Chapter 87: The Least

Rosa sat outside the tent as the occupants inside squabbled over how best to escape the current predicament. As things stood, fittingly enough, they were trapped between two cohorts on their northern and southern ends while the bulk of the host stood to their east, in a manner reminiscent of being trapped between the claws of a radscorpion while its stinger loomed over you. As she sat, she looked out over the rest of the AEG. Between the marshals, troopers, clanners, and Amazons, there wasn't a cheerful face among any of them. The stench of defeat hung in the air before any battle truly began. All these people, here because…

Lars stormed out of the tent, fishing out a cigarette he bummed from a marshal. Lighting it, he took a drag as he glared at nothing, the situation making him feel uncharacteristically helpless. Rosa stood beside him and looked at him. "…We're not seriously thinking about handing over Barabbas and Marcy to that asshole, are we?"

Lars looked ahead. "…For lack of better options. Any deal going forward is going to have to rely on Scorpio's honor to move forward, and we saw what good that did."

"And if we fight, we'll lose countless lives," Rosa gulped. "All because…"

"Wallace says he might be able to do something with this bluff we passed yesterday, but that was twenty miles back and we're running short on supplies already," Lars snorted. "We're already near starvation rations as things are."

"…So we came all this way to just hand over Caesar's old turf to Scorpio and let him run the show as he pleases? What a letdown," Rosa muttered.

"Tell me about it," Lars growled. "Fucking shitbag, telling me to hand you over to him…"

"He what?" Rosa looked at her father.

"Somehow he got ahold of Lanius' plan, and somehow wanted to pick up on it. Like hell I'll let that happen," Lars snarled.

"…All this way to talk to the Legion and now everyone gets cold feet about it," Rosa tried to giggle.

"Not. Him," Lars growled as he stomped out his last cigarette. "You're leaving first thing tomorrow morning. I should have sent you back the moment I showed up, but that's where we are now. I am not letting him get his hands on you."

"Even if it means leaving the rest of these people-" Rosa began to say.

"These people aren't my daughter. You are," Lars said as he grabbed her by the shoulders. He kissed her on the forehead. "I'm telling Cass I want you and your friends out of here this time tomorrow, got it? That's an executive order from the Governor himself," Lars stated.

"…Got it, Old Man," Rosa smiled through her thin lips before wrapping her arms around the Governor. "…Just look after everyone else while I'm gone," she whispered.

Larain watched over the screaming matches of the clanners as they yelled over what to do. Many were convinced to cut and run, while others wanted to take the fight directly to the cohorts blocking them. Some even tried to float the idea of switching to the "winning team" before Daphne shouted them down over what that meant. Larain hung back as the screaming and arguing picked up again, and he turned around and opted to wait until the clanners had tired themselves out before swooping in and delivering a rousing speech that he could pretend to believe in.

It seemed only yesterday that his biggest issue was rescuing that idiot from getting gelded by the Amazons. "Thanks" to Dinero, Matty had escaped castration and was currently traumatized about any future female contact for likely the rest of his life, which promised to be shorter than anyone expected with how things were developing. He took a moment to massage his temples and pondered whether or not Carla was going through the same motions. At the moment it seemed like a booty call should be the last thing on his mind, but then again, perhaps if she wasn't against the idea, then perhaps before they went out they could-

"Hey, Abel," a familiar voice spoke up.

Larain turned to see Dalton, counting out what few cells he had left after having oiled his gladius. The old man had some supplies with him, having gathered up everything he owned, it seemed. As Dalton packed away the last of his energy cells, he turned to his nephew. "Quite the mess on your lap, boy?"

"We'll manage. What are you doing?" Larain asked.

Dalton chuckled mirthlessly. "Are you really expecting me to die for California?"

"You're leaving us?" Larain asked.

"What little time I got left I intend to use to my fullest," Dalton smiled. "Maybe I can finally run that suicide op I've been dreaming about since I was a kid?" he pondered as he looked away, wistfully.

"…Is that it?" Larain asked. "You want to cut and run so you can die somewhere else?"

"We should own our choices while we can, nephew, before we lose the ability to choose for ourselves," Dalton replied.

"I know. I am," Larain placed his hands on his belt. The two stood in silence, never quite looking the other in the eye. The weight of their last argument still lay heavily upon both of them.

"…I know my father made the decision he felt he had to. And so am I, Uncle," Larain said.

"…I know," Dalton nodded.

"I'm not him, Uncle, and I'm not you either," Larain continued.

"Good," Dalton nodded.

"Maybe the Legion was your people, but these guys," Larain indicated the squabbling gunners screaming over whether or not to break from the AEG while they were distracted, "…these are mine."

"…Guess I was wrong about you," Dalton said as he approached his nephew. He dropped a hand on his shoulder. "…You really have grown up."

