Chapter 13: Home on the Wastes (VII)

Arkaid was feeling the worst hangover in years. His head was spinning, his throat was as dry as the desert surrounding him, and his stomach was killing him. Gone were the years of youth that had once allowed him to party in such a way without fearing the consequences, and now the only thing he could be thankful for was that his wife wasn't around to scold him.

The inclement rays of the sun were continuously ravaging him on his journey. He was a native of those lands, but had long since abandoned them to settle in the fertile green plains of Tronmail territory, seeking a quality of life that Polove could not provide. If it were up to him he would have forgotten all about that godforsaken wasteland, but the generational friendship that his family had with the Spherica would not allow him to do so, especially since Saphirette's late father was like a brother to him.

"Haidar…" the merchant gloomily murmured.

The merchant had many regrets in his life, many of them being failed businesses that almost put him and his family out on the street, but without a doubt his biggest remorse was having left his best friend behind when he decided to emigrate. He still remembered clearly that fateful night more than thirty years ago, when he had a heated argument with the man who had been his best friend for as long as he could remember. Haidar called him a coward for wanting to leave his homeland behind in times of crisis, in return he called him deluded for clinging to a ridiculous sense of patriotism instead of worrying about his own well-being. It all culminated in an exchange of blows that left them both in a terrible state, the last words they said to each other being hurtful insults.

Years passed in which Arkaid barely deigned to think about his home country or his once best friend, but everything changed when he received a letter from Haidar, one that asked him to return so he could make amends for the breakup of their friendship. The reason for this was simple: he was on his deathbed. By the time Arkaid had finally made it to his hometown, all he could find was his deceased friend being buried by his now orphaned daughter.

For years the merchant made sure to provide for his old friend's daughter, even spending a fortune to send little Saphirette to the prestigious Saint Welsple Academy so she could have a future. It was an atrocious expense, one that almost caused his wife to leave him when he spent more on Saphirette's education than on his own family, but it was all worth it when the little girl managed to graduate early and with honors, becoming a renowned scholar.

"Arkaid, we need you to come to the western ruins as soon as possible!" Saphirette's voice echoed next to him.

That voice message abruptly snapped him out of his memories, intensifying the headache he was suffering from. The merchant turned to look with annoyance at the air elemental floating beside him, bringing in its steady stream of winds the recorded voice of Saphirette. He had spent the morning in stress after discovering that she was missing, searching side by side for her for several hours. It wasn't often that she wasn't present when he visited, much less when he brought with him items and goods required by her, so he could only assume the worst after seeing that she was no longer in town, not to mention the possibility that the dark armored man might have something to do with it. Having that air elemental come to him with a message from Saphirette was a blessing, for it made him feel relieved to know where she was, but his concern for her well-being lingered, for those ruins could mean nothing good.

At first he feared he would have to cross the desert on foot, a feat that years of physical neglect would make nearly impossible, but fortunately a kind villager was willing to lend him a few of his pack animals to pull his wagon and facilitate the journey.

"What trouble has that girl got herself into now?" the merchant wondered as he rubbed his eyes wearily.

Saphirette lacked her father's strong attitude, being someone shy and mild-mannered, but she had undoubtedly inherited his humanitarian spirit. Instead of choosing an easy life at the court of some king or selling her knowledge to the nobility, Saphirette had dedicated herself to following in her father's footsteps in saving Polove, looking for ways to solve the ecological crisis. More than once he had suggested that she leave that impossible goal behind and focus on her own well-being, but honoring her family name, the girl had flatly refused, guided by a deep love for her people.

Arkaid worried that she would follow the same path as her father, that the obsession with helping others would end in her own undoing. He worried for her, but at the same time he felt a certain pride, a certain hint of nostalgia at seeing that his best friend's dreams had been inherited. One thing he couldn't deny, though, was that he was concerned to see that Saphirette was already approaching her thirtieth birthday and still showed no interest in marriage, and was in jeopardy of becoming an old maid. That was a concern that applied equally to his own daughter, Colette, who despite being a few years younger seemed to be on the same path.

