Chapter XXX:

Devil in Disguise


Colonel Cassandra Moore


I miss the days of the Rangers. When all my problems were simple, and the methods for dealing with them even simpler. When a bullet to the head of a Raider Chieftain from over 600 yards out with a high-caliber marksman rifle would settle accounts in the plains between Redding and The Hub, or detonating a power plant inside certain technologically advanced facilities to convince their owners that resisting NCR laws would not be in their best long-term interests. It was a time when I could handle things with a gun without the bullshit that comes with high command trying to appease to bleeding-heart politicians and pacifists. It was, as I said, simpler.

However, a misplaced mine exploding over my hand and here I am; dealing with the bullshit I wanted to avoid. I sigh a bit as I take in the morning coffee, bitter as it is. Much of the lands west are adequate enough for growing, but the flavor is always missing. Notice as much with our tobacco, as well. I suppose that's what happens when one makes civilization out of nuclear ruin, but I also suppose that's just the farmgirl in me talking.

Granted, the analogy fits well. I have no time to be artful or polite. I'm here because I produce results, regardless of how many idiot shoulders I have to push through to do it. As an officer, we are taught to complete our mission in the most efficient means possible. Any one with a brain can understand the translation. I don't waste good men, and I spend them as wisely as I can.

I sigh again, and take another sip to chase away the dreariness. I will admit one thing about the current situation: it is anything but clean. Though she's not there, I can still feel Helena needling me. Criticizing me over the fact she hasn't learned that the best laid plans are always the ones to fall apart upon contact with the enemy. As I said, I have no time to be artful.

"Everyone's a critic," I mutter to myself, watching more my reflection than what is in the room. The problem with opinions is that everyone has one, and they're formulated by people who don't know what the hell they're talking about. The worst however, are the ones who hold themselves morally superior. Who covet their particular high ground at the mission's expense? At that particular thought, I grumble at the memory of those White Coat idiots protesting the wars we fight, never mind the enemy we fight.

No, they're quite comfortable stitching up the wounded in their secluded tents, far away from the front. Until they've seen the measures the Raiders, the Brotherhood or even those machete wielding maniacs across the Colorado will take it finding ways to destroy us, they can gladly go fuck themselves. For all their pretense of peace and cooperation, they're insufferably naïve. Peace without force is not peace, but exposure to be taken advantage of. Peace gained without force is little more than a fragile lie that will break the moment weight it is put against it.

Why am I thinking in analogies? Because when I look into the interrogation room, I see everything I hate. I see everything wrong with the Republic. I see everything standing in way of progress.

"You've gotta be kiddin' me!" The King of Freeside, the pretty boy playing at being a leader shouts in dismay and pure, unfiltered horror. For years he's been a thorn in my side, so seeing him sulk with what has been laid before him makes me smile, "This here is nothing short of a shake up! A damn occupation by your soldier boys!"

My opposite number, Ambassador Dennis Crocker, wipes away at his brow and pulls at his wool slackers, and offers his typical candor. So very much like a politician, and the sight grates at my nerves.

"With all due respect, Mr. King, you are not in the most prime of positions to be making such claims. After all—"

"This deal," the King hisses, leaning forward in his seat, "would leave my people damn well in your hands, won't it? We might as be standin' up with our shirts off while we're at it."

"Mr. King, this deal would ensure the protection—"

"Protection?" he snaps, "You're taking away our guns. You're stripping away folks right to protect themselves. You're asking 'em to let solders come into their homes, to give away our privacy, our food, our lands! Everything that they've damn well bled for! That's what you're askin' there!"

I smile as the I see the fury build up in Crocker's face. It's good for the insufferable peace pusher to finally get a taste of it. To finally see the people he 'defends', and how they really are. What they really are.

"Yes, Mr. King," he curls his lip, letting just enough of it out in a controlled manner, "we are. And to be quite frank with you, sir, you've more than earned it."

