Protective Custody

Synopsis: The Malpais Legate begins a troubled relationship with his new apprentice. (T)


Flagstaff, 2262.

Fire-at-Dawn struggled not to take off running. He'd been running all day, but finally he had somewhere he wanted to be. Instead, he walked at a fast clip towards the market district, not breaking into a sprint until he was out of view of the training grounds.

It was six o'clock, and that meant he was free until curfew. His instructor didn't know that he wasn't going to be returning tonight.

Fire-at-Dawn thundered into the basketweaver's tent and skidded to a stop in front of a small cluster of women, hard at work. The weaver scoffed and cursed him, but made no move to stop the boy. Legionaries, especially ten-year-old trainees, weren't supposed to visit or even know relatives. They had the freedom to move around the city uninhibited, though, as long as they reported in at the scheduled times. The man didn't exactly like it when Fire-at-Dawn dropped in to see his mother, but he helped with the work, so the breach of conduct went unreported.

One woman looked up from her weaving. 'There's my beautiful boy,' Green-Valley murmured in her tribal language. This was another forbidden practice, but the basketweaver made no efforts to prevent it either.

Fire-at-Dawn didn't speak, just melted into her arms. There was nothing left to say. They'd talked about tonight a hundred times over the past year. It had been the one thing on their minds, the thing that kept them going through long days of menial labor and backbreaking drills in the sweltering Arizona sun.

A year ago, the Legion had invaded their small tribal village. In English, they had been known as Stormclouds. Now, they were Caesar's slaves.

Fire-at-Dawn had been at home with his father when the shouting and gunshots started. His father had peeked out of their hut to investigate, and taken a bullet in the stomach. He'd stumbled back inside and died there, clutching his son's tiny hands in his own blood-slick ones. A year since, the boy still saw dark scarlet dripping from his fingers.

The soldiers had come for Fire-at-Dawn later. They'd clapped the tribals in slave collars and driven them south. They'd landed in Flagstaff, where Green-Valley had been put up for auction and Fire-at-Dawn, unable to communicate his age, had been inducted into the Legion, a year younger than the rest of his contubernium. The two had found each other not long after.

Nearly every day, Fire-at-Dawn came over at six o'clock. He'd tell her what he'd learned that day in remedial education and basic training, and help the women work.

It was because of her that he'd kept his freedom, in his heart. The Legion told him that strength meant standing on top of someone else; his mother said that a leader loves before anything else. The Legion told him that women were for his pleasure and for the Legion's next generation; she said that a man like his father would always protect a woman, especially his wife. They taught him excellence; she taught him mercy.

His hands worked deftly next to hers. Most days, she would call out his mistakes. Today, it didn't matter.


The sun set, winking its goodbye. The basketweaver went to bed. His slaves kept working.

Fire-at-Dawn was to be back in his barracks in twenty minutes. He remained.

More women arrived at the tent. One by one, the slaves stopped weaving. They thrummed with exhilaration. Only Green-Valley continued, and even she was slowed down by her son cuddling into her side.

He wasn't afraid. He had been training hard, knowing this day would come. His mother said that, after tonight, they would be together again.

When the large awning became crowded with furtive women, Green-Valley finally set down her weaving.

She leaned toward Fire-at-Dawn, whispering, 'We will be free before the sun rises again, my light.' Then she stood, and addressed the gathered women in English.

Fire-at-Dawn's English still wasn't very good. He couldn't quite understand what his mother was saying. But the intention was clear. At curfew, they would strike back against their oppressors. At the moment, they were few, but others would join their cause. They would spook brahmin, release dogs, and burn tents. Then they would run off in all directions, too many to catch.

The clock in the center of town struck ten.


Fire-at-Dawn was panting so hard that each breath was a cry. He threw his body weight in every direction, but the strong hands forcing his arms behind his back and up between his shoulderblades did not relent. Somehow, when he'd daydreamed about tonight, this had never factored in.

The strong man marched him at a rapid pace for about a mile, finally shoving him to his knees in the city square, where auctions were held. A few other women he recognized were here, his mother among them. His brain wasn't quite catching up with the idea that they had failed.

