The weeping willow softly sways above me, let me daydream.
The world's made and madam, it's so lovely, let me daydream.
I lie and watch the clouds go by,
They're painting pictures in the sky,
I'm painting pretty pictures too,
Daydreaming makes them all come true.
- "Let Me Daydream", Erskine Hawkins
Definitions were important. It's a statement that shouldn't need to be said, but it is often repeated so often that its purpose is lost. While a word can be utilized to meet one's own ends, its power is lost if it can't be used to establish coherent communication between two or more parties. The logical conclusion to one word being redefined is the redefinition of thousands of others, otherwise known as the degradation of a language, and the confusion of thousands, millions, or billions.
Eris was a stickler for very few things, one of them was definitions, at least with other people. Her language skills are capable enough that she can cunningly misrepresent words and invent new meanings in the matter of seconds, but she heavily disapproves of others doing this.
From her hospital bed, she's been going through requested newspapers articles, archived within RobCo. Industries' network. For her, he'd printed them on repurposed paper so she could read from the comfort of her bed without having to strain herself. Apparently, she'd caught a strain of the common cold, and her immune system was compromised by her iron deficiency, on account of refusing meat.
His solution was more greens, because he was tactful enough to never suggest she eat meat ever again. So like a rabbit, she ate plates of what he referred to as 'spinach', a vegetable that had gone extinct and whose seeds could only be found in G.E.C.K's these days.
She'll not soon forget the panic he expressed when she deliriously slurred her words when he interrogated her upon her return. That burgeoning, girlish and romantic part of her led her to believe he truly was worried for her health, but that familiar gnawing demon of suspicion and alternatives suggested that he was worried he'd not have his right hand at the Dam in the time frame he needed.
"The Democratic candidate, Harvey Zalowski, recounts his parents' stories from the eastern bloc, and launches an aggressive, anti-American campaign that sympathizes heavily with the USSR, and possibly, China, that oppressive force in the east whose very name carries weight in the heart of every red-blooded American.. his opponent, New England native Douglas Vigneault, candidate for the Republican party, has built his campaign solely around these anti-American sentiments of Zalowski's, and has beaten the Polish-American by 12.9% in the most recent polling held." Eris reads aloud, simply fascinated by the rivalries of prewar politicians.
Below that column, are photographs of either candidate in pristine condition, despite how poor the quality of recycled paper they were printed on. That world looked so expansive, and she imagines being able to join political parties, clubs, and organizations from all over the globe, instead of having to seek them out in one, concentrated area of the wastes.
On the next page is a transcript of either candidates' final debates, with Vigneault having won the elections by a landslide in 2076. Either politicians' policies are riddled with holes and corporate interests, and their debates even more so. Eris has honed the art of debating by reading both fictional and real debates held between two opponents, and is unimpressed especially by Zalowski, who attempted to redefine the word 'fascist' by using it as a moniker applied to any structure that was totalitarian in nature. It's the same thing she sees now, in the wastes, when people casually refer to the NCR, or the Brotherhood of Steel, as fascists.
In reality, neither of those are fascistic whatsoever, just like none of Zalowski's opponents were fascistic. In the wastes at least, Caesar's Legion is the only system that even comes close to fascism, but even then, it is a closer relative of Bolshevism, fascistic only in aesthetics.
"Who did you vote for?" She asks the room, her eyes still glued to the vitriolic debate between Zalowski and Vigneault.
"Neither. I had donated to independent candidates many years previously, but I stopped trying to influence the elections by the 60s, disillusioned as I was with America's 'democratic' process. Neither Harvey Zalowski nor Douglas Vigneault were candidates that could lead America out of total annihilation, not that this could be avoided in any event." He explained the last part casually, as though he'd made his peace with it long ago, but she knew better about his embitterment with the old world governments. "I take serious issue with populist movements, which always seek to draw a sharp line between the elite and the people, as if such a line cannot feasibly be crossed through sheer will, as I had done due to Anthony's meddling.
"They prey on people, suppressing any ambitions and assuring them that 'you should not even try to rise in the hierarchy because it is rigged against you anyway!', it disgusts me, but it's proven to be the most influential rhetoric, and sways the gullible minds of people even today."
