Chapter XXVI:
Questionable Ethics
Raul
There are signs to chaos. Lo mas obvio, the ones you know from blocks away… the screaming, the terror. Las masas adolescents coming your way, expecting some monstruo de la máscara de hockey to be chasing them with a very big machete. These we found in ample supply as we walked the streets like Dante en el infierno. Los adolescents didn't even pay us a second mind as the waded ridiculously around us… I was tempted to shoot some of these goth, rímel que lleva punks!
I heard the cock of Beatrix's revolver.
"Ya better be tellin' the truth, Lenny. 'cause if you ain't… I'm gonna go find me Bighorner. I'll tie you to his horn, and I'll spike him in the ass. Watch 'em drag you on and on until you ain't nothing but hide an' bone."
I half turned, Beatrix dragging Lenny Canalla, the little rata de Freeside, to the floor; her revolver on su cuero cabelludo. He was battered y bloody. Big welt on his cráneo. Of course, heh, that was only on the outside.
"Why, lady," the little rata gasped, then he turned and gave mi rosa blanca de Texas a bloody grin, "'cause the screamin' crowds of dumb teenagers not good enough for ya? Golly, no wonder you never taken us down, you rotten, cold hearted bitch—gah!"
He cowered on the floor con el resto de la suciedad, his hand cupped bloody around his mouth. I shook my head at this… pedazo de basura. This rata. This escoria!
"He got blood on my boots," I winked at mi dulce Beatrix as I knelt before el rata. I pushed La Mano Derecha de Dios against his forehead. I wanted him to see my eyes.
"Your madre must never have taught you manners, Canalla. Pero… who would? With a family name like that?"
Bien. The fury in his eyes. Not so espinoso now, are we, rata? I smiled at him, and pressed the muzzle against his eyebrow.
"Pero… I am generous sort. So, I shall teach you. You will address her with politeness, or I'll make you eat your teeth. You will answer her questions both immediately y sin sass, or I'll break your ankles and leave you to hobble. You shall be truthful, at all times, or I'll… well, I'll just kill you," I shrugged despreocupadamente, "no hassle, no contemplating. Just kill you, y leave your body for some dogs who will no doubt find you delicious. Pero," I pointed at his nose with La Mano Derecha de Dios, "you can avoid all this. Just be a, uh… Beatrix, help me here."
"Be a good boy."
"Si! Be a good boy. Do you understand?"
Bien… his eyes are exact where I want them. Conscious of their mortalidad.
"Y—yyes."
"Good. Now… get up!"
I grabbed him and threw him into Beatrix's waiting arms. As she shoved him ahead of us, revólver listo para hacerle muerto, she ushered me over:
"I got a bad feelin' I know where we're going."
"Oh?"
"Yup. The Lion's Den."
"Oh, mierda," I shook my head en cansada frustración, "Van Graff's. Why did it have to be Van Graff's? Those culto pagano! They keep trying to turn me into una rana!"
"Trust me, I know. I ain't in the mood to be a Cheshire Cat… again."
"He he he."
"Hey, what's so funny?"
"Your hairballs."
"Ha. Ha. Ha," she snorted angrily, "Excuse me, I'm gonna go get my Cat'o'nines."
"No no no," I laughed as I spun her around in my arms like mi pequeña bailarina, "let's not be so hasty, Kitty. Afterall," I traced my finger over her oh so temblor lips, eyes so emocionado at the presence of… me, "the night is still young. And there are—"
"Uh uh," she smiled at me oh so astuto, taking my finger like a pointer, "we have work to do… and your friends to save, remember?"
"Pff, I'm sure they're fine!"
"Really?" she grinned like the ascribed Cheshire, "what, in between here and there, you went and dropped your nuts or somethin'? Hmm, maybe I shouldn't give you this, then."
And in her hand was a dangling Hex Bag.
"I mean, I think you'd be all the more charmin' being a toad, y'know?"
I raised my… well, don't have an eyebrow anymore, técnicamente, pero I raised it anyway:
"Where did you get that?"
She smiled that devilish connivente smile of hers when I know that she's being a… very, naughty chica.
"Oh y'know, tracked down a witch, kicked her hokey ass in Texas Hold 'em… and had her cook me up a few."
"Oooh, was that the… only thing you had her cook up?"
Oh, the mischievous look! Hmm, maybe I should watch my culo from now on. It might… fall off. Y not from me being over doscientos años, mind you.
"May've had her… show me coupla other things."
"Oh? Que?"
"That would be telling, hon."
"Fine."
I plucked the necklace from her grasp amid her mocking laughter. Aw… I love this woman, do not mistake me… pero, she drives me loco often. And on purpose, tambien. Though… I suppose it's mutual.
As we rounded the corner, the second sign of the chaos presented itself: silence. The grim silence de la Muerte misma.
"Nobody at home," Beatrix whispered. I nodded, drawing Los Manos de Dios together, and wrapping the Hex Bag around my neck.
"Like una ciudad fantasma."
"Um, if it's all the same with you," el rata croaked, "I've done my bid. Find your way from here. Now, gonna go and—"
"In front," Beatrix prodded him with her revolver, "if anybodies catchin' a bullet, it'll be you, you yellow-bellied snitch. Now walk."
It was another block, and soon another sign. Tres signo. The one closest to muerte. The smell of cordite and burning flesh. Heavy and thick, like overcooked Salisbury Steak.
Y soon after that? A place where Lions roam.
"Whoo," Beatrix whistled, "ain't seen a club like that since—"
"Vault Cuidad, '63."
"Ah yay. Hellfire, it was I reckon."