"Those girls will be my undoing," he sighed, already feeling the headache worsen from worry.

Suddenly the air elemental began to stir, abandoning the merchant and flying swiftly forward. This confused Arkaid, though in a few seconds he could see the reason for this, for soon he could see the huge ruins in the distance, and after carefully squinting his eyes, he could see a group that seemed to be waiting at the entrance of the ruins.

Saphirette barely managed to stay conscious. She was breathing slowly, feeling a cold sweat and on the verge of fainting. To have enchanted those weapons with such a powerful concentration of elemental energy had been a feat like no other, one she had been barely able to accomplish. She had exhausted all her magical reserves, even something as simple as sending Levante to transmit a message, a novice elemental spell, was nearly impossible in her condition.

She was exhausted, but it had been worth it. After an excruciating time of uncertainty, distant noises, and the always overwhelming possibility of failure, Grognak had returned to the room with the news that they had managed to avoid the explosion, although he showed a certain urgency in wanting to get them out of the ruins as soon as possible. Her main concern was about the Demon Lord's group of agents, because once the machine was defeated they would be the next enemy to confront, but to her surprise Grognak had informed her that they had vanished without a trace. They had apparently disappeared in a flash of light when they were caught in a powerful release of energy, although that only raised more questions.

"Saphirette, how are you doing?" the dark-haired woman asked, prostrating herself at her side to look after her. "Do you need more water?"

Saphirette smiled faintly at such a gesture.

"I thank you, Miss Anne, but there is no need," she replied. "You should take care of yourself too, the effects of the drug got to you too, right?"

Her companion nodded weakly at that, showing a tired expression. Grognak had informed them that the drug he had forced them to consume, the so-called Mentats, had a certain annoying side effect, and that was a horrible feeling of tiredness once the effects of the drug wore off. The effects were worse for them, since it was the first time they had tried the drug, unlike the man, who was impassive and without the slightest visible effect.

"I feel like I have been several days without sleep," her companion commented as she brought her hands to her own temples, massaging them slowly. "Next time you could warn us before you do this to us, Grognak."

"I promise nothing," the man replied dryly, fixing his gaze on the wasteland outside the ruins, looking vigilant and on the constant lookout for something.

Both women sighed in unison at that answer, too exhausted to even bother arguing. Already his demeanor had become relatively serious, but now he seemed different. Whatever had happened in the fight against the machine, something had happened that had a profound effect on him.

"Later, when we feel better," Saphirette began to say as she took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes in annoyance. " You will have a lot of things to answer us."

The man did not respond, remaining silent, still staring into the distance. Something curious that they could notice was that strange golden device on his left arm, because before the fight with the machine they could see that it gave off a kind of light, but now it did not, as if it had been turned off.

The two women remained next to the pillar, leaning against each other, with Saphirette using the shoulder of the black-haired woman to rest for a few minutes. Grognak's Golem now lay in her companion's lap, cuddling him like a small stuffed animal, a fact that seemed to reflect the fact that she was becoming increasingly comfortable with carrying him. The golem seemed to emit a series of strange noises, wanting to communicate something, but being something the two of them were unable to understand. Likewise, those strange sounds were relatively soothing at the time, so she had no intention of stopping it.

A huge weight that she had carried for years had been lifted from her shoulders, as they had finally managed to stop the unnatural change to Polove's ecology, though unfortunately they had been unable to recover the Artifact. According to what Grognak had said, the Artifact had been destroyed when he destroyed the machine, leaving the remains unusable. She herself felt conflicted about it, for while the object she had spent most of her life for had been destroyed when she finally had the chance to obtain it, discovering that it was fueled and empowered by the torture and sacrifice of countless elementals meant that she could not allow herself to use it, even if it was for the greater good.

