Fair enough... ...Arnaud isn't exactly squeaky-clean, but bad guys beware...And Michael isn't actually a bad guy...Just a mercenary...As you say cowardly etc... ...If he wasn't exactly being bad...Arnaud might actually have worked with him...Well, Arnaud and ED-E... ...They have a total mad-on for the Legion though... ...

Aaamywho...

Loved this chapter...Good fun...

The Kings got on my nerves too...The only reason I did that whole thing was to get the free pass to the Strip...

Brilliantly done...

Nice one!!!... ...

*Applauds heartily*...

Hehe, interesting sounding fella then, this Arnaud.

My grief was with the naming systems of the Kings, not with the Kings themselves. I quite liked them, personally...

And thanks for the praise, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.

*


Eh, I don't have New Vegas on PC either, just the 360.

I loved the King in the game, and how you've portrayed him here. Have to agree with you on the Silver Rush - those people had me shaking every time I went in, scared to death they would just suddenly decide I was no longer welcome (like they did the first time I walked in accidently, lol)

Awesome Write !!

Yeah, Van Graffs are frightening. Though how did you manage to get in with all your stuff? I thought the guard guy outside stopped you.

Anyway, thank you very much, and I'm glad you enjoyed.

P.S. Working my way through Maxical's Adventures; so far, it's great stuff!

I had just (finally) made it into the Strip, that was one of the first places I went to. I think you are right that I was stripped of gear going in, all I know is that they opened fire on me in the first seconds - didn't like the way my character looked? I died. Reloaded the autosave - killed again.

Finally had to go back to a previous save before entering the Strip and do the whole thing all over again. (finding the gate in - that took forever for me. Having to do it all over again was awful.) I think the only way you live when you go in there is if you are on a quest.

I loved New Vegas, and your story has me feeling egged to play it again! They put out a new patch last summer, so maybe I'll be able to make it to the big fight at the Dam this time! Twice my game crashed fatally before reaching the big battle, both times the saves were wiped out.



I have to agree with you on this, but only in New Vegas. In the TES games and Fallout 3 it did not give the same feel as it does in Vegas. My vegas character was pretty darned cold and made all his decisions based on how they would benefit himself, (with the exception of Veronica. He treated her well).

(and thank you for reading mine, appreciate that!)

"Oh god, it's mALX! KILL IT! KILL IT WITH PLASMA!!"

Yeah, that's true; in FO3 it usually felt like you got the same rewards for being a hero with people liking you as well, while in New Vegas it felt more realistic. Not to mention it also felt like your decisions and so forth had real impact, which I liked.

And no problem; you've taken the time to read through this, and I can at least return the favour!

ROFL !!!!

Agreed, it was more realistic in New Vegas. I loved that you could get people hating you, or wear their faction's armor and trick them into thinking you were a part of their faction.

In Oblivion the only people that even noticed if your character was evil was the guards, and in Fallout 3 everyone liked you regardless of your karma except the hired mercenaries. I shot Daddy James in the face repeatedly when he gives you the BB gun at 10 years old, and his Assistant just stood there and watched, then talked sweetly to me, ROFL !!!

This is madness! This is blasphemy! This! Is! THREADOMANCEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Yeah, it's back. You can blame Eva for this; all the talk of New Vegas she stirred up, plus her story and general struggles with writing the last few chapters of Madgod have got me trying this out for a bit to keep in shape and because Michael and his band of merry mercs have never quite escaped the back of my mind. I mean, it's only been a year since the last update. That ain't too bad, right?

Right?



Yeah, I'll just post the chapter up...

Chapter 10

“Oh thank god you’re alright,” Doris declared as Michael stepped in through the front doors of Anston and Co’s headquarters. She grabbed him in an embrace and kissed him on both cheeks. “We all thought the King was gonna kill you!”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Michael said. “I had it under control, baby, don’t worry.”

The rest of the company were gathered in the building’s foyer, and Michael raised an eyebrow at them as he stepped out of Doris’ embrace.

“What are you all doing here?” he asked.

“We figured the Kings might come busting down our door any minute, so we decided we’d give them a nice warm welcome,” Brutus said, sliding his machete back into its sheath. “Glad that isn’t the case, though.”

“What happened in there?” Alex asked.