"Si. You started a riot, remember?"
"Hey! I ain't the one who went and started some Clint Eastwood bullshit draw-off in the damn street!"
As Gideon would say, I gave her un mierda-eating grin:
"Y no la uno who decided to whip that poor, poor fatman on the culo until his skin fell off!"
"What can I say? He wanted to know what being all zombie was like."
"Of course, of course. Pero, there I was, defending your honor."
Ah, that foxy grin!
"And who in the Sam Hill told you my damn honor needed defendin', eh?"
"My hijo, of course. Such a harsh man. He'd haunt me forever—"
"You and your damn tall-tellin'. I reckon you gotta lie to yourself about your true nature, huh?"
"Oh?"
"Simple peasy. You're lonely, you're Ghouly, and you were lookin' to get in my pants."
"All true," I smirked so much, La hermosa dama would die from blushing, "I would put up with a great pile of mierda to have a chance at these," all so smoothly, I looped my fingers through her belt and gave them a tug. Of course, she had to be la persona desabrida, and play hard-to-get, and push me away with that astuto smile.
"That including gettin' ram-rodded and drag about by a three-horn bull like a seasaw in a flea fight?"
"Wicked fun. Can't truly be un vaquero without eh… riding the bull at least once."
"Sure, took me whole 3 flippin' hours to find your sorry, horny ass. What were you… dangling from a cliff or somethin'?"
"Ah, si! Dangling round y round while you, of course, decided eh, milk the moment, as they say."
"Hon, you're awfully quite at bein' a damsel-in-detress."
"Ah, but you didn't say such things the night later. More a matter of fact, you were—"
"Don't you dare!"
"Screaming tu corazón out! 'Oh, Raul! The things you do to me!'"
"You—!"
"Do not deny it, mi amor. You know it to be true!"
"Oh, you just crossed the line, Tejada. Now, I'm getting The Black Mamba! Your ass is gonna be mine tonight!"
I'm feeling a bit… combative.
"That is if you have the time, or the consciousness, or even the want to pull out the piel de serpiente."
"Want? What do you mean, want?"
"Simple," I smirked, leaning in oh so close to whisper in her ear, "you'll be too busy screaming with howls ofecstasy!"
Now, I may be doscientos años… with some change and with the worst knees and eyes imaginable, pero I have made it my business to always be the fastest draw ever alive. And that translates to dodging una loca senorita haymakers like it is high noon!
"Ha ha," I laughed like Zorro, smiling like Banderas with Zeta-Jones trying to kill him, "is that all you—wait, no no, put the gun away, Beatrix! Put the gun away, that's too much!"
"What? Dodge a punch, dodge a bullet."
"Eh… no. I am certain things do not work that way."
A few moments later, we had the rata handcuffed to a lightpost… well, what remained of it after doscientos años of being so stubborn. Ah, age.
"B-bbut I told you where to go! Ya can't just leave me here!"
"Um, yes we can. Pero… don't worry, we shall be back!"
"And if you happen to have some kinda hideaway on your person, think long and hard and twice before using it. 'Cause that be the case, I will hunt you down and I'll take your tongue as a start. And believe me, twas ol' standard protocol for snitches way back in San Antonio. Ain't nothing like snitches being mute."
"P-pplease you don't understand! You can't leave me here! You can't!"
"Oh, don't worry, pequeno rata," I booped his nose, "your Tio Raul will be back in no time! I will bring great presents, tambien! Now, Beatrix, my dolce, we have business."
"'bout time."
And un rata's protests faded into the wind as we drew with the entrance. Which brings us un quarto sign: the smell. The smell of death… y burning flesh.
"Looks like we missed the party.
Bodies everywhere. Bullets everywhere. Young, old, goons and teens. And we could see why the stench was muy malo.
"Green goop," Beatrix nodded, "boy's got plasma."
"Had plasma."
"Your friends?"
"Maybe… no."
"Why you say that?"
"Not their style, Beatrix. I've had three gunfights with Gideon y sus compañeros in less than a week. This is too…"
"Loud?"
"Si. Loud. Bombastic. Si… right here," I came to the center of the room, "this is where it all started."
"See what you mean. Got bullet holes going about a good ol' 75-degree angle… whoever was shootin' was doing so moving."
"Si, holes going down. Heavy caliber, too. What do you think?.44?"
"Uh-uh, bigger. Look here," she plucked a casing off the ground.
"Ah, 12.7's. Heavy firepower."
"Heh."
"Que?"
"Got ourselves a cowboy. Look at the pattern. Too wide for single shooting. Boy was duel-wielding."
"Ah."
He wasn't alone. Other side of the room had .357 right on the floor going straight. This had been a two, at least tres-hombre job. Question was… who?
"C'mon, let's find your posse first."
"Shh," I held up a hand, "tu hear that?"
"Someone's moving," she cocked her Ruger en anticipación, y she pointed up. I nodded.
Stay behind. Me, I signed, slow. No noise.
She nodded. We hit the stairs, moving so slow ratones would blush with tails between their legs. No noise. Can't having any groans give us away… well, aside from my aching knees, of course. Pero, this I can control.
A hallway, and then a door to a room. She pointed ahead:
Me. Left. You. Right.
I nodded.
On tres, I mouthed. I gripped the door handle, and she drew ready.
Uno. Dos. Tres.
I opened wide and we swarmed in. Of course, it was all inútil. Of course, it was.
"Jesus Christ, Raul," jefe shook his head as he holstered those Colt Automáticas of his, "where the hell did you come from?"