"I can see why you would think that, given your experience, but I can just as easily defend populism in times of great peril and need. When elites can be reasonably blamed during times of war, it comes to no surprise that populists fill the power vacuum to point at them. Ultimately, it's a two-way street, elites should have a responsibility to behave carefully, while everyone else should have a responsibility to be better informed. If neither of these groups can do the minimum of these services to society, then we can never simply blame populism, but the state of societal decay that creates a need for it."
Surely, he would agree with this, because he disliked many of his peers and competitors, not only because of the competition they posed, but for their intimate, personal values that he disliked.
"There is never a need for populism, as you say. In times of war, a nation will be divided among itself, the population split between supporting war efforts, and protesting against them. Populists are divisive enough that one of these hypothetical camps will be labeled as the enemy of the people, further deepening the divide between them. It's a game and nothing more, and it plays on people's primate instinct to collectivize and think as a group rather than as an individual."
"Maybe you're right, but no one who's swayed thinks of it this way, or this deeply. They believe in what feels right to them, especially if a politician promises to serve they and their family's immediate needs. Most people aren't interested in founding their own companies, and even if they were, such a thing would be catastrophic for the labor force. If you and your family are starving, or you, a hypothetical father, aren't able to take your children to sports games because of fuel prices only the wealthy can afford, you will naturally be swayed by populists, and for the average person, this is a virtuous thing, if not misguided.
"Vigneault ran a populist campaign with pro-military rhetoric, and promised to subsidize the oil and gas sector. He's a politician, so the chances that his administration would've actually gone through with this is slim, and the chances it would've helped are slim to none, but his campaign was smart to do this, and those who voted for him were right to vote for him, despite none of it truly being in their own interests. No one really cares that a populist is capitalizing on them, especially when they can't participate in cultural norms like sports games and theater, or even afford gas or food. Not that I can understand with cars, cars being a rare sight out here."
There was silence in the clinic while he searched for an answer. For someone who processed information so quickly, he sometimes took a minute or longer to reply, always after reviewing and revising his speech, she suspects.
When he finally speaks, he sounds somewhat impressed that she'd retained so much specific information in so short a time, but he rarely, if ever, voices his praise except on occasions where he was buttered up.
"You miss the point entirely, Eris, but like always, you do come equipped with an element of superior understanding of the common people. The point I was making, was that populism is redundant, useless even, because it proposes to correct a problem that simply doesn't exist. It wasn't the wealthy, certainly not the companies themselves, that were responsible for rising fuel prices before the Great War. Populists used companies like Poseidon as convenient scapegoats, either out of ignorance or malcontent, and distracted the American people from the more pressing issues. I don't expect you to understand the delicate inner workings of prewar economics this early, but it's rarely ever the elite that decide prices in a market. Deciding prices is an element found in socialist economies, not in market economies like prewar America.
"Furthermore, it is not the elite's fault that they can afford any given good while a poor person can't. The elite has no responsibility to provide anything to them. It's rather simple, the elites are easier to blame than scarcity and geopolitical bullying in the Middle East." His lecturing voice had appeared then, determined and imperious.
Naturally, she loses this on principle because he lived through the very thing they're discussing. Economics is one of his many dear trades, something he has an encyclopedic knowledge of, so much so that he sometimes forgets that very few have a knowledge of it that spans beyond the immediate and basic, which used to include her. A long time ago, he had to explain to her what a tourist economy was in simple terms, and why the Legion's slavery was unsound for the economy. Back then, she'd barely understood the complexities of that discipline, and even dismissed it in favor of the humanities.
It was always unwise to even engage critiquing from an economic angle with him, because while she understood it better than most NCR senators at this point, he was extraordinarily rigorous and exacting in his counterarguments. It's a topic that he can usually be relied upon to be purely informative rather than informative and condescending. He has the authority here, and it's unwise to question it, but Eris has never been wise, and she learns best through interpersonal disagreements.