"Someone had to," Larain shrugged. "…And I think a big part of it is because of those years I spent with you. You're the foremost expert I know in keeping a bunch of angry, violent idiots in line."

Dalton raised his hand to his heart. "…That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me." The two shared a laugh as the crowd behind them began to quiet as Daphne asked those hesitating how they expected to protect their families when their first instinct when faced with a problem was to run.

"…Well, that's my cue," Larain said as he placed his cap back atop his head. "…There's a place for you with us, Uncle. We have a habit of accepting those with nowhere else to go."

"Thanks for the offer, kid, but I know where I belong," Dalton said as he turned away. "…You do right by your folks, kid, as right as you can," he said as he walked off. Larain saw his uncle off as he turned back to bring the clans back to order, not realizing that as he walked away, Rosa approached Dalton and began to talk to him. Slowly, as she did, Dalton's barely tolerant smirk began to fade.

Rathmore sat by the fire as he stared into it. As he did, he could make out shapes within the flames. The skyline of Los Angeles, burned as he took what little shelter he could find under the overpass, huddling by one of the preservation capsules he didn't have enough change to enter, yet he survived while the occupant did not. The glow of the eruption off the Pacific Coast, a sight he caught working as a caravan guard around the Pacific Northwest, a second sun shining off the ocean water, the final vestiges of the old country he had learned to tolerate disappearing within the nuclear ashes. He saw the tents alight, tribals screaming as the demons descended upon them, some of them his own, products of a Mass Feral Event as the Followers would label it later, thoughts that he had to brush to the side as he loaded up his weapon to go down and release them from their own madness.

He sat and thought about the life he lived, fighting in the Philippines, getting shot by his own men, his stint with homelessness in LA before the bombs dropped, and his constant need to survive as a corpse afterward. It wasn't until he founded the 66th that, nearly two centuries after being born, he found some measure of peace and satisfaction with the life that had extended for far too long. Maybe this was his ultimate punishment? To stick around far longer than he wanted to, but being too scared to leave?

"…I brought you this," a voice spoke beside him. Rathmore, out of the corner of his eye, watched Kyra set down the rain slicker he had loaned her back at the Res-by-the-Res. Kyra couldn't look him in the eye as she also stared into the fire, no doubt grappling with some of her own trauma. She had overheard from the tent with the AEG leadership that Scorpio had made some requests in exchange for a more lenient treatment of California's "intrusion." She was one of the requests. The notion horrified her to the point that she had nearly vomited an hour ago after having breathed so hard in a panic attack. The notion of Scorpio getting his hands back on her was something she was willing to slit her wrists or cast herself into the fire to avoid.

She felt a familiar plastic weight drape over her shoulder. "I don't need it anymore." Rathmore sat back down by the fire as he continued prodding the embers.

"…Donald, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am," Kyra pleaded.

"For what? Listening to an old gossip queen?" Rathmore asked. "You have nothing to justify."

"I… didn't mean to betray your trust," Kyra apologized.

"…You didn't, from what it sounded like," Rathmore replied. "You don't owe me anything."

Kyra, after a few moments, gathered up her courage and sat beside Rathmore, who continued to not look at her.

"…The last thing I said to my mom, before I joined up with my new tribe, before this whole Legion thing went down, was that I hope my dad finds you again," Kyra replied, humiliation bubbling in her throat.

Rathmore remembered what little Kyra had told him about her background, mostly the part about her conception. "…Jesus Christ, Kyra," he breathed, his eyes widening.

"She told me, over and over again, how I had ruined her life, so when we parted, I decided to throw the most hurtful thing I could think of at her," she said as she clutched her knees up to her chin. "Why did I say that to my own mother?"

"…What the fuck?" Rathmore shook his head in disbelief.

"So, ever since then, after Scorpio and the Legion and being sold to Barabbas, I figured… maybe I deserve this?" she shrugged as her face burned. "And then… Barabbas didn't treat me like I thought he would… and I met you… and the others accepted me… and I met Silverhair and Rosa and the others and I figured… karma isn't real, is it? What happens happens. It doesn't matter what we deserve or not, we just make the best of what we have. And what I have is… is a boyfriend who has been suffering for about as long as I've been accepting my new reality. So, if my immediate future is going to involve me being the concubine I was supposed to be, that doesn't scare me as much as it used to."

The two sat in silence. "…Have… Am I the first person you…" Rathmore began.

"Now we're even," Kyra replied as she got up and was about to walk away.

"Hey!" Rathmore called after her. Kyra stopped and turned towards the ghoul captain. "…You… do you believe in reincarnation?"

"I'm… sorry?" Kyra replied, confused.