They had managed to stop Polove's ecocide, but they no longer had any kind of easy fix to the problem. From now on she would have a titanic task in restoring fertility to the land and repopulating it with elemental spirits, something that would probably take decades of effort and perseverance. She had to prepare herself for the new challenge ahead, but now she just wanted to rest.

"Huh?" Saphirette suddenly opened her eyes, standing up with some difficulty. "This feeling..."

The elementalist had felt a curious sensation, a very familiar one. Soon she could feel a cold, refreshing wind caress her face, and before she knew it she was now surrounded by a small whirlwind.

"Levante! You came back sooner than I expected!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "And if you are here, that means that..."

"Here comes the fella," Grognak said as he pointed to a blurry figure in the distance.

Saphirette couldn't help but smile when she saw who the approaching person was. She wanted to run to greet him, but her weakened legs would not allow her to do so, so she had to raise her arm high in the air to salute him.

"Arkaid! Over here!" she exclaimed.

Arkaid jumped off the wagon once he was close enough, running as fast as his out-of-shape legs would allow. The merchant wasted no time and went straight to where Saphirette was, trapping her in a tight embrace that almost took her breath away.

"Saphirette, dear child!" the merchant said as he continued to hug her tightly. "I told you already that these ruins are a bad omen, they are cursed! Why did you risk coming here?"

"A-arkaid, I already told you that you do not need to worry so much about me," she said embarrassed. "And I had good reasons for coming here, I needed to—"

Arkaid didn't let her finish, quickly releasing her and walking over to where the dark-armored man stood, jabbing his accusing finger into the man's chest.

"You! You were the one who dragged Saphirette to this godforsaken place, were you not?!" Arkaid accused him, showing a never-before-seen bravery. "I knew from the moment I first saw you that you were nothing more than a troublesome scoundrel!

The merchant was dominated by his paternal instinct, completely unaware of the danger the man represented.

"You better give me a good explanation of what happened here, and if I find out that you did something to hurt Saphirette, then I swear by my ancestors that I will see to it that this desert becomes your grave!"

The man remained silent in the face of that threat, whatever expression he might have had being hidden behind that helmet. Suddenly he grabbed the merchant's hand roughly, pulling it away from his chest as he proceeded to crouch down to stand at the merchant's level, emitting an intimidating aura.

"Mr. Grognak!" Saphirette shouted, shocked by what she was seeing. "What are you doing!?"

"Here, I'll give you this," the man mused with a certain frightening tone.

The man proceeded to reach into one of his pockets, appearing to start pulling out something heavy. The merchant tried to pull away, but the grip on his hand was too powerful, so he could only close his eyes and expect the worst.

"Stop!" Saphirette exclaimed as she tried to run to him, but was forced to the ground due to her weak legs. "Please, do not hurt him!"

Clink

Arkaid could feel something heavy fall into his hand. Unsteadily he opened his eyes, seeing to his surprise a piece of gold shaped like a giant coin in his palm.

"Gold," the man said calmly.

"G-gold?" the merchant asked, dumbfounded.

"Lots of gold, there's a room at the bottom of these ruins that's bursting with gold. If you help me take it to town on your wagon, you can keep a good portion of it. What do you say?"

Arkaid blinked several times, his mouth open in surprise.

"I..." Arkaid began to say, his hand trembling at the weight of that golden piece. "I... I knew you were someone trustworthy! And of course I accept the deal, all for a friend of my dear Saphirette!"

With that said, the two men walked into the ruins together, with the merchant noticeably animated and excited by the promise of gold. For their part, the two women watched them depart, both with blank expressions.

"I must say, I am not surprised that he kept it from us that he found a room full of gold," the black-haired woman sighed.

"Did he really make me use what little of my energy to bring Arkaid to carry all the gold back more conveniently?" Saphirette queried, feeling offended in a way she had never experienced before.

Saphirette had to lean against the pillar again. She felt that soon she was going to have a migraine.

"A toast to our hero, Grognak!"