"Here's the issue, and you have a tendency to do this, Robert. When we disagree on anything, it's often a matter of scale. I try to meet you on the level you want to discuss, but you rarely ever try to get on the level that I'm looking at. That's usually fine, I'm not complaining. If we talked about water, I predict that you would talk about where the water comes from, but I might talk about where the water could go. In other words, you talk about wetness while I talk about drinking the water." She reaches for her cigarettes on the nightstand and lights one before she continues her explanation.
She takes an inhale from her cigarette and tucks long strands of hair behind her ear, and opens her mouth to speak. "The problem with talking about wetness is that it sometimes ignores the obvious. Water can drown, it can revive a thirsty man, and it can power a city. With that lens in mind, you can see now why I called attention to elites and populism. You have to try to get on the level of people before you can criticize them, otherwise you'll run the risk of misunderstanding. All a starving man can think about is food, he becomes a creature of pure instinct, and he can't really be blamed for envying the elite who has plenty of food while his stomach growls. I think this is especially true when children are involved. If subsidies seem to relieve the strain on the economy enough for he and his children to eat and do normal, human things if only for a short while, then he'll vote for the populist. That makes him a good father, but a poor politician."
"If that's the case, then perhaps his political opinion shouldn't be taken into account. His ability to vote in the democratic process is detrimental not only to himself but to everyone else. This may not be seen immediately – democracies are notoriously slow – but his ability to elect someone like Vigneault will, and did, have far-reaching, long-term consequences." Eris would call his response arrogant if she didn't know that what he said was said in the genuine interest of other people.
At one time, she may have thought that it took an impressive display of mental gymnastics to claim that democracy was bad for normal people. Over time, she became more convinced that it indeed was, for a multitude of reasons. It turned normal men into political men, and divided normal people from each other, which sounded liberating, but in reality, it wasn't. While House didn't support democracy, he wasn't an expansionist despot either, and believed those who merited power would rise if given liberty to do so. There were many flaws in this view, she thought, but it aligned more with her own elusive values than anything else.
In the simplest of terms, all values that he had, could be condensed down to personal liberty, autonomy, and private property. On what he considered private property, one had complete and total authority. In privacy, those who lived and visited his city could do as they like, as long as they didn't physically harm another. To Eris, it once seemed too good to be true, and she reasoned that there must be some conditions.
Those conditions were apparent to her, but they were outweighed by the liberty that was afforded. She's read the ancient revolutionaries that founded America, many of whom implied that there is no liberty without inequality. Some will naturally be better than others, but this does not make their inferiors less free.
"I would agree, but for reasons you may or may not agree on. We'll see." She took another smoke. "The issue I take with democracies is that it coerces normal, working people to specialize in matters they otherwise wouldn't, or shouldn't, be interested in. In farming communities here, there are poor farmers that could otherwise get along if they weren't divided between politics that will never effect them. I see it as an illusion, the illusion that they have any measure of power, when in fact, they're donating their vote to a democratic state that will never care about them, and whose policies will only ever benefit the politicians, while screwing over the poor. It's predatory, and it's one of the worst kinds of predating – illusory. At least Caesar is straightforward about his people having no power, meanwhile the NCR deceives their citizens into thinking they do. Ideologically, they are opposed, but in practice they are both police states with basically similar approaches."
Eris is certain that he thinks he's groomed her into having the 'correct' opinions, and while he undoubtedly had a broad influence over her, she's of the mind that she's always thought like this, at least in a rudimentary fashion. Only now, her beliefs were more fleshed out, where once it had been a skeleton kept alive by skepticism and distrust of authorities. But she'll let him believe he's been the primary influence, because it is probably true, and it will give him a sense of accomplishment.
"I couldn't agree with you more, and this is why I originally launched an attack on populism, as it tends to stem from the democratic process I am opposed to. Why did you defend it, if you hold this opinion?" His question was genuinely confused, as if he didn't understand that she had to disagree.
"Just because I defend something doesn't mean I agree with it. If anything, I was defending the perspective of people rather than populism itself." This was something they'd gone over many times – her defense of things she doesn't necessarily agree with. Eris plays devil's advocate like a businessman pursues his career path – with zeal. She's under the impression that if she makes people think, they'll make the world a better place, because God only knows she can't make the kind of value judgments required for that.
