Mutatis Mutandis 12

Glade ran his hands through his hair again and stared down at the crude wasteland map. It was outdated, but the only thing the Sheriff had been able to dig up. One corner was being held down by a lantern, the other by a small radio. Rothchild and another scribe were updating the sheet as fast as they possibly could, but this was humiliating. Having to use paper and pencil approximations instead of the high-tech electronic maps in the citadel. Having no weapons, and no power armour. Having to stay as barely welcome guests in the central commons of an unfamiliar city. The Brotherhood hadn't lost, they'd been curb-stomped, and it was humiliating. Not to mention terrifying. How was the wasteland supposed to fight back if the mutants could do that to the Brotherhood in a matter of hours?

The only notable sound was the constant rhythmic impact of a combat knife hitting a palm. Sarah was sitting on a bunk in the darkest corner of the room, tossing her knife up and catching it. She was so wrapped in the shadows that he could only see the glint of her eyes, and the light reflecting off the knife blade.

The rest of the survivors had gathered in various bunks around the inside of the Commons. Some were sleeping, but most were staring into space, still dazed. Glade reached over to the radio and tried the dial again. The tinny speakers produced nothing but a constant, faint hiss.

"It's no use." Rothchild said from across the table. "GNR went silent when the citadel was attacked. Apparently the last broadcast ended in gunfire."

"So much for our GNR garrison…" Kodiak muttered. "What about the Outcasts?"

"Fort independence is just southwest!" Glade said, hope flaring. "maybe we can

"And what chance will they have?" Rothchild asked. "We couldn't hold the mutants off from the Citadel. All they have there is a wire fence."

"Look, we need to organize. We need a plan." Glade said.

"Wonderful idea. Do you have one?" Rothchild replied.

"Guerilla warfare." Glade and Rothchild both turned as Sarah slid off the bed and stepped into the light. She continued. "Jason was right. We travel slow, and fight heavy. This is a different kind of war. We hit them as hard as we can, whenever we can, wherever we can, and we disappear before they can strike back."

"You may be sure of succeeding in your attack if you only attack places which are undefended, and that you may insure the safety of your defense if you only hold positions which cannot be attacked" Glade replied, remembering a quote that had sunk to the back of his mind in recent months.

Kodiak let out a short laugh. "We really should have paid more attention to him, huh Glade?"

"To whom, exactly?" Rothchild asked carefully, confronting them.

"Leo. The Wanderer's ally." Glade said. "We were stuck in a train tunnel with him for a couple weeks."

"He practically told us this was going to happen." Kodiak murmured, his eyes unfocussed. "God…damn it!"

"Guerilla warfare." Sarah told them, the grip on her knife tightening and loosening rhythmically. "We cannot take them head-on."

"I'm not even sure we can take them guerilla style either." Kodiak said.

Rothchild nodded. "There are only two-dozen of us, after all, Sarah."

Glade met her eyes and saw the half-feral animal staring back. He said, "I do think we need time to regroup, Sarah. Elder Lyons wouldn't have wante-"

"My father is dead, Glade!"

"Missing in action." Glade corrected gently, for the sake of the listening troops.

Sarah exploded, a hurricane of unbound fury. "Every single body in that pile is MIA! I want vengeance!"

Rothchild sighed. "What can we do alone? Even if we manage to pull off successful raids, we'd still be stuck in a deadlock. They're going to win through attrition. Even if we pull our reinforcements at Adams' Airforce Base, That's under fifty troops. Not even enough to bruise. There aren't enough of us left."

Sarah hesitated, opening and closing her mouth furiously. At last she came out with a retort: "Jason's left."

"No one's heard from him since GNR went down." Kodiak supplied regretfully.

"That means nothing!" Sarah told them confidently. "He's alive."

"How do you know?"

"He's invincible." She replied in an offhand tone. The Brotherhood remnants stared.

"…Sarah…" Rothchild began.

"He is!" she insisted. "I've seen it! He can survive getting blown up by mini-nukes! He did it twice during our trip to the Pitt!" She looked around the room, and found no one who was willing to meet her gaze. Everyone was suddenly more interested in the room's sparse decorations. She looked back at the three eldest. "Glade?"

He shook his head. "Sarah… I'm sure it looks that way, and I know the two of you are involved, but-"

"That's not even… It's got nothing to do with this!"

"You said you had died." Kodiak added gently.

