"And you trust him?"
"Of course I don't" Samael answered Boone, "but what other choice do I have?"
"You could not go" he answered, as if it was obvious. Samael shook his head.
"What he's promising has too much value. Can you imagine...something that could change the Mojave completely?"
"But what's his price?" asked Boone. Samael froze, unsure how to answer it. Oz's strange request of being killed had left him with an even stranger taste in his mouth and he had refrained from telling anyone else.
"It's worth the risk" answered Samael absent-mindedly, hoping that would do. Boone looked unconvinced. "Look, if I don't come back Yes Man knows you're in charge"
"Me?" questioned Boone, more surprised than Samael had ever heard him.
"Yes?"
"No...give it to Veronica, or Arcade, or Cassidy...but not me..." he said solemnly. Samael put his hand on Boone's shoulder.
"You're a good man" he said with a friendly smile, "We all know you'll do Vegas proud"
"I think you're the only one" muttered Boone, but he nodded nonetheless.
Samael turned his attention back to his pack. He already had a few changes of clothes packed, along with a few packets of Rad-Away, a bottle or two of Rad-X, about a dozen Stimpacks and even a box or two each of Mentats and Buffout. He had considered taking something for fighting, like Jet or Psycho, but they still made him nervous. He just didn't like how he got after taking them.
Satisfied, he picked up his bag and took it over to the cabinet he kept all his weapons in. He carefully selected his grenade launcher and stowed it in to his bag, along with several of the special grenades it used as ammunition. Boone had appeared beside him and Samael found him simply staring at the grenade launcher, then back up to Samael, as if to say 'are you kidding me?'
"It's just a precaution" Samael answered the unasked question. Boone, again, didn't seem convinced.
Samael mentally shrugged. Trying to change Boone's mind had proven harder then securing independence for Vegas on more than one occasion and he didn't have the time to try it again. The cabinet in front of him contained all of the weapons he had collected during his travels, from the common Assault Rifles and Plasma Rifles to the more advanced Tesla Cannon and unique Gobi Campaign Rifle.
Running his finger along a line of them, he finally settled on the Plasma Rifle, deciding that it would be prudent to travel light. He turned it on and, when the green glow of the barrel made him satisfied that it was in working condition, he threw a few canisters of MicroFusion Cells into his pack.
Then, kneeling down, he examined the pistols located at the bottom of the cabinet. After another moment he settled on the Ranger Sequioa, a revolver he had found on a dead NCR Ranger, and put it gently it a holster that he then strapped around his right thigh. He adjusted its height a little, making it the right distance to allow him to draw the fastest. It wouldn't be his first weapon of choice but if he needed it, he wanted to be sure he could get it.
He strode in to his "room", or at least where he kept a spare bed and clothes. He didn't like living up here, as the place creeped him out to no end, but sometimes he had found himself asleep on his desk so he had Yes Man bring up a bed.
It was also the room where he decided to keep some of his "trophies". On the other side he could see Caesar's armour, as well as the Legate's mask, both displayed nicely. There were also full sets of Kahn, Fiend, Powder Ganger, NCR...almost every faction that had been in the Mojave was represented. But it was the NCR he was particularly interested in.
He strode across, walking past the simple trooper uniform he had first used to gain their trust, eventually ending up in front of the black armour and duster of the NCR Veteran Rangers. Stronger then combat armour but lighter then power armour, Samael felt it would give him the right blend of manoeuvrability and protection he needed for a job like this. Of course, the specialised helmet with night vision capabilities wouldn't hurt either.
He quickly slipped out of the casual clothes he was wearing and replaced them with the armour, starting with the boots and working his way up. Finally he put the duster on and grabbed the helmet, turning around to leave and coming face to face with Boone again.
"I should go with you" he said.
Sam sighed and walked past him into the other room.
"No," he said, a little more forcefully this time. "I need someone here I can trust"
"You don't trust Yes Man?" Boone asked.
Sam froze, unsure whether to reveal his concerns over Yes Man's new "assertive" behaviour.
"Yes Man...isn't human" he concluded lamely, hoping that would be enough. Boone's silence seemed to indicate it was, although it could have equally meant the opposite. Sam could never tell quite what Boone was thinking.
Sam checked he had everything one last time, repacking his food and ammo to make sure everything fit, then zipped up his bag, threw it over his shoulders, picked up the rifle and turned to face Boone.
"Well...I'll see you later" he said, offering his hand.
"Be safe" Boone said, shaking it. Sam nodded his approval then headed for the elevator, pushing for the first floor of rooms when he got there. He caught one final glimpse of Boone staring out the windows into the Mojave before the doors sealed with a slight click.