The silence is deafening, and Crocker takes the opportunity to press his point:

"Your people have killed my people, Mr. King. There is no way around it. Now, I understand the circumstances regarding your disposition, but to be honest, that puts you in an even more precarious position."

"Precarious how?"

"My superiors have their doubts that you can control your people, sir. Not when it really counts."

Yes, oh King of Freeside. Let it sink in. I told you all those years ago that when you defy the bear, you will eventually pay the price. Well, it's about damn time your debt was collected.

"No one wants more bloodshed," Crocker continues, unfolding more of his binders and sheets, "but recent events speak heavily in the favor of your people not being entirely trustworthy, especially against the citizens of the NCR. We have hundreds of impoverished people who live in squalor, unable to return home and unable to make much of their current existence. And it all traces back to you and Freeside. Simply put, it's long overdue that the people already living here be finally allowed the opportunity to thrive, Mr. King."

"I agree."

That catches Crocker off guard, and I see the subdued look on the King's face that I've been waiting to see ever since pretty boy was first brought in here. But, there's something more to it. Something I do admit to respecting. It's the desperate need to protect his people. A feeling I understand all too well.

"You're right, 'course," he continues, "folks in the Squatter District do deserve more. Do deserve homes an' the like. I know what it's like to live in, as you say, squalor. But much like you also say, my people's interests come first. And this deal your 'superiors' are pushin' on down our throats? This ain't it. This ain't the way. 'Cause all its gonna go an' do is just spill more blood. And I think you know it, too."

Crocker sighs, removing his glasses and he looks my way with a disgruntled look, and I know what's about to come. I let it, because though I may hate what the man represents, I do respect the man enough to allow him his moment to vent.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. King. You're right. I know what this treaty will do. It is nothing short of annexation in everything but name. Not just blatant martial law, but also the fact that even granted the status of a Republic Protectorate, your people would still be liable to be levied taxes."

"Without the rights that come with bein' all proper in Statehood? Yeah, I got that bit. So, what's door number two?"

"There isn't one, Mr. King. At least, not anymore."

"Lemme guess. You had a deal of your own?"

"Well, it would be wrong to say just mine. My good friend, Colonel James Hsu, also had a hand in another proposed treaty."

He smiles knowingly, his eyes crossing over to the glass and to me. Yes, Mr. King. You've stood in the way of progress and killed far too many of my men for me to let anything stand in the way of this. I smile as an old phrase my father had a habit of saying comes to mind.

'You reap what you sow.'

"So," the King looks back over at Crocker, "gimme the details. Good an' bad."

"Mr. King, that would be an exercise in futility. That deal has long since been discarded."

"Don't doubt it. But I got a feelin' in my bones you'll be seein' that deal soon again."

What are you playing at, Mr. King? Surely you—

A door suddenly opens with a fury. I don't have to turn to know who it is. I've known the man long enough to know the man's presence. I feel the anger in his stride, and his usual calm struggling to hold it in.

"James," I say with all the candor I can manage, "you're back earlier than I expected."

"What have you done, Cassandra?"

I turn to face my oldest friend, and perhaps my greatest political enemy. It is a rare thing to see such anger displayed deeply upon his weathered oriental face. James was Shi, born straight out of what used to be San Francisco, and as such was instilled with a self-discipline I often find myself envying. Even under fire, he was a man made from stone.

"My duty, James. The same as you."

He glares at me before eventually subverting it with a more neutral expression, no doubt attempting to rein in his emotions and present the logical front I know so well.

"Cassandra, I can't help but find it funny that no sooner than I am called in for one of Lee's evaluations at the dam that I find my sector and my area of jurisdiction being turned into a warzone, and you're right in the middle of all of it."

"What exactly are you implying, James?"

"Let's cut the crap for once. The evaluation was nothing more than a distraction, wasn't it? Just a means to get me out of Freeside and away from my post."