"A favorite habit of yours, I should have guessed that." He spoke respectively, a respect she'd only earned from him over the course of nearly a year and a half. It was worth the respect of millions in her eyes, since it was hard-earned, and earned through something pure, the only pure thing she could give – her loyalty.
"I'll let you off the hook this time, but next time I'll be even stealthier about it." She sniffled, and reached to blow her nose in the clean washcloth next to her bed. "This is going a bit far. A hospital bed for the common cold?"
"And your iron infusions. I won't risk your health being compromised, for a multitude of reasons."
"Chief among them being that you're soft on me.." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and twiddled with the cloth between her fingers. "Yes? Please say yes."
A groan, or a sigh, or perhaps both, sounded through the speakers, and either corner of her lips quirked upward at the sound. It was like music to her, his irritation was beyond attractive, a magnet for an annoying pest like her.
"Chief among them being.. that I'm soft on you." He gently conceded, allowing her a rare victory and resulting in her heart surging in the aftermath of his validation.
"Yeah. I love you too." She replies complacently, warm in his confession, even if he'd only said it to mollify her. But she's not so dull that she thinks this is something he'd like to speak extensively on. She doubts he's ever made anything like a love confession before. As handsome and successful as he'd been, he was not socially competent, nor was he conventionally romantic. "So, what's going on at Hoover Dam?"
She'd been here under his and his robots' supervision for two and a half days, clueless as to what was going on outside of the Strip.
"Lanius arrived just this morning, my sources tell me. With him are over 15,000 men, and innumerable slaves. They await Caesar's command to launch an assault on the Dam. I have it on good authority that their attack will begin at the valve house on Arizona side with a series of strategic bombings. Estimating the time at which it will begin is not easy and rests on a variety of evolving factors, but I deem it imperative that you leave as quickly as your condition allows you, by tomorrow."
Her eyes shut of their own accord at this information, and she laid her head back on the pillow she'd requested from the presidential suite. So it was, that she truly has entered into something larger than herself.
What surprises her is the trickle of fear that runs down her spine and rests at her back. Fear of death, of all things. She doesn't want to die, whereas for so long, she'd not cared whether she lived or died. Was she happy? Was that a sign that she'd finally gotten a slice of true joy, rather than base satisfaction? At one time, she'd been skeptical of the concept of happiness entirely, willing to deconstruct and dissect it with the precision she's known for. She still would, if prompted, but it would be an act and nothing more.
"Will I… what are the odds of my survival?" She doesn't want to say it outright.
"Astronomically high with my interference. You'll not be alone at the Dam, I shall have you guarded by a securitron for as long as possible. You already know what you are to do there, this should not bring you into many direct confrontations with anyone in the duration of the battle." His answer is reassuring, but she is doubtful by nature. "Before you leave, there's something I'll give to you. It's precious to me, a gift from a businessman I once looked up to in my young adulthood. However, your life is more precious to me, and I deem that a precious thing can be sacrificed for its protection."
Eris' eyes open at that, something she immediately regrets for the tears that begin to cloud her vision afterward. It may have been the most honeyed thing he'd yet said to her, for he greatly coveted his things, and guarded them like a mythical dragon guards his chest of gold.
"I guess I'll take your gift then, for your sake.. you know, so you don't lose something precious." She teased, but it was a cover for how flattered she was by this rare heartfelt moment of his.
In the late evening, she's awakened by House's voice, and given leave from his makeshift clinic, a makeshift clinic that looks magnitudes better than any hospital in the wastes.
Her nerves are high, and she's unable to think of little other than the looming battle, which she will be in the middle of, much to her chagrin. She likes picking fights, but she likes doing it from a comfortable distance. The heat of battle is not her element, but she likes to think she's adaptable to most circumstances.
Even her hands shake while she bathes herself, making sure to get as clean as possible, it may well be her last bath for awhile, if the battle is long enough. Indeed it could be her last bath if he was wrong, and even he could be wrong, despite his unshaken belief in himself. Her appetite was low as well, but he managed to convince her to eat an omelet and a side of spinach and flatbread.