When he entered Oz's room Sam thought the man had gone. The bed was untouched and there were no signs that anyone had even stepped foot in here since House closed it all down almost 200 years ago. But sure enough, Oz emerged from a side room and went straight for a bedside chest of drawers, rummaging around the draws for something.
Sam noticed he was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, but had replaced his duster with a simple leather jacket. The clothes were also dust free and relatively clean, something that surprised Sam. The man apparently hadn't slept but had found time to wash his clothes?
Oz found whatever he was looking for and turned. A broad smile came across his face as he saw Sam.
"I knew you'd agree" he said eagerly. Sam held up his hand for silence and Oz's smile disappeared.
"You were...vague, yesterday" said Sam, "what exactly are you offering?"
Oz's smile returned as he put whatever he was holding in to a pack he had at his feet. "I'm offering the chance-"
"The chance to change the Mojave forever" Sam interrupted impatiently, "I've already heard your speech. What I need now is details"
"Ah..." said Oz, a slightly concerned look crossing his face as he reached up to scratch the back of his head, "we might have a problem then..."
"You won't tell me?" asked Sam, able to mask his anger a little.
"No, no" said Sam, waving his hands for added emphasis, "it's just...I don't know"
"You don't know?"
"Not what's past the 1st level, no"
"...and you still came here?"
"Look," Oz said, "I know how it looks, but there were things on that 1st level that are considered rare out here in the wastes. Imagine what's further down?"
"Could be nothing" offered Sam. Oz furrowed his brows.
"Always so negative" he mumbled, then he continued, louder this time, "I found shipping reports from a Pre-War computer that talked about big things being sent there, things so big they had to be disassembled just to fit through the door. Do you know how big a Vault door is?"
Sam thought for a moment, trying to remember how large Vault 3's door was. He had to admit, anything that wouldn't fit through there would be large indeed.
"But you don't know what exactly?"
"No..." admitted Oz, "but what do you have to lose? Really?"
"My life?" countered Sam.
Oz looked away awkwardly, unsure of what to say or how to salvage the conversation. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came so he closed it again.
"And what about your price?" Sam asked, finally breaking the silence.
"You know what it is" whispered Oz.
"I want to hear you say it"
"You have to promise, when this is done, you'll kill me. Blow me up with your robots, vaporize me with that laser from space I've heard rumours about, whatever. Just as long as there's not a single atom of me left" he said, calmer then Sam would expect given what he just said.
"That doesn't seem strange to you?" Sam asked.
"To me? No," answered Oz.
Sam looked away. He had hoped that hearing it again, with a night of sleep and a sober brain to think it over, would have made it less strange, but it didn't. If anything, that strange taste he had was returning even stronger this time.
"I...still don't know" he finally said.
"Come on" pleaded Oz lightly, "you've got nothing to lose and everything to gain..."
Sam breathed out deeply and continued looking away, lost in thought. The risk was undeniable, hell even travelling through the Mojave was still dangerous at times, and the price was strange enough to make him even more wary...but there was a part of him that couldn't shake the feeling that he had to say yes. Maybe it was his recent boredom overwhelming his mind or a strong sense of curiosity, but either way he had his answer.
"Alright, I'm in" he said, offering Oz his hand. The man's face brightened instantly and he shook it with excessive enthusiasm. "But we have to leave now"
Oz nodded, picked his bag up off and slung it over his shoulders. "Ready when you are chief"
Sam nodded as well and the pair moved towards the elevator.
"One more thing Oz"
"Yeah?"
"Don't call me chief"
Leon lent back, trying to get comfortable, but it seemed wherever he moved there was another rock sticking in his damn back.
He looked across the small gap to see Mike Pullen trying to do the same. When the dark skinned man looked up, Leon gave him a grin and a thumbs up. Mike just glowered at him.
With nothing else to do Leon leant forward to survey the small cliff-side they occupied. Looking down, he saw the entrance to the cave that both he and Mike were watching. They knew the Deathclaws were in there, but after Diesel's death Abercrombie had ordered them to simply wait for the damn things to come out, rather than trying to flush them out. Leon didn't disagree, although, as Abercrombie's Second, he never would have disagreed with his leader no matter what he thought.
He even shared the man's distaste for these missions. If the scientists wanted Deathclaws so bad they should have to come out here and get them themselves, rather than sacrificing good soldiers like Diesel. There were limited numbers of men like Diesel, but there seemed to be a never ending supply of doctors wanting them to do this and that. It had never made sense to Leon why they got priority. The Enclave was built on the backs of its soldiers in his mind.