'Mama?' he called out weakly. The soldier thunked him in the back of the head, and he cried out in distress. The spot where he'd been hit throbbed fuzzily, and he hissed at the ground for a minute as the world climbed back into focus.

When he looked up, their inquisitor had arrived. The Malpais Legate. Joshua Graham.

The heels of the legate's boots clicked upon the sand-streaked concrete, bleached by fires of a time long past. His lips tightened when he saw the boy. Just slightly.

He addressed the kneeling prisoners. "Who organized this?" Fire-at-Dawn's throat seized. They were looking for his mother. The Malpais Legate waited a moment. "No answer. That means she's among you." He pointed to the woman nearest Gabriel, then to the alleyway. The man holding her dragged her away, and the legate followed.

Time stood still for a few minutes. With the woman beside him gone, Fire-at-Dawn managed to get a glimpse of his mother. She noticed him looking, allowed herself a brief, sad smile, and looked forward again. There were only two others besides them. The rebellion had been made up of almost twenty members. Where were they all?

The legate came back. The woman wasn't with him.

He stood in front of the four remaining prisoners. His eyes blazed like cold steel, even in the darkness. His hands were folded behind his back as he examined them.

"The boy next," he announced. "Bring me his instructor. He'll be looking for him."

Fire-at-Dawn understood many of those words, and knew it meant bad news for him. As the soldier marched him to the alleyway, he glanced frantically at his mother. She looked pale, and he was turned bodily away before he could see her reaction.

In the alley, the legate stared at him for a few moments. "You're one of my soldiers. What are you doing here?"

"I caught him attempting to open the brahmin pens," the soldier reported. "I believe he was attempting to cause a stampede, Legatus."

"What do you say to that?" the legate addressed Fire-at-Dawn. His voice was calm, but it held death.

The boy stared. He didn't understand the question. He didn't understand what was happening. His mouth attempted a defense, or at least a question, but he could only think in his native language.

The soldier's hand glanced off the back of his head again, and he whimpered. "Answer your commander!" the soldier bellowed.

The legate narrowed his eyes, then got down on one knee to be at Fire-at-Dawn's eye level. He stared him down, awaiting a response, but the child could give him nothing.

Fire-at-Dawn's teacher ran into the alley, escorted by another soldier. His face hardened when he saw his student. "My legate."

"Tell me this, instructor. Did you teach this boy to speak?"

The man tensed. "I did, sir. He is... resistant to learning."

The legate thought for a moment. "Does he fight?"

His trainer hesitated. "...He can fight, sir."

"He landed multiple jabs on me when I apprehended him," the soldier holding him volunteered. "He fights resourcefully. Uses elbows, leverages what little weight he has." The soldier lifted one of Fire-at-Dawn's stick-thin arms above his head to demonstrate; the boy put up a fight and was subdued, flailing impotently.

The legate turned to the teacher. "Your ward's treachery reflects darkly upon you. You trained him to kill, yet instilled him with no love for Caesar, or for his Legion. I will determine your fate later." He flicked his wrist at the stonefaced soldier. "To the prisons."

The older man screamed as he was led away, shaking his head in shock. "You've ruined my name, boy! But you won't live to see me fall! You'll be crucified by morning!" His voice drifted off as he was escorted out of the alley.

The legate turned back to Fire-at-Dawn, ignoring the man's unintelligible shouts. He was well used to the cries of the condemned. He frowned. "I remember you." His face flashed through memories, but he couldn't seem to place where he'd seen him before. He left the alley for a moment, then came back with a torch.

Fire-at-Dawn's heart quickened as the man held the torch up to his face. He flinched, but the legate placed the memory and set the torch down to die on the concrete. Bright spots burned in the boy's vision, and he blinked them away.

"That's right. Your inspection. You punched Gallus," the legate said. Fire-at-Dawn remembered. The night he'd arrived in Flagstaff. He'd been frightened and belligerent. The hands of the man inspecting him had been cruel and uncaring. He'd freed his arm from the grip of one of the men holding him down and plunged his fist right into the inspector's jaw. He'd received two heavy kicks to the side in response, but Caesar had laughed. This man had inducted him into the Legion not long after.