"When you're through, I'd ask you to come to the elevator. We'll be returning to the basement."
"Ah, the basement.. where you'd have disposed of me had I refused you the Platinum Chip." She supplied, feeling uncharacteristically jittery.
"Such theft would have destroyed any foundation for our relations, it's true. Hiding your body in the basement is far too.. uninspired, for your spirit at least. No, you would have received rites befitting your bravery in that event." He teased her back, likely having picked up on her nerves.
The smile that pulled at her lips was more of a grimace than anything else, it was very unlike her. Eris is unfamiliar with anxiety like this, she's used to approaching any conflict with levity, and underestimating their gravity with the same kind of self-assured confidence as middle-aged men who cheat on their wives.
Because she couldn't smoke in the basement on account of the arms manufacturing, she grabbed an apple from the counter and walked toward the elevator, which he opted to open for her. At this rate, she'll soon forget how to tie her shoes.
Inside of the elevator, her stomach churns and she's all at once tackling every possibility of the Dam, thinking about all the sins she's committed and wondering if they'll be collected for. Everyone who has made her an enemy will be there. Caesar, Vulpes, those men from El Dorado, and.. Aurelius, who frightens her more than even the Legate, whose enigma serves to make him less real than the centurion.
However, he may not be an enigma for too long. One of her duties will be to act diplomatically in the aftermath of the battle, and convince either side of their loss and imminent destruction should they linger any longer than the constraints allotted in the treaty House would have them surrender to.
Funny, that this moment had been a long time coming, and she'd chosen to think about everything but it. After Inculta accosted her in the Hidden Valley, she spent three long months thinking about the consequences of her actions, all except for one. Eris had liked to excuse this avoidance of Hoover Dam with the flimsy excuse of her almost certain death, but it was an issue that was now singularly unavoidable, on the horizon and waiting for her to walk to it. At least, she didn't literally have to walk. The Boomers would fly her to a safe landing zone at Hoover Dam, per their agreement with House.
"So, what's awaiting me in the basement? Another physical examination?" Even her jokes are lame, limp, and soulless.
"In a manner of speaking, yes. Here you'll find my gifts to you." He offered, as the doors opened to reveal the enormous underground complex that served both as a testing ground for his robots, and as an arms factory for said robots.
The first time she'd seen this part of the 38 had been after her first stay in Fortification Hill, when she'd aided him in upgrading his operating system, and misled Caesar into believing she'd work for him. That was a long time ago now – well over a year ago. She feels like she's aged ten years in the span of that one year and a half, but that may be an overestimation of her own abilities.
"To the right of my testing area is a workshop. Make your way there and we'll begin." His voice boomed in this room, echoing off of all the metal and concrete and giving him a rougher quality.
All she could smell was the unflattering smell of gunpowder and a myriad of chemical solvents, and she decided that this is where most of the facility's hazardous chemicals were stored or manufactured. It was entirely self-sustaining, a tower that functioned as a small, industrial city. She recalled him mentioning that this was a dream of his – to be entirely self-sufficient.
Engines and motors, cogs and various machines, all hummed and blared in the spacious complex, ruinous to human hearing for extended periods of time. Although, she reasoned that humans weren't meant to come down here.
Unlike the rest of the facility, no attentions were given to the décor and design, and it was cast in monotonous colors of gray, brown, and putrid green. The workshop was a different story entirely. With its thick concrete walls and countless other protections, it was a sanctuary of sorts, where House may have designed many of his more volatile wartime devices.
A huge, heavy metal desk stood in the farthest corner of the room, where thick canvas paper and notebooks were strewn about with half-drawn sketches of indecipherable blueprints. One thick window would've allowed him to monitor his machines from a distance, and remotely command them from the single terminal station next to his desk.
On the other side of the workshop was an arsenal and a tool cabinet. Right, he was a prepper, this must have been his second option if immortality hadn't worked out for him.