"Nosotros? What about you? And, eh… mierda, what the hell happened to you?"
"It's a long story."
Gideon
Time was not on our side. Every second we wasted here, the closer we got to midnight on the doomsday clock. And unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of a generous author to give us a proper win. So, catching-up was made quick, and to the point.
"This is insane," Beatrix practically exploded after I finished explaining the situation, "no, this is downright nutty with a slice of brahmin-shit, deep fried in worm layered tequila! What in the blazing hell do varmint gundealers get out of starting a damn war in Freeside!? All this is gonna do is get those yahoo soldiers shooting at the wrong people. There ain't no damn profit in this!"
"Maybe that's the point."
They all looked at me oddly. I just sighed as I started strapping on my holsters and riggings.
"I can't prove it, but I've got the feeling there's something more to this than just petty revenge. Someone's making a power play. Somebody wants to frame the King's and get the NCR involved. Someone wants to remove them from the board."
"But Gideon," Veronica shook her head, "what about the Fiend plant? Besides, if they're captured, this would no doubt lead right back to them."
"Oh no," Raul chuckled softly, "this is too bien to just pass up. I wager these gatos have something else up their sleeve. Something to, eh… seal the deal, if you understand? And the Van Graff's aren't your casual street punks. No doubt they've got something to cover their respective culos."
I nodded. But in the back of my mind, a begrudging series of questions started floating around. Who had the most to gain from this? Who had the savvy, and the cold heartedness to pull something like this? Who could pull the right strings to get the Van Graff's to do your own dirty work? Who?
I shook my head; conscious of the constant ticking in the background. Tick Tock, Tick Tock. People are going to die soon. Tick tock, tick tock. Talk some more, lives are spent.
"Either way," I sheathed my blade and started loading That Gun, "we've got two things to do and fast. First, we need to stop Pacer and his men before the idiot starts a war. Second, we need to get to the King and warn him."
"Isn't it a bit late for that?" Veronica inquired. Beatrix just as quickly beat me to the responsive punch.
"Hon, when you piss off a bear, only thing gonna stop it is fire. If, and when this blows up, Freeside's gonna need to be ready to fight."
"They won't last long," Veronica replied somberly; her eyes somewhere else and her skin turning a ghostly pale, "nothing provokes the worst in the Republic like vengeance."
To my surprise, Beatrix didn't even seem fazed by this. She didn't even bother shooting her the unasked question. She just shook her head and countered:
"Pissed or not, you don't go and tussle with folks with guns lest you're expecting to get licked. And army or not, they ain't looking to go all in till they get all the cards in their hands."
She eyes her coldly.
"Tell that to the Brotherhood."
"We're wasting time," I quickly interrupted before this conversation took the wrong way and fast, "get Cass and Boone to the Followers, then get the King up to speed."
"And you?"
I loaded the Browning and shoved it into its holster.
"I'm going after Pacer."
"Not alone you're not," Raul stepped forward, drawing his Model 29's resolutely, "someone needs to watch your culo, jefe."
I looked at Beatrix, and she smiled sagely:
"Don't worry your head, hon. 'sides, rude to judge a girl by her age."
To prove her point, she plucked Boone from her seat; looping his arm over her shoulder.
"C'mon, hon, we're wasting moonlight."
I sighed to myself and shook my head as the pair of them took out through the door. How the hell did this go so damn wrong?
"You okay, boss?"
I slumped my head and murmured:
"Do I look okay?"
"It's not your fault, boss."
I looked at him, finding the solemn seriousness I'd only seen in either the best, or worst of times. And maybe because of that, or more likely I'm just too tired to wanna argue, I couldn't find the words to reply. I could only hang my head, and keep loading.
"Don't do that."
I looked up at him.
"Do what?"
"Brood," he then took me by the shoulder, looking up at me with those ageless, yet ancient eyes of his… it was like he was speaking to my soul, "Si, I know how this looks. And I get that it's easy to just hate yourself… but you need to know the hard truth, jefe."
"Which is?"
"Tu no eres Dios."
I narrowed my eye.
"Never thought I was."
"Sure you didn't, but that hasn't stopped you from trying to hold the world up by your shoulders."
"Yeah, but—"
He then jutted his finger into my chest.
"You are just a man, Gideon. Take it from someone who knows. You can't save everyone. You can only do what you can with what is given to you."
"What if—" I had to look down at the floor to prevent me from choking on my own words, "what if it's not enough?"
"Then you try again, jefe. You try and try until it is done, [one way or another]. Because this," he waved his hand around the room, "this is something you cannot change. It is something that does not matter. It is done. Siga adelante."
"Then what does matter?"
"What you do now."
And what I'm doing now is wasting time. I can settle this shit later. I've got a maniac to stop.
"Okay," I nodded as I grabbed the last of my gear from the table, "we'll go out the back. Quicker that way."
"You got a plan?"
"Yeah."
I slammed a mag into the Colt and hit the slide release:
"This."
Unknown
The life of a spy is something… universal. Regardless of the side you find yourself on, the only differences are merely material in nature. The operations are the same. You take your orders from someone sitting quite comfortably in their padded chairs, with their attractive secretaries and their freshly brewed supplements at a moment's whim; hundreds of miles from where you are being sent. You find yourself in exotic places you'd rather be spending frolicking in the warm sun; strong, young hands making you feel rather fuzzy inside with the smoothness to count: instead, slitting the throats of pigs and sheep too slow and complacent to even bother putting up a proper amusement before they bleed themselves dry.