“Long story short, the King and a couple of other eminent citizens of Freeside didn’t like the fact that we’d set up our little base and were worried about what our long term plans might be,” Michael said. “I just assured him that he had nothing to worry about and that we had no intention of making any trouble. As far as I can tell, we’re in the clear so long as we behave ourselves.”

That got a round of nods from the rest of the company.

“Alright, you can get going with whatever it is you’ve got on the go,” Michael said. “Doris, sweetie, can you stay a moment?”

“Sure, what is it?” Doris asked as the rest of Anston and Co dispersed.

“Just wanted to ask if anybody had had any work that needed doing,” Michael said.

“Some scientist type over at Camp McCarran said he needed some mercenaries to get something done for him,” Doris said. “Go into an old vault and find some data; said it would pay well.”

“Interesting,” Michael said. “That has the potential to be profitable, definitely, even if it’s just from salvage and loot. Anything else?”

“Not really,” Doris said. “Seeing as the King was getting kind of iffy about us I think people on the Strip and in Freeside might have wanted to steer clear.”

“I see,” Michael nodded. “That’s annoying. Actually, thinking of that, did anybody threaten you or the rest of the company while I was gone? Make any trouble?”

“Alex said that a couple of Kings told him that he was gonna have to watch his back when he was walking through Freeside,” Doris said. “And Red Lucy was getting a bit antsy about Brutus missing his slot in the Thorn, but that was no big deal.”

“Eh, no surprise with the Kings,” Michael said. “Still, they shouldn’t be making any more trouble, hopefully.”

Doris nodded.

“So what you gonna do now?” she asked.

“Get in touch with the contact for the job and let her know that the package made its way to Nipton,” Michael said. “Just wrap up the job.”

“Yeah, how did that go?”

“Coulda been better,” Michael said. “Nearly got gutted by a tusker on the way there and once we did get to Nipton we found the place had been torched by a group of raiders from Caesar’s Legion.”

“Christ,” Doris shook her head. “How did that pan out?”

“Well, turns out they were interested in that package we were delivering,” Michael said. “So we passed it on to them for a couple of Aureii and made our way back here. Though I’d appreciate it if you kept that last part quiet; official company line is gonna be that we got to Nipton, delivered it to the person we were supposed to leave it with and then headed back before the Legion rocked up.”

“Got it,” Doris said. “You’re gonna be off, then?”

“That’s the plan,” Michael said. He her kissed on the cheek. “I’ll speak to you later, honey.”

They parted ways, Doris heading through the doors of the firing range, as Michael flicked the radio on his Pip Boy on and adjusted the frequency to the one agreed on.

“Anybody there?” he called. “Paging Alison Hale, do you hear me?”

“This is Alison Hale,” came the reply. “Who is this?”

“Michael Anston,” Michael said. “You know, of Anston and Co?”

“Is the job done?” Alison asked. “Or is there a problem?”

“The job’s done,” Michael said. “Just confirming it, that’s all.”

“Good,” came the reply. “Come meet me at the bar at the Ultra Luxe, we’ll talk there; I don’t want to say much else over an unsecured channel, not when people might be listening.”

“Uh, sure, see you there,” Michael said. “Gimme ten minutes or so.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

The connection was cut, and Michael raised an eyebrow. After that, he went upstairs to where Brutus had disappeared to. He found him in the room the former Legionary had made his home, hunched over a table on which he had laid his prosthetic arm. The casing was off and he was looking over the servo in the elbow with a screwdriver in his hand.

“Hey Mike,” he said, looking up as Michael entered the room. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Michael said. “Whatcha doing?”

“Just taking a look at the servo,” Brutus said. “Hasn’t quite felt right ever since that tusker tried to rip this thing apart, seeing if I can fix it up.”

“Got it,” Michael said. “Thing is, I was heading to the Strip and I was just gonna ask if you could come with.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Brutus said. “I’m kind of tired from the journey and I’d rather just get my arm fixed up and then hit the hay.”

“Ah, c’mon Brutus,” Michael said. “If I head out to Freeside on my own I’ll get robbed in a second, and I don’t trust any King I pay to see me through in one piece. I’ll buy you a drink once we’re there, if you want.”

Brutus was quiet for a moment as he mulled it over, before he said; “Alright. Just gimme a minute to get the casing of this thing on and we can go.”