"How many times has he done the impossible for us, huh?" she demanded, angered by the lack of support. "He's going to come back! He's going to give us his upgrades! He's going to teach us how he fights! Then we're going to drive those muties all the way back into the fucking ocean!" she declared. "You'll see!"

She stomped out, leaving only pregnant silence, and the static of the radio.

Jason knocked three times on the door to the rickety post-war shed. It opened a crack as the small building's only occupant checked to see her visitor. Then she threw the door wide open. The elderly woman hobbled out, beaming at Jason. "My dear child! It's so good to see you again!"

He smiled back and gestured at the DJ. "Hello Agatha, this is Three Dog. Three Dog, Agatha."

"A pleasure, I'm sure." She extended a hand, which the DJ took with the usual flamboyance.

"And you, Ma'am!"

"Oh," She put her other hand on her chest. "My, what a voice you have!"

"He does." Jason affirmed, turning to Three Dog. "Go inside, familiarize yourself with her equipment. Change it to broadcast GNR's signal. Start broadcasting immediately. Tell everyone you're alive."

Three Dog cast a doubtful glance up at the small ramshackle radio tower. "You sure it can reach across the wastes?"

Jason nodded, and pushed the DJ through the door.

Agatha frowned. "Excuse me, but a polite young man doesn't just invite his guests into another person's home."

"I'm polite when I can afford to be." Jason replied shortly. "The Supermutants are overrunning this wasteland. People need to hear Three Dog's voice. It'll give them hope."

"Well that's very respectable goal, young man," the frail old woman reprimanded indignantly, "But my husband built this station specif-"

"I don't care. It's Three Dog's now." Jason interrupted. "End of story. I need his voice on the air. Are you going to be a problem?"

Agatha looked him up and down, her gaze settling on his assault rifle. He hadn't made any threatening movements with it, but he didn't have to. She sighed. "It had been rather lonely out here. I haven't had any visits from Crow, Doc Hoff, or Lucky Harith for two weeks now…"

"That's because they're probably all dead." Jason replied, ignoring the way the woman seemed to shrink at his words. "The GNR signal must fly. Three Dog's voice must be heard. This is not a negotiation. He's taking over."

Agatha looked as though she were about to deliver a retort, but then she took a closer look at his duster. He had sustained several more injuries in their escape. His clothing was strewn with blood and bullet holes. The Supermutants had cast their net tightly, and while Jason had encountered worse fights, and worse injuries, their planning and forethought had him very worried. He had to check other areas. Big Town, Megaton, The Citadel, which was probably the Mutants' first target after GNR… not to mention Rivet City and Project Purity.

It sickened him, but he knew deep down that if Agatha delayed him any longer, he would remove her from the equation. He couldn't afford delays. Sarah's recovery alone had already cost the wasteland too much.

Thankfully, it never came that close.

"Looks simple enough." Three Dog said, walking out. "And impressive. How did you manage to get it to reach all corners of the wasteland?"

"My husband designed it." Agatha explained defiantly.

"Guy had some talent. Gotta say, I'm going to miss having my albums."

"I can play the violin."

"No offense, but I've heard your radio station." Three Dog replied, giving the woman a disarming smile. "You play anything cheerful?"

"This is classical music, young man!" she told him, her hands on her hips.

"And it lacks pizzazz."

Jason said. "If I have time, I will see what I can find. But I have to go now. I'll try to keep you supplied."

"Yeah." Three Dog looked around the hidden little clearing. "We'll be fine. Go stop the bad guys. Tell me when this nightmare's over."

A burst of cool air forced Sarah to wake up. The sweat made her recon armour stick to her back uncomfortably. She heard Dogmeat's slight whine as they both came awake. As her senses began to taste the atmosphere, they noted a third presence in the room. She sat up, tearing herself off of Jason's wooden table. The Lone Wanderer shut his door quietly. As it closed, Sarah could make out the red dusk light. She'd been asleep for several hours.

She rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Six."

"Is Three Dog alive?"

He nodded. "He'll be broadcasting any time now."

"Where did you put him?"

"Can't say." Jason told her quietly. "Too important."

She smiled slightly, slowly rubbing her palms together, her elbows on the table. She was still caught in the haze between sleep and wakefulness. They both waited in awkward silence while she recovered.

"Simms has scouts. If they come this way, we'll have some warning. But they seem to be staying in the city limits."

"How did the Citadel fall?" he asked.

"Behemoths. Two dozen."