"Never mind," Rathmore said as he sat back down. "It's just this thing I've been thinking about since… I'm worried about my guys, and I guess myself, that after sticking around so long we might have lost whatever purpose and meaning we might have been supposed to have in the first place. It's… something I've been thinking about since not long after my flesh rotted off. I'm not sure I spent my two centuries doing what I was supposed to do, and if I get another go-around…"

Rathmore looked back into the fire. "…How much of me will I lose, and how much is worth missing?"

The two sat in silence as the next patrol walked past them without incident. Rosa was practically chewing off Carla's ear, who in turn was trying to take note of everything she was saying about Jimmy and Cass and Kim and Gael and Joseph and the ever-increasing list of things that her friend absolutely wanted to make sure she told them in case she forgot. As they crossed the border of the camp, Carla finally asked why Rosa couldn't just tell them personally, to which Rosa bull-rushed her friend by asking her to tell Frost about her youthful adventures with Mr. Bones.

As the atmosphere began to quiet, Kyra looked away and wiped her eyes. "…I know I'll miss you."

"…Til the next life?" Rathmore asked.

"…See you then," Kyra smiled as she walked away.

Kyra walked back to the inner camp, right by the medical pavilion. Barabbas was currently hopped up on a smorgasbord of painkillers after the operation to remove the bullet in his side had been successful. Currently delirious and trapped in a haze of his own mind, he paid little heed to Pariah as she sat beside him on the cot on the ground, looking after him as he had done for her so many times. As Kyra entered, she and Pariah locked eyes. Already, Pariah's mind began to feel fuzzy and yet… calm. She looked to the woman who shared not only her body with her brother, but also her soul, and was about to leave for her privacy when Kyra held out her arm and stopped her.

"I… I think that right now, he needs both of us more than ever," Kyra offered.

Pariah looked at her brother as he began to shiver violently once more. Even though Pariah could calm his mind, this particular service was one she felt Kyra was more than qualified to provide. As Kyra stripped down, Pariah turned away out of politeness, but not before sneaking a quick peek every now and then. Finally looking away as Kyra curled up alongside Barabbas, she patted at her own body. Sweet Venus, what I would give to develop so damn well? Is that why I'm so jealous of Barabbas? Mom was as thin as a reed, but if I can get enough weight in just the right areas, I can only imagine all the fun I'll have when I'm older, Pariah thought to herself.

Trust me, kid, it's not as fun as it seems, Kyra thought back as she began to drift to sleep as Barabbas's breathing began to steady. My back can get really sore and I haven't found a good bra in ages.

Still, I think you'd make a good mommy. You have the body for it, Pariah replied.

So people keep telling me, Kyra's last conscious thought was as she drifted to sleep, followed shortly by Pariah, both ignorant as to what the two of them had just accomplished.

The two riders made their silent return to the camp. As Hypatia signaled the outermost sentry, Dan brought up the rear, his cargo behind him as the two approached. As the sun set, Dan had asked Hypatia if she could help him with something important, to which the Amazon agreed without hesitation. So the two set out and reached the fated meeting point, dislodging the symbol of false peace, picking up their mentor, and taking his body back.

"Odds are they'll see this as a breach of the stalemate and hasten their attack in the morning," Hypatia groused.

"I wasn't going to leave him out there, Hyp," Dan replied morosely.

"I know," Hypatia nodded.

The two continued in silence as they checked around for traps, enemy hound riders, or the black deathclaw that seemed to particularly thrive at night. "…I'm guessing we should get Drago and Dinero to oversee the burial," Dan thought aloud.

"Drago sure, but why Dinero?" Hypatia asked.

"…Same era of the Legion?" Dan shrugged. "You think they met before all this?"

"No clue. I doubt it. Dinero was running his petty kingdom far away from the frontlines. Falco stayed on those frontlines for the duration. Didn't matter if it was to the west, south, north, or east, that's where he was," Hypatia replied.

"…Yup," Dan nodded. "We met during the Swamp Wars. Bunch of marshfolk killed my decanus and scattered my whole contubernium. Falco came in to try and relieve the maniple, and he found me stuck up in a tree."

"…How were you not executed for that?" Hypatia asked.

"Well, I took out a decent number of the marshfolk with my iron. I was always more partial to that than the sword, after all. Of course, all those bodies in the water attracted the Swamp Maws, and shooting those just makes them mad."

"Oh, so that's what got him decorated for that particular campaign," Hypatia mused aloud.

"Yeah, well, I got my share of rewards," Dan stated as he looked down at his Maw-leather boots. "What about you? Falco must have really liked you if you were selected as Barabbas's honor guard?"

"Technically it was Falco's superior that selected me," Hypatia explained. "I don't think I knew Falco as long as you did, but we fought together during San Antonio."

"Shit, that recent?" Dan asked.

