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It was late noon when the judges arrived at the Mile. After following the clues found in their victim's list of relations, Greene and Diaz found one of the late Ms. Esperanza's friends, which led to the place she so frequented when looking to have a little R&R.
A Psyren supplier, a Dominion citizen who went by the name of Loren Angle.
Not all drugs were illegal in the Dominion, but circulation was heavily policed. Hardcore chems, however, such as Psycho and its derivatives like Slasher, Psychotats or Psychobuff were prohibited. Unfortunately, as human nature was wont to be, what was forbidden usually found its way through the cracks one way or another. The judges had no doubt that along the way they'd have to bust a few pushers for possession of illegal narcotics.
"I hate this place." Diaz growled as she sealed her helmet tight to keep the stench of the Mile out of her suit.
Greasy air thick with burnt brahmin fat like smog, mixed with the aroma of spices and heavy body odor, the Gypsy Mile was known for its open food stalls, cooking grills and generally unclean living standards. Greene had gotten used to it by then, his partner hadn't.
"So I'm guessing it's mortuaries for me, and it's the Mile for you." He remarked.
"I'll never understand how you can stomach this place." Diaz replied, "How the hell do you do it?"
"Be in this job for as long as I have, you'll get used to it."
The crowds that frequented its streets had grown in number as nighttime approached. With the arrival of late caravans fresh out of the final military checkpoints pouring into Carlon, the opening hours of the Gypsy Night Market began. The swell in potential customers drew the merchants out of their stalls like roaches out of woodwork, and the people flocked to them in droves so they could peruse their wares, all at half-prices.
"So how'd you get into the judging business?" Diaz asked her partner, realizing then that it was probably the first time she did.
"I was part of the original 300 from Vault 115." Greene recalled his previous role in society in the Dominion's early days, "I was a young MP in the High Marshal's army then, y'know, before it became what it is today. Showed a knack for detective work and was deemed judge-material, so I was recommended for specialized training. Been working all twenty years now. You?"
"Part of the old blood, huh?" She said, using the common slang for the original vault-dwellers of 115. "My parents were old blood too. I got recommended to the academy after I finished my aptitude test, worked the streets right after graduation."
"Really? Never heard of them."
"With 300 vault-dwellers and two generations after them? Not surprising." Diaz replied with a shrug as they crossed the street, "Besides, Ma and Pa were never the type to draw attention to themselves."
Greene glanced up at the bright neon lights flashing above the night market district of the Gypsy Mile.
Darkness was closing in fast, but that just meant that the night market district was stirring to wakefulness. Just a few meters from the main entrance stood the drug dealer's apartment, where Angle was reputed to sell his questionable stock of chems to non-citizen buyers. "Get ready. Mr. Angle's not the type to cooperate with the law, and he's liable to bolt the moment he sees us."
"Never heard of anyone cooperating with the law firsthand." Diaz observed as she peered down the street at the two musclebound hired guns guarding the entrance into the apartment. A small queue line of wasters had formed on the street, every one of them waiting for their turn to be called inside. Greene didn't want to spook the suspect, so he and his partner held back to the shadows while they planned their move.
"They will, one way or another." The old judge put a hand on his sidearm, "But I'd like to avoid a fight, if possible."
The building in question stood three stories high and was part of the Carlon complexes that weren't condemned by the reconstruction projects when the ruins had been retaken from the Redneck mutants. Unlike the rest of the city, it retained a lot of its Old World architecture, but the careless and generally unclean nature of the squatters who moved in turned it into an eyesore.
The fact that the place had become a drug den made no improvements to its reputation.
Eight figures boldly strode out of the alley opposite of their current position and jostled their way past the crowds towards the apartment building. Diaz caught the faint outline of a guns sticking out of their shadowy silhouettes. She immediately drew her weapon and motioned for her partner to move in, "Looks like someone's about to make it impossible. Let's move!"
The guards, both armed with 10mm submachineguns, saw them coming and pushed the wasters out of the way so they could get a clear shot.
The strangers took advantage of that small window of opportunity and fired first. They drew their weapons out, clear enough for all to see, including the judges. Judge Greene saw the Reckoner rifles, stopped in midstride, then pulled his partner back to let them do their work.
"What the hell are you doing?" Diaz hissed as his sudden jerk of her arm kept her from moving in to disrupt the fight.
"Observe." Greene said simply.