"And the upgrades?"

"Alien or not, an energy weapon is just an energy weapon." She looked back down at the table. "Didn't make us invincible. Just bought a few of us enough time to get to the laboratory. We got cornered down there. Then they broke in through the roof…"

"How did you survive?"

"Mistaken for dead. Woke up on a pile of bodies." She rubbed her face. "I think I saw Gallows."

Jason frowned. "Where?"

"A dream. Maybe." Sarah shrugged. "I'd rather not think about it, to be honest."

"Have you heard from anyone else?"

She shook her head again.

After a moment, he said, "They're burning the bodies. I could smell the smoke from the Super Duper Mart. I didn't see a mutant beyond the city border. They're laying low. For now."

Sarah felt a stone settle in her gut. She had resolved not to think about her father, but a few defiant memories simply refused to be suppressed. Surprisingly, it wasn't her recent memories which surfaced, but the older ones. She was suddenly halfway across the states, sitting on his knee and looking through a Grognak comic book; too young for novels without pictures.

She felt tears rise, and forced them down. "My father is dead."

The Wanderer, that clockwork angel which defined him, seemed to drain away leaving him staring at her with numb shock.

"God… Sarah, I…" he shrugged helplessly. Sensing his distress, Dogmeat padded over and nuzzled his hand.

She managed to keep herself together just long enough to tell him. "I couldn't find him. I didn't even get to say goodbye to him. I should have said goodbye to him!"

Jason set down his assault rifle, leaning it awkwardly against the stairs. He quickly made his way around the edge of the table, shedding his duster in the process. Behind him, the rifle clattered to the floor. Both of them ignored it.

He pulled her to him and hugged her quietly, feeling her tears soak his shoulder. He remembered the pain, grief, and impotent rage, watching James die of radiation poisoning. The helpless anger gripped him again; knowing it was happening and not being able to do anything about it. He had replayed that day a thousand times in his head. If he'd fixed the valve first, or simply taken a walk… he would have been available. Somehow the universe had conspired to put him in a position where he could do nothing but watch..

"I want vengeance, Jason." She said, her voice muffled.

He let out a long breath and let her go so he could untie his red bandana. He laid it on the table beside her elbow and gave her a sympathetic look. Sarah's cheeks were glistening with tears, and her eyes were red and swollen, but she was angry and determined. As determined as he had ever seen her.

He sat back, watching her carefully.

"You're going to help me." She told him.

"Sarah…"

"Please!"

"I need to take care of the wasteland first. Megaton is vulnerable right now." Jason tried to explain. "Once I've-"

Sarah's fist slammed down on the table, making him flinch. Her other hand had traveled up to the side of her head, feeling the rough surface of the ugly white scar. Jason wondered when she'd developed that particular nervous tick. She shook her head. "Eventually isn't good enough! Not anymore! Not for this! It's too much… too much shit for one person, Jason!" her elbows hit the table and she held her head in her palms. "How did you come out so well?"

"I didn't." He replied quietly. "You fixed me, remember?"

She laughed darkly, the noise making Dogmeat's ears perk. "Well that was a mistake."

"Not from where I'm standing."

"Yeah, well, you're standing on the grave of the Brotherhood of Steel, aren't you?" she snapped. "If you didn't give a shit about me, you would have been out in the ruins stopping this."

"If I didn't give a shit about you, you'd be dead."

"Yeah…" she murmured. "Because Sarah Lyons would have done so much good against this…" She looked up at him, a searching look in her eyes. "What did you do, when you realized that being Jason Howlett wasn't going to be enough…?"

Jason shrugged. "Embraced the other side. Wished I hadn't. It's not a happy life, Sarah."

"Happiness is the least useful thing I have, Jason."

He winced; he'd said something very similar to Leo during one of their many discussions. The mutant had been one of the few people capable of understanding his plight. Possibly his only confidant before Sarah had entered the picture. He wondered where the mutant was, and whether or not he was alright. "That doesn't mean going the other way is any better. Sarah I've been there. Stay with the Brotherhood."

"Or I could turn into a female you." She giggled again, a forlorn sound. "I'm well on my way already."

Jason grimaced. He gently pulled her in until her head was resting in the crook of his neck. He said, "You don't want that."

"If it gets me what I want…" she murmured, her breath hot against his neck.

"Sleep on it, at least. Please?" he asked. "I don't like this, but If you still feel the same way in the morning, I'll help you."