I do not mind death. In fact, I can take great pleasure in it. But therein lies the double equation to it. See, a good death requires a certain level of commitment from both parties. An eager assassin, and a determined target can make for very amusing pleasures. And sometimes such events can lead to other pleasures. Especially in the hands of a man, or even woman, who knows what they're doing.
Such a thing has happened to me from time to time, and why not take advantage of such benefits? Afterall, what is life without passionate memories? Even now, thinking about such things can make me feel a degree of wooziness. Though, I have found nostalgia to be nothing short of distracting. A spy, and an assassin doubly so, can be afford a handful of mistakes to be improvised.
But a spymaster is a different story all together. It would be hypocritical to be like my former superiors. Though I would find the comfort to be just that, but in time: boring. As such, I prefer a more hands-on approach. Especially with the… well, dysfunctional would be something of an understatement
But psychotic would be an extreme I would not tolerate in my operatives. A good spy, and assassin, requires a balance of both subtlety, and explosive reaction. This balance is not something that can be achieved by the operative in the field alone, though perhaps I am an exception to that rule by extreme circumstances. Rather, it takes a certain… motherly touch. A soothing, commanding voice in their ear.
"Raven, I have target in sight."
My eyes opened and I adjusted to CamFeed #1. The image was fuzzy and a little warped. Then again, TeleComm reception signals are never particularly high on Intel's to-do list. But, it would do for the moment at hand: tying up loose ends.
"Acknowledged, Widow. Terminate him."
Through the Cam, I watched as Widow began her descent from the rooftops, slipping from the shadows to the street. I kept a very watchful eye on her readings, and my hand never strayed too far from the inserted killswitch. Widow had a habit of getting a little too invested in her operations. She wasn't a bombastic lunatic like Firefly, or a cold perfectionist like my daughter, Athena. Rather, she would consistently make things rather personal.
A downside of recruiting from one so traumatized as a child, but as long as she knows her place she'll do her job. If not, then a few hundred volts and a paralyzing agent running through her blood stream ought to sort her out. I smiled. After all, mother knows best. Suddenly, her suit telemetry sparked with sudden energy and her Cam came became awashed with a blue hue.
She'd exited her cloak. I growled in her ear:
"What do you think you're doing, Widow?"
Her Bajan accent came over the line, snippy and petulant:
"This man is a coward. A rata. Where I come from, we would cut out his tongue. I want him to see me as I kill him."
"And need I remind you that is a Black Operation, Widow? Meaning you cannot be seen."
"I won't be, Raven."
"Put your cloak back on, Widow."
I didn't need to spell out what would come next if she didn't. She sighed, and static came on the line; her suits function returning to normal.
"Good. Now, finish the job."
From her Cam, I could see Lenny Canalla handcuffed to the lightpost. I knew partnering up with the Van Graff's was going to be risky… a necessary risk. But I never considered how emotionally invested and perpetually sloppy Gloria Van Graff would be. Eliminating Pacer's elaborate scheming circle should have been a simple enough task. Should.
Granted, she isn't entirely to blame for tonight's misfortunes. No, I lay part of that on Cassandra's shoulders. I warned her that leaving Mr. Maddox and his merry-band would present an unpredictable element to our operations. At best, she should have at least taken the Brotherhood Scribe hostage. Regardless of her own plans for dealing with House, it would have allowed us a means to keep them out of our affairs.
Alas, the life of a spy is universal. I admit, Cassandra isn't nearly as foolish or egotistical as Richardson's Department of Intelligence, but she makes the mistake of assuming I don't know what I'm talking about. A shame really, eliminating or apprehending Mr. Maddox and his people would clear up so many potential issues and now would be the perfect opportunity to do exactly that. Regardless, Mr. Canalla's death should ensure that the operational side of this intricate plan continue unhindered. A few moments later, and Widow was in the prime position.
Now, eliminating Mr. Canalla is not as simple as putting a subsonic round through his head. There must be implications on whom his killer was. After all, deniability is key to any operations survival. And utilizing the N-99 10mm with a specifically aged ammunition should be enough for any autopsy to conclude who dispatched Mr. Canalla.
"Target eliminated."
"Good. Resume overwatch pattern. Shadow your targets, but do not engage. Acknowledge, Widow."
A long pause. Are we getting rebellious, Widow? All I have to do is press this button. Aw, a sigh. Not today, then.
"Acknowledged, Raven. Resuming overwatch."
"Good girl."
In movements that would make old-world ballerina's blush, Widow was back on the rooftop. And no sooner than four… four?
"Widow, assume close observation."
"Affirmative."
Hmm… four indeed. My my, Gloria certainly had her way with you, didn't she? Smart of Mr. Maddox; no doubt he and that Ghoul Gunslinger have gone out to stop Pacer's men… but it'll be too late for them to avert what is inevitable. Ah, the Silver Hair sees it. Yes, go and ahead and trace the trajectory, find the bullet casing… and curse your world out.
Soon, there will be no witnesses to trace Pacer back to what has happened. No testimonies will prevent what will come. And who would believe the words of terrorists and cowards? Clearly, you haven't thought this through. I sighed wearily, taking a sip from the mug on my table.
This was the problem with brave men. Brave men are willing to act, but not think. Of course, such men are commendable in having the will to do what is needed at the moment at hand. But they lack the foresight to understand the gravity of their actions. They think in single moves, not in matches.
This, of course, was the downfall of the Enclave. Richardson had the will to do what needed to be done, but did not bother to understand the consequences of what would be done and plan accordingly. One could go into the philosophical applications of his untimely and ungracious defeat, but I have no time for such drudgery. Simply put, the man left too many loose ends, and it unraveled everything. This was why I was tempted beyond the conception of beli to eforder Widow to… acquire, the targets below.
