Chapter 26: Hometown Dilemmas
The town of Goodsprings was in many ways stuck in time. Over the past two decades, hardly any new homes had been established, no foundations for cabins lain. The most that new construction earned was a guardhouse for the local marshals and two checkpoints on the northern and southern ends of the road to monitor caravan traffic and suspicious activity. It was the northern checkpoint that admitted Senator Ziyi's arrival, and she and her two bodyguards meandered through the quaint, rustic little town.
It did not take long for her eyes to wander to the house atop a hill, nestled right next to the gas station. It was there that the person she most had to speak to could usually be found, as the Vegas City Council was on recess for the week. An older man slept by the front porch, rifle resting across his lap. His snoring was interrupted by the creaking boards, and his bleary eyes fluttered open to see the woman tapping her foot before him.
"Miss Senator," Former commissioner Floyd Wilson yawned. "A pleasure."
"Where is Councilor Gannon?" Senator Ziyi asked.
"Inside," Floyd stretched his body. "We aren't on speaking terms, so don't expect an introduction."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Ziyi bowed her head.
"Don't be, it's great," Floyd grinned.
Rolling her eyes, Ziyi entered the home. A silver-haired man was pulling something out of the oven, blowing away the steam as he set the pot on the counter. Looking up to see the Senator entering, he let out a bright smile. "Ziyi!" Arcade exclaimed.
"Dr. Gannon," Ziyi smiled back, dismissing her bodyguards to patrol the perimeter. "It has been too long."
"Well, absence makes the heart grow fonder," Arcade replied as he took off the oven mitts. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to come by here and chat," Ziyi shook her head. Arcade pulled down his glasses and peered at her. "Honest," Ziyi exclaimed.
"…Well, considering my partner is being his usual self, I suppose I can set another plate, despite your lack of honesty," Arcade relented.
"Please don't give me that," Ziyi mumbled as Arcade chuckled.
Arcade Gannon was one of the few people Ziyi understood on an equally professional and personal level. As Vegas City Councilor, Arcade was very often an ally and occasionally an opponent for many political measures Senator Ziyi brought the Mojave on behalf of California. His past life as a Follower of the Apocalypse belayed a shrewd political acumen, as his success as administrator for Freeside had demonstrated, often juggling issues of health care with corralling the semi-legal activities of the Bishop Family.
"So, partner aside, how are things?" Ziyi asked as she polished off her plate.
"Well, we're in the middle of deciding whether or not it would be prudent to send a company of marshals to join the rest of the task force near Redding. It wouldn't be a significant amount compared to what's being committed, but politically it would do wonders for solidarity, plus Smiles has been itching for combat experience, as she is wont to tell me," Arcade tried to smile. Ziyi could tell that he was holding back on what bothered him. He didn't want to consign members of the Mojave police force to die in foreign territory. He'd often argued that in the NCR's rush to intervene, it often lost sight of the communities it trampled over to save, and he was in no rush to oversee the same mistake on his end.
"I understand your hesitance," Ziyi nodded. "I also doubt that our high command would fail to consider using the marshals as fodder."
Arcade snorted. "You said it, not me."
Ziyi giggled. "… So, let's say I have this… friend…"
"Gomorrah is where relationships go to die, Ziyi. We've been over this. Just because Angie said she doesn't mind doesn't mean she's being honest with herself or you," Arcade automatically filled in the rest of the query.
"NO, that wasn't what I wanted to talk about!" Ziyi shook her head. "Besides, we're on a break."
"Again?" Arcade replied.
"Leave us to our relationship, leave yours to you!" Ziyi snapped.
"Wait, we can have breaks?" Floyd called from the porch. "Since when?"
"MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!" Arcade snapped. He cleared his throat. "…So, you would like some ointment?"
"That wasn't what I meant!" Ziyi shook her head. "I have a "friend" who I don't like very much and thought I wouldn't ever see again."
"I might not be the right kind of guy to ask a question like that," Arcade reluctantly admitted. "I'm not that kind of doctor."
"…Honestly, I think you're the only person I can ask," Ziyi stated.
"What, someone we mutually know?" Arcade chuckled.
"Yes," Ziyi admitted.
"Alright, who?" Arcade asked, placing his hands on the table with a coy smile. Ziyi shot him a desperate look, biting her lip. As the seconds ticked by, Arcade's smile began to falter.