He could see, on the wall right below him, Diesel's blood glistening in the moonlight too. It left a mild sick feeling in his stomach; not because it was blood, as a lifetime soldier he'd seen more than his fair share, but because it was his friend's. A fellow Lifer, as the younger recruits liked to call them. They had hoped it might have been enough to draw out the creatures by now, but that hadn't worked so they were left to just sit and wait. Leon had sent Beaumont a little further back to cover the next area with explosives as a sort of 'failsafe' though. Leon and Mike were both safe where they were now, elevated roughly 12 feet from the bottom of the cave, but the natural ramp that led down to it was only 10-15 metres long and if one got past that then they could both be in danger.
When he looked back up he saw Pullen was checking his weapons and Leon decided to do the same. His plasma rifle was fine as he checked it only a few minutes ago, but he reached out and moved it a little closer. If he had to have it he wanted to be sure he could reach it.
It was his second weapon that he focused most of his attention on. It was something new that the science department had created. It looked roughly like a plasma gun but with the core parts removed and placed with a more low tech design meant to fire it's ammunition; long, electrified bolts. Each bolt supposedly had enough electricity to stun a Deathclaw, although Leon had his doubts. Especially since they had never been tested.
He could tell Pullen was thinking the same thing as the man field stripped his weapon, the same model as Leon's, checked the weapon was in working condition and then rebuilt it. It was the 6th time Leon had seen him do it since they had set up at their positions. Leon quickly did the same, as it wasn't a particularly complex weapon compared to their plasma rifles. But the fact that it wasn't tested made he and Pullen, both Lifers like Diesel, nervous. Any number of things could go wrong with a mission and that was with good, reliable equipment. Throwing something new in there was the equivalent of a wrench into their proverbial gears, as Pullen always liked to say, and he wasn't far off in Leon's mind.
He turned as he heard something approaching behind him, but relaxed when he saw it was only Beaumont. "It done?" he asked, referring to the explosives. Beaumont simply nodded then moved to his position, a few metres to Leon's left.
Leon watched Beaumont take up his position, finding a somewhat comfortable spot and then sitting perfectly still, looking almost like another rock. He had a unique set of armour on him which Leon had always admired. Like the rest of the irregulars in Abercrombie's unit, he had stripped down his standard issue power armour, getting rid of the sleeves and gauntlets. Hannibal had modified his helmet though, removing the parts that covered his face, making it look more like one of the baseball helmets back in the Stand then something from a suit of power armour.
He was a hard man and the helmet let him display his usually stone faced grim look. He rarely spoke outside of combat and even then it was short and to the point. All business, someone Abercrombie had valued highly when he was first put in command of this unit.
Leon had to admit he hadn't liked him at first. Beau's silence seemed like arrogance to the talkative Leon, but eventually he realised that was just how the man was. And he was a damn good soldier on top of it, having a real knack for explosives and other loud weapons, which Leon thought seemed to be at odds with his personality.
He then looked across at Pullen, the man carefully focused on the cave entrance. Both he and Leon were Lifers, although Pullen had 17 years to Leon's 11. Leon was far younger too, mostly because the recruitment age was higher in Pullen's days back when there were more people and more soldiers. Nowadays? People as young as 15 were being accepted. Leon himself had signed up at 17, straight out of the basic academy that all Enclave children went through at the Stand. He smiled at the memories of being young and stupid, naive to the way the real world works.
Pullen was the lone member of Abercrombie's unit that still had his entire power armour, although his helmet was off at the moment. He had spent too many years serving as a regular soldier to even try to adapt to anything different. Leon himself left his helmet and his sleeves at the Stand, although he kept the gauntlets. They made him feel stronger, somehow.
Strictly speaking it was against protocol but, surprisingly to Leon, Abercrombie both welcomed and encouraged this sort of adaptation. Power armour was designed for the grunt infantry; to hold and take ground, fight in straight lines. For a squad like Abercrombie's, irregulars, the bulky armour was more a hindrance then a help. Most of the men had gotten rid of their sleeves, as they slowed a man's reflexes, and helmets, as they slightly stifled a person's vision. Even Abercrombie had taken to wearing combat armour over the usual power armour, although Leon knew it was only because of Hannibal. The skinny bastard couldn't even wear power armour but he had even stripped down his combat armour, although whether that was for the same reasons as the others or if he just wanted to fit in, Leon didn't know.
Leon noticed Pullen was signalling him and looked up at the veteran. The man had his rifle lying in his lap and was signalling with his fingers. Leon understood them instantly.
Danger Close
Pullen then pointed down to the cave and Leon leaned out, trying to get a look at what had to be a Deathclaw. He saw nothing and leaned out a little further.
