It had been three years since Jack's death. The stories were still popular in the bars along the waterfront and even inland. The small figure sitting alone in the corner had heard most of them. Her favorite was how Calli had hunted down and executed all the Enclave high command responsible for the kidnapping. Maybe not exactly accurate, but essentially true, she thought. She had really only executed two, the sadistic soldier who had carried out the torture, and the corrupt doctor who had overseen the process to try to keep Jack alive until she could show up or he gave up the location of her city. She hadn't tortured them, either, as the stories went. She had simply taken them out of existence quickly and cleanly. The officer who had conceived and orchestrated the project had died in the explosion with most of the others involved.
The stories that interested her most concerned Scott Halliday. He made no secret of his vendetta against the woman that had caused his brother's death. She had heard the tales of his many near encounters in many bars, sometimes from Scott Halliday himself, although he was unaware the object of his obsession was listening. She was always intrigued by the story of the howl. How had her cry of grief and pain become a shout of triumph? Scott never failed to tell how it had brought him to a standstill, sending shivers down his spine. He told the story so well she almost believed herself that Calli was some murdering she monster bent on destruction.
She made it her business to know her enemies, and Scott was an enemy. She could have settled the issue quickly enough by simply taking him out, but she wouldn't do that. How was his quest for justice, revenge, whatever he wanted to call it, how did it differ from what she had done? Had she not avenged Jack's death? No, she wouldn't harm this man unless she had no choice.
He was trying hard to make a living as a trader while hunting her but he didn't seem to be doing very well in either pursuit. She had visited the farm he came from as Master Katherine, preaching the teaching of the One. He had a mother and a younger brother that he was supporting. The boy would be 13 now, she mused, he was 10 when Marcus had died. That made him the same age as her twins. Perhaps that was one reason she felt responsible for him. Her twins had lost their father, and he had lost the man he depended on. He was dependent on Scott now who really didn't seem all that dependable.
She had learned a few interesting things tonight, her keen ears picking up conversations that weren't meant to be overheard as well as general gossip. It kept her informed of the doings of the various groups in the wasteland. She had seen and been seen and it was time to go now if she was going to meet Scott as she did every 3 months at the trading post.
She rose as the balladeer began a song about an Enclave battle. Her soft initiate robes rustled lightly with the move. The robe was mottled browns, a pattern in pre-war times called desert camouflage. Made of a soft fabric manufactured in Arhome from alpaca wool, it covered the figure from head to toe, with soft flowing sleeves tight at the wrist and a long hood that completely hid all features.
"Well, what have we here?" a gruff, raucous voice asked, moving to the tiny figure. "How about we see what's under that hood?", he sneered.
The barkeep looked up and shook his head.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you" he called. The little figure raised an imploring hand.
"Please do not touch me" she said in a soft voice. "We are not allowed to show face or figure in public."
"Oh, Ho" he bellowed gleefully. "A girl! Let's just take a look." He reached out a hand and grabbed the hood. The small hand clamped around his wrist, pressuring the nerve, releasing his grasp. With a quick movement he was on his knees, arm behind his back.
"Initiate" the deep voice bellowed. She immediately released her grasp and stepped back, hands clasped together, head bowed.
"What's going on here?", the hooded figure demanded.
"I'm sorry, Master", she said contritely.
"He tried to take off her hood" someone called, and the Master looked around. His gaze settled on the initiate.
"Is that true?" he asked.
"Yes, Master", she replied meekly. The big wastelander got to his feet.
"No harm done" he grumbled. " I just wanted to see what she was hiding."
The Master looked at him squarely. "She isn't hiding anything. She's an inititate serving the Disciples of the One. Our rules prohibit her from showing face or figure in public. You want to know what we look like? Then look at me." And he flung back his hood.
The bar's patrons took in his appearance and went back to their drinks, disappointed. A very ordinary looking man, attractive but of no special interest, except perhaps to some of the women who cast him appreciative glances.
"Come, Initiate", he commanded. "It's time for us to rest." The patrons were used to the Master's severe limp and paid little more attention to the Disciples of the One as they left the bar.
"Really, Calli", Stew said exasperatedly, "Can't I leave you alone for one evening without you getting in trouble?" Calli laughed, pushing back her hood.
"Now, Stew", she teased, " you know I never cause any trouble."
"No,", he growled, "it just seems to find you. How am I supposed to go about the business of spreading the Word of the One if I have to keep getting you out of bars?"
She frowned, "Stew", she said. " You know I started the cult of the One to hide myself in plain sight. I'm not even sure how it's managed to grow into a religion like this!"
"I think, " he said softly, "It's because you based it on that old bible you were given by that dead missionary. It was around long before the war. Surely you must feel there's some grain of truth in it, don't you?"
"I don't have to believe in it to use it!" she growled. "I did it to hide us! All of the GECK born. Look at me, do you think people would accept me if they knew what I am? I'm 58 and I don't look as old as you. How long do you think a GECK born could show themselves before someone notices?"
Stew shrugged. "I know the history of the movement, Calli. I know how you walked the wasteland as Master Katherine long before Arhome was even occupied, and how you dropped hints about a hidden monastery in the West to throw people off. I still think you must feel there is something there to have remained in the guises for so many years."
"They're useful. Master Katherine was too old, too wise. People didn't open up around her. Initiate Marcella garners me a lot more information. People like her.", she said irritably.
Stew slowly shook his head. "Someday I think you will see the truth."
Calli observed him for a moment then sighed and said quietly, "I'm going out tonight, but don't worry. I'll be going as myself. Your little initiate will be safe and sound here."
Stew cocked an eyebrow at her. "Just try not to get killed, will you? Aileen would never forgive me. You know how she worries."
Calli rolled her eyes. "Aileen always worries.", she said, and went over to the bed and threw herself down. She would nap until full dark. No one needed to notice Calli the warrior slipping from the Disciples rooms.