With only his right hand, he placed the thick, reinforced steel casing on the arm and inserted the screws that held it in place in one by one. Each movement was made with meticulous care, Brutus squinting at the screws as he wound each one in with his organic hand. Once it was in place, he lifted the heavy arm up with a grunt and inserted it into the bulky steel port built into the stump of his left shoulder. He flexed the claw a few times and moved the arm about to see if it was still working at its best, and nodded to Michael.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said.

As they stepped out into the sweltering heat of Freeside, Michael couldn’t help but notice that there were people beginning move about between its crumbling concrete and brick buildings. The sense of tension in the air had abated, and aside from a trio of Kings hanging about by the door of an old apartment building, most of the gang members had disappeared.

“So what exactly did you say to the King?” Brutus asked as they went up the street.

“Basically, he was worried about us throwing our weight around Freeside,” Michael said. “Said that there might be trouble with the Kings if we carried on doing it. In the end, we came to an agreement; we don’t mess with the Kings, the Followers of the Apocalypse, the Van Graffs or anybody important in Freeside and they’ll leave us be.”

“Sounds reasonable enough,” Brutus said.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “I’m just glad we could sort the whole thing out without it ending up being us versus the Kings.”

“That wouldn’t have ended well for us, no way,” Brutus agreed as they reached the gate to the Strip.

“Credit check,” one of the bulky blue Protectrons ordered in its harsh synthetic voice as they approached, rolling forward on the single wheel that supported it. Michael just flashed the corporate pass he’d been given by one of Mr House’s human officials a while back. The robot scanned it over before it announced; “Head on through. Enjoy your visit to the New Vegas Strip.”

“I don’t get why they bother with the whole ‘enjoy your visit’ schtick,” Michael said as the mesh gates that lead to the Strip swung open for them. “I mean, with that voice they just sound like they’re telling you to have a nice time or else.”

“Least they try to be polite,” Brutus shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess,” Michael said as he glanced over the strip. Even in the daylight it was lit up by silent, chilly flames of blazing neon that adorned the casinos, the doors of the massive cathedrals dedicated to gods of money and material gain thrown wide open. They made their way along the cracked concrete road, up to the circular forecourt of the Ultra-Luxe, the area thrown into shade by the shadow of the large, curved building, around the fountain in the middle of the court.

The bar inside the building was probably the most impressive in New Vegas, a ring around a large metal sculpture made to look like some kind of huge blooming flower. One of the suited doormen, the lower half of his face covered by the masks that all the casino’s staff wore, bowed as they entered and said; “Good afternoon, sirs, and welcome to the Ultra-Luxe. Before you go any further, I’m afraid I must ask you relinquish any weapons on your person; it’s casino policy, for security measures, as I’m sure you two gentlemen understand.”

“We’ve just got this,” Michael said, handing over his pistol. The greeter’s eyes flickered to Brutus’ arm. “What, you want him to give up his damn arm?”

“I’m afraid that some guests might find such a thing…unnerving,” the doorman said.

“I don’t see you asking any other visitors to take their arms off for you,” Brutus said. “And I don’t see you giving them a hard time just ‘cause they’ve had the bad luck to be injured.”

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” Michael asked. “That ain’t fair.”

The doorman’s face flickered with indecision before he said; “You’re both quite right. I apologies most profusely, so please procede.”

He handed Michael a plastic token and added; “Simply hand this in at the cloakroom before you leave to retrieve your weapon.”

“Thank you,” Michael said, as they made their way to the bar. The doorman pulled a walkie-talkie from the inside of his jacket, and just on the edge of his hearing Michael heard him say; “Could do with a couple of extra guys from security up here; got two potential trouble makers that need keeping an eye on. Some thug with a big robot arm and a little weaselly friend of his in a suit.”

Michael ignored them and looked for his contact. It took him only a few moments to find her; a blonde woman at the bar in a long red dress, smoking a cigarette on the end of a long holder. Despite the time of day, she had a cocktail on the counter before her.

“Anston,” she said by way of greeting.

“Good to see ya, Alison,” Michael said, sliding into the seat next to him.

“Nice to see you to,” Alison replied, though her tone of voice suggested that this was merely for the sake of formality. She nodded to the bartender. “Get yourselves a drink, on me.”

“Vodka martini,” Michael said.

“Just a Sunset for me,” Brutus added.