"…No," Arcade shook his head. "…How did…"
"He was picked up by the Thorn earlier today," Ziyi said.
Arcade's eyes began to widen. "You can't be serious?!"
"It's him," Ziyi pressed. "And I don't know what to do."
Arcade began stroking his beard. The problems multiplied the more he thought of it. How does one get Johnny Guitar out of the Thorn? That was countered by another question. SHOULD one get Johnny Guitar out of the Thorn? What are the risks of getting Johnny Guitar out of the Thorn? Does Johnny Guitar deserve to get out of the Thorn? What are the implications of Johnny Guitar being in the Thorn in the first place? So many questions. Too many questions.
Arcade went to grab his coat. "Dr. Gannon, this isn't necessary!" Ziyi spoke up. "I just wanted an opinion!"
"And I need some answers," Arcade said as he grabbed his cap. "Blanco owes me favors, but I think we should keep this to ourselves."
"Keep what?" Floyd asked.
"Nothing! I'm going to the Thorn, suppers on the table!" Arcade announced as he straightened out his coat.
"Now you have my attention! Why are you of all people going to the Thorn? I thought you hate that place?" Floyd asked.
"Security issues," Arcade said as he opened the door, walking past his partner.
"Sounds fun!" Floyd grinned.
"It's not," Arcade shook his head. "Besides, don't you have a meeting with IA?"
"I'm retired," Floyd said as he stood up and stretched. "I don't wait on IA, IA waits on me," he continued as he shouldered his rifle.
Arcade glowered, shooting an apologetic look at Ziyi. "…Fine," he reluctantly conceded. "But this is strictly our business, understand?"
Floyd chuckled. "You aren't one for affairs, Arcade. You'll have to try better to surprise me."
Lars sat alone in the penthouse, looking out to his city. Twenty-two years he lived here. Twenty-two years of hangovers, hookups, and heartbreak. Twenty-two years of trying to find someone to settle down with, it all falling apart for one reason or another, and trying again with a slightly older yet more detached young woman. He sipped his whiskey as he looked to the east.
When Lars first heard about Ariel's pregnancy, he had pleaded with whatever entity that watched over him that she hadn't been faithful, that it wasn't his because how the hell was a guy like him supposed to know how fatherhood worked? When Ariel casually proposed she terminate the pregnancy, however, he felt horrified rather than relieved, even as the dread about the situation continued to grow. So, ever the mercenary, Ariel was paid to bring the child to term, leaving the whimpering babe in his arms as she went outside to finally smoke.
Lars hadn't been a good father, despite his stop-start efforts. He thought himself a poor role model so he often sent her to play with little Carla and Tobey so he wouldn't have to spend too much time with her. He passed her off to Arcade and Gavino and the Boones while he tried to find Mrs. Right over and over again. Some came closer than others, but the perfect mom had constantly eluded him. The closest he ever came to finding her was a Californian spy, and even after discovering that he still tried to make it work, he really did.
Still, when he realized Rosa was growing distant, a part of him was relieved. It'll teach her to be independent, I had no business trying to raise a kid, she's got a great life, all I have to do is keep her safe and she'll figure out how to be happy, and other such excuses. Lars wanted nothing more than to be walking the wastes alongside his daughter. The greatest opportunity to do something meaningfully good for the kid, and "political necessity" saw fit to chain him to the Lucky 38 while his flesh and blood marched into the unknown. He leaned his head back, trying to subdue the shame.
The elevator dinged as he grumbled and set aside his medication. Age was doing a number on him, and thirty-something Lars hadn't in his wildest dreams expected him to become a fifty-something with his reckless lifestyle. Of course, thirty-something Lars was usually dealing with bullet wounds and animal venom on the regular. Fifty-something Lars had to contend with weaker lungs and joint pain, as well as the after-effects of a life of casual debauchery.
"Well, how are we doing, tonight?" Dr. Gabrielle announced as she left the elevator, setting down her bag.
"Same old," Lars announced as he rose from his chair. Gabrielle noticed the whiskey by the table, tutting as she pulled out her stethoscope. "I see you haven't been taking my advice."
"It's to help me sleep," Lars lied.
As a technical public servant, in theory, Lars had been allotted a personal physician on behalf of the Mojave branch of the Followers of the Apocalypse for a bi-annual checkup. Dr. Gabrielle was a newer face, a young and fresh medical worker who had arrived in Vegas three years ago. For a number of reasons, Lars didn't completely resent his on-call lovely brunette physician, even if her demeanor often bordered on patronizing.