The guards were cut down in seconds, and the crowd of wasters dispersed into the night screaming as the group of Dominion rooks secured the entrance. Two covered the door, while another pair went around back to cover any exits. The four who were left formed up and went indoors.
It was here that Diaz realized that the gunmen weren't just regular thugs, they were Dominion rooks.
"That there, Diaz, is a circumstance we call a snafu." Greene said, finally stepping off to join the rooks in their operation. His partner followed suit, and the judges approached the soldiers on overwatch. "Evening boys."
The rooks eyed the judges with guarded curiosity at first, but relaxed at the sight of their uniforms. "Evening, judges."
"Looks like you've beaten us to the objective." Greene said, glancing up to see the bright flashes of gunfire through the windows upstairs, followed by the rattle and the occasional grunting of thugs getting mowed down by Dominion weapons. "You wouldn't happen to be after Mr. Angle too, now would you?"
"We're not at liberty to discuss that." One of the rooks replied, "You're going to have to wait until the CO gets back here."
"Oh? And where is your CO?"
The soldier tossed his head in the direction of the third floor. More gunfire, and a body was thrown out the window after a loud shotgun burst thundered in between the shots. The corpse landed with a resounding crack as it hit the pavement headfirst, splitting the skull open and sending blood and brains scattering all over the street.
There was enough of the face left for Greene to identify as he nudged the corpse's head to the side with his foot. It wasn't Angle, much to his relief. He knew then that if he was to ensure there was enough of the suspect left for him and Diaz to question, he had to hurry. "Call up your CO, inform him that we're going in."
"Judge, I don't think-"
"Do it, rook." Greene said firmly, "Or I'm slapping you with an obstruction of justice charge."
The soldier's mouth tightened into a thin line as he considered for a moment his options. Judges had a lot of authority in the Dominion, and it extended well over the military as much as the civilian sector. They were the law, and to defy the law meant consequences.
His hand reached for his radio, "Sarge, judges are coming in. Watch your fire."
Greene nodded and marched inside. Diaz stopped to add something to the call, "And um, tell him to avoid killing our only lead in the case while you're at it."
The judges walked through the corridors littered with spent shell casings and bodies riddled with bleeding holes. The rooks left little to chance, and were very precise in the way they dealt with Angle's goons. Greene had to crack a smile as he admired their work. He couldn't help but grow curious as to what the rooks were there for, and he made a note of asking the CO just that.
They ascended the stairs, stepping over more bodies with the similar nonchalance the rooks expressed as they worked their way up the apartment building.
Then, as the judges stepped through the doorway of the upper room adjacent to the stairs, they found the rooks standing over the bodies of more dead goons, surrounded by scattered Psyren capsules and other chem containers. Only two men were left alive from the raid, the rooks had them cuffed and forced them to kneel on the floor in the middle of the room. One of them was Loren Angle, and he looked like someone took a wrench to his face. His right eye was swollen shut and his mouth hung open, showing two missing teeth broken off when something hard hit him square on the lips.
The rooks stepped back to let the judges in, their CO stood over the kitchen sink in the far corner of the room and was washing his hands when they approached him. When he turned around to face them, Greene saw the nametag on the sergeant's uniform.
Esperanza.
There were a lot of similarities in the sergeant's facial profile that he shared with the late Ms. Esperanza, prompting the judge to think that it couldn't have been a coincidence. He could be a close relative of the girl, possibly the father or a brother. The CO had reasons of a personal nature regarding the raid, which most likely meant that Angle wasn't going to survive the night.
With Middle Texas under the complete control of the military junta, it was common for Dominion soldiers to conduct their own judicial operations such as military crackdowns and suppression of criminal activities. They called it Internal Defense Operations, with most achieved through violence and also ending violently.
It was the unspoken rule of the Wasteland, but it was part of their job as judges to ensure that there would be limits to such violence. "I see you've already started without us."
The sergeant, a man no older than thirty, took a deep breath before giving his reply to the judge. "Yes, that we did. What's the law doing here?"
"Mr. Angle over here's our prime suspect in a case, and we need him alive for questioning. Seeing as how you've extended beyond the MO of a simple raid, I'm guessing you and your men are here for a similar goal." Greene paused to put the pieces together, "I assume you're all pulling on the same loose end, trying to see where it leads?"