The bartender nodded and retreated to pour the drinks. Out of the corner of his vision, Michael noticed that a pair of Ultra-Luxe staff had appeared, two bulky men whose suits didn’t fit all that comfortably over their large frames, the leather straps of pistol holsters just visible beneath their jackets.

Alison took a pull of her cigarette with enough ferocity to suggest she had some kind of personal grudge against it, and looked over at Michael.

“So, Anston, you get the job done?” she asked.

“As we were paid to do,” Michael replied. “We got to Nipton, delivered the package and got the cash for it there, as agreed.”

It was one of the best lies, as it was nothing but the truth.

“Good,” Alison agreed. “My employer wanted verification of that from you personally; you have no idea how important that package was.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,” Michael said as their drinks arrived. He took a sip, savouring the flavour of chilled mint and alcohol. “Who is your employer, anyway? I like to know who I’m working for.”

“My employer is a man who values his privacy,” Alison replied. “And one who knows the worth of agents who don’t ask too many questions.”

“One of those types, then,” Michael said. “I suppose it’s only fair to respect that sort of thing, but, you know, there are some people who might not appreciate the kind of lack of respect I’m getting right now.”

“You know what, Anston?” Alison said. “From where I’m sitting you’re a hired gun with a fancy suit and delusions of grandeur who’s only motivation is simple greed, who convinces himself he’s a civilised man because he asks other people to shoot people on his behalf and someone who is, once you take his suit, his ego and his very shaky code of morals away, nothing more than a gutless coward who brought his ‘roided up tribal friend with him to try and intimidate the ice queen that he doesn’t like but will suffer the company of her because she gives him money. You’ll forgive me if I reserve my respect for those more deserving of it.”

She tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette and finished her cocktail.

“I’m guessing that that’s the long and the short of the situation,” she said.

“You got one thing wrong,” Brutus said.

“And what’s that?” Alison asked.

“Don’t use steroids,” Brutus said. “Never have; Legion doesn’t approve them.”

“So you mean to tell me that you got that big without using chems?”

“Yep,” Brutus replied, taking a swig of sarsaparilla.

“Huh,” Michael said. “Guess I should’ve listened to my mother when she told me to eat my greens.”

“Your friend’s bodybuilding techniques aside, the point still stands,” Alison said. “Stop pretending that this is a conversation of equals when all that’s happening is me giving you caps to do my employer’s dirty work. I don’t have the time or patience for that.”

“And supposing I take offence at that kind of talk,” Michael said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alison said. “You like the money too much for it to make any kind of difference.”

Brutus snorted at this.

“Hey, shut up,” Michael snapped at him before turning to glance over at Alison. “You’re a real people person, y’know.”

“My employer doesn’t pay me because I’m nice,” Alison replied. “He pays me because I get things done.”

She stubbed out the remnants of her cigarette, all but stabbing the ash tray with the embers, and removed the filter from its holder. She snapped open the satchel that she had stowed over her shoulder next to the pistol holder and inserted it inside the bag.

“More work will be coming up soon,” she said. “I’ll contact you again when I need the services you and your band of thugs can offer.”

“Yeah, fine,” Michael said, a sour edge to his expression. Alison nodded, stood and left the bar. He glared over at Brutus, who was still grinning at him.

“She really put you through the wringer there, Mike,” he said.

“Shaddup,” Michael said. “God, that woman pisses me off.”

“So why don’t you just not work for her?”

“Too good a source of income to turn down,” Michael said. He glanced around at the Ultra-Luxe. “Feel like a hand of Blackjack?”

“Nah,” Brutus said. “I wouldn’t mind heading back to the HQ; I need some rest.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Michael said. “Between talking to the King and Van Graffs down and dealing with the ice queen I’ve probably managed to earn myself a bit of R&R.”

Brutus nodded.

“Let’s finish our drinks and head back,” he said. “Hell, we’ve got tomorrow; brand new day, full of opportunity.”

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Feb 10 2013, 10:53 PM

I did wonder how long it would take you... ...

An excellent job, as ever...

I have missed the boys something rotten... ...

Looking forward to whichever story you throw at us... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Ahaa, you could blame me... and i'd be very happy to take the blame! MUST START READING THIS! Glad I'm not the only NV storyteller here!!

McBadgere: Thanks very much! I'm pretty pleased to have them back too, and the stuff I've got planned is looking to be a lot of fun.

Eva: And I would've gotten away with not writing this if it weren't for you kids and your darn meddlin' dog!