Fire-at-Dawn suddenly heard running footsteps. "Sir!" yelled an approaching decanus. "Caesar has arrived."

The legate nodded sharply, then motioned for the man at Fire-at-Dawn's back to follow. The boy was slow to move, but a sharp kick to his calf got him limping forward again.

Back in the town square, his mother's eyes were closed, face tight in pain. She'd been kneeling on concrete for over half an hour now. The other women were faring worse. But Green-Valley was stubborn; she would not make a sound.

Fire-at-Dawn's legs throbbed as he was pushed back to kneeling, by her side this time. He risked a moment's eye contact. Her face softened when she saw him, and he felt her embrace, though she hadn't moved.

Caesar slouched lazily on his throne. He spoke with the voice of a man minorly inconvenienced. "Casualties, my legate?"

"None, lord. One tent partially burnt, and a few minor injuries — the injured will report for duty tomorrow."

Caesar harrumphed, looking bored. "Waking us all up was damage enough. My verdict is this: Brand the women and send them back to their masters to be dealt with. You know what to do with the soldier."

Though he was only a trainee, Fire-at-Dawn had been inducted into the Legion. He was a soldier. And for a soldier to betray his Caesar could only be rectified by death. Every member of the Legion knew of the agony of such executions. Fire-at-Dawn had never dreamed of going through that excruciation himself.

The truth didn't have time to settle on him, because the men were dragging his mother away. Words tore from her lips, words only her son was meant to understand. He tried to push himself to his feet, to go to her, but she faded from view.

Two soldiers yanked him upwards, and he kicked out against the ground, trying to stop himself. This only tripped him backwards, but it delayed for a moment.

"Stop," a voice called calmly. Fire-at-Dawn hadn't noticed before, but Caesar and the legate had been deep in conversation. "Let me see him," Caesar ordered, and Fire-at-Dawn was dragged forward.

Caesar peered at the boy, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. He and the legate muttered to each other for another moment, shooting the occasional glance at Fire-at-Dawn. He had no idea what this meant, but he knew he didn't like it.

Finally, Caesar jerked a nod and stood up. "Very well." He addressed Fire-at-Dawn from the imposing height of the throne. "Legionary, you have betrayed me. Your life is forfeit to your legate. You know this full well. However..." he looked briefly at the Malpais Legate, who nodded assent. "...though he takes your life, you need not die tonight. The legate has determined that you may be of use, and as long as that remains the case, he will take you on as his slave. Caesar has spoken." With that, the Praetorian Guard escorted him back to his house.


A feminine, gurgled scream rang up from the town square. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence in Flagstaff. Slaves were branded publicly for their imperfections, to caution future buyers. A D for diseased, a B for barren. In this case, an I for insurrectionist.

The shaking boy at Joshua Graham's dining room table paled when he heard the cries. He wrapped his arms around himself, a sad imitation of a hug.

What had Joshua gotten himself into?

It was rare that he looked back to the early days of the Legion. He had made compromises back then, sure, but never would he have imagined sending a ten-year-old to the cross. The law was the law, he knew, yet Edward could have prevented it with a wave of his hand. Why hadn't he?

There was no solution in sight, until Joshua had remembered the machine. Years ago, back when Caesar still came along on campaigns, the Legion high command had found themselves in the abandoned shell of Vault 59. The records that the vault dwellers had left were... disturbing.

They told of a system run on sacrifice. Blood samples were required to run the food dispensers; hours of back-breaking labor would pay for a single jumpsuit. Everything came at a cost. The vault was equipped with a machine, built for simplifying these exchanges. It would put a person into a trance, allowing the operator to mold them as he saw fit. The terminals left in the vault described empty shells of stripped humanity, used to farm blood, flesh, whatever the vault's mainframe demanded to keep the other residents alive.

In the end, someone had finally paid the price to free them from their prison. To open the vault door required the greatest sacrifice: the death of a loved one. The records didn't describe this last event in the vault's history, but the door had been opened when they'd arrived.