"OK, shirt off," Dr. Gabrielle announced as Lars complied. Despite his best efforts, Lars lived a fairly active lifestyle and had the body to show for it. Lean, raw, and scarred muscle took slow breaths as Gabrielle listened to his heartbeat. "Very good," Gabrielle cheered.
"I'm not senile," Lars griped. "If something was wrong, I'd tell you."
"Well, prior history indicates otherwise," Gabrielle lightly scolded. "Show me those teeth."
Lars curled his lips.
"Well, sure smells like you finally quit smoking," Gabrielle stated with pep.
"I'm not desperate enough to go ghoul," Lars admitted. "We had a one here recently who stank like a damn chimney."
"Full body cancer is hardly a worthy trade-off," Gabrielle sniffed.
"And immortality isn't?" Lars asked.
"I'd focus more on taking care of the years you have in front of you before we do anything drastic," Gabrielle said. "Now, for your favorite part."
"Is it, now?" Lars asked. Granted, he did enjoy the physical portion of the tests. Pushups, crunches, a few poses from some old ritual called yogi, and Lars felt the sweat begin to build. The activity was good for his body, though his mind still preferred two other workouts, both starting with the letter F.
"Well, you get a gold star for tonight," Gabrielle announced as Lars sat back on his recliner.
"Great, help yourself on your way out," Lars said as he returned to his watch of the horizon.
He heard the footsteps approach her, closing his eyes as he exhaled through his nostrils. Dr. Gabrielle was a lovely young doctor with killer eyes and a great figure. Lars had a reputation for weakness in certain matters and wanted little more than for her to do anything other than kneeling by his chair as she was about to do.
"Don't you want your treat?" she purred.
"Not tonight," Lars admitted.
"Aww, what's wrong?" Gabrielle asked as she slid around in front of him. "Don't you feel lonely?"
"Not. Tonight," Lars emphasized.
Gabrielle groaned as she put her hand on Lars' leg, which he swatted away. "You certainly know how to lead a girl on."
The previous checkup had ended with Gabrielle pressed against the liquor cabinet, the Governor receiving full marks for stamina she later exclaimed. Now, however, the old fire wasn't there. Maybe the expedition occupied too much of his head. Or maybe the realization that Gabrielle was barely a half-decade older than his daughter finally quelched his attraction to women in their twenties. At any rate, right now he just felt like going to bed and calling it a night.
"Sorry. I'm not really up for it," Lars admitted.
Gabrielle glanced him over. "…Come to think of it, you do seem a bit paler than usual."
"I'll feel better in the morning," Lars dismissed as he stood up, brushing the doctor aside.
"…Still, I'd like to be assured that there isn't anything deeper to it. I'd like to rule out you catching a bug from one of your other companions," Gabrielle pressed.
"That won't be necessary," Lars stretched. "Gold star, remember?"
"Don't be such a baby. I just need a teensy little blood sample so I can see if any of the usual suspects are sticking around," Gabrielle continued.
Lars grumbled. "…This won't take long?"
A minute later, Gabrielle had applied the bandage to his arm. "Quick and painless, right?"
"Thank you, Gabi. You can leave, now," was all Lars said. Gabrielle betrayed a snort, turning to leave when suddenly Lars called out to her. "Wait!"
Stopping, she turned to look at the Governor. "…Nevermind," he surrendered. "I was going to ask you about Rosa, but you never treated her."
"And even if I did, I wouldn't betray her confidence," Gabrielle continued the thought. "That being said, if she had half your genetics, and scientifically she does, I wouldn't worry about her health."
"If you knew where she got most of her personality, you'd worry," Lars shot back as he sank back into his recliner.
"Have a good night," Gabrielle nodded as she finally returned to the elevator. Once inside, she pulled out the syringe. "…Not as much fun as the other method," she muttered to herself. "But DNA is DNA." Symbolic presence aside, the Governor had access to facilities and functions in New Vegas that could make or break future plans. Jake and that Emma creature needed the Governor to bring the plan to fruition. And, in the likely event that he did not cooperate, they would have a backup plan. The right keys applied to the right locks, and suddenly the Governor would no longer make any difference.
