski, before we take you into custody, we'd like you to view the bodies, tell us if you remember anything. You are of course free to refuse to speak until you are assigned a lawyer, but the court will be informed of your cooperation."

Plinski looked at the lieutenant and was about to say something when his eyes widened, "Am, am I going to be executed?"

"I can't answer that. Only a jury can decide your fate. But cooperation here will speak very well for diminished capacity."

"Actually," said Merriweather, "after you're done with him I'd like to take custody."

"For what purpose?" asked the Lieutenant.

"We're headed up to Jacobstown. If I have him in custody the mutants up there might be able to identify him."

"Ma'am, this is highly unusual-"

"Lt. Rickerson, I'm a federal Marshall. Very little is usual when I'm around."

I'll spare you the details, but Mr. Plinski was shown the bodies one by one, including butchered remains of the guy in the cave. He freaked out at the visible teeth marks and started sobbing again, but couldn't remember anything, the poor sob.

But finally, around noon, everything was done. The forensic guys wrapped up, and the Sherriff's caravan rumbled off down the mountain in good order with the machine gunners as stiff and ridged as a cock in in whorehouse. And considering how dangerous it was driving through Vegas, I couldn't blame them.

This time, Merriweather asked me to accompany her. I suspected it was just in case Mr. Plinski had an episode. Unlike the normal battered second or third hand, or god forbid, pre-war vehicles on the road in the Mojave, the Merriweather had a bright blue Chryslus Corvega. Highly chromed and without so much as a dent in the side boards. And it was a boat of a car, able to seat six. Hers was a sedan with four big doors, but with a mesh protecting the back seat from the front. This was like a cop car, but the back seat was spacious and the leather seemed real. Still it was a struggle to get Mr. Plinski into the back of the car as he was twice as big as a small woman. Merriweather apologized several times for the inconvenience; Mr. Plinski had to ride in the back laying down on the seat and even then he was hunched over uncomfortably, with his head touching the back of the front seat. All this was while laying on his bad shoulder, but he didn't complain.

I rode shotgun as we went off to Jacobstown. It's not like I had a choice: the driver's side seat was replaced with a gutted bare bones affair in which Merriweather could sit in power armor and still fit in the car. No one else was going to drive this thing.

"Well, Mr. Plinski, you're in a lot of trouble," said Merriweather. She was loud enough to be heard even though she was speaking to dashboard.

"I know," said Mr. Plinski.

"Speak up. I'm sorry, but we're not in the best place to have a conversation."

"I said I know," came the response, much louder.

"But frankly, you've had a very, very bad day. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Charlotte Merriweather, I'm from Vault 13…I…I fought the mutants 40 years ago. They wanted to do to my Vault what they did do to you. They wanted to turn me into you. So you have my condolences."

"They've been around that long?!"

"No no, you've lost about 50 years, give or take. It's Monday, October 22nd, 2181."

"Good God! Last thing I remember it was….I can't remember. Was it 21….something."

"Well, judging from the records we seized at Mariposa, Vault 17 was raided in 21…2134. So 48 years."

"Were there any survivors? I mean, did anyone get out?"

"Um no. You guys didn't even try to activate the blowout tunnels. Everyone got dipped. Any survivors would be supermutants."

"Even the children?" He definitely didn't want to know from the sound of his voice, but was compelled to ask anyway.

"Um, yes I believe so. I think they were raised by the Children of the Cathedral until they were old enough to be dipped."

"Children of the Cathedral?"

"Yeah, the human front group for the Unity….the Mutant Army."

"Did you defeat them?"

"Oh yeah. The Master's dead and gone."

Everyone was silent. Finally Mr. Plinski said "Is there a cure?" "A cure?"

"For being a supermutant?" "Ah, that's why I have you here-" There was a terrible bump in road and we all flew into the air by a foot, before crashing back into our seats. Mr. Plinski screamed in pain.

"Ow! Oowww! My arm!"

"Sorry about that," continued Merriweather. "The bad news is, there's no cure, yet. The good news is, if you play your cards right, you'll live long enough to see it. Supermutants don't suffer senescence."

