Mutatis Mutandis 5
Sarah and Jason had reached the Potomac's riverbed only an hour after their explorations of the empty Germantown outpost. Jason had been silent for the majority of the trip, although his mood had improved drastically by a short visit to Big Town. Sarah had never seen the tiny, desolate little settlement before. It consisted of a few intact town houses linked together by flimsy walls and fences creating the impression of a ramshackle fortress, although in truth the walls wouldn't stop a determined Brahmin. At least the destitute youths inside felt somewhat more secure for their existence.
The inhabitants themselves were a sorry lot. They were sunburned, and parched. Each of them carried a particular gauntness which spoke volumes about their diet, or lack thereof. She had always viewed the Brotherhood's resources as being strained, and they were, but her companions ate at least one solid warm meal a day, and had nigh unlimited access to fresh water when they needed it. They were, in fact, very well off.
It was far more than could be said for this sorry lot, and as she walked across their rickety rope bridge and entered the meager settlement, her respect for Jason himself, his father, and the socialistic idealism behind Project Purity grew immeasurably. In truth, at the beginning she had written James Howlett off as naïve. Blind to the realities of the wasteland, and that had clearly not been the case.
The Wanderer, by his own standards, was acting with an enormous amount of compassion. He left half of his own personal supplies there, along with ammunition and a few medical supplies. They treated him as a shepherd, of sorts. He had earned their respect, and it showed in the way they spoke and acted around him, like children milling around a highly esteemed school marm, and it was a shock to her system to realize that he wasn't actually all that much older than they were. Neither was she when it came right down to it. But there was more than one way a person could age.
Their chosen representative was a young dark-skinned woman by the name of Red, and if Sarah had been forced to pick one word to describe her, it would have been Quick. The girl was smart, barely into her twenties. She viewed the world from behind a pair of thick, bookish glasses, but she had a practical demeanor and a solid grasp of several different fields including medicine. She would have, Sarah thought, made an outstanding scribe, and the only reason the offer wasn't put forward was simply due to their apparent time constraints.
After seeing that Jason's supplies had been evenly distributed, Red lead the two travelers into the largest building, which had been haphazardly labeled as the town hall. She directed them to seats in the yellowing kitchen, and immediately started speaking.
"I'd offer you something to eat, but we have barely enough share the food between ourselves." She said, taking a seat beside them.
"Not a problem." The Wanderer replied.
Red smiled at him. "It's good to see you again. Been taking good care of my bandana?"
Jason nodded. Sarah stared at the item of clothing, which he was wearing around his head in the usual fashion. It had become a symbol all its own, tied as closely to him and the dream of Aqua Pura as the name James, the Wanderer's vault number, and the Brotherhood of Steel. It was something people instantly recognized. An iconic callsign. He wouldn't be the Wanderer without the bandana, and she had a hard time processing the sudden fact that it had ever been owned by anyone else. She turned to Red and asked, "That's yours?"
"Was." She replied as Jason watched on, bemused. "It's his now. I gave it to him as a present for rescuing Shorty and me from Germantown… what was that? Three years ago?"
"Four, now." Jason replied. He leaned forward. "Speaking of Germantown, have you seen anything from the Supermutants there?"
"Not for a week or so." Red told him. "I think we're beginning to get a little too comfortable…"
"And the water and trade caravans?" he persisted, "Have you seen them?"
"Crow was here… four days ago?" Red guessed. "Beyond that? We haven't seen a soul. Why?"
Jason had gone very quiet. He sat facing the wall, chewing his lip. He drummed his fingers on the coarse wood and said, "You should leave. All of you. Right now. Just pack up and go."
"What? Why?"
"The supermutants are planning something big." Jason said. "I don't know how big it's going to be, or when, but until it blows over, you should go to Megaton. It's safe there."
"Like they'll let us in." Red replied bitterly. "Besides, this is our home."
"Red-"
"Look, we're well-armed now!" the young woman replied. Her tone was not angry, but she was impressively steadfast. "And trained, thanks to you. We can handle ourselves."
Jason sighed.
"Whatever the problem is, go take care of it." She said. "We'll hold the fort here."
"I can't be everywhere at once, Red." He tried.
"We'll be fine." She assured him. "Just go find out what's going on."
Jason sighed and sat back, glancing at Sarah.
Red watched him for a moment, and decided to throw him a bone. "Look, I'll get everyone together, and we'll hold a vote. But I doubt anyone's going to want to move. This place may be a pile of trash, but it's our pile of trash."