Scorpio Oklahomus sat on the throne, head tilted back as he listened to the good senator rattling off his reports and requests. Quincey was an ambitious sort, shamelessly so, him having been a powerful merchant in the days before the Legion's arrival who early on saw the winds of change and submitted to Caesar's will with little prompting. Money was his weapon of choice, appropriate for one so shameless, though it was of little value against one such as the Consul. Still, Senator Quincey, ever shameless, could at least realize how to quench certain appetites.
The striking blonde knelt between Scorpio's knees as she serviced him. She had been a gift for Barabbas prior, yet though he had his way with her, the Legate never demonstrated any sense of gratuity to Quincey for his commitment and gift. Scorpio, on the other hand, was rather pleased with his newfound plaything, so much so that he was willing to endure listening to the sycophant welch and moan over the slights of his rivals on the senate floor as well as listen to his paltry requests for grants and favors. The little blonde had a lot of work ahead of her.
"…as well as with Senator Harwin's new jurisdiction over the San Antonian provinces, I fear his influence will soon eclipse my own," Senator Quincey finally relented.
"…I see," Scorpio announced, pretending to be interested. "So, what do you request of me?"
Senator Quincey stammered for a moment, trying not to look at the naked girl before him. "I request you block the latest resolution when the senate next reconvenes. Give me the time to build my argument against him on the floor, or otherwise…"
"Bribe him?" Scorpio finally looked Quincey in the eyes as the older man quelled before the gaze of the warrior.
"I'm certain that with my resources, I can more than match whatever offer Harwin can put forth. Of course, I'm willing to accept doubled tithes should the territories be bequeathed unto me, so that I may…" Quincey stammered.
Scorpio grabbed a tuft of the blonde's hair. Pulling her up, he motioned for her to sit on his lap, to which she accepted, wrapping her arms around his neck while Scorpio held his gaze with the Senator, even as he began to fondle his companion.
"…Have you traveled so far as to bore me with your petty schemes?" Scorpio questioned as the woman rubbed against him.
Senator Quincey bit his lips, eyes averted from the sight before him. Scorpio enjoyed demonstrating his dominance to friend and enemy alike, and those words tended to blend more often than not around the man. He had expected to indulge with his gift in the privacy of his quarters, not partake of her in front of him. Not that he had spine enough to protest, Scorpio thought with a grin.
"…So, how shall I amend your paltry little problem?" Scorpio said aloud as he stroked the woman's back. "I suppose you would like me to make Senator Harwin take a permanent sabbatical?"
"…I wouldn't make such a request so directly," the Senator admitted. "Only that such actions do not reflect unto me."
"Of course," Scorpio accepted. "So perhaps I ought to frame the man with something reprehensible. Like murdering the property of others or orchestrating a revolt?"
"Would others believe he would do such things?" Quincey asked.
"Would others question what the Consul decrees?" Scorpio stated as he grabbed the back of the woman's head, locking his gaze with her. "…Your name was… Cassie, correct?"
"Cheslie," the girl muttered, the first words she had uttered in her audience with the Consol.
"…Gaze upon him," Scorpio muttered, motioning with his head towards the senator. A blush quickly filled Cheslie's cheeks, but the glare the Consul gave her would broker no argument. Reluctantly, she turned to look upon the senator, who averted his own eyes. "Tell me, Cheslie, what do you see?"
"…Is this a test, master?" she asked.
"Probably not. What do you see before you, girl?" Scorpio beckoned again.
"…The senator of Austin, my master," Cheslie muttered, her throat dry.
"Not incorrect, but not what I see," Scorpio stated. "I see a coward."
Quincey bristled at the statement while Cheslie played dumb. "I don't understand, master?" she said.
"I figured you would not. Fortunately, I have a demonstration," Scorpio grinned as he pulled out a leather strap and wrapped it around Cheslie's neck. As the air was forced from her lungs, Cheslie's hands reached up to her neck in a futile effort to free herself as Scorpio locked his gaze with the senator, who reached out and wordlessly pleaded for mercy on her behalf.
"Loyalty, my dear Senator, is not something I lack," Scorpio explained. "Sycophancy and debasement are not qualities I value. You are not here because I believe you a greater man than the senator from Laredo. You are here because I believe you can be more valuable, so long as you remember your place. It is a lesson your gift is about to learn the hard way, isn't it, Cheslie?" he taunted directly in her ear.