"James, I had nothing to do with that."

Truthfully, I didn't. It had been little more than a convenient coincidence that I had fully taken advantage of. And in thinking this, I know he can see in my eyes. There is a reason why no one ever played poker with him back in the day.

"Perhaps not," he says evenly, "but that didn't stop you from jumping at the opportunity to go over my head… again."

"James," I replied as neutrally as I can, "I have my orders. Freeside and Outer Vegas has stood in defiance of the NCR presence here for far too long. To be blunt, the good General thinks you are too soft on these people."

He of course shakes his head, and the weariness of his command starts to show like a well-worn mask. It seeps well into his voice, but he does well to subdue his anger into something more manageable.

"Of course, he does. After all, he barely spends half an hour inspecting operations here before he's gone back to the safety of the Dam, or to earn even more political favor with some Senator back in Shady Sands. Never once bothers to look at the fact that I am undermanned, undersupplied, and unable to broker the necessary deals to fulfill my given objective. No, he's just content with letting me deal with the mess he created."

"You're not still bitter about you not getting your commission, are you?"

"I don't care about rank, Cassandra," he eyes me warily, "and to be honest, if being given a star means I need to be more concerned about watching my back from my own side than getting my men through this alive, then I don't want it."

"Hmm," I chuckled softly as I settle into a chair, "that's the funny thing about you, Jamie. You were always a little too smart for your own good, even back when we were both still in the Infantry."

"Yeah," he sighs as he too settles into a chair across from me, his hands clasped together and his eyes staring at nothing in particular, "I remember. Heh, way back when the only thing you and I had to worry about was dealing with Raider gangs."

I smile at the memory a bit. I do admit I am a bit nostalgic. But I suppose a girl always does need her moment of reflection.

"Those were good days," I muse softly before I look over at him, seeing the young and enthusiastic lieutenant taking a hill by my side. He was… fearless, even then, "I actually miss them."

He was about to smile. To remember with me, to share that moment with me. But then the frown comes, and know what will come next.

"Cassie, I know you. I know what you do when something gets in your way, and I also know what happens afterwards."

"What exactly are you asking me?"

"I'm asking you to step away from this before it gets any uglier."

"James," I sigh as I rise to my feet, "even if I wanted to, I have my orders. It's been a long time coming that Freeside be brought to heel."

"What?" he retorts as he rises to face me, "You mean like Bitter Springs?"

I feel the very familiar heat in my face, and the tightness in my hand.

"James… I'm not going to discuss this with you again," and I make my way for the door. Predictably, he stands in my way.

"Yes, we are, Cassandra. When are we going to stop building our successes off body counts?"

"The moment our enemy is destroyed. When there isn't a need for soldiers like us anymore."

"You know as well as I do that's a lie. There will always be another war because we keep on creating them!"

"Are you honestly feeling pity for these people, James? This is war, and only one side gets to keep breathing once the shooting starts!"

"Even when we start the shooting, Cassandra? I understand what we had to do with the Jackals and even the Brotherhood. We were left no choice in the matter. But this?" he points to the interrogation room, his voice getting louder with every syllable, "This is not combat, Cassandra. It's an act of lunacy!"

"Lunacy, James?" I snort as I shake my head, "Are you even talking about the Kings at this point?"

"The Kings, the Khans, Vault City? At what point does it stop, Cassandra? At what point do we stop killing innocent people to further our goals!?"

"Innocent? You actually think these people are innocent? For years they have stood against the NCR. For years they have been a drain of our dwindling resources while we sit here and placate them! That's what you don't understand, James. People with power do not react to reason, they react to force."

"Really?" he shakes his head at me, and I know what he's about to say, "Is that what went through your mind when you gave the order to kill all those women and children at Coyote Tail Ridge?"

"Yes, James," I snarl at him, "it did. We've been at war with the Khans since the Republic's inception, and they've never once stopped trying to kill us. I did what I had to put an end to it. Because look at the Khans now. They're broken, and it will take years for them to recover."