The villagers celebrated loudly, surrounding the Courier incessantly. The fact that they had celebrated the night before was no impediment to a new party, this time with greater enthusiasm and fierceness. Not only were the villagers delighted to know that the continuing deteriorating effect on the ecosystem had been halted, but also the sight of a wagon full of gold and much more waiting back in the ruins meant that they would no longer suffer from economic problems. This time the party was not only from that village, villagers from other nearby towns had come once they heard the news. It was no longer about the salvation of a single village, but the salvation of the whole nation, and that was something they were ready to celebrate until they dropped.

This time there were no reservations with the food and drinks. All participants brought out what they had probably saved with their lives, now with the satisfaction of knowing that they could easily buy more with their newly acquired gold. The tables were bursting with all kinds of food, even the meat of freshly butchered and cooked animals, all for a celebration like no other. Saphirette and Sofiva were seated next to him, constantly being overwhelmed by invitations to dance and attempts at flirtation by all manner of men, barely being helped by an already inebriated Arkaid, who was hardly able to repel the horde of suitors. Their eyes were flashing a distress signal to the Courier to intervene and save them from the tumult, but he himself was prevented given the surge of people around him, offering him food, alcohol, and even the hands of daughters in marriage.

It was the kind of party that the Courier loved more than anything in the world, but could not allow himself to enjoy. He found himself nervous, overwhelmed even, subjected to a terrible and unbearable wait. He had to restrain himself from having to check the Pip-Boy's screen, knowing that he would find it turned off, and if his worst fears came true, then it would remain so forever. What he did was an extremely risky and dangerous move, though unfortunately the only option available. If he wanted to find his way back to Big MT, and with it the Mojave, then he had nothing left but to hope and pray that Lady Luck would show him warmth again.

The Courier had his gaze lost in the sky, still mired in worry. Suddenly, ED-E's beeping brought him out of his trance.

"Huh? What was that, lil buddy?" he asked as he looked down, seeing ED-E who was prostrate on the table in front of him, still unable to float.

ED-E emitted a long series of beeps, among which he explained his annoyance at having been carried by those women as if he were a stuffed animal, his frustration at not being able to float due to his breakdown, and also a long reproach to the Courier for decisions that, from his robotic point of view, had been more than stupid.

"Jesus, you're in a bad mood today, aren't you?" he replied as he took off his helmet, looking to feel some fresh air. "I'll go take a leak, take care of this while I'm back. If it gets stolen, I'll subtract it from your allowance."

With that said, he placed the Elite riot helmet playfully on top of ED-E, who responded with a series of insulting and angry beeps, which elicited a small chuckle from the Courier. He proceeded to walk away as a group of children clustered next to ED-E, enthusiastic and curious about the robot.

The Courier walked through the town, looking for a nearby restroom, but all he found was that the few available ones were already occupied and lined with queues of all sorts of inebriated people. Previous experience had taught him that a bathroom used by drunks was more toxic and harmful than a radioactive lake, so he decided to avoid them and head for the wilderness. He was a man accustomed to nature, so he had no problem resorting to his more instinctive side and relieving himself in the open air.

"The stars… they're not the same, but they look so similar," he whispered as he looked up at the wide night sky above him.

He was still having trouble coming to terms with his current situation. The fact that alternate worlds not only existed, but that he even found himself in one, was all so bizarre that he was barely able to accept it. He still hoped that it was all some sort of long dream, that he would soon be awakened by Arcade and return to his normal life in the Mojave.

"Klein, I swear to God, as soon as I see you..." he said in a genuine, cold rage, clenching his fist tightly.

His main goal was not only to find Big MT, but also to remind that senile old brain why they didn't play with the fabric of reality. The more macabre side of his mind was already devising all sorts of suitable punishments for him, each one worse than the other. Most of the other brains were not exempt from guilt, after all he was already planning the much anticipated switch from biomedical gel to vinegar, although with the clear exception of 8 and Mobius.