Suddenly, a huge cream coloured claw came soaring for his face. He pushed himself back with a curse, fumbling to get out one of his weapons but found he was lying on them. The claw was still thrashing, still searching for him, and it was getting closer. He kicked out, booted foot landing on thick, muscled appendages and doing no noticeable damage. He found he was screaming something, although what it was he didn't know. The Deathclaw started roaring too, almost in response to Leon.
Somehow, through the noise of his screams and the roaring he heard the dull whoosh of a bolt flying through the air. There was a low howl and the claw disappeared back down under the edge. Rolling over, Leon pulled out his own bolt gun and carefully leaned over the edge.
The Deathclaw was half leaning on the wall soaked with Diesel's blood and Pullen's bolt was sticking out of the creature's back. It looked up, saw the veteran trying furiously to reload his weapon, and began to make its way up the small ramp.
Another whoosh, this time from Beaumont, and a bolt materialised in its thigh. It roared in pain but didn't stop moving. Leon fired, hitting it low in the back. Pullen had reloaded now and fired again but his shot was wide, thudding in to the rock wall.
Leon watched, amazed as the Deathclaw continued moving up the ramp in a half run, half limping fashion with 3 bolts sticking out of it and enough electricity coursing through its body Leon could see the tiny bolts leaping between its fingers. He knew they were tough, but this was ridiculous.
It continued up the ramp and was almost at the end when Leon saw Beaumont duck behind some cover.
"Cover!" Leon roared, hoping Pullen had heard him, before burying himself in the rock face.
The explosion sounded like a thunder inside his skull, the force rumbling across the landscape and shaking the very mountain they were positioned on. Rocks began tumbling down and Leon made himself in to as tight a ball as possible, cursing as he thought about how this would be the perfect time to have a full set of power armour.
Slowly the rumbling stopped and the tumbling rocks became nothing more than pebbles. Leon opened his eyes, carefully, half expecting the Deathclaw to still be coming at them. But where the Deathclaw had stood was nothing but a large, blackened crater with little chunks of flesh spread out in a larger radius and soft wisps of smoke coming from the centre.
He sat up, ears still ringing, and looked for the others. Pullen was up, fingers in his ears trying to clear them out. When he saw Leon looking at him he gave him a thumbs up, but winced as he took his hand away from his ear.
Leon returned it and looked for Beaumont. Where he had been was nothing but a pile of rocks and for a moment Leon was afraid they had lost him. But slowly the rocks began to shift and Beaumont pulled himself out of the rubble, sitting up as if nothing had happened. He looked over at Leon and gave only the slightest of nods. Leon couldn't help but smile at that hard bastard.
He got up, grabbed his guns and started to make his way over to the crater. When he got there he felt something warm trickle down the side of his face and, putting his fingers up to his face, he came away with blood on them. Maybe it was just a cut, or maybe it was his ears bleeding, he wasn't sure. But at least the ringing was gone. Whether that was good or bad he would find out later.
He got there first but Beaumont joined him a moment later.
"I think you might have overdone it" he said to the silent man, "a little"
Beaumont just stared at him.
"Hey" said Pullen, jumping over a rock and striding over to them, "I don't want to be 'that guy', but aren't we supposed to get them alive, not in pieces?" he asked, kicking a hunk of flesh with his foot.
"Only if we can stay alive" answered Leon, "That was one tough mother, wasn't it?"
"Oath" answered Pullen, "Good work silent man" he added, nodding at Beaumont. The quiet man nodded back.
"Well, I don't think we'll be getting our bolts back" said Leon, motioning at the smoking crater, "it's about time to head back too, it'll be dark soon"
"Wait..." started Pullen, "You don't think we could..."
Leon rolled his eyes. "You know how bad it tastes. And Hannibal only seems to make it worse. Why even bother?"
"I don't know" snapped Pullen, "Maybe I'm just sick of living off coyote meat for the last 20 years"
Leon smiled. Ever since he had met Pullen the man would exaggerate how long he had been serving as a solider. When Pullen was at 11 years he said he had been serving for 15 and now, at 17, it was 20. If he ever got called on it he would just snap 'well it feels that damn long with you bastards'. It was something that always made Leon smile.
He sighed. "Fine," he said, "Beaumont, collect up some pieces big enough to make steaks"
The man nodded and started walking off.
"Oh, and Beaumont?" Pullen called. Beaumont stopped and turned. "No burnt bits...please?"
Beaumont just nodded and headed over to where they had put their packs. He returned with an empty, worn out sack which he started tossing big hunks of meat in to.
"You owe me for this" said Leon, as he and Pullen watched Beaumont at work.
"I reckon I will" admitted Pullen as he thought about how horrible those steaks would taste after Hannibal added his 'spices'. Then he shrugged. It still beat coyote meat, he thought.