But, I must remember that for as much power as I hold, there is always someone above me with more. And they do not take kindly to me ignoring their orders, or going over their heads.
"Continue shadowing them, Widow."
The warning at the end of my tone was unspoken, and entirely understood. Now, a far graver matter demands my attention. My eyes moved to CamFeed #2.
"Status update, Firefly."
"Posse's movin' north, Rave," the Texan man replied almost manically, "got the perfect drop on 'em. Only need give ol' Fly the word, an' I'll blow 'em to tinder."
"I am going to pretend I did not hear that, Firefly."
"You're no fun."
"No. I'm not."
It might be questioned and considered insane why people like these are the ones I command. The answer is a matter of psychological dependence. A sane man does a job for three reasons: pay, pleasure, and patriotism. However, put them through enough challenges without reward and they will begin to question matters. An insane man, or at least one with some psychotropic tendencies will be held in check so long as a… motherly hand, is applied firmly around their cheek.
"Mother, may I?" I chuckled softly. Whereas Widow is motivated by family issues and a gross need for vengeance, Firefly can be defined by exactly two: adrenaline and pyrotechnics. Normally, I wouldn't have him assigned to such a delicate observation, but Athena is on another assignment. So, I make do.
"Closer proximity, Firefly. I need to see their faces."
"Would you like to see the whites of them eyes, Rave?"
"Would you like a cardiac arrest?"
"As long as my sendoff is explosive," he laughed in the mike. As I said, Firefly is the type of operative you drop in the middle of a fortress to layer with plastique, not shadow members of Mr. House's private army.
"Just get close enough for me to hear them sing… unless you don't think you can hack it?"
"Oh, I getchya, boss-lady," he laughed like a loon, "I'll get whisper close."
"Just don't get caught. It would be a real shame if that were to happen."
"Now don't ya go and get button happy there, Rave."
"Don't give me reason to."
"I getchya."
House was a man with two-faces. He was a man with all the resources and all the power to present a great show of force. When the NCR arrived here ten years ago in the wake of Willow Creek and the massacre at , he was more than prepared. He had a deal prepared for the NCR. A very generous deal: he practically giftwrapped the Dam and present it to us on a silver platter.
But I know the truth, or at least the most obvious one. The Legion had just routed the only force in the East strong enough to hold them back, and one that gave both the Brotherhood and the Enclave pause. Refugees were pouring in as a result. The Brotherhood had just taken over Helios One. And the Legion of course were quickly making their biddy-body way to the Colorado.
And here comes the ever-so hungry Republic, desperate for riches. It was like giving a dog a steak and telling it kill. And so, we did. We've done his work for him for a decade. And we've kept him in business just as long.
But he and I both know that is an arrangement that cannot be afforded to last, something needs to give, of course. Which brings us to the curious development for the past month. A series of operatives venturing out from Vegas, performing missions. I've kept my eye on them, watched them work. But the goals are always… strange.
Truth be told, the only one that has made the most remote amount of sense has been this very one. But I greatly suspect this has little of House's actual impute. The assault on the Lion's Den was nothing short of last minute and luck. And considering how slowly this team is moving compared to the last few I've recorded, they must have wounded. I wonder whoever is holding their leash is going to take this.
Either way, Cassandra is correct in her assessment. House is interested in the affairs Mr. Maddox. And he has gone to great lengths to ensure that he arrives here to Vegas. I suppose considering the man's extensive background, especially with the Legion, it would make sense to recruit him. I would certainly do it, though his previous organization's fevered anti-establishment and independence streak would make that difficult.
After all, it was difficult to integrate their survivors into our own military. Not a matter of structure, you understand. Simply put, when you've been your own boss, and the sole lawmen of your respective charge for over two hundred years, and the mere mention of your name strikes both respect and intimidation in everyone who hears it… well, you might have issues taking orders from us. This was why I rejected the proposal to recruit a few. I have no place for higher morals, or ideologies here. Only those who take orders… even with a little encouragement.
Firefly turned the corner and there they were. I frowned. Their backs were turned.
"Get closer, Firefly. I need to see their faces."
"Easier to see when in pieces, Rave. I'll leave the heads intact, y'see?"
I smiled at his pitiful attempts. He could be such a Tasmanian Devil. But he was nothing more than a dog whining for attention.
"I think you know my answer. Get ahead of them."
"Yes, mom."
His Cam turned to the wall, and he began to ascend it. Our technicians over at Navarro had created a sort of adhesive that we have applied to the suction palms of our stealth suits. The hydraulic harness takes care of the rest. I remember one of the technicians explained he got the idea from some… comic book. But I do not mind, or judge him for such childish things.
I learned long ago that science fiction is only fiction until it isn't. Now he was on the roof, and in a moment later he landed in a puddle. Energy readings suddenly spiked as the monitors crackled.
"Careful," I warned.
"Worry your head over nothin', Rave."
"We shall see."
Now he was off at a run. It took months of physically training, and certain… modifications, to achieve, among other things, silent running. I believe that is where my operatives earned their nickname: Ghosts. Though, I have heard many other colorful names… at least, those alive to give them. I quickly checked CamFeed #1 again. They were halfway to the Followers.
Not quick enough for what was coming.
"Got incomin'."
My eyes darted back to Firefly's Cam… and I stopped cold in my tracks; standing up from my chair.
"Jason?"
I shook my head at what was I seeing. It… it couldn't be. He was dead. He'd been dead for several years now. He… then they got closer.