Sgt. Esperanza, with his head still hot from all the adrenaline and fuzzy from his hands-on dealings with Angle, reined in his impulses and took another moment to process what the judge said. "Mind repeating that for me, in English?"
"Gladly." Greene pointed to the suspect, "This man's ours, but since you got to him first I. Did he spill anything useful?"
"Yeah, plenty."
"Good. Now here's what's going to happen next." The senior judge said, "You're going to do us a favor and share that information. Do that, and we forget about you fucking up our bust."
The sergeant, feeling reluctant to have the judges asserting themselves into his affairs, thought twice about refusing as he also felt wary of the heavy sanctions he would have to pay should he refuse to cooperate. "You gonna leave this motherfucker to me if I do?"
"No." Greene stated flatly, knowing that Angle was going to be executed in the most horrifyingly creative way possible if he let the rooks have their way. "And don't make the mistake of thinking that this is a negotiation. It's an ultimatum."
Sgt. Esperanza leaned back on the sink and wiped his hands on a towel, "Alright then. Mr. Angle over here's been dabbling into a side biz, selling out non-citizens to human traffickers in the Mile." The venom in his tone grew worse as he revealed the dealer's sins. "They pay him in chems and weapons, which he in turn sells in the black market. Scumbags like him have flown under the radar for months now, until they started snatching Dominion citizens off the street."
"Like your daughter Andrea?"
"Sister." The sergeant corrected. He made a move for Angle, drawing his pistol and pressing the barrel firmly against the beaten dealer's temple. "Fuckers swarm in from the Wasteland, come in here to Dominion territory and think they can just do whatever they want. Gonna show 'em different." Angle whimpered as the cold steel burrowed into his skull. "Only good waster is a dead waster."
"Think twice about what you're about to do, sergeant." Greene said, "I still need that man for further questioning. Kill him now, and I will have to bring you in- along with all your boys for impeding my investigation. Then where's the justice for Andrea and all the other victims going to come from?"
The hate and the anger in the rook's eyes was directed solely on the senior judge now. Through them, Greene could see the cogs turning in the man's head. Bravely, he stood his ground even though he'd just put himself in the sergeant's crosshairs.
Sgt. Esperanza's jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together, "What'll you do with him when he's outlived his usefulness?"
"As soon as the case is closed, he and all his accomplices will be sentenced to the full extent of the law regarding human trafficking." Greene said, "Death."
"It's the noose for him." Diaz added. "For all of them."
Esperanza still wasn't convinced, "Explain to me then, judge, when will such a case be considered closed?"
Greene stated calmly, and in a way giving his promise. "When every trafficker involved in this crime is dead or captured. Then, they all hang."
The sergeant considered the judge's words carefully, glanced down at his captive with unparalleled disgust, then moved away from him.
A collective sigh of relief was heard as the tension in the room died down with the sergeant holstering his pistol. "Let me and my boys escort them with you back to Uptown. Wouldn't want the fucker slipping off after what we went through."
"That won't be necessary, sergeant." Diaz protested.
Esperanza hauled the dealer to his feet, "Non-negotiable, judge. You want him alive for questioning, I'm coming with."
"Dammit, fine." Greene sighed, eager to have the horrid business over and done with. "Let's go."
Three days passed since Expedition Team 22 arrived at Landfall.
Word travelled fast throughout the Brotherhood, despite the inner council's attempts at discretion. The rumors about a power rising in the east, while mostly regarded with skepticism, spread across the Permian Basin. Everyone knew, even their waster neighbors living in the shanty towns outside of Landfall, of the Dominion and their sprawling multitudes gifted with technologies that rivaled even the Brotherhood of Steel. Because of this, Elder Corvinus decided there was no better time than the present to prepare for their next move.
So he had Paladin Brand gather the best of his initiates, planning on creating a new team of eager young men and women to serve the Brotherhood's need for intelligence gathering, to send them into the heart of the Dominion so they would know them better.
Brand emerged from the halls of the barracks and out into the Landfall hangars where they kept their vertibirds, power-armor and assorted collection of restored Brotherhood war machines. There, he had the initiates assemble for the debriefing.
Six men and four women, all ranging from the ages of 16 to 20. All of them were brought into the Brotherhood's ranks from the Wasteland, none were born into the Brotherhood like most of the squires who were immediately ascended to knighthood upon reaching maturity. Over the years since they've made contact with the locals, there were the lucky few who were allowed to join the Brotherhood, although ascension through the ranks proved difficult due to the inner council's high standards regarding primitives.