"I guess that's all I can ask." Jason stood, and Sarah knew that the time had come to move on. "I have to escort her to the Citadel." He said, nodding at Sarah. "But I'll be back to check on you. Play it safe, Red. You see any sign of trouble, head west to Arefu. They have a strong, defensible position there."
"We will." The young woman promised.
"I've never seen any place like that." Sarah said somberly as they started south again. "We really didn't help very much, did we?"
"The Brotherhood did a lot." The Wanderer replied heavily. "No one denies that. If it weren't for you, they would have been overrun by slavers and supermutants years ago."
Sarah watched him for a moment. She said, "You were a little better behaved than usual."
Jason shrugged. "Big Town is… special. When I think of the people who have it the worst, I think of them."
"Tell me about the supermutant rescue."
"Bigtown was one of the first places I visited after I came back from the Pitt." He replied. "They were far worse off back then. Paradise Falls was in full swing, and them and the mutants would take turns picking off residents, one by one. They were so badly off that they didn't even think about mounting rescue attempts. They just lay down and took it." He pulled off the red bandana and handed it to her. "Life had hit them so many times that they decided it wasn't worth getting back up. It was one of those defining moments, you know? A shock to my system. It reminded me of why my dad had fought so hard."
Sarah took the bandana and held it thoughtfully. It was frayed around the edges, but was woven with a strong, thick fabric which was surprisingly heavy.
He continued quietly. "I didn't have any reason to help. They didn't have any money or supplies to give me. Nothing they had was even worth stealing. But I had this rifle." He held up the jet-black Perforator. "And I had a combat knife. And I had my perks. I had the means to help. Sometimes having the means is a reason enough by itself. Red asked what she could give me in return. The only thing I took was the bandana. As a symbol."
"So it wasn't just Three Dog." Sarah said thoughtfully. "You bought into the image too."
"He took the idea and ran with it." Jason told her. "Took it way further than I would have. And I'm not sure I like how he decided to do it, but if it gives people hope…"
"Then it's worth it." She agreed.
As the day wore on, Sarah began to notice a subtle shift in their route. Instead of banking southeast, following the Potomac, Jason seemed to be leading them straight south. Sarah had a rough idea of the Capital Wasteland's layout, and though the map in her head wasn't nearly as thorough as the Wanderer's Pipboy, she was able to guess where they were heading.
"What's at Megaton?" she asked.
Jason turned, giving her an appraising look, obviously somewhat impressed. "I have a few enquiries to make. Supplies to drop off… I want ask Moira about the trade caravans."
"Just like Red?" Sarah frowned. "What are you hoping to find out?"
"The Caravans are the main lines of communication between the different settlements." He explained. "If Brutus is moving, they'd probably be the first thing he'd target. If they've visited recently, then we have a little more time."
"Wait…just how soon do you think this whole invasion thing is going to start?" She demanded.
"Another week. Maybe two." Jason shrugged. "I had to get you back to the wasteland. Just bear with me, and we'll be back to the citadel around nightfall."
"I don't mind putting that off a little longer, but do you really want to be wandering through the western ruins at dusk?" she asked. Even at the best of times, the D.C. ruins were as hostile as any territory in the capital wasteland could get. The Supermutants owned it.
"We're going to go under them. Straight through the county sewer mainline. It drops us just north of the Citadel."
"Sewers…" Sarah groaned. They were the worst. The sewers and the subway tunnel; vast tomb-like mazes in which all hallways looked the same. They were filled with the more frightening class of wasteland denizens: feral ghouls. Decrepit brown shambling corpses which hid in the shadows and struck with silent, stealthy speed. Add to that the mirelurks, omnipresent stench and claustrophobic atmosphere, and they turned out to be absolutely horrible places to wander. Although, she thought with a grim smile, both Sarah and Jason had seen and survived much worse. Well…Jason had survived, at any rate.
Sarah had been in Megaton quite a few times over the years, but she was not particularly familiar with the residents. The Brotherhood tended not to mix with the 'locals' too much. In her earlier days it had been a matter of pride. Now it seemed very much a matter of arrogance and stupidity. She was at least able to recognize Lucas Simms, the town's enormous bearded sheriff. He was a bear-like man with dark skin and wrinkled, piercing eyes. Striding around the rim of the crater with his ten-gallon hat, sheriff duster, and Chinese assault rifle, he carried an air of authority which nearly rivaled the Wanderer's own unflappable brooding presence.