I shook my head. It wasn't him. He was too young. Far too young. But… he had his face.
"Firefly, take snapshots of their faces. I want to run them through the database. And don't make any additional amendments to that request."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a surprising submissiveness. In seconds, I had the images in hand. The photos were not perfect. The shaky reception left some undesirable resolutions in the ink. But that was something that could be handled by our technicians.
Though two of them, both female, might prove to be challenging considering their… disguises. That, however, was secondary. What was important was… I had to know. I had to be sure. But that… that could wait.
The taller, and possibly older of the two women suddenly removed a CommSet from her cloak. As she wrapped it around her head, the other one suddenly swatted her hand out in a panic.
"Miam, don't! Orders, remember? Radio silence!"
I smiled. Panic always had an effect even on the most disciplined. Now, I had a name, and an accent to boot. That would certainly narrow things down.
"We have no time for this, chica. We need to get him to emergency surgery now, before he loses more than just the arm."
Ah, a Bajan accent. It felt like Christmas come early. I had a name, a possible age, and a place of origin.
"Oh, Nagi Tanka," the girl spoke Apache. Interesting.
"Hang on, brat. Don't you dare die on me."
The boy… he smiled. I couldn't make out what he was saying, except the words dead pool. The reaction on the Apache's face… Jason had that effect on me. Miam suddenly began speaking in her mike.
"Want me to take a peak, Rave? Get a nice eavesdrop on what's being said?"
I considered it for a moment. But I shook my head. We were already taking a risk following one of House's teams this closely. Breaking out the interception and encryption software would be like a flashlight in the dark. No need to shout our presence yet, though I am certain Firefly wouldn't mind in the slightest.
"No. Keep visual contact only."
"Gotcha."
Several seconds later, they took a turn and head towards a large processing facility. I knew what was coming. Even with Firefly's abilities as an operative, House wasn't stupid. He quickly lost visual with them barely thirty seconds in. Even infrared only went so far as the water on the ground.
"Ah, flaming balls."
"Disengage, Firefly. Return back to base for assessment and checkup."
"Could leave a nice gift for 'em here. Got nice set of plasteque just waiting to be used."
"You can take your pyrotechnics to the range. Now, move."
I then opened up a command control, and the encryption software quickly brought the newly constructed files from Firefly's suit telemetry.
"Who are you?" I whispered to the boy's recording. He… I couldn't shake the feeling. He was so much like Jason. But the question was… well, was he mine? Or Alice's?
I had a feeling I would find that out soon enough.
Pacer
It's okay to be scared. I learned that hard-life lesson long time ago. It's okay to be scared, 'cause otherwise you're dead. And those who say they ain't got the nerves in a time like this? Dumb, stupid, or they're just plain bluffers and liars.
So, I could excuse the coldness I was getting, and ain't from the breeziness in the air. Could feel it though. Down in the bone, in all of the boys lining up behind me. So thick I could taste it. Then I started hearin' the voice speaking all quiet in the gloom, deep down.
You can turn around. You can walk away. You still have time. You still have a choice.
The bag in my hand felt heavy. Made me want to drop it, eyeing the road like a mistress.
You don't have to do this. You don't have to.
Music. Cheering. Presley. Faint, but I could hear it on the wind. Heh, must be doin' his Mr. Gloom shake down and burnin'.
You can—
No. Shut your mouth, whoever's down there, ya hear me? I gotta do this. I have to. These people—
These people are like you. Remember?
No… they're not. We Freesiders, we Kings? Never once forced ourselves on the folk. Never pushed 'em outta homes. Golden rule everybody knew was to respect our space, respect our land.
These people? These low-down, stupid-as-hell people? Well, remind me of something Presley once spout about back we were young an' stupid. There are builders, and takers, y'see? Builders who build with their two hands till they bleed, and till they got 'em something to be proud.
Proud to say, 'I built this'. But the takers? They ain't never known what it means. Cause all they know is how to take. Take from those who've built without once gettin' their grubby little hands in the mud an' shit and buildin' something.
And these Cali's? These whining, greedy little double-dealing snakes? Biggest takers of 'em all. I've seen it. I know what they did to Vault City, to Dayglow, to all of 'em. They take from folks who're better than 'em, built something better than 'em. And instead of takin' notes and learning something, they take.
Well, that ain't happening here. This is my home. And I'll die 'fore I'll give it to 'em. So I'll kill 'em first. I'll kill every last one of the blood-suckers 'fore they even make a move.
I will do what Presley won't. And I don't want him getting close to this. He's the hero the folks need. He's the Jesus to guide 'em outta the brush. Me?
I ain't ever gonna be that. Can't touch it, see? Never. But I can keep it that way. Keep Presley safe by doing what needs to be done… by being the badguy when they need it.
"Hey, Pace," heard Charlie and pokin' my shoulder, "you good?"
"Yeah," I nodded, "yeah, I'm good."
I gripped the bag tighter, an' we started walking. Boys had theirs slung over their shoulders; nice an' outta sight. Me? Had mine in the bag with a few other things we were gonna need. Plus, being in front, attention's gonna be on me.
Something I learned from Jeffie. Slight-of-hand, y'see? Keep their attention on one hand, do your business with the other. Turned the corner, and there it was: first checkpoint. Two soldier-boys sitting like bums behind their sandbags.
"Hey!" one of 'em called out, his rifle still down, "What you guys doing out here?"
I cleared my throat, an' got to speakin' that damn accent been practicing weeks for:
"Oh, y'know, patrolling. Makes you wish for a nuclear winter, am I right?"