Wait a minute, that isn't right...




Also, go to page 1 to check out my awesome cover!


Chapter 11

“So here we are,” Michael said as they drew up to the imposing gates. “Camp McCarran, NCR-Central.”

The gates to the former airport were large, imposing things, heavily fortified with a guard tower on either side and sandbagged emplacements on the front, every position armed with a machine gun and bristling with barbed wire. On top of each tower was a searchlight, switched off in the daylight, their large round lenses facing towards the wasteland beyond it; Camp McCarran was right next door to Fiend and Great Khan territory, and the gate to the Mojave’s second most heavily guarded fortress was well kept.

As Anston and Co approached on horseback, the machine guns swivelled to face them, the soldiers standing sentry took aim with their rifles and even a few grenade launchers and a woman wearing the pips of a lieutenant picked up a microphone and called out; “Stop right there! One of you forward to identify yourselves, or head back the way you came now!”

Michael trotted his horse forwards ahead of the rest of his company, dismounting near the gate and approaching the lieutenant on foot. She had a carbine in her hands but she lowered it as he came close. The other soldiers kept their weapons raised.

“Your name, stranger?” she asked.

“Michael Anston, of Anston and Co,” Michael said. “We were asked here by Doctor Hildern, to do some work here.”

“I see,” the lieutenant said, pulling a walkie-talkie from the pocket of her fatigues and flicking it on. “Come in Terminus, this is Gatekeeper, come in Terminus, over.”

“Gatekeeper, this is Terminus, what can we do for you, over,” the small device crackled.

“We’ve got seven people here who claim to be part of a mercenary company, name of Anston and Co,” the lieutenant said. “They say they’ve got an appointment with Doctor Hildern. Please confirm, over.”

“That’s right, Gatekeeper, let them through. Terminus out.”

“Stand down!” the lieutenant ordered her troops. “Alright, Anston, your people are good to go. Somebody get this gate open, let ‘em through! Private Rheese!”

“Yes ma’am?” a young soldier with a baseball cap with a pair of goggles above its sunshade perched on his head asked.

“Escort these people to Doctor Hildern’s lab,” the lieutenant said. “Make sure they don’t get lost.”

“Yes ma’am,” Rheese nodded. “Follow me please, sir.”

The heavy gates swung open as Michael signalled the rest of the company to join him. They dismounted, Brutus getting a few suspicious glares from the soldiers at the gate, and made their way through. The area beyond them was a large, flat plain, occupied primarily by rows of tents, though here and there were larger buildings made from brick, scrap metal and concrete. A road surrounded the entire plain and a platoon of soldiers was jogging along it, being yelled at by an NCO as they went.

“You can put your horses here, sir, and then I’ll take you to the lab,” Rheese said, gesturing to a large building just by the gate. “It’s the patrol stable, but our cavalry troops are out at the minute so there’s room.”

The horses were stabled and Rheese led them around one of the rows of tents, past a wall of mesh boxes filled with rubble.

“What’re those things?” Michael asked, pointing at one of them.

“Mortar defences, sir,” Rheese said. “For when the Fiends send ordnance strikes our way; all that rubble catches the blast and shrapnel.”

“Good thinking,” Doris said.

“Yeah, that’s the NCR’s Fifth Engineering Division doing their work,” Rheese replied. “Those guys are full of bright ideas like that.”

“They fix this whole place up, then?” Michael asked as they went around the perimeter of basketball court, where a small group of off-duty NCR troopers were in the middle of a game.

“Just about,” Rheese said. “Turned this place from an airport surrounded by chainlink fence into a goddamn fortress.”

‘Fortress’ was the right word for McCarran, considering half the things you heard about the place; ask just about any NCR trooper about it and he’ll be happy to run his mouth about how great the five thousand personnel and vertibird wing they have there is. Credit where it’s due, they keep the Fiends and the Great Khans from overrunning the place, but the way they go on about it you’d almost think that President Tandi herself was buried there.

Abby gave a sudden yelp of shock, glancing around her before her gaze settled on a tall, rangy woman in NCR combat fatigues and a red beret. She lowered the sunglasses she was wearing to grin and wink at her before heading on her way.

“What she do?” Ed asked, casting a suspicious look her way.

“Pinched my a$s,” Abby murmured.