Megaton itself was the second largest settlement in the capital wasteland, and third most well protected. The town itself had been built inside and around the edges of an enormous crater, left by a dud nuke. The bomb in question had long-since been disarmed by Jason, but it still acted as the social and decorative centerpiece of the town, not to mention its namesake. The edge of the crater had been lined with sheet metal from a nearby air bus station. The station itself had vanished completely from the memories of most wastelanders, with only the oldest residents of Megaton itself remembering the origin of the city's defensive wall.
Simms met them as they stepped through the rusty corrugated archway, greeting them with his deep, rumbling voice. "Welcome back. Where were you off to this time?"
"North." Jason said, suddenly in full Wanderer mode. He started around the rim of the enormous crater, headed for his house. The Sheriff walked beside him, putting Sarah squarely in the role of silent, following companion. She passed the time by watching the residents clamber up and down the treacherous staircases, and along the rickety catwalks which connected the upper buildings.
"Simms, there's trouble stirring in D.C.. Have the Caravans been by recently?" Jason asked.
"I think Crow was here two days ago." The Sheriff said. "And Doc Hoff came by two weeks ago carrying a few surprises for Church.
"Good." Jason nodded. "Do you remember our contingency plan?"
"Which one?"
"The Armory Plan."
Simms stopped dead and the two men stared at eachother. "What the hell are you expecting to come our way?"
"There's a smart supermutant named Brutus somewhere in the D.C. ruins. He's rallying them together."
"And you haven't put him down already because…?"
"Because the purifier exploded." Jason answered evenly. "I had to track down the culprits. It was Brutus' plan. A time-sink and a distraction. It worked; he's going to move soon."
"Why the hell aren't you hunting him now?"
Jason thrust a thumb at Sarah, leaving her mildly offended. "I'm here to re-arm. I have to drop her off at the Citadel, and then visit Three-Dog and get him to broadcast the warning across the wasteland."
"Speaking of the Brotherhood," Simms added, giving her a cursory glance. "I noticed the water caravans have some new tech. Energy weapons. Repainted enclave gear…"
Jason stayed silent, watching him.
"… alright, then. Don't tell me." The Sheriff glowered sourly. "But I want to know when the rest of us are going to get our hands on it."
"They'll make the best use of it." Jason told him quietly. "So they get first kick at the mole rat. Just arm your city, Simms. I gave you the means. And if Moriarty gives you any trouble, I'll drag him into the wasteland, break his legs, and cut him open for the Yao Guai."
Jason's house was a two-story, ramshackle building made from corrugated sheet metal. Like everything else in the town, oxidization had turned it a comfortable reddish brown color. The interior was homey enough, as Sarah knew from previous experience. The memory caused her to smile; the last time she had been in Jason's house, it had been their one and only proper date…
So much had happened… She wondered idly whether or not he was still interested. She herself was in a state of indifference. She would be content either way. It was clearly the last thing on his mind at that moment, and given the disturbing news he'd taken great pains to spread, she could understand why. It would have to be sorted out later, perhaps. Whenever they caught a break from the constant state of crisis.
He unlocked the door and leapt backwards, intercepting a bounding, barking grey flash which had headed straight at Sarah with the express intent of tearing her to shreds. Dogmeat, his pet, and home security system. The animal was a vicious killer, but friendly to its allies, and it knew Sarah. She just had to prove her identity. After making sure Jason had a firm grip, she kneeled and held out her hand in a fist, allowing the snarling animal to sniff. It calmed down after a moment and stopped growling. Jason allowed it a little more freedom and it continued forward, extending a rasping tongue and licking her hand. The Wanderer let go cautiously. His pet padded on worn paws up to Sarah and sniffed her again, tail wagging happily.
Jason straightened up and held his door open, allowing her to step inside. She froze as she entered. A grotesque, bulbous clown mask was sitting on a bookshelf against the staircase. It was white with a small frilly polka-dot hat on top, and possessed mirthful eyes and a murderous grin.
She shut her own eyes tightly at the sudden flood of memories. The howls of the dying swampfolk, blood sliding down the edge of a rusted dagger, a terrible unearthly voice, Colvin's blissful expression, even as his lifeblood dribbled away… the enormous punga plant abomination, swaying insidiously in the morning breeze…
The ringing of buoy bells echoed in her skull, creating a splitting headache, and a sharp pain seared her abdomen where the ghoulish knife had bitten.
Jason brushed past her and swore violently, bellowing: "Wadsworth!"
With jellyfish-like movements, his mister handy robotic butler floated down from the upper levels, answering in a smooth British accent. "Welcome home, sir!"