"Cassandra…" his voice draws to that of a pained whisper, "at what point do we stop being like the Enclave? At what point do we draw the line between being soldiers and just being little more than uniformed killers? When we're not the very thing we swore to destroy all those years ago? The thing that took your father away?"

I look at him for a long moment… and I remember. I close my eyes at that… at seeing him. Pressed and cleaned in the open coffin, the assemblage of his men… the flag in my mother's arms. I remember.

"Jamie…" I whisper, and I don't even notice the tears falling down my cheeks, "I will never forgive them for what they took from me. But I will also never forget how close they came to destroying us, to destroying the Republic. I learned a lesson that day when they brought my father home. That the enemies of the Republic will always take advantage of us, of our… good will," and with that, my eyes lit up with fury, "they must be met with overwhelming force, without fear or hesitation. They must be stripped of their will and ability to fight until they are left with no choice but to submit or die. That is the only way the Republic can survive in this world."

"Even if it means losing what we are in the process, Cassie? Losing the very idea we fight and die for? What your father died for?"

"I'm protecting what he died for, Jamie. Like it or not, the price of our prosperity must be paid in blood. I'd rather it not be ours."

His face dawns with morbid hopelessness… and I feel cold for it. We may be ideologically opposed, he may be my greatest rival… but he is one of the few people I can call friend. It hurts seeing him like this, but it is necessary. What I stand for… is too goddamn important.

"Cassie…" he shakes his head and sighs, "what happened to you? What happened to the girl I…"

He doesn't finish. And when I look upon him, I see the dashing, handsome, heroic man I… We were young… we were stupid.

"The world moved on, Jamie…" I turn back to the men in the room, and the reason I am here, "and I moved with it."

The silence between us is deafening. And I hold back the pain from creeping any further out. I cannot afford weakness. Not anymore. Neither can the Republic, especially not now.

"This isn't like before, James. Right now, we can't afford to blink. We cannot afford long-term diplomacy anymore. Anyone who proves to be a hindrance to the NCR must be dealt with swiftly, and without mercy. Otherwise… we might as well slit our own throats."

I can hear him opening his mouth to speak, to counter me with some well-intended piece of logic. But he doesn't. He stands there in silence like he's accusing me. And with that, he turns back to the door.

"Cassandra… you once told me that you reap what you sow," he says in the most morbid of manners, the dread heavy in his voice, "two hundred years ago, the world killed itself. And we've been picking up the pieces ever since. Thing is… we're not so different from them. If we're not too careful… we'll end up just like them."

I don't answer. I don't need to. It is the same warning I have heard over the many years I've known him. He's a hopeless romantic when it comes to the past.

"I know it's pointless," he continues, "but I will try and stop this. I'll fail. I know that. But I have to try."

"You do what you have to, Colonel Hsu," I sigh heavily, "we have all our duty to uphold."

And with that, I hear the door close behind me… and I allow myself to weep.


Raul


Ah… there is nothing like waking up to tu amor, my true love. It is a truly beautiful sight, watching mi rosa blanca de Texas doing something I don't completely understand the purpose of, but it is nonetheless beautiful, eh? Also… it makes me ignore the cantidad enorme of pain I am in! I am an old man, and pain and I are viejos amigos, but… uggh, this is greatly painful. Hmm, maybe I should go back to sleep. Yes… that blissful existence of sleep!

"Well, well," I hear my love's hermosa voice drawing me away so painfully, "look who finally decided to wake, huh? You had me worried there for a stretch. Reckon I was gonna have to do without ya."

"Ah, Beatrix," I groan with my fakest of smiles, una sonrisa plástica, "I was about to dive into the sweetest of dreams, and escape this very painful reality I have no wish to be part of again! Ah, but you must drive me back! To torment me!"