Quincey watched in a panic as Cheslie's face began to turn purple. He knew the price Scorpio would demand for his influence would be steep, as would any favor that required navigating around the approval of Caesar Lanius. But it was only in this situation that he understood that Scorpio did not merely demand fealty, but total subjugation. Dignity was a luxury most under the tyrant would have to do without.
"I pledge the territories of San Antonio to you, Consul! " Quincey surrendered.
Scorpio released the tether, the woman collapsing from the throne to the floor, taking deep and grateful breaths as the Senator gingerly approached her. Scorpio casually fixed the hem of his tunic before rising.
"At least I know you understand," Scorpio smiled as he grabbed Cheslie by the shoulder, ignoring her flinching. "And I should like to continue partaking of your lovely gift. I'm not so prideful as to reject that which is second-hand." Cheslie shot a look at Quincey before putting back on her docile mask and turning to Scorpio. "I am humbled I can please you, master," she tried to coo, sweetly, even as her voice was scratched up.
Scorpio returned to the throne and pulled out a bottle of wine. "A token of appreciation for your services, Cheslie. I expect I'll be seeing you again before too long. I trust you won't hold my object lesson against me," he continued, not looking for a discussion.
Cheslie cautiously took the bottle. "…It would please me beyond words," she finally stated.
"…Right. Come along, Cheslie," Senator Quincey called out, wanting to put some distance between him and the Consul.
"Coming, father," Cheslie said as she picked her dress from the ground. An iron vice gripped around her waist, and Cheslie could barely contain the shriek. "If you want the next time to be more pleasant," Scorpio whispered in her ear. "Bring a friend to share the burden." He released her, the harlot trotting after her father as the gates drew to a close.
That evening, Scorpio retired to Barabbas's old chambers. The man's harem had been giving him the cold shoulder ever since he arrived to manage Fort Wrath. No matter, he thought. Even bitches could be loyal hounds. That wouldn't matter much when they realized it couldn't protect them, but he had other matters to attend to.
As he rested on the bed, he took a moment to ponder Barabbas's little expedition, and took a moment to delight at the notion of that pathetic little wastrel being dragged along to be bartered and used. Perhaps, after a poor hunting trip, he could settle on using her for meat? A rather generous consolation for Scorpio, if he could not oversee her breaking himself.
Still, the notion of finding that wretch of the Oracle's loins was not something he looked forward to. That little monster instilled the faintest sense of dread whenever Scorpio had previously looked upon her. And it pained him greatly that of all the women in the world, there would be one bloodline that he'd have to treat as equals should that little guttersnipe actually grow and breed. One Oracle was dangerous enough. Two, and he'd have to put some of his own ambitions to rest. Even Scorpio didn't think he had the patience or stomach to wait for that little abomination to come of age.
Something tapped against the windows overlooking the arena. Scorpio turned to look outside, seeing the faintest outline of warped air hovering above the stands. Scorpio motioned to the doorway, and the sphere entered the room and decloaked. A robot that normally he'd be obligated to destroy, but the screen flickering before him, emblazoned with the logo of the RMX, held his hand.
"Abacus?" Scorpio announced.
"I've got it," the machine announced.
Scorpio rushed to the side of the machine, unlatching the hatch as he reached inside. Slowly and gently, he pulled out a circlet of circuits and wires, decorated by aluminum panels that gleaned off of the faint lights outside in the arena.
"This is it?" Scorpio asked, trying to steady his breathing.
"Excavation of site; twenty months. Decryption of blueprints; six months. Collection and assemblage of material; eighteen months. Probability of successful implementation; 86%"
Scorpio placed the crown upon his head. Immediately, his mind was filled with static. He could barely hear himself think. It would be perfect.
"So, what do I owe for the pleasure?" Scorpio asked.
"Mexico," was all Abacus announced. "As much as possible."
"You have just given me a kingdom," Scorpio began to leer. "I think we should be able to work something beautiful out."
An annotated history of the 4th Imperial Legion: Founded in what is regarded by many to be the martial capital of Imperial Dallas, Fort Wrath, the 4th Legion was commissioned by Caesar Lanius to protect the northern interests of the greater Legion's territory. This well-trained army acquitted itself well against disparate foes ranging from the Sons of Dixie to combat patrols of the Midwestern Confederacy. Having fallen under the command of proconsul Scorpio, this army has made evermore frequent raids into the Oklahoma wastelands to civilize the tribes located there by force.