Jason snatched up the blasphemous item and wrapped it in a blanket. "What did I tell you to do with this thing?"
Despite the nightmarish memories burning holes in her mind, Sarah was aware enough to hear Dogmeat's low growl as the mask swung cheerfully from Jason's iron grip. The dog was clearly no more a fan of the item than she was.
"You instructed me to burn it, sir."
"It doesn't look burnt to me." Jason snapped, stomping up the stairs.
"My deepest apologies, sir. I don't know what to tell you. I do recall putting it outside and turning it to ashes."
"Nevermind." Jason called from the upstairs railing. Sarah heard a door slam and he marched back down, having done away with the despicable object. He walked up to her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"
Sarah nodded, fighting down the memories. It was a difficult task, but she managed to pack them under a layer of Paladin Gunny's weapon safety speeches. She gave Jason a nod. He let go of her shoulder and confronted an enormous metal locker beside the door, pulling out several vicious weapons and laying them on the wooden table.
"Wadsworth, get Sarah some fresh water." He ordered, laying his gear out in strict rows. A set of tools was laid out on the bench beside him, and he began to tinker, swapping parts out and cleaning dirt out of the cracks.
"This way, Miss Lyons." The butler said. It squeezed past the picnic table and directed Sarah to an alcove behind the stairs. It was a tiny space, barely more than a closet, made smaller by the shelves and refrigerator. A small wash basin was against the wall to her right.
Sarah carefully peeled off her stormchaser hat, a wide-brimmed cap with cloth draped down either side of the face, as well as the back of the neck. It had been one of Jason's gifts, though a prize born of necessity; no one wandered the wasteland without the proper headgear. Sunstroke and dehydration were ever-present dangers to even the best prepared travelers. They were deadly dangers to those not prepared at all. Except Jason.
She shook out her head and let her scalp air out a little, feeling the red grooves the tight brim had left in the skin of her forehead. She reached down and turned on the creaking taps. From deep in the bowels of the house, she could hear pipes groaning. There was a moment of uncertainty, and the tap coughed out a small amount of brown ichor, but it was instantaneously washed away by a steady cream-coloured stream of water.
"Don't drink any." She heard Jason warn from the main room, "It's irradiated. I'll give you some Rad-away afterwards. There's bottles of Aqua Pura in the fridge."
Sarah loosened her clothing up, feeling her muscles stiffen from the long hike. She had spent most of her life patrolling through the ruins of D.C., but the Brotherhood was accustomed to short, fast maneuvers. An entire day of constant hiking in the rough terrain of the wasteland was a different kind of travel, and one she hadn't been entirely prepared for.
She washed her hands in the basin, and then splashed some of the cool water on her face, taking off the worst of the grime. Her hair was wiry and knotted, but she wasn't about to deal with that problem until she was back in the citadel.
When she had at least made herself presentable, Sarah reached out and opened the fridge. A refreshing cloud of cool air washed over her, a slice of heaven after the hot wastes. "How did you get the fridge to work?" she asked, leaning in and examining his stockpile of food. To her surprise, there wasn't much in terms of solid food. It was mostly water and perishables. A large amount of space was taken up by stacks of raw meat from his many kills. The flesh was wrapped in plastic shopping bags, though how he had acquired them was a mystery.
"How did you manage to get a fridge to work?" she called out again.
"It's plugged into Megaton's generators." Jason replied. "And over the years I've given enough scrap metal to Walter, the town's resident mechanic, that he was willing to fix it up for me."
Sarah pulled out a bottle of cold water and shut the door, relishing the feel of condensation on the outside of the bottle. She unscrewed the top and took a small sip, sloshing it around her mouth to remove the dust and refresh her parched lips. Then she spat it into the sink.
One thing she had learned through the Brotherhood was never to drink cold water too fast after a large amount of exercise. The temperature shock made it uncomfortable. Taking it slow and careful, savoring each sip, was a much better way to go.
Jason appeared around the corner, gripping a combat shotgun just ahead of the trigger guard. He also had a harness with two extra drum magazines. He set them down against the wall. "Your weapon. Just in case. We'll be travelling through the sewer."
"Thank you."
Jason stared at her for a moment, frowning slightly. "We have forty-five minutes, and the bed's upstairs…"
Sarah raised both eyebrows, feeling somewhat shocked, but he turned out to be thinking on a completely different line. He prattled on, oblivious. "I'm going to take a walk around town. Ask some questions and talk to people. You should rest. Take a nap or…something. There's twenty caps on the table in case you're hungry. Go to the center of town and get a meal at The Brass Lantern.