The Courier walked away from the village to the point where the music and shouts were no more than faint echoes in the distance, finding himself now in the middle of the cold and inhospitable wilderness, a fact that caused him some nostalgia. Not only did he need to relieve himself, he also wanted some time alone to think, to relax, to get away from everyone for a while.

He proceeded to unzip his pants, close his eyes and indulge in one of the physiological pleasures that his cybernetic body still permitted him. He remained like that for a few seconds, enjoying that brief moment of peace, although he could soon feel something on his nose that forced him to open his eyes.

"Huh?"

The Courier saw something he did not expect to find in the middle of the desert at night: a butterfly. It was a dark-winged butterfly, which was perched on his nose for a few moments before taking flight and flying away.

"What the…"

Soon the Courier noticed something, and that was that his surroundings had changed. The floor was no longer sand, but instead stone. He quickly turned sideways, seeing to his amazement that he was now inside what he could only describe as a dilapidated old chapel, with dozens of dark-winged butterflies fluttering around him. Not only that, he could hear a soft feminine cry.

"Your poor, tormented soul," a soft, gentle female voice echoed in the chapel.

It didn't take the Courier long to find the source of that voice, for he was quickly able to visualize a figure deep inside the chapel. The figure began to walk towards him slowly, causing him to brace himself and put his hand on his revolver still in his holster, ready to draw and fire at the slightest hostile attempt. The figure finally managed to emerge from the shadows, allowing the moonlight intruding through holes in the walls and ceiling to illuminate it, revealing its appearance.

The Courier whistled. "Not bad."

In front of him lay a pale-skinned woman, with a brooding but at the same time touching beauty. Her hair was long and dark, covering parts of her face but exposing those tearful gray eyes, which were fixed on him. Her clothing was curious, consisting of elegant black garments that covered her body and an extensive dark cloak on her head. The only way he could describe her would be that of a beautiful grieving widow of antiquity, although that would make little sense given the situation.

"You have been through so much, and yet, your path is far from over," she said as she clasped her hands together in what appeared to be prayer, with continuous tears streaming down her cheeks. "I would like to give you peace, to give you rest, but I am unable. Please forgive me."

The Courier could sense something strange in him when he heard those cries, as if he felt drawn, tired. He had to give himself a slight pinch to his cheek not only to snap out of it, but also to make sure that it was not a dream.

"If I'm going to forgive someone, I need their name first to know to whom I will address forgiveness," he replied, playing along, though still keeping his hand on his holster just in case.

The woman used her own hands to wipe away her tears, though failing, as the whining continued steadily.

"My name is Catrina, a banshee in the service of the Goddess of Life and Death, Hel," she introduced herself, bowing respectfully to him. "I am also a faithful watcher of yours, Grognak."

"A watcher?" he questioned curiously. "Are you saying you've been spying on me or something?"

Catrina shook her head.

"We banshees never spy on mortals, we only focus our attention on cases of tragedy, of great death, and of future catastrophes," she explained, the pain in her words showing. "And in your case, my poor, helpless Grognak, you fulfill every one of them."

The Courier sighed. If he had known that everyone would refer to him by the first false name that came to mind, he would have chosen one less embarrassing than Grognak.

"Oh, really? Are you saying I'll cause misfortune wherever I go or something?" he asked as he slowly pulled his hand away from the revolver, no longer seeing any need for it. "Because if that's the case, I'd better start throwing salt over my shoulder to avoid trouble."

"I am afraid that will not be enough," she proclaimed with regret in her voice. "You bring with you both salvation and damnation. You are a renegade agent, unable to be subdued by the chains of Fate, and that is what has put you in my Mistress's sights."

The Courier looked at her with an unimpressive gesture. What she was saying made no sense, although to tell the truth the whole situation he was in lacked any kind of logical explanation. He guessed that exhaustion was probably making him hallucinate, or that someone at the party had slipped some kind of hallucinogen into his drink. After all, he had already seen some strange things when he was on hallucinogens, so this wasn't so peculiar.