"Donchya be such a drama queen, you rottin' old yeller," she laughs back, mixing something that smells muy malo and I resist the urge to gag, "ever occurred to you that my own old and boring existence could do with you bein' round for a good ol' five minutes without you gettin' hogtied or blown up or worse?"

"No," I tease with my winning grinning, "I indeed had no idea that you were old and boring! And me? Being hogtied and blown up? Perish the thought!"

"Honey, if you weren't so beaten down already, I'd give your hide the greatest of floggings!"

"And I would drag you into bed with me," and with that, I reach for mi amor to do as I said and far worse that your imaginación insignificante would have the greatest of troubles trying to understand! But alas, I am old. And my reflexes are the best with pistolas, but not with women.

"Oh no you don't!" she giggles as effortlessly avoids my groping hands, "Got no time for your vulgar pretenses, you old coot. Time for you to be on the mend."

She then sticks the thing that smells like culo podrido in my face, and I try to wave it away:

"Send that away! I will have no part in that disgusting practice! I will heal on my own!"

"Don't be such a pansy, Raul," her voice gets so serious that I start to get a little jittery, "take your medicine, 'kay?"

"Yes dear," I sigh and I drink. Ah, it tastes like culo podrido, too. And por favor? Don't ask me how I know. Accept that tío Raul does, and leave it at that.

"Better?"

"Si," I consent, "but it is still mierda. Gah, everything I taste will be mierda!"

"Are you being a pain-in-the tuckus for the sake of bein' a pain-in-the tuckus?"

"Si," I grin oh so very wide, so very… victorioso, "would you want me any other way, eh?"

"Nah."

And when I take her beautiful cabeza blanca in my hands, she does not resist.

"Oh…" I whisper as we break apart, her aura so very sweet, "I have missed you, mi rosa blanca!"

"You ol' greaser," she smiles down at me as I hold her in my hands. Then I see the pained look in her eyes, and I while I could remain in my own land de leche y miel with my dear Beatrix, I know it is not to be. I ask of the matters that landed me within this not-so comfortable cot, and the answers are indeed what I think. Severo. Grim.

"A shame," I sigh with all weary reaching from my aching joints, and mis huesos doloridos, "I had hoped I could settle these scores without it coming to bite me in el culo…" and my face becomes down, deprimido, "and that this curse could be put to good use at least once!"

I see her looking very cross. Very… worried.

"Was he there?" she asks. I look at her, and for the life of me, I cannot lie.

"Si. Always here," I point up to my head, and down to mi corazón, "always whispering."

"The same as always?"

I nod, "'Let me out,' he says, 'let me out, Tejada.' Always loudest when the shooting starts. Always there. Always whispering."

"Raul," she whispers, taking my hand in hers and her pain adds weight to me, "last time… I was barely able to keep him back. If he comes for you again, I dunno if you'll be coming back."

"I know, Beatrix," I sooth, desperate to wipe the pain from mi amores face, "it took everything I had to keep him down when I was on Black Mountain. Up there… he was screaming."

"I lost you once, Raul," and tears prepare to make their dance down her beautiful face and I hold her for what little I am worth, "I won't lose you again."

"Shh, mi amor. I am here, and I am here to stay."

There is a knock, and I want to hurt whoever has las cajones to interrupt my moment with mi Rosa… oh, its Jefe. Never mind.

"What in the blazing hells do you want?" Beatrix asks, putting on her casual I will kill you with eyes comportamiento!

"Ma'am," Gideon answers with a tip of his boonie hat… eh, he needs a real hat, "we're actually here to speak to you. Can we come inside?"

"You are here to see her?" I ask with the most mierda eating grin I could manage, "What, have you grown tired of your ángel podrido en su hombre?"

"First off, buddy, you were never my angel on my shoulder!"

"He does give you love advice!" Veronica, la extraña, says with the most astuto of grins!

"Be quiet, V," he says jokingly, "and second off, why would I want one who is rotting?"