"We were both part of the charge along the main highway, breached the barricades together. Him, me, Drago, and two others who got cut down, but we got the TNT where we needed it and bailed before it blasted open. Then Barabbas charged in, and you know how he is."

"Or was," Dan said without thinking.

"I highly doubt Kyra was that detrimental to his mental state," Hypatia snapped, a little more defensively than she expected.

"No, I'm thinking about that giant "poke me here" wound that son of a gun Scorpio just slapped on his side," Dan replied. "I don't think his days on the battlefield are coming to a middle if you get what I mean."

Hypatia thought about what Dan had said. In the time she had rode with Barabbas, if she had learned anything about him, it was that he hated his role as a warlord. He could be every bit as brutal as any in the Legion could ask of him, but it always came with hesitation. In time, that hesitation turned into a hatred of the violence he was always called to enact. There was no satisfaction with inflicting pain upon one who went against his will, she thought as she rubbed against her damaged mouth, just a growing resentment over the fact that it was nothing more than a role he never wished to play. Pariah could make him forget, and in time, Kyra could as well. So it did not surprise her in the slightest to see how he valued those two far beyond what any other legionary would have done.

"And maybe the days of being led by warriors have passed along with it?" Hypatia thought aloud.

"Careful girl, that's generations of our culture you're going back on!" Dan gently began to chide his companion.

"And what did it give us?" Hypatia asked. "What have we accomplished? We took a lot of territory we couldn't hold. We took over an empire that was so divided we could take over despite being outgunned. We burn everything before us because you and I don't have a damn clue what to do about this Synthesis thing the First Caesar insisted was inevitable. We don't build things, we hijack them! We're a bunch of degenerate thieves and killers, just as much as those Clanner bumpkins, only we're more disciplined than most can manage!"

"What the hell, Hypatia, where's this coming from?" Dan asked in exasperation.

"This is everything I've had to bite my tongue about ever since I was inducted into the Amazons," Hypatia explained. "You joined the Legion because you saw an endless march of power and force and wanted in on it, and I don't blame you. I never had any better options," Hypatia continued.

"Well, if you hate the Legion so damn much, why stick around?" Dan asked as his temper began to flare.

"That's just it. I don't hate the Legion. I can't," Hypatia continued. "I love my sisters, I love my fellow riders, I love you," she said as she turned to her best friend. "And despite everything, I love the Imperial family, almost as much as I love… loved Falco," she said as she looked upon the load mounted behind Dan. Dan, in turn, tipped his hat as he wiped his eyes.

"…I am Legion now and forever, but I'm not blinded as to how horrifying it is or what it can turn into. That camp behind us is the natural conclusion to what we can turn into if we aren't open to change when we still have that chance! Barabbas can guide us on that path. So can Pariah. And… so can Kyra," she finished quietly. All her efforts to drive Kyra as far away from Barabbas and them as possible, doing everything she could to emphasize her place as an outsider, and now it appeared that any hope for a brighter future for the Legion would depend on that woman's ability to get into Caesar's ear and ask for mercy and leniency, she thought as she rubbed her aching gums. How sick and twisted the fates could be.

"…We're getting close. Better light up our lanterns so they won't think we're with Scorpio," Dan stated, desperately hoping to change this increasingly uncomfortable subject. As they did, a glint showed off the sands not far from their position. Dan braced himself, expecting that lowdown sniper had zoned in on them. Hypatia, however, was curious, snapping the reins of her mount as she slowly approached. Drawing closer, she saw the body of a marshal lying on the sand. Dismounting her hound, Hypatia approached the young marshal and checked on her. She was still breathing. Shaking her awake, the marshal's eyes fluttered open as she felt the weight upon her chest, the realization dawning upon her. The golden Pip-boy fell from her body as she stumbled to her feet in panic and terror.

"NO!" Carla screamed in shock.

"What happened?" Hypatia asked.

"We have to stop her! We have to do something! We- I- you got to get to her before…"

"Before what?" Hypatia asked as the dread within her began to rise.

The sentries at the gate, having been severely castigated by Legate Tyrus over their failure to stop the previous intrusions within their camp, were thoroughly alerted by the figure that approached them, ringing their alarm bells as two contuberniums filed out to meet the approaching intruder, rifles at the ready.

WHO GOES THERE?!" the decanus shrieked.

The bound and gagged young woman was dumped at the feet of the intruder. "Nice reception. The old Legion would have seen me coming a mile away," the intruder scoffed.

"NAME?!"

"…Name's Dalton. Just Dalton. And this here," he continued, planting a foot on the shoulder of his hostage. "Is Rosa Perez, the "Princess" of the Mojave Nation. If you menial peons don't mind, I'm not exactly fond of talking to the help. Take me to your boss so he can pay me my fucking fee!"