"Very well, I'll play along with your game, what does your 'Mistress' want with me?" he questioned her as he folded his arms. "Because if it's a date, I'm afraid my schedule is very busy."

Catrina put her hands to her mouth, surprised that anyone would speak of her superior in such a way.

"She, as well as the other Higher Divinities, have noticed your presence in this world," she began to explain as she pushed aside a strand of her hair from her face. "When you take a life, you do not do so according to mortal rules. The souls of your victims who have come to us have done so screaming in agony, unable to continue the cycle of reincarnation, stuck in the underworld. And not only you, that mechanical sphere that accompanies you, and the blasphemous beings who prolong their lives unnaturally, all the lives they have claimed suffer the same cruel fate."

She took a short pause, crying softly as she gathered her hands against her face, overcome with sadness.

"My Mistress and the Higher Divinities watch your steps with both interest and concern, and there are already several proposals that have arisen to prevent you from continuing," she explained between cries, her voice barely understandable. "I want to prevent that from happening, I want to find a way for you to stop peacefully."

That cry was curiously alluring to him, as if it were a beautiful song meant to enchant him. Again he began to feel tired, with the need to rest, but a quick slap to himself allowed him to stay awake and attentive.

"Well, miss, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't flattered, but may I ask why you want that? From what you just said, I'm a worse monster than a professional puppy stomper, why go to all that trouble for me?"

At that question she flashed a small, fragile smile. She reached out her hands, clasping the Courier's in an affectionate gesture, one that for some reason he found himself unable to refuse.

"Because I can see that you treasure life. Even though you have no problem with killing, you are someone who deeply loves life," she declared as she gently caressed his hands. "You killed orcs, but you did it to defend an innocent village. You wiped out bandits, but you did it to save a merchant, and with it, an entire village of people in need. And just today you averted a catastrophe like no other, one that my Mistress had foreseen would cause the death of countless innocents, but thanks to you today those people can dance and celebrate."

The Courier couldn't help but feel a certain warmth inside him when he heard those words. They were words filled with genuine affection and admiration, something that almost caused him to let his guard down.

"Unlike my Mistress and my sisters, I do not see you as a monstrosity. I can see that you carry guilt, regrets, that you are someone who has been forced to make hard decisions, but that in the end you have a noble heart," she slowly moved closer and closer to him, to the point where her body pressed against his, now almost joined in an embrace. "I cannot give you the peace you deserve, for that is beyond my abilities. But I can stay by your side, remove you from the sight of the Divinities' wrath, and allow you to spend the rest of your life safely with me."

That was a proposal the Courier began to consider, his mind becoming clouded. His mouth was half-open, almost hesitating to utter words of acceptance at such a proposal. He was tempted for a brief second to accept, but the reminder of the people waiting for him at the Mojave brought him back to himself. Abruptly he grabbed the pale woman by the shoulders, pulling her away from him with a push that elicited surprise from her.

"No deal," he told her curtly. "I appreciate the proposition, honey, but I have to get home. And if your boss or whoever wants to get in my way, then they're more than welcome to fuck off."

Catrina looked at him with surprise, visibly hurt at having been rejected.

"Then there is nothing I can do," Catrina mumbled through her tears. "In the disasters and tragedies to come, I will seek to weep for you, and plead that your soul may find the peace I am unable to provide."

The Courier had broken several hearts throughout his life, so much so that a woman crying was almost a common occurrence, but that particular cry had a certain effect on him. Now he felt not only tired, but also guilty.

"Look, sweetie, I'm aware that this is all probably a dream, but I'll give in to curiosity and ask, what does the future hold for me?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

The expression on Catrina's face became even more somber.

"We banshees cannot see the future as such, we can only foresee the perishing and suffering of mortals. Anything that has nothing to do with death or suffering is unknown to us," Catrina began to explain. "I cannot know your future, but I do know the demise and misery you will bring about."