Edward had taken interest in the machines. He'd ordered one dragged back to Flagstaff for further research. Disconnected from the mainframe, it still worked, but testing it on prisoners yielded unpredictable, unusable results. Edward had decided that instead of brainwashing adults, they would experiment with the design Vault 59 had used — the human sacrifices had been chosen as children and "trained" over a period of weeks by a single caretaker. At the end of this period, the subject would be docile and feel nothing.

The whole thing made Joshua's stomach roil. But Caesar had no use for living zombies. He wanted obedience. If the machine could extinguish a person's will, it might be able to harness that will instead.

The problem was that it took weeks of commitment to pull off, and neither Caesar nor Joshua had that sort of time. They couldn't pass it off on one of their officers, either. The machinery was complex, and operating it required at least a basic knowledge of psychology and computers. The Legion didn't have that kind of education available, and Caesar wasn't willing to risk giving it out. Therefore, it fell to one of them.

The boy would be a perfect test subject. He was young and malleable. He'd be cut off from outside influences. Best of all, if they could morph this frantic rebel into an obedient servant of Caesar, the machine would work on anyone.

More than that, though, Joshua just didn't want to see the boy die. This fate wasn't exactly enviable, but it paled in comparison to a Legion execution. It wasn't his fault he'd been a rebel, not really. The red-haired woman was obviously his mother, and she had strung him along into her own selfish fight.

The boy startled when Edward entered the house. Caesar shut the door, muffling the women's screams once more. "Well, I'm not going to sleep until that's over." He jerked a thumb behind him at the city square. "How's the little one?"

"He hasn't said a word."

Caesar cursed. "Hope he isn't slow. Here." He tossed a slave collar at his friend, who caught it with a disapproving frown.

"This is an explosive, you know." Joshua approached the child, who scrambled backward out of the chair.

Edward caught him from behind, holding him still while Joshua affixed the collar. The boy's breath hitched as it clicked into place. Joshua tightened it so it wouldn't jostle and risk detonation.

As soon as the boy's arms were free, he clutched his neck in agitation. "Stop that! You know what will happen," Joshua snapped. He grabbed the child's wrists and pulled them to his sides.

"No," the rebel boy breathed, still quivering with alarm. Joshua raised his eyebrows, inviting him to keep speaking. "...my mother," he continued. His blue eyes stared owlishly up at the adult man.

"Your mother has been returned to her master. Her fate is not up to me." It was shameful to own a slave branded an insurgent. The four women who'd survived tonight's brief revolt would likely be sold at the closest auction. The auction would also officially induct the young captive as Joshua's slave.

Caesar asked, "What are you going to name him? I'm sure I could think of a good Latin name that fits..."

"I'm naming him," said Joshua quickly. "I'm the one who has to deal with him for... how long?"

"No idea." Caesar smirked. "The original model takes at least three weeks, but since we're spacing out 'appointments,' and the procedure will be different... months? Three? Six? It's completely untested. But at the end of it, hopefully you have your own little automaton."

The legate sighed, examining the boy's sad, round eyes. "Well. What's the worst that could happen?"


"A is for... Apple! *munch munch* B is for... Bear! *roar* C is for... Car! *vroom vroom* D is for... Dream! *twinkle twi-"

Fire-at-Dawn paused the holotape deck. He hesitantly looked over at the legate, who was taking apart a rifle. Fire-at-Dawn steeled himself and asked, "What is dream, sir?"

His future master looked thoughtful. "It's when you go to sleep, and you see... things. In your mind."

Fire-at-Dawn understood now. The legate put concepts into simpler words than his instructor had. Fire-at-Dawn almost thanked him, but he was too embarrassed. He also hated him a little bit.

He had never been forced to learn letters before. English was hard enough. And some of the letters had two sounds. Or two letters made the same sound. The legate said it would help him learn to speak better, and that was important to why he was here.

He didn't actually know why he was here. He couldn't comprehend the words they used when they discussed it. When he'd asked, the legate had only told him it was an "experiment," and then refused to define the word. Whatever it meant, apparently it required him to learn English.

I was a soldier. I am a captive. I will be a slave. This is bad.