Up ahead, Rheese pushed open the doors of a larger building, and gestured for Michael and the others to follow. They were lead into the atrium of a large building, one that had been refurbished into a command centre of some kind, bustling with personnel who were examining maps and models of the Mojave detailing troop movements, talking into long-range radios or working with computers, the scene overlooked by a the NCR’s flag. Anston and Co got a few glances as they headed through, the eclectic company of mercenaries sticking out in the sea of khaki.

The private knocked on a door covered with a plethora of warning notices, and it was opened a few moments later by a young woman in a labcoat. She shot Rheese a curious look, and the trooper replied; “These are the mercs Doctor Hildern asked for.”

“Ah, I see. Which one of you is in charge?” she asked.

“That’s me,” Michael said.

“Good,” the scientist said. “I’m afraid it’ll just have to be you who comes in; there isn’t enough room in the lab for your entire company.”

“Sure,” Michael replied, and the young woman stepped back from the doorway, into a room occupied by small plants growing in pots along shelves. There were sensors of some kind sticking into the soil, running back to a computer terminal, and a chemistry set on a desk off to one side.

“Doctor Hildern?” the young woman called through a doorway. “That mercenary you hired is here to speak to you.”

“What? Ah, very good.”

A man with greying hair took Michael’s hand and shook it.

“Doctor Thomas Hildern,” he said. “Office of Science and Industry.”

“Michael Anston, Anston and Co. Good to meet you, Doc.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr Anston,” Hildern said. “Now, I suppose you must be wondering what I’ve asked you here for.”

“Details on a job are always useful,” Michael nodded, leaning on the doorframe.

“Of course, of course,” Hildern said. “The work I am asking you to do is one of utmost importance, one that could help improve all human civilisation for the better.”

He gestured to the plants on the shelf, and said; “We get almost all of our food via agriculture, but even though we’re able to provide enough food to support our population, demand is constant and in this climate, it’s difficult to grow enough to meet it; the soil here is dry and not particularly fertile, and in order to keep plants growing at the NCR’s sharecropper farms we need a great deal of water and artificial nutrients to be shipped in. But I believe that we might be near finding a solution to such a problem, a means to let plants grow in almost any climate imaginable. To turn the Mojave from the barren wasteland we know today into a series of green fields that provide enough food to feed the entire NCR.”

“That certainly sounds interesting,” Michael said, deciding to not comment on the fact that the speech sounded rehearsed. “But what’s that got to do with my company?”

“Simple,” Hildern said. “Not far from here, to the northwest, there is an old Vault, one where plant are spilling from the entrance and are growing in abundance even though they are not being tended or watered. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you of the sort of technology that’s stored away in those places, and I believe that there is something down there which holds the solution to this food issue. Get to the Vault’s server room, download any research data that is there and return it to me.”

“What’s the pay?” Michael asked.

“Your company will be given three thousand caps for the job,” Hildern said. “And any technology you can salvage down there is yours to keep; all I’m interested in is the data.”

Michael was quiet for a moment, a look of indecision flitting across his face.

“Is there a problem, Mr Anston?” Hildern asked.

“Yeah, I’m just thinking of something,” Michael said. “I mean, you’ve heard stories of most of those Vaults, right? Some of them are crazy dangerous, aren’t they? Full of ghouls, mutants, mad robots, radiation, all sorts of things, and the safe ones have already been picked clean. This place has been sitting wide open for, what, two hundred years with nobody going in there to scavenge from there or live in it, so what does that say to you?”

“You’re afraid of going in there?” Hildern asked.

“Of course not,” Michael said. “What I’m saying is that right now the current fee doesn’t reflect the inherent risk of this job.”

Okay, that’s a lie; three thousand caps plus all the fancy Vault-Tec loot we can take isn’t to be sniffed at, even when split between the company, but Hildern didn’t need to know that.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Hildren said. “I suppose I can stretch the budget to another thousand caps; it’ll certainly be worth it in the long run. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good to me,” Michael said. “So we get to the server room, wherever that is, download the data and get it back here. Nice and simple, I like it.”

He stepped away from the doorframe.

“I’ll see you when I’ve got that data for you,” he said.

“Actually, wait a moment,” Hildern said. “I do have somebody with you who might be useful; he’s an expert on pre-war technology, and considering the nature of Vaults he could be helpful, and he’d like to come along.”

“Who’s that?” Michael asked.