"Well, that sounds like my favorite kind of fortune cookie, so go ahead and hit me with everything you've got," he said, willing to listen to such a dreadful prediction.

The pale woman nodded sadly, bringing her hands to the Courier's face, fixing her gray eyes on his.

"I can see a massacre in a Sacred City, the pristine streets bathed in blood. The disappearance of a healing princess, and with it the condemnation of thousands of sick people to their death. Forbidden knowledge of old resurfacing and plunging the world into chaos," Catrina began to say, her voice sounding slightly altered. "The Eight Great Goats being divided and forced against each other by external and unnatural means, generating a conflict from which there will be no conciliation. I also see the ancient Beasts, now free from the mandate of Fate, rampaging and ravaging this world."

Suddenly the dark-winged butterflies began to surround them aggressively, flying around them with such speed that it almost seemed like a whirlwind.

"And at the end of it all I see you, or what I think is you. An outsider agent in the world, someone not forced by the original laws, an agent of chaos who does not kneel before mortals or divinities. A constantly changing figure, with an uncertain destiny. You will save all through violence, or plunge the world into perdition through benevolence," she said between loud wailing sobs. "Which one it will be, I cannot say. But what I do know is that the end of your journey will be one filled with suffering."

Catrina's body began to fade, her own figure dissolving into a pile of butterflies. Her legs, torso, and chest faded away, leaving only her head which floated in the air.

"I will weep for you, Grognak," she said before finally disappearing completely, her head dissolving into butterflies.

Soon the Courier was surrounded by the tornado of butterflies, which seemed to be moving closer and closer to him. He closed his eyes for a moment to blink, but when he opened them again, he found himself back in the desert, with no trace of the previous experience. The Courier looked around frantically, even touching his own face to make sure he was awake. It had been so surreal that he could barely comprehend it.

"I think I need therapy," the Courier said as he sighed heavily, still stricken.

Seeking to write off that experience as a simple mental lapse brought on by stress and amplified by alcohol, the Courier decided to return to town and join the party again. Now he no longer wanted time alone, he feared what his mind could create when he was not distracted.

The party was over, and most of the attendees were now lying on the floor sleeping, overcome by alcohol and exhaustion. Normally in such conditions the Courier would take the opportunity to slip away and be on his way, but several of those present had told him that he needed to see the king as soon as possible to not only report the miracle that had occurred, but also to receive an appropriate reward. Seeing the situation he was in, what he needed was not only resources, but also connections, and there was no better kind of ally than someone from royalty, so the Courier was willing to visit him the next day and try his luck.

Courier and company had retired to Saphirette's house in the slums, where they would spend the night before making the journey to the capital of Polove and meeting the king. The Courier and ED-E had stayed in a small guest room while Sofiva and Saphirette shared a bed in the main room, with Arkaid sleeping outside in his wagon. The Courier lay stretched out on the small, humble bed, tucked in and snuggled up next to ED-E, who due to being a robot did not sleep, but was vigilant for anything that might happen.

The Courier was having some trouble sleeping, still anxious about the uncertainty of what would happen to his Pip-Boy, as the screen was still off and didn't seem to be any closer to turning on. He was moving from side to side in an attempt to sleep, but failing. For a moment he considered getting up and fetching some water, but ED-E's alarmed beeping alerted him to an intruder coming through the door, so the Courier quickly grabbed Blood-Nap and threw it.

STAB

The knife ended up stuck in the wall, just inches from the door. The intruder was none other than Sofiva, who even under her human disguise was pale with terror at that near-death experience.

"I want to believe that it was something to warn and intimidate and not that you missed your target," Sofiva said as she took a deep breath.

"And you'd be right," the Courier commented as he got out of bed, carrying ED-E with him. "I'd apologize for scaring you, Birdie, but I think it should be common courtesy not to barge into someone's room while they're sleeping."

"I know, and I apologize, it is just that I was unable to sleep," she explained as she closed the door behind her.