Many looked down on wasters, which did little to reduce tensions between the locals and the Brotherhood. For some, like the Elder himself and Paladin Brand, they admired the initiates for their eagerness to prove themselves.
These initiates hoped to change the Brotherhood's negative perspective on their people, that if they succeed in whatever mission they were sent to do they would perform just as adequately as any of their squires who were born into the Brotherhood.
Clad in the standard orange undersuits of the Brotherhood, the initiates were surprised to see Brand walk in dressed in a waster's garb, complete with old Pre-War fatigues, a padded jacket and a beanie hat over his head. He carried a duffel bag behind him with one hand and a standard AER9 laser rifle in the other.
"Fall in, initiates."
The group obeyed and stood at attention before the paladin.
Scribe Karter arrived at the hangar just as he was about to begin, leading two other scribes who were pulling along a cart that held some folded clothes and duffel bags. She too was dressed like a waster, just like Paladin Brand. Her hair, no longer covered by the lancer hood that came with her uniform, was tied up into a neat bun. A duster coat covered her vault-dweller's jumpsuit, as well as the plasma pistol that hung over her hip. A small combat knife was tucked snugly into her left boot, as was the shared preference of field scribes.
"What's going on, Paladin?" Mace, the eldest of the initiates, asked his superior.
"You've heard of the rumors regarding the Dominion and are probably wondering what the Brotherhood's gonna do about it." Brand explained, "The Elder's instructed me to personally lead a team into the heart of this growing power in order to find out more about them. The extent of their technological capabilities, their internal infrastructure, their inclination towards accepting the Brotherhood- the whole works. Which brings me to the matter concerning you."
The paladin paused to examine the young faces staring back at him.
"I've watched over every one of you since the day you joined our noble cause to shepherd mankind into a brighter future, and I've grown to respect your willingness to serve. That is why I've selected you all for this task, because you all have the potential to do the Brotherhood proud. And you will."
Scribe Karter called out their names, "Mace, Pollen, Hiker, Norn. Goose, Mickey." The men snapped to attention once more, "Boys, time to suit up. We're going in as wasters, so you'd better look the part. Grab your gear and head to the locker-rooms. I want your asses back here in ten, move!"
"Lily, Packer, Wax, Isley." She turned to the women as the other initiates carried out her instructions, "Ladies, I've got something for you. Gather round."
She held up a relic of the past, restored and sanctioned by the Brotherhood's restoration program. "This is a digital camera. Back before the War, people used it to take photographs or pictures of themselves, of places or things. We're gonna be using it to record our findings, bring back some solid evidence for the council to use when we get back home. Problem is, only one of you gets the honor of operating this thing. Who's it gonna be?"
Wax and Isley said nothing, but Little Lily, a small girl of sixteen with bright blonde hair, beamed at Karter and raised her hand. "Me! Me! I can do it!"
Packer rolled her eyes, "Sure, give it to short-stacks over here, as usual."
Karter, having grown accustomed to the redhead's barbed disposition, smiled. "Try playing nice like her for once and maybe you'd get your chance." The scribe approached the smaller girl and handed over the device, "Hold on to that, I'll show you how to use it on the way."
Lily grinned proudly as she held the camera like she'd just been handed a gold medal, "Kay kay!"
"Alright then, time for you ladies to suit up too. Make it snappy while you're at it. The boys got a few minutes head start, prove me right that you can catch up, go!"
Within a few moments the team assembled at the entrance of Landfall, all geared up and ready to begin their mission. They would venture out into the Texan Wasteland onboard an old armored car, without a power-armor or heavy weapons to assist them. Elder Corvinus was sending them out as spies, so naturally they had to move about covertly. Lugging about in eight-foot tall suits of steel drew all sorts of trouble and unwanted attention.
Paladin Brand took the wheel and drove them out into the dusty road. He glanced at Karter as she sat on the passenger's seat beside him, "Karter, start a mission log. Update it daily throughout the course of the mission."
"Roger that, paladin." The scribe acknowledged, readying a holotape to slot into her Pip-boy.
They rolled out into the desert, eyes peeled and hearts pounding with excitement. Brand drove east, heading straight for the Dominion's highways, his mind hard at work in trying to come up with a good alibi should the patrols pull them over.
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