“Nick!” Hildern called. “Come in here, would you?”

A young man with dark hair and a small, thin moustache poked his head around the door. He glanced at Michael with a look of uncertainty and asked; “What do you need, Doctor Hildern?”

“Nick, this is Michael Anston,” Hildern said. “He’s going to Vault Twenty-Two, and I was thinking that you could come with him.”

“Oh, is, er, is that so,” Nick said. “I see. Er, hello.”

Michael extended a hand. Nick hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he shook it.

“Michael Anston,” Michael said. “Good to meet ya, kid.”

“Nicholas Telsen,” Nick replied. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr Anston.”

Hildern pressed a hand into Michael’s shoulder in the universal gesture to show that he wished to have a private word, and lead him to a corner.

“Nick’s an absolute savant,” the doctor said. “But he’s not so good with people. Trust me, though, he’ll be useful in the vault.”

“If you say so,” Michael said.

“Good, good,” Hildern proclaimed, smoothing down the lapels of his lab coat. “If there’s nothing else, then I suggest you head on your way to the Vault.”

Michael nodded, and said to Nick; “C’mon, kid, let’s be on our way.”

They left into the main body of the lab, and were about to head out of the door when the young woman who had greeted stepped in Michael’s way.

“Anything you need?” he asked.

“Yes, there is something,” she said. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and that Hildern didn’t mention Keely at all.”

“Who-ly?”

“She’s one of the OSI’s researchers; she went to the Vault a few days ago to take a look at it herself.”

“She did?” Michael said. “If it’s fine to send a scientist there, why does Hildern want a merc company going in there?”

“He didn’t mention the others? Dammit,” the young woman muttered. “Let’s start from top. I’m Angela Williams, assistant researcher for the OSI.”

“Good to meet you,” Michael said. “But what others?”

“Other mercenaries,” Nick said. Michael glanced at him, and the scientist looked embarrassed at speaking, but managed to scramble together some more resolve to speak. “You guys aren’t the first.”

“You’d be something like the third or fourth bunch that Doctor Hildern has sent, in fact,” Angela said. “You’re the biggest group he’s hired by far, but he’s sent other mercs the way of that vault; none of them have come back. Keely decided to go on her own initiative.”

“Would’ve appreciated it if Hildern had added that little detail in,” Michael said. “But let me guess, you want me to see if Keely’s alright and get her back?”

“That’s right,” Angela said. “There’ll be a reward for you if you can do it. I can’t spare much, but if you’re going there anyway, I’d appreciate it if you looked for her.”

“Yeah, of course,” Michael said. He glanced over at Nick. “Why do you want to come along on a high-risk mission like this, though?”

“I want to help find Keely,” Nick said. “She was always nice to me and Doctor Hildern…he isn’t that great as a boss.”

“By which he means to say he’s a bully who takes credit for the work everyone else here does,” Angela said. “Look after him, will you?”

“I’ll do my best,” Michael said. “But if he gets in the way, I’m sticking him up top to wait outside.”

“Fine by me,” Angela shrugged. “So long as he stays safe.”

Michael nodded.

“I’d best be on my way,” he said. “We’ve got a job to do, after all.”

Vault Twenty-Two. If there was ever a job that made this company what it was in our little golden age, it was that one; sure, it wasn’t the biggest job we did, it wasn’t the best connected one and it didn’t get us noticed by any big figures, though I’d say it was probably one of the most dangerous we ever did.

But Vault Twenty-Two was the job that made Anston and Co. It was the job that proved to us that we could actually take mercenary work somewhere. It was the job that showed us that we might actually have the balls and the brawn and the brains to make it big.

And all things considered, I guess that that was because Vault Twenty-Two was the job that nearly killed every last one us.

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Feb 16 2013, 01:27 AM

Ooooh!!!...

*Drools in antici-pation...But immeadiately regrets the Frankenfurter impression...I don't have the legs for it...And don't bloody start with the "Who the hell is Frankenfurter?" else we will have to have a chat about pop-culture references...*... ...

But, I digress...

Seriously, amazing stuff...No, I know that's not a shocker, I just like to mention these things... ...

I remember this Vault...It was a three-in-one (oo-er) 'cause I combined it with having to get the air-scrubbers for the BoS as well...Blimey that was a fun one...

Ooooh...This story's amazing...

Loved it then, loving it again now...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds most heartily*...