Laughing. Good. Gotta keep walking. Gotta get closer.
"Yeah, don't I know it."
"Jeb, what the hell are you doing!?" other soldier-boy poppin' him in the arm, gotta get closer, "You know the protocol."
"Oh for fuck's sake, Bobby. They got uniforms. And we're far away from Forlorn Hope to worry about this shit. C'mon, give 'em a break."
"Yeah? Well, I ain't never seen 'em before," he then turned to me, "where you guys come from?"
"McCarran."
"Yeah? Well, how come we haven't got a call from Hsu then?"
Almost there…
"Well, we left early, and the man's pretty busy. Maybe check back with your superiors?"
He saw us, and we saw him. I watched his hand. I watched his face.
"What's the password?"
I didn't answer. He suddenly went for his weapon.
"Hey, asshole! What's the password!?"
"Bobby, what are you—"
'Bobby' went glowing like a star 'fore he crumbled like a fallen one.
"Bobby! Oh god—"
And 'Jeb' went next.
"God's not gonna save you now," I breathed. It… it was so damn quick. Wasn't like copper. Took it's time, could really feel it comin'. But this?
This felt so… quick. And looking at the piles there, where men used to be… didn't feel like killin' men. It… felt like takin' out the trash, ain't never seein' 'em again.
And it… I've never felt something so hot. Ten feet away and it felt hotter than a banquet fire. And the smell? I dunno, I just expected—
"Pace."
I nodded. Pulled out the gleamin' silver. Bag felt lighter, but knowing what's in it still got me chilled. I then signaled the boys; spreadin' out in a line. Uniforms got us in, gonna keep 'em confused for a bit. Just gotta get to the back where they keep the generators for this place. Another two hundred feet, past all the guards, an' we gotta—
"Hey, who are you—"
PAFWOOSH!
Another green goop on the ground. An' in another couple of seconds, more were joinin' 'em. Soldier-boys should've stayed home. Now we could see. The tent city; where all the scum an' parasites were sittin' in their squalor.
Well, we're gonna—
"Hey."
No, no, no! There was a little girl comin' at us. She… Christ, couldn't been more than six. Still had a little teddy in arms, an' wearin' rags that no kid should've been wearing. Fuckers couldn't take care of their kids? Why would you—
"Have you seen my mommy?"
Looked at Charlie. I… she's just a kid. Couldn't. Not yet either way. If we did, gonna attract attention. Not yet.
"Sure, lil one," I smiled and took her hand, "I know where she is. Let's go find her."
"Thanks, mister," she smiled at me… so innocent. Too fucking innocent. Who the hell would bring a little itty-bitty to place like this? Raise her like this? Fuckin' squatters ain't gotta fucking clue.
These Cali's ain't realizing they got everything. They got it all, an' it ain't fuckin' enough.
"Hey, I've never seen you before," she looked up at me with those big ol' blue eyes, so big could pluck 'em like a grape, "how come I've never seen you before?"
"Oh, I'm new," I smiled back, "all new, actually. Yeah, came to bring y'all some presents."
"Oooh, really? Can I see? Can I see?"
"Hush, lil one," I put a finger to her lips, "not so loud."
"Sorry."
Christ, now I'm feelin' all bad. Gettin' looks… no, gotta do this. Gotta get this done. Got plenty of kids like this one back in the street… I've gotta do this so they don't get to grow up like this. Like her… like me.
"Hey, you wanna play a game?"
"Oooh, a game? What's sort of game?"
"Oh, we'll play hide n' seek. You see that shack over there? One over there by the fences?"
"Yeah, but mister… that's pretty far."
"I know, but I'm terrible. Need a lot of time to hide, y'see? Now, when you get over there, I need you to count to thirty."
"But I… I don't know how to count to thirty, mister."
"That's okay. Can you count to ten?"
"Um… yeah?"
"Then count to ten three times, okay? Now, go on. When you find us, I'll have a nice present for you."
She could barely hold it in. Had to nudge over to get her movin'. Trottin' and skipping over like a jack-rabbit, and disappearing around the corner.
"That was somethin', Pace."
"Yeah, Charlie. I know."
"You know what we're gonna have to do, right? What we might have to do?"
I sighed.
"Let's get this over with."
Signaled the boys to wait outside, started scattering 'bout. Should be nice and spread out when this place blows. Marched into the building. Wasn't much there, save a big whole warehouse full of soldier-boys. Mullin' about, movin' boxes around.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" One of 'em turned 'bout to ask me. I shrugged.
"Package from McCarran for the Major. A little lost, know where I can find her?"
"Yeah, she's in the back. Take a left past the generator room, and keep going about fifty feet, then take another left, and you'll be there. Better make it quick though."
"Gochya, thanks."
Started movin'. Ain't got long 'fore they start askin' where those boys at the front went. Minute passed, and I was at the generator room. Heard it long 'fore I saw it. Quickly slipped inside.
"Hey, what are you—"
PAFWOOSH!
Time to get to work.
The King
"You ain't nothing but a hound dog! Scratchin' all the time!"
As I did my flip-an'-whirl 'round to the tap of my shoes, whole crowd of hundreds started clappin' and tappin' and passin' 'round like one-mean-an'-green and costumed dancin' machine!
"You ain't nothin' but a hound doggy! Cryin' all the time!"
I then smiled all proud an' wide an' a little wink in the eye as I leaned other and bellowed to the whole world:
"C'mon, folks! Sing it with me!"
"You ain't caught no Mole Ratty, then you ain't no friend of mine!"