"Because you have poor taste!" I mock with a grin!

"Fuck you, zombie!" he exclaims with an accusing finger sent my way.

"Oh for Pete's sake, would you stop?" Beatrix glares at me, and I cannot help but laugh at her frustrations, "What exactly are y'all here to see me for?"

"Well," he shuffles embarrassingly, like an awkward schoolboy about to speak when he shouldn't, and he immediately regrets it, "I heard you know a thing or two about voodoo."

"Actually," Veronica pipes up behind him, "I heard that you know a thing or two about voodoo, and so I—"

"V?"

"Oh, sorry."

Beatrix looks him up and down, and snorts, "Get the hell off my property," and tries to swing the door close. But, of course, jefe is not easily sent away. A foot in the door, and his voice becomes severo.

"Look lady, I wouldn't be asking if this wasn't urgent. Now, are you gonna let me in or not?"

"Oh let them in, mi amor," I say with a grin, "after all, I'm sure it is una emergencia… right, Boss?"

Beatrix glares at me for a long moment before she sighs and lets them in.

"Y'all better not be pulling my chain or what not. I ain't got time for that kinda bullshit."

"Ma'am, do you think I'd be coming to see you if I wasn't being serious?"

Indeed, as he told what happened, and what would happen, and what he had in mind… he couldn't be anything less than serio. And if I did not know him… well, he would've been loco.

"Absolutely not," Beatrix stamps her foot down, "I ain't doing it!"

"Lady, did you not hear a word I said?"

"I did, and I do not care. You don't go messing with crazy-eye spirits! And you sure as heck don't go putting them into meat suits!"

"Even if it's Gloria Van Graff?" I've never seen la extraña angry before. She always been cute saberlo tado, what with that big brain of hers! But when I see her now, I see vengenza! I see the urge to destruir! It is… terrifying, "Even it means saving your home?"

"Darling, you're talking about messing with something that could damn well turn our hides into bacon, and probably do worse! I ain't doing it!"

"Beatrix," I sooth, "as much as I would wish to agree with you, jefe and extraña are right. I have been thinking long and hard about what could be done, but there is nothing! The Van Graff's are on guard, and trying to take this proof by hand would be suicido!"

"No more damn suicidal than bringing on this damn demon!" she shouts at me, panic wild in her eyes.

"So that means you can do it?" Gideon muses.

"Sure, I could. But I sure as south wouldn't be able to control it, and once it's out, I ain't gonna be able to hold it back for long."

"Good," Gideon replies, and looks my way with a sudden gaze… remorse, "I am sorry for this."

Before I could move, he did el inconcebible! He slapped mi amor!

"Gideon!" I hear Veronica scream, "What did you do that for!?"

Though I hurt, I cannot allow this. I rise, and my hand falls on Los Manos de Dios. I feel the .44 firmly in hand as I stand, clutching my Beatrix by my arm, and I shout with fury:

"Why did you do that, jefe!? Why would you!?"

He looks at me gravely, and says things I could not imagine him saying. Things vulgar I will not repeat. It was enough that Beatrix rose with her revolver pointed in his face.

"You gone and just crossed the line, partner."

"Bite me, you zombie bitch."

It is then I understand. I hear the sound of birds flapping suddenly. I feel the presence here and now. It is… angélico. And it is something I wish I would never feel again.

A hand catches Beatrix's arm, forcing it away. Disarmed, and sent away, Beatrix gasps:

"You!"

And there stands before me el misterioso extraño. The Mysterious Stranger.

"Hello, Ms. Russell. We meet again."


Translations


Spanish


cantidad enorme

enormous amount

viejos amigos

old friends

una sonrisa plástica

a plastic smile

muy malo

very bad

culo podrido

rotting ass

cabeza blanca

white head

de leche y miel

of milk and honey

mis huesos doloridos

my aching bones

saberlo tado

know-it-all