"Well, welcome to the club," he declared as he walked over to the wall where the knife was stuck, pulling it out with little difficulty. "Is the stress of almost dying today preventing you from sleeping, or are you nervous about meeting royalty tomorrow?"

"None of those. I do not know if you forgot, but owl mages are nocturnal. We sleep during the day, although since I met you my sleep cycle has been very altered," she said with a certain resentful tone.

"Hey, that's your fault, I never forced you to accompany me. And it's not like I threatened your life or anything to get you to come with me," the Courier shrugged.

Sofiva looked at him deadpanned. "The first thing you did when we met was to put a knife to my neck."

"Oh yeah. Time sure flies, doesn't it?" he jokingly replied. "Come, I'll treat you to a glass of whiskey. That always helps me sleep."

Sofiva seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, undecided whether to accept this invitation. The owl mage finally decided to accept, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge, grabbing ED-E who was lying down and putting him on her lap almost automatically, much to the eyebot's discontent and protest.

"I hope you have not forgotten our agreement," Sofiva commented.

"Yes, yes, I promised I would answer your questions. But that was for when we got out of Polove, and we're still inside, so that's still a ways off," he clarified as he poured a small glass of whiskey and passed it to her.

"Today I almost died because of you, Grognak, I think I deserve at least an advance," Sofiva clamored as she grabbed the glass of whiskey.

"Hm, well if you put it that way, " the Courier admitted defeat at that. "I'll allow you one question for today, shoot."

Sofiva's face lit up, excited to finally have the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity. She began to consider all kinds of questions, seriously considering which should be the right one, for she would only have one chance until she left Polove. Meanwhile the Courier sat beside her, drinking his whiskey as he raised his left arm to check Pip-Boy's screen.

"I think I got it. Grognak, tell me, where—"

"Installation of the personality matrix successfully completed. RobCo Industries security measures successfully cracked and overwritten. Proceed to start."

The Pip-Boy's amber screen lit up, displaying the system reset via a long, fast-moving column of data and programming codes. Once it was ready, something appeared on the screen, although it was not the normal Pip-Boy menu, but something reminiscent of a digital face.

"Holy mother, it worked!" the Courier jumped out of bed in excitement, gazing at the screen with both relief and delight. "I came to think I had screwed up and my Pip-Boy was fried, but it did work!"

"It took a little longer than expected," said a female voice coming from the Pip-Boy. "It wasn't a simple process, this is obsolete technology after all, so I had to work miracles in order to make the hardware able to support and run my consciousness."

The Courier began to converse animatedly with the voice coming from the Pip-Boy, detailing all sorts of process and computer difficulty he had had to go through, not to mention the agonizing wait he had been subjected to for much of the day. The man was so focused on that discussion that he ended up forgetting about the owl mage, who was staring at him from the bed in surprise and confusion.

"Grognak," Sofiva raised her voice loudly to make herself noticed. "What is happening?"

The Courier turned to look at her, showing her his Pip-Boy with some pride. "Remember the machine that almost killed us in the ruins? I managed to save its consciousness and transfer it here. She promised she wouldn't wipe out the whole country with an explosion if I helped her find someone, as well as guaranteeing us a generous amount of gold from the ruins' treasuries. It was a great deal, don't you think?"

Sofiva blinked twice in disbelief.

"W-what—"

"Ah yes, come to think of it, that counts as a question, so I've already given you the promised answer," he stated with a certain cocky tone.

The owl mage was silent at this. Without even deigning to argue, she downed the drink in one gulp, set the glass aside, and rose from the bed. Without a word to the Courier she walked to the door of the room, carrying ED-E with her, who protested through a series of agitated beeps what in his eyes was a kidnapping. She opened the door, turned one last time to give him a death glare, and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

"What was the reason for the silent aggressiveness of the savage?" the Pip-Boy's voice asked.

The Courier shrugged. "You'll get used to it."