And right in the front of the crowd was Jeffie's kiddies, all pumpkin an' deathclaw all surrounded by all manner of ghoolies and hobgoblins and all manner of heebie-jeebies all dancin' so cutely and proudly to the music! Golly, I'm getting goose bumps just lookin' at 'em! Ah, but you know what they say. Gotta conquer your fears!
"Hey, you kiddies! C'mon up and take a jiggle!"
They needed no second word. They were up in a jiffy, dancin' to the tune as I tapped my feet, snapped my fingers, an' started singin' loud and long for the world to hear me tonight:
"Well, you said you were high class! Found out that was a lie!"
"Lie!" the crowds shouted.
"Yeah, you said you were a high roller! Well, ain't nothin' but a liar!"
"Liar!"
"Well, you ain't killed Geckos, you ain't no friend of—"
BOOM!
I hit the floor, an' the whole world went spinnin'. Screams erupting, and I felt the tremble. The shockwave. An' the fear I ain't felt since… since the night of the 15 tribes, when House 'evicted' them. And I felt afraid.
"Oh my god!" somebody shouted, pointin' upwards. And there… there I saw the maw of the Inferno. The roarin' flams, the glowing heat punchin' right through the night sky. Already I could smell the smoke, and feel the dread.
"Whoa, folks!" I turned about and gave 'em all the reassuring an' steady hands I could give, "Now, don't panic. We don't know what's happened or what. Hell, could be some fool went little nutty with some fireworks. Now, keep calm, an' my boys are gonna escort you fine folks home. Just stay calm, an' you'll be home in no time!"
As I was doin' this, the boys took the que and started shepherdin' 'em out. Jeffie came up by my side.
"Sir, that was on the Squatter's side of town."
"I know, Jeffie."
"And sir, we don't have the time to get all these people back to their homes. I mean, there's at least a hundred if not more people out there—"
"I know, Jeffie," I turned back to the risin' firestorm in the distance, feeling the weight droppin' into my stomach and draggin' my heart with it, "have the boys get 'em back to the square and post triple security on the perimeter. I've got a very bad feeling 'bout this an' I don't wanna be caught with our pants down—"
Then I saw it. The green flashes. Constant, never endin' flashes in the distances, peekin' over the buildings and horizon's like the Reaper's grim fingers.
"Fiends," I breathed, "but they ain't never done nothin' this bold before."
I then turned back to Jeffie:
"Get all available folks to the south-west entrance. They might try somethin' there. And send a runner to Westside. Find out if they're under attack. If not, tell 'em to be on high alert, an' if they got reserves, send 'em our way. We might need 'em."
"First, let's get you to safety first, sir," he then grabbed me by the arm an' my black-coated detail swarmed 'round like flies on a Brahmin, "Freeside needs you alive more than anything."
"Get the message out, Jeffie. And tell the Followers to be expectin' company. They might have victims on the way."
"But sir, the Fort is already past capacity, and… you really want to be letting in Squatters on our side of town? Especially now?"
"Better to open doors when crowds are in a panic, Jeffie. Now, where the hell is Pacer—"
Something changed in him. Maybe was the grip tightening on my arm, or it feelin' cold and doozy, but Jeffie suddenly went morbid. I looked at him an' he was looking at the distance. Now I could hear an' see gun flashes there too, mixed in with the green. One right after the other, like fireworks. An' the fire and smoke was rising higher and higher.
"Jeffie, hey Jeffie!" I grabbed him by his shoulder as we kept walking, an' I regretted it. His face… his face was dark an' angry an' scared all at once.
"Sir… I don't think this was the Fiends. This is… far too deliberate."
"Then who?"
The look he gave told me that right off.
"No."
"Sir, Pacer and 8 of our men have been gone for the entire day—"
"No. No, you're wrong. Pacer wouldn't—"
"Presley, that man has been wanting blood for years—"
"Jeffery, Pacer isn't stupid. He knows what this will do—"
"He doesn't care, Presley," he snorted, his eyes full of wicked anger, "he's never cared about the cause! He's never cared about Freeside! He's only ever followed us because of you!"
"That's exactly why he wouldn't do this! I forbade him from it!"
"And when has he ever—"
"KING! PRESLEY KING!"
The escort stopped and drew their subs on whoever was hollerin' our way. Then I saw who.
"Whoa, put 'em down boys. Beatrix, what the hell are you—"
"Damnit, Presley!" she roared, takin' me by my coat and shaking me, "For once, shut your piehole an' listen to what I gotta say! Lives depend on it."
She spoke. She spoke an' I listened, and the whole world felt cold and mute. Couldn't hear anything. Nothin' but what she had to say and I… no. No, it… it can't be.
I couldn't move; I couldn't damn well think. Nothin' but… no, it can't be true. Pacer… what have you done? Do you realize what you've done!? You've killed us!
"Sir," I heard Jeffie without hearin', felt without feelin'… I felt dead. I felt cold. How could I have let this happen? How could I have let him go so far? How have I been such a dang-god idiot!?
"Sir, we've got to get you to safety. Now! And we need to prepare for a siege. The NCR are not going to let this slide—"
No.
"Presley, what are you—!?"
No! I can't let this happen! I won't let this happen! I will not let all that I've build, all that these people have bleed and fought to keep fall apart… because of you. Pacer… you're my brother… but I won't let you drag us down with you.
So I ran. I ran and I ran. And I ran on despite the crowds, despite the fear, despite the brewing heat. I ran even with the tears running an' gushing from my eyes. I ran… because I had to save it all.
I drew the .44 AutoMag from its bulky holster, and I ran towards the fire.
