The Chronicles of Ra'jirra II: The Wasteland, In which Arch-mage Ra'jirra has an out of this world experience Options

[Cardboard Box]

[And it's high time I updated here as well. Because of work, yelling at the idiots at Vodafone, and other things, it took me quite a while to work out how to write this section.]

29-30 September 2277: The Destruction of Vermin

"So what, precisely, are you doing?" asks the Overseer, looking over my shoulder as I scribble down some instructions. He couldn't read them. I was writing in Aldmeris, obviously.

"Well," says I, "I'm siding with you for now. Young Amata doesn't know what it's like out there, and won't do for a few more years. Now, you say there's an intercom thing on the door control, right?"

"Yes?" answers he carefully.

"Good," and I write that down, "In a few years' time, someone with a Tamrielic accent will set it off, which is when your guards challenge them with... hmm."

And I have a bit of a think, then resort to history. Also it's not a bit of history that the common man, mer or tailed folk would parrot on a regular basis.

"Dawn is Breaking," intones I, as I write the words down, "And if they're legitimate, they'll respond with Greet the New Day. Which means that everything's civilised again and that it's safe to join the outside world – and not before."

And while he digests that, I take a second piece of paper and carefully write out the same instructions in English, which is what the people of Earth call their language.

"I'm not sure about this," says Amata's old man after a while, as I start fishing in my pack, "Our mission parameters were quite clear. The Vault was not meant to be opened under any circumstances – that's what killed my predecessor."

"How so?" was my response as I fished out a battered lump of sealing wax and my signet ring – a fine bit of lumpy, bumpy ugliness ideal for sealing missives with.

"He was open to the notion of dealing with the savages outside. He left the Vault for some reason and vanished. They killed him, no doubt..."

And he trails off as I cast a weak fire spell and melt enough wax to drip onto the folded papers, then punch my signet ring into the blobs. "There's good folk out there as well as bad," says I, "Not to mention you're living in a fortress of high technology, that gives you the advantage. And," which is where I look sagacious, "you'll have the Imperial swords, spells and shields to protect you as well. Until then," and I hand him the one I wrote in English, "trust in your great door."

"You know," and the Overseer looks at the folded note, poking at the wax seal, "this is likely to make both my daughter and 'Doctor' Haines upset at you."

"So? Keep her busy, teach her to be Overseer. She wants the Vault open, she has to bear the responsibility."

And the two of us look at each other, and then we both have a good laugh and shake on it.

"How long do you think we have?" smiles the Overseer.

"Given what I've seen, about twenty years, or with Kynareth's blessing, ten at least. Plenty of time to prepare."

"I think," says Overseer Amaldovar, "that will be plenty of time, don't you? Ah well, we'd better attend the meeting," and he sighs, "let the children get it all off their chests."

So later on I noticed that the peace talks between Amata Amaldovar and her old man the Overseer were going downhill again, so out comes the mace and whack on the table. What? I didn't have a gavel.

"When you're all finished screaming at each other like a Mage's Guild budget meeting," says I sarcastically, "I'd like to sum up what I've got of the arguments."

And I give everyone in Vault 101's main atrium the Eye of Shut-Up-And-Sit-Down.

"First off, we have a group who want to open the Vault up to the outside, on the grounds that if people are surviving out there, it's safe to do so, despite the evidence."

"But Ernie's survived!" protests some young buck with a fine head of hair. "And so've other people, you said so!"

"So're all the godsdamned bandits, mutants, and other vermin running around, and that includes these Enclave wankers," retorts I, "And despite the fact that this place is a veritable fortress, there's only one way in or out. And if something or someone nasty decides to pay a visit, well, there's your exit all blocked up."

"That's what we're for!" objects some helmeted idiot, Guardsman Welkin or something, I don't remember.

"With clubs and small arms," retorts I, "against loonies who might be toting anything up to and including... Haines, what was that thing we killed that giant mutant with?"

"Fat Man," says Haines a little distractedly, "took two shots too."