"I can't go with you?" she asked.
"You could." Jason replied. "I just thought you might want to rest. "
Donovan ran, vaulting over a park bench, his heavy breath burning his over-taxed lungs. The pain in his side was unbearable, but he kept running, knowing that if he stopped, he was dead. Bullets hammered the cast-iron fence to his right, filling the air with the sound of ringing metal.
He sped up and reached the end of the block, darting down an alleyway and hoping like hell that it lead him to safety. It turned slightly, bringing the opposite end into view. Behind him, Donovan could hear the yells and growls of the pursuing mutants.
He was twenty meters from the end of the alleyway when the blue sky was blocked by an enormous figure. A fully-armoured behemoth, carrying an entire bus over its shoulder. It slammed the vehicle sideways into the gap, wedging it with a horrid screeching noise, blocking Donovan's only escape. The merc rushed forward anyway and began to clamber up the side of the vehicle, using the broken window frames as steps on a precarious ladder.
He got seven feet up before a rough hand grabbed him just below the knee. He looked down at the supermutant overlord, who was laughing harshly.
"Come down, human!" it said.
Donovan reached to his side and pulled out his pistol, taking careful aim at the Overlord's face. Spotting the weapon, it growled, and gave a mighty tug, sending Donovan falling over its shoulder and landing heavily on the rough pavement. His pistol skittered away, and before he could reach it, the Overlord had picked him up and hauled him back down the alley, towards the bulk of the mutant forces.
It laid him down at the center of a large circle of mutants. They were strangely silent, though not displeased, and Donovan immediately knew why. A strange dark-skinned supermutant in rough, sharp-edge armour was standing at the far side of the silent circle, watching him. This was the leader. An intelligent one, bearing the weight of ages on its shoulders. Donovan had never thought about how long mutants lived. They had been faceless opponents. That was all. Yet this one's bearing and silent control made it far more impressive. It's black helmet was effective. An altered version of the brutes' Galea helmet. This one had short vicious spikes surrounding the top. Crowning it.
"Kneel." The King ordered. Donovan obeyed, not seeing any other options. His escape attempt had failed. There was no point in arguing with them. It would only cause unwanted pain. Perhaps they would kill him quickly if he cooperated.
It turned away, opening a small, sturdy case attached to the steel plate on its right thigh. It pulled out a syringe filled with a thick, clear liquid. At the same moment, two overlords moved forward and pinned Donovan down. One of them pulled his arm taut. He struggled, but he might as well have been encased in concrete for all the good it did him.
The king prepped the syringe, tapping the bubbles out. Then it strode forward and plunged the end into Donovan's arm, injecting him. He bit him tongue, refusing to give the mutant the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. As soon as the syringe was removed, a burning sensation began to move slowly down Donovan's arm, followed by a rapidly growing itch.
"You been poisoned." The king told him, placing the needle back in his holster. "You have approximately six minutes to live. You will suffer through four of them in intolerable agony."
Donovan struggled, the itch growing to unbearable proportions. "Why?"
The king ignored him. Instead, it pulled out a second syringe and placed it on the ground before him. This one was green and glowing. The two overlords let Donovan go and moved back into line.
"In there is the antidote. And enough of the FEV II virus to turn you into one of us."
Donovan stared at it, then glared at his captor. "I'd rather die in pain than live as one of you!"
The king frowned curiously. "I wonder why you normals always say that. And you always do… at the start."
It smiled. Donovan cried out as the burning pain suddenly flooded his body, crippling him.
The mutant leader took a seat on a nearby car and leaned forward, tenting his fingers. Around the circle, the mutants jeered and laughed. "Let us see which is stronger: your defiance and tolerance for pain, or your instinct for self preservation."
Alright, so I'm amazed at how much actually has to get cleaned up here before the proper story can start. Aqua Vitae left this continuity in a mess. There's perhaps one or two more chapters before I can really start this damned thing outright. My apologies for this absurdly long opening section.
I'm glad to say that Six String Bard's story has been updated again, too. Go check it out.
Brutus' poem is actually "When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted" by Rudyard Kipling. I altered it a little. I wish I hadn't had to use someone else's work, but my own poetry has never been anything more than "There once was a man named Tom…" or "There was a woman from Nantucket…".
I wanted to give the bug a needle, but it went and killed the little beetle.
I can't do poetry myself, so I have to steal and feel bad about it. The original had a very different context, but I think it fits the tone.
12/09/09- edited. I changed Brutus' scene quite a bit. The poem is no longer a part of it.