The collar hung heavy on his neck. Panic bled through to the surface whenever he remembered it. When the Legion had taken his tribe, they demonstrated the collars' function on the shaman, dragging him in front of his people and detonating it. The newly conquered tribals had gotten the picture. It panicked him to know — at any moment, boom. Life over.

Caesar walked in the door. Caesar was always walking in the door. Fire-at-Dawn had been trained to see the man as his god and benefactor, but in person, he didn't like him at all. Luckily, he had brought Rex with him.

Caesar rested a hand on top of Fire-at-Dawn's close-cropped red hair, and the child shrank in his seat to get him off. The emperor only chuckled. "Got him speaking full sentences yet?"

"He can speak well enough," the legate said casually. "We need him to comprehend. Speak clearly when you talk to him."

"He only needs to understand you," Edward dismissed. "When are you going to start 'training' him?"

Joshua took a quick glance at the boy, who was laying his head on the table. He did that a lot, to relieve the burden of the collar on his neck. "After the ceremony. There's no rush."

"Not technically, but the sooner he's ready, the sooner you can pawn him off on someone else."

"Give him time." The truth wasn't just that he needed to practice his English. Joshua wanted to postpone the experiments until the boy was a slave. He didn't think the child really understood or cared about the difference, but it mattered to Joshua. Once he was a slave, he would have security and a purpose. And most of all, once Joshua gave him a name and made him a part of his household, he would be taking official responsibility for him. It was, in Joshua's eyes, a promise — you will serve me, and I will take care of you, for as long as you remain my slave. Slavery went against everything New Canaan had taught him, but there was a sort of beauty in it, properly applied. At the very least, it was better than experimenting on a prisoner, even a prisoner living in his house and eating his food.

The boy would probably forever hate him, but that wasn't a problem. Fulfilling an obligation didn't require any warm personal feelings. Still, Joshua was surprised to find that he liked the little rebel. The boy's smile, a rare find, lit up a room. And he seemed eager to learn, despite what his former instructor had claimed. When his attitude permitted, that was — most often, he was defensive or morose, especially when Caesar was in the room.

At the moment, Edward was leaning over the back of the kid's chair and watching him scribble in the enclosed spaces on the letters he was supposed to be reviewing. "Legate, I don't think your detainee is learning to the best of his ability."

Joshua rolled his eyes at them both. "Are you learning to the best of your ability?" he asked Fire-at-Dawn.

He noticed, too late, that the boy was biting his lip and fidgeting his leg on the floor. He was getting overly stressed, which meant he was probably going to cry soon. He cried at least once a day, either for his mother or the compounded anxiety of his transition into slavery. It was disheartening, but he wasn't about to take comfort from his captor, so Joshua didn't offer any.

Edward kept goading him. "Come on, kid, spell 'apoplexy!' Can you spell 'insinuate?' Answer me!"

The kid threaded his fingers through his hair. "No."

"Come on, take a guess. How about 'Phoenix?' Short and easy, right?"

The kid stared at his lap as he muttered, "F."

"That is incorrect. Better luck next time," Edward smirked. The kid bit his lip harder and screwed up his face against a brimming sob.

"He doesn't need to spell," Joshua finally intervened. While he was speaking, the boy slid under the table to escape Caesar's attention. He latched like a vice onto Rex, breathing hard.

"This again?" Edward scoffed. "I was just trying to test him."

"Thank you, but it really wasn't necessary," Joshua seethed, crouching to the boy's level. His face was buried in Rex's fur, and the dog was vigorously licking his ear. "You — er, boy." Joshua meant to distance him from his tribal name, but at the moment, he didn't have anything else to call him. "Go to your room until you can compose yourself."

The boy only tightened his hold on the dog. His shoulders rose and fell jerkily, until the collar on his neck let out three short beeps. He shot away from the dog, flailing to rectify whatever mistake had led Joshua to touch the collar's controller. It was an empty threat, of course — Joshua wasn't about to blow up the boy's head for ignoring him — but it got him to listen.

"Go — to — your — room," Joshua commanded, and the boy scampered off with Rex at his heel.

"Rex!" Caesar called, but the dog ignored him. He chuckled and turned back to Joshua. "He'd better not do that the whole time he's here."

"He mostly only does it when you're here," said Joshua, annoyed.