"Some are weapons of my own design, some are gifts from other men. I'd like for you to choose one of your liking, however, I recommend the heavily modified assault carbine, I believe it will suit your purposes well." Of course. "And atop the cabinet, you'll find a suit of armor like none other in the wasteland, originally crafted for American military personnel, but this model is unique."
Eris inched closer to it, finding there a set of stark black armor that she couldn't resist touching. Her brows worried at the softness of the fabric, counter intuitive to its purpose. When she rolled the fabric through her fingers, she found that, curiously, she could not feel her fingers on the other side.
"Fascinating!" She exclaimed, content to play with something – anything – to distract her from what would come after.
"Isn't it? Jacob L. Moore pioneered stealth suits as we know them. Like myself, he too was born in Las Vegas centuries ago. While use began among the Chinese military long before the Great War, Moore perfected them. While the Chinese stealth suits could camouflage the user, Moore's both camouflages and acts as ballistic armor, woven with precious, bygone metals that are now priceless." He explained excitably. "In some ways, you remind me of him. After this war is won, I have no doubt that you will follow in his footsteps and offer humanity all that he couldn't."
There was no doubt in her mind that he believed in her more than she believed in herself.
"You know, I don't exactly believe in myself at all. I vicariously believe in myself through you." It's a confession she's never made before, although if he didn't know the low state of her ego already, he wasn't half as smart as she knew he was.
"Try the suit on, won't you?" He suggested, avoiding anything heartfelt for the moment.
Of course, there was an active war zone in the making right now, a wise mind, a mind that wasn't hers, would know how best to utilize time.
"If you wanted me to strip for you, you should've just said it earlier." She smirks, taking her oversized shirt off and throwing it on the floor, where it lay in an abandoned pile.
Clad in her prewar underwear, she presses the soft stealth suit to her body and watches the legs unfold and fall well below her ankles and past her feet. It's too big for her – made for prewar men, who were practically giants compared to most wastelanders. One whiff of the stealth suit causes a waft of oddly familiar cologne to flit past her nose. She pulls it onto her body, feeling it mold to her skin like a tight, but not uncomfortable glove.
"This smells-"
"Like me, I imagine. I was the last to wear it, the suit was made with my specifications in mind. You'll wear the boots that have been set next to it, that should keep you from any trips and falls. You're rather small, like most of your generation. At a later time, I may modify the suit to your more delicate measurements.. but this will serve you well for now." He said the last part contemplatively, and she couldn't help but feel like he was saying goodbye to her.
Goodbye, in a more esoteric sense than what was usual. Goodbye, in the sense that nothing would be the same afterward. His shining optimism moved her now, as she was perpetually pessimistic and cynical.
"Now, the assault carbine. I'll have a securitron deliver you its ammo. You do know how to operate an automatic rifle, don't you?" The wastelander in her was insulted at the line of questioning, and she supplied the air in front of her with an incredulous look.
"Prewar children learned about photosynthesis, or so my books have said.." She picks up the assault carbine from its case, and pulls its strap onto her shoulder, holding it comfortably. "But wastelanders learn how to use fully automatic weapons instead."
While she's no weapons enthusiast, she knows her way around a gun comfortably, and has used weapons like these before. She knows the mechanics of guns, but her aim has always been poor in long range, and only reliable in close to mid range. She'd make a poor sniper.
"Do not pick fights, Eris. Fire only in defense, I'd prefer you to stay out of the battle entirely, but we both know that's not possible. If you do not value yourself, know that I do, and would be most aggrieved if you threw it away doing something stupid. Remember, your life is abound with meaning, purpose, and most importantly, potential. This potential will come to fruition in the world we will create after today. Choose to be skeptical of all else if you like, but trust this." His speech was impassioned and tugged at her in a way that no one else could. "You know what you're to do at Hoover Dam. When you're ready, tell me, and I will alert the Boomers."
This was it, wasn't it? Everything had led to this very moment. For once, it felt like she was nearing a very significant conclusion, whereas for so long, she had only ever seen infinite tangents and alternative routes. She felt like she was approaching that integral finale where things finally made sense, where all of her sins and existential crises paid off because the result was so sweet.