"Sen-what?"

"Senescence; they don't age. You're also immune to disease and most chemical weapons. On the other hand, you're way too tall, sterile, nearly hairless, blue and ugly to boot. Once we get the kinks worked out, it'll be a great leap forward for humanity. Don't ask me why the brass thought it a good idea to actually disfigure their would be supersoldiers."

"Wait, the government did this?"

"The old government did this. They were…putting it mildly…very bad people. But the new government isn't like that. And as long as I'm around, I'm personally going to make sure it stays that way. You can count on it." Merriweather didn't often criticize government, but when she did there was an undercurrent of extreme violence that unnerved me. Of course, if I'd have had her experiences with the Enclave, I might well have become a total anarchist.

"Now, Mr. Plinski, I'm looking for helpers…now be quiet. Frying all of your memories will help with the schizophrenia in the short term. For the next week or so, you probably won't experience any symptoms. I need things done in the next two weeks, dangerous things, vital things. In exchange for your services, I am prepared to…"

"A pardon?!" he asked hopefully.

"No, Mr. Plinski, you killed three people in cold blood and ate one of them. Wasteland Justice would have been to shoot you dead on the spot. Fortunately for you, civilization is finally on the upswing and we believe in the rule of law. No, there will be no pardon, but I will make sure you end up committed to a mental hospital instead of going to prison or to the gallows."

"Is he going to be a GOOD mental hospital?" I asked her.

"So you don't have any objections to working with Mr. Plinski?"

"Wait….I didn't say that….I didn't say no exactly, but…as long as he's using non-lethal weaponry…. I guess….I just want to make sure he's getting a fair shake."

"When have I ever been less than fair, Theresa?"

I glowered at her.

"You're going to be very well paid for your services. Every penny will come to you or so help me God I'll help you rob an NCR depot to recover your fee."

I glowered at her still, then shrugged, "You'd really break the law for little old me?"

"A government that does not keep it's word is unworthy of being followed."

"You do realize we're talking about the United States government, right?" I laughed in derision. The United States government has never fucked over its own, ever. It's totally unthinkable.

"I'm going to ignore that, Theresa. Now Mr. Plinski, I can provide armor, weapons…and we're here." I could feel the brakes of the car slowing it down to a long, luxuriant stop. "Just think about it, while we attend to business here."

Suddenly, I seized with severe pain in my head. I leaned forward and grabbed the bridge of my nose. I let out a soft moan, but it hurt way more than a moan indicated. The pain started in my forehead, but it was creeping down to the back of my eyes.

"What's wrong?" asked Merriweather.

"Headache…"

"From the head wound?"

"No I get mind splitting migraines all the time…of course it's from the head wound!"

"You need to lay down?" "Goddamnit, I need a stimpack! 75 fucking caps down the drain, but ah fuck!"

I reached into one of the pouches on my belt, one of the bigger ones, and felt around for a stimpack. Large enough to be held across the length of the palm, it was a plastic syringe with a pressure gauge to make sure it all got taken in. I visually made sure it was a stimpack and not something else, in the moment I just wanted to make sure the medicine inside was a nice blood red, and jammed the thing into the side of my neck. There was an audible hiss as the thing flooded my neck with healing drugs. I shuddered. Taking stimpacks never felt good, but they were marvelous things for stopping bleed-out when shot and preventing bruising and preventing the whole shitshow from energy weapon burns. Real things. Curing a headache is not a good use of 75 caps, Hell, I'd have balked at paying 75 dollars for a pill of migraine medicine in 2077 when the currency was nearly worthless.

"What's happening?" asked Mr. Plinski.

"Never you mind," said Merriweather. I felt the sharp pain in my skull abate into a dull ache, groaning the whole time. Finally I took in a deep breath and sat upright.

"Better?" asked Merriweather.

"Yeah," I said. I still had the empty stim in my hand, so I made sure to put it in a pouch on the left side of my belt. If I turned it in at the Follower's camp I'd get 5 caps back.