"Why are you so afraid to bat him around like you do to your officers? It's the only way he'll listen."

"I'm not going to hit him while he has the collar on."

"Well, it's only a matter of time. You know the procedure."

The legate did. Without a firm and instinctive understanding of consequence, the psychological conditioning could wear off in a matter of months. According to Vault 59's records, the deprogramming was terrifying and uncomfortable for the subject, and redoing the brainwashing would be even worse. Best to do it right the first time around. The vault had used electric shocks to condition its "students," but the Legion didn't have anything so sophisticated.

It was an eventuality he was postponing. It wasn't that he'd never hit a child before, but he didn't like using such a zero-tolerance approach on Fire-at-Dawn, as afraid as the boy was. But such was the cost of saving his life.

It had been years since he'd studied those records. They'd contained no shortage of cautionary tales. Apparently, the vault had been active for quite some time before its abandonment. The worst story he'd seen was from the journal of one of the "instructors." She'd grown attached to her charge, and remained her caretaker as the mindless shell of a girl grew. Years later, the vault's single reactor had shut down, as it did every decade. The mainframe required a human sacrifice to reinitiate it — and the instructor's girl had been chosen. The journal's final entry had been written in the early throes of a Med-X overdose, grieving what she'd done to the child.

Rule number one: Never get attached.


The Stormcloud tribe had raised chickens, reddish birds about four feet tall. They had sharp talons and four frightening yellow eyes, and Fire-at-Dawn had always run whenever he'd seen one approaching. It took two men to kill a chicken — they had to lure it to a chopping block with three-inch-long bloatfly maggots, and one man would hold it down while the other swung the axe.

That was how Fire-at-Dawn felt at the auction block. He didn't see why everyone had to watch.

His former instructor hobbled up onto the platform. Fire-at-Dawn could almost see the clotting lash marks on his back as he turned to address the boy, hatred in his voice. "Legionary, I strip you of your status. May the gods forget you were ever one of us." He was reciting a scripted line, but he meant every word.

He turned and limped away. The slavemaster and the legate replaced him on the platform. The legate was cold, as always. Fire-at-Dawn didn't see how a person could care so little about anything. He pierced Fire-at-Dawn with a stare so powerful that the boy cowered, nearly retreating backwards off the block. He bumped into the slavemaster, who stilled him and began fidgeting with the collar.

"No," Fire-at-Dawn murmured helplessly. The collar clicked and opened, and he rolled his head around to feel its freedom. He yelled suddenly as another man slashed a red X in paint across the front of his shirt. The crowd laughed at his surprise. He felt his chest tightening again.

"Look at me," he heard a soft voice. His eyes snapped to the legate, whose voice rose in volume as he announced, "I give you the name Gabriel. Serve me well, and find peace."

The boy didn't know what he'd just been told. He remembered the night the legate had inducted him into the Legion — he'd used the same tone of voice, and Fire-at-Dawn hadn't understood him then, either. But now... the legate was seeing him, like there was nothing in the world more deserving of his attention. With no idea what he was agreeing to, and no choice in the matter regardless, Gabriel nodded.


Of the three insurgent women put to auction that day, only one sold. The fourth had been sent by her overseer to be executed.

Gabriel cried when his mother stepped onto the auction block. Joshua worried he'd have to hold the boy back from running to her. She, on the other hand, had looked at her son with such an odd expression that Joshua had had to double-check to make sure he was thinking of the right woman. A week ago, her son had been sentenced to death right in front of her, but now, her only expression was one of vague consternation.

It itched at Joshua, for some reason. Maybe because he was the one putting his life on hold to save her son, when she had put him in danger in the first place. So after the auction, when he had sent Gabriel home, he visited her in the holding cell.

The woman sat with her back to the corner of the chain-link fence, blocking the gate. Likely on purpose; this one was a contrarian. In another civilization, she could have been influential, but to the Legion, she was no more than a toddler shouting to get her own way.

"Are you happy now?" he shot at her. The other woman bound for the East looked up in fright and skittered backwards, but Gabriel's mother did not move. He should have guessed she was the ringleader of the insurrection. But it didn't matter now.