"Promise?" her voice was wavering, overcome with exhaustion.

"Promise." He said.

The bone-white broken remains of the Washington Monument lay strewn across the length of the Mall. Most of it had landed in the Reflecting Pool which lay before the Lincoln Memorial. It was a pleasant sight. Every fallen human symbol brought the world one step closer to utopia.

A mutant approached him. "Sir."

"Hmm?"

"Der Brudderhood's 'scaped." The mutant told him uneasily. "Dey got away."

Brutus glared across the still waters of the pool. "How? The Lone Wanderer's escape was understandable for he is a Wanderer, and above the rest. But twenty unarmed, unarmoured humans?"

"Dey was rescued, sir." The supermutant held up a handful of golden 5.56 shells.

Brutus took them very carefully, and examined them in the bright sunlight, his face twisting in rage. His roar built up into a mighty crescendo and he threw the shells into the pool.

"It's only twenty humans, sir." The mutant said, taken aback by his master's sudden anger.

"Twenty and one more!"

"It der Wanderer, sir?"

"Worse." Brutus began to pace back and forth frantically. He turned to his underling. "We cannot afford to take volunteers anymore. Ascending should be a choice, but it's not one we can afford to grant our captives. Take all our female humans and give them the cure. Then present them to Alpha. We will need the strength of the FEV II generation. Do it now!"

But his underling remained still. "Dere's more, sir."

Brutus snapped around furiously. "What else?"

"Sir, der Rivet City is not givin' up."

"So get inside and slaughter them!" Brutus ordered distractedly.

"Da hallways're too small, sir. We can't fit. Dey got weapons an' food, an' armour. We'll lose a lot of Brothers."

Brutus frowned, his mind shifting to consider the problem before him. He rubbed his chin and turned to his underling. "Rivet City sits on the shore of the Potomac river."

"I dink so, sir. Dun much know, though."

Brutus smiled. "Before the war started, the Potomac was a prime place for farming and fishing oysters. Have your mutants gather as many as you can."

"Oysters?"

"Sea shells." Brutus corrected, trying to simplify things, as he always had to. "You will collect sea shells from the riverbeds. As many as you can."

His subordinate gave him a strange look. Brutus couldn't blame the poor mutant, so he explained. "When you burn oyster shells, you get a substance called Lime. Do you know what Lime is?"

"Der tastes good."

"Not limes, you-" Brutus shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "Lime. An inorganic material, mostly calcium oxide. Also one of the oldest chemical weapons in existence. It blinds humans, and burns them from the inside if they breath it. And when combined with water, it creates enough heat to burn up any flammable substance it encounters.

"Crush the shells to powder, and burn it. Have the behemoths work the billows. You will open Rivet City's doors. You will strip the hull away, and you will fill every cubic inch of that rat's nest with the appropriate poison.

"When they are blind and helpless, you will take captives. We will inject the females with the FEV II virus, and take them to Vault 87 for Alpha to do with as he pleases. Then we will have no more need of humans at all, and you may kill them as you please."

Sooo, I've been running silent for a couple weeks, and there's a reason: I got a job. Finally. A full-time gig. 8-5.

Still plan to write on the weekends, but I'm spending 8 hours a day doing heavy physical activity and I'm pretty much exhausted when I get home. This basically cuts writing time down to weekends, and means I'll be putting out chapters at a far slower rate. I still intend to keep writing though. I've resolved to write at least 300-500 words a night, I'll see if I can't send them to Krow Blood to prove I've done them. He can keep me on the straight and narrow.

A part of the problem is that it's difficult to start new chapters and scenes. A completely blank page is the hardest thing to overcome. I'm sitting just on the wrong side of the Writer's Block line, and I'm a little afraid that in combination with the new job, it might end me. I don't plan to let it, though.

I know Three Dog has a wife, but I don't even care. I wish I had a better explanation for why she's not mentioned here, but there is not a more honest one. I'm aware this isn't really a valid reason, but IMHO Margaret is an excuse for Bethesda to keep playing us those awesome tunes, even if we kill Three Dog. And she's not going to figure into this story. I'm sorry if I disappointed anyone. I'm not actually sure anyone else cares either. No one mentioned her so far, so I'm going to assume not.

I know Brutus' plans are horrific. But he's a bad guy. They're supposed to be. If you feel offended or upset by it, I apologize. But this story is rate 'M' for a reason.