"Are you familiar with the mutants of this place?" "Yeah, I've been here before. They're led by a guy named Marcus, good guy, very reasonable."

"Then I need to wait here. Find this Marcus, tell him who I am, and that I'm here on behalf of the United States government, and I mean them no harm. I'll probably need him to escort me around while I'm here."

"VIP treatment?"

"No Theresa. If they aren't paranoid that I'll kill them all and they better kill me first, they've gone senile. Because that is usually what I do with Supermutants."

"Lately?!"

"No, but before NCR was formed I killed a fuckton of them. When I ran the Merrymakers, I made us all rich from Supermutant loot. Payback could be an issue but I've already proven to them I'm that dangerous."

I shook my head. "That was a long time ago. I think you're paranoid."

Merriweather looked at me with her slightly wrinkled face and cateye glasses. "I need to make sure this doesn't turn into a shooting situation. I can't afford to be too careful."

"Fine!"

I opened the door, into the bright sunshine of the October Sky. In spite of the warmth I could feel of the sun's rays, the air around me was sort of chilly. I slammed the door shut and just stood for a moment. I took a vow long, long ago I would never ever take the sun for granted, and except for the time I was stranded out in the desert for two weeks (long, boring pointless story), I haven't. I walked unevenly on the grass, which even a century after the end of the world, still slopped downward to flush water off of the road. Jacobstown was an old ski lodge, right off the highway, with the road leading into a circle around the main lodge for easy entry and exit. The Mutants had cut long tall pines into a ten foot high Stockade.

Mutants were coming towards the ungated entrance, none of them armed. Because I had been there before, I knew that wasn't because they didn't have some weapons, but because Marcus kept them under lock and key. Two Sentrybots stood at attention just behind the walls of the staockade, mostly, but not completely hidden. I had sold them to Jacobstown. I also knew Marcus was good people when he took my advice and had the miniguns on the bots equipped with rubber bullets.

Mutants have a way of moving. They're so heavy, their walk it almost appears as waddling, no matter how quick the movements are. It doesn't help that because of their height, their spines curve forward giving them a permanent slouch. And I'm not going to lie, mutants look the same to me. It might be racist, but I actually think it's the shared FEV template. But I was pretty sure it was Marcus coming to see me. I waved, the mutant nodded and then hurried his slow walk into a fast one until we were face to face.

"Hello courier," said Marcus, because while supermutant faces are all alike, their voices are a different matter. Marcus's voice was gentle and smooth, and even gentlemanly. "It seems you've come to Jacobstown with company this time."

As an afterthought he extended his hand. I took in this huge green hand and held onto two finger as he shook ever so slightly and let go. "Yeah, I got a whole caravan. I even got a Marshall with me."

Marcus's back arched up "Marshall? Is there going to be trouble?"

"She says she's here on behalf of the NCR and comes in peace. Probably just wants to make sure you guys don't cause trouble until after the Legion tries to take the Dam again."

"Hmmm, well you can tell her we have no intentions of causing trouble."

"Eh, well, she wants to look around."

"Well, that can certainly be arranged."

"Then there's the other thing…eh, she's Charlotte Merriweather."

"Should I know that name?" "She's the Vault Dweller."

Marcus scowled, and given his slouch, he didn't have to move rap his fingers on his knee. "She was the one that killed the Master?"

I didn't look him in the eye as I said, "The same."

Marcus bit his lip and ran his hand over his shaved head. "Well, this is going to be interesting."

"I know, right?"

"Hmm, she in that car in front?"

"Yeah."

He whistled. "A fully restored 2075 Chryslus Corvega. She's got style I'll give her that."

"A powder blue sedan is hardly a the height of style. And it's a Chryslus for Christ's sake."

He brushed me off with a, "Speak for yourself courier." And he waddled off towards the car, as I followed in tow. He tapped on the tinted driver's side window, and Merriweather rolled down the window. "Nice ride."

"Why thank you, good sir. I'm Charlotte Merriweather, US Marshall. We have business to discuss. Potentially profitable business"

Marcus nodded, "Really? Well, welcome human, welcome to Jacobstown."