Her head turned, minutely. Just enough so that Joshua could see her lips tighten in displeasure. "You. You took my son." Her accent was heavy, but she seemed to have a decent grasp of English for only having lived here a year. Joshua wondered where she'd learned it.

He waited a beat. "I saved him from the consequences of your arrogance. You should be grateful."

She twisted her head another inch, to glare daggers at him with a single eye. "My arrogance?" she hissed. "I did this to save him from you. While he was still perfect and pure."

"By making him a killer? By setting him up against impossible odds, on the whim that you could survive together outside the Legion?"

The woman was silent. Slowly, she rose and faced the man whose army had taken everything from her. The brand on her cheek seeped yellow pus. Her lank red hair framed her bruised face, and her tired eyes said multitudes. Finally, Joshua understood what was left unsaid.

Heat that had nothing to do with the desert sun rose to his face. "Your plan failed, you uncaring witch. I've taken the boy as my apprentice. But you won't be around to see what I make of him." Her expression didn't change. She saw through his empty posturing.

Her words were slow and deliberate as she relayed them into a foreign tongue. "You will not 'make of him' anything but which he is. You can corrupt him only. My son... is perfect. My lifeblood, my very being. My fire on the horizon after a night of wandering." Her eyes gleamed bronze. "You have stolen something precious. Protect him. Protect his..." she searched for the word, suddenly looking more like an anguished mother than a bitter revolutionary. "His heart," she choked at last. "What is to come cannot be undone."

Joshua stood, rendered speechless by her challenge. Though their bodies stood paralyzed, their eyes dueled. The busy sounds of Flagstaff rose up around them, but they were frozen in that moment, in the passing of the torch. Ten years of pain and love met with an unknowable future in that single, eternal present.

"It's out of my hands," he said finally.

And he turned on his heel and walked briskly away, feeling every bit the loser of the conversation.


"Wake up," Joshua murmured to his apprentice.

Gabriel woke and rolled to face him. He no longer recoiled at the sight of his master, but he often fidgeted like a toddler and struggled to make eye contact. His grasp of English was improving, though, and Joshua thought he was finally ready.

Ten minutes later, the boy drifted into the living room, squinting sleepily at the light. Joshua quickly checked his weapons and armor, noting his displeasure at any sloppy maintenance. Gabriel didn't take correction llwell, which would be a problem, moving forward. But he listened.

They set off. Gabriel bounded ahead several paces, then heeled bashfully when he realized he didn't know where they were going. Joshua had a sudden impulse to reach out and stroke the boy's hair, like he would pat Rex's braincase. He shook himself quietly to dismiss the thought. That rebel woman had gotten into his head.

Gabriel had mostly recovered from Joshua's earlier criticism. He had the sort of boyish enthusiasm that was easily distractible, as long as he wasn't acting miserable. Those moments came fewer and fewer, though, as the new became routine and his mother faded into the past-tense.

"Will we shoot today?" Gabriel chirped hopefully.

"We'll see how long this takes first," Joshua responded. Gabriel apparently took that as a yes, adding a notable bounce to his step. Joshua didn't know how long the conditioning would take, or what state Gabriel would be in afterward — exhausted? Unconscious? Hating him? Well, if he wanted to do target practice afterward, so be it. Maybe it would lift his spirits.

They reached the structure, far enough from the center of town to be outside most soldiers' notice. Half pre-war concrete, half patchwork corrugated metal sheets, it wasn't the type of building to hold priceless, mystical technology, which was exactly why it did. Dead and dying plants overran the path, and Gabriel fell behind Joshua, biting his lip anxiously.

Joshua unlocked the door, and it creaked open into darkness.

Gabriel didn't know what they were doing here, but he guessed it wasn't for training. He knew better than to ask.

Once Master closed the door, light barely filtered into the small room through the gaps in the sheet metal. Legate flicked a switch on a squat, boxy machine that hummed loudly. After a few moments, the lights flicked on. Then Gabriel noticed a much more sinister machine taking up most of the center of the room.

He didn't know how he knew that it was a thing of evil; it just was. It was shaped like an egg laying on its side, but much bigger than a man. The upper half was more rounded, and Gabriel could just barely see dark shapes inside through crisscrossed metal struts. The machine was rooted to the ground by two heavy metal bases.

Legate walked to a wall-mounted terminal and began typing. Gabriel stayed close to the door; he didn't want to approach the unfamiliar thing. Then, with a mechanical groan that set Gabriel's heart pounding, the egg parted along the middle, and the glass half was lifted by a mechanical arm. Inside, there was a chair.

Master was looking at him now. He wanted him to get in the chair. Gabriel's eyes darted to the door.

"Sit down, Gabriel," Legate ordered.

Gabriel's voice was a strangled whisper. "No." He clutched his arms and backed up against the wall.

Master sighed and grabbed the riding crop from his hip. He crossed the short room to stand next to Gabriel and used it to point at the machine. "Get in the chair. I'm not going to tell you again." His voice wasn't angry or threatening, but Gabriel knew what he meant.

Despite himself, Gabriel clambered into the pod. He didn't want to know what was going to happen. He stopped again when he noticed restraints on the chair. Master nudged him into the seat.

"These," he said calmly, fastening the restraints, "are just a precaution. This machine — and you—" He shot the boy a glance as he moved to the leg restraints. "—are very valuable. Depending on your reaction to the hypnosis, they won't be necessary in the future."

Gabriel didn't know what hypnosis was. His English tended to leave him at times like this, but he managed a quiet, "I feel fear because of this."

"I know," said Master, looking calmly at him. "Everything is fine. This is how you're going to help the Legion."

"I do not want to help the Legion."

Master returned to the terminal and pressed a button to close the pod around Gabriel. It was smaller than it had looked from the outside, and he felt strangled by the tight space. A screen unfolded and positioned itself in front of his face. On the screen was a narrow hallway.

Gabriel's anxiety grew and he twisted in his chair as the screen switched to a grainy countdown. When the count hit one... Gabriel was standing in the hallway.

If he concentrated, he could still feel the tightness around his wrists and ankles. But at the same time, he felt the floor beneath his feet. The mechanical hum of the room was gone. It was just Gabriel and the hallway.

Master's voice filtered in from somewhere unknown. "Do you see the door?"

There. At the end of the hallway was the door Master was speaking of. "I see it," Gabriel said in a small voice. It seemed loud in this strange space.

"Good. I want you to walk toward it."

He took a few cautious steps forward. Nothing happened. There was no treachery in this simple room. He kept forward, eyes locked on the handle of the door, as the shadows on the walls twisted and shaped. Thoughts of the world outside the hallway faded away, so he was surprised when the disembodied voice came again.

"Now open the door."

Gabriel moved faster toward the door now, but it never seemed to get closer. He wanted to open it. He had to know what was inside. Every time he thought he'd covered ground, he found that it was farther away than he'd thought. But he was sure this time that he was

just...

about...

There.

Joshua leaned away from the microphone. On the screen, the boy's brainwaves had changed drastically. He was fully entranced now. The legate's heart tightened in grief over what he was about to do, but the feeling was gone as quickly as it came.


2262-
Protective Custody
2263-2265 -
2266 -
January - Distance, No More
October - Power and Beauty
2267-2276 -
2277-
January - Sage destroys the Divide
February - First Battle of Hoover Dam
July - The Mummy Returns
August 17 - Aniss leaves Vault 101
The Prodigal Son
September - To Set the Record Straight
November - The Burned Man Walks
2278-
April - James dies (Purity War begins)
June - Guide Her Through the Night
Bitter Springs
September - Project Purity activates
November - Human Capital
2279 -
Adams Air Force Base (Purity War ends)
2280-
May - Dogmeat's Vacation
August - Boones are married
2281-
New Canaan is destroyed
October 11 - Sage is shot in the head
October 19 - Sage wakes up
2282-
ED-E, My Bud
2283-
January - Second Battle of Hoover Dam
February - To Have and To Hold
April - Awake, O Sleeper
May - Worst-Case Scenario
July - Mercury's Messenger
August - Safe Haven
September - Power and Beauty (pt. 2)/East and West begins
October - East and West ends