And a little silence falls, until, "You missed?" from Welkin. Despite our managing to stop him from doing a Dagon on seeing us, he still evidently really, really wanted to.

"First shot blew its leg off," Haines adopts a neutral tone, "second one finished the job. Damn thing was thirty feet tall if it was an inch."

"We can't stay in here," cries Amata. Pretty girl, almost like a light-skinned Redguard. "Ern... Dr Haines... you've seen the medical reports, tell them!"

"Be quiet girl!" snaps her father. "The... this... person evidently knows what he's talking about. It's far too dangerous to consider opening the Vault at present. After all... my predecessor... vanished outside. He was... too reckless."

"As the Arch-Mage, as well as a practiced and experienced nasty-beater-upperer," interjects I, "it's my opinion that to fling open the door now is a bloody stupid idea. Besides, some of those fire ants might have escaped out of Grayditch."

"What do you mean?" asks someone.

So of course I take the opportunity to do some teaching.

----

"Doing a flit are we?" smirks the guard toting the chaingun outside the Citadel, about four days back.

"We're off to Vault 87, see if we can get that G.E.C.K.," says I.

"Well don't come back unless you want the wrath of Gunny," smirks he some more.

So we were walking later that morning past Wilhelm's Wharf, giving a wave to young Grandma Sparkle, and as we head off to the Super-Duper Mart, this young lad comes howling over a nearby ridge, going like the clappers.

"Those monsters!" screams he, "They're gonna get me! Help!"

"What?" is my intelligent response.

"What's the matter?" is Haines' equally intelligent response.

"Those!" shrieks the lad, and we see a giant ant scuttling after him.

Now we weren't too fussed, and took a few shots at it while he hared down to the wharf. What did make us fuss was when it spewed fire. We were a bit warmer and a bit ticked off when we wandered back to the wharf where Grandma Sparkle was soothing the now more understandably frightened boy.

"What's with the ants?" asks I.

"My pappa calls 'em fargin' ants," corrects he, "but I call 'em fire ants. 'Cos they scuttle around on six legs breathing fire and grabbing people in their big teeth."

Now, giant ants I was used to by now, but ones that could breathe fire like a Vvardenfell shalk? This bore investigation. So we have a chat to Grandma, who declares that she'll take care of the boy, and off we go for a spot of pest control.

The first thing we found was a block of surprisingly intact buildings, except for the scorch marks. One of them was a ramshackle, well, shack of better vintage, but locked. So of course we explored the other dwellings first.

One of the half-gnawed and burnt corpses still bore a resemblance to the lad, and also a key, which turned out to open the shack. What got our attention was the terminal and one of those robot holding chamber things. Whoever lived here was of a scientific bent.

"A fellow Scientist lived here!" cries Ernie, who was also of a scientific bent, but you probably guessed. "Now what's this..."

So he plays a holotape that's sitting around, and we hear a nasal voice which was clearly one of those irritable types. "This could be the fifth time I've forgotten the code to my desktop terminal. I really must learn to be more organized. The password for my terminal is "formicidae." How hard could that be for me to remember? Note to self: destroy this holotape as soon as move to new lab is complete."

Oh what a well organised man, thinks I as Ernie gets into the chap's terminal.

"Oh no," says he while tapping his way through a load of stuff I hardly get.

"What?" is my intelligent response.

"Looks like this guy was attempting to shrink the ants back to normal size," says Ernie with some heat, "but apparently his tests have gone wrong. He's holed up somewhere in Marigold Street Station, assuming he's still alive, and need I point out that the results are not only dangerous, but apparently spreading?"

"I'll bet you a dozen of Salmo's sweetrolls," sighs I, "that this Marigold Street Station is a ready-made anthill."

I don't need to tell you that it bloody was, do I?

Anyway, we found the cretin, one Dr Ancotar – sorry, I mean Lesko. I just stood back while Dr Haines discussed experimental procedures and ethics. Actually Dr Haines browbeat the poor sod while I carefully shunted the idiots into the chamber Lesko was using as a laboratory and finally shut the door against any passing bugs.

Long story short: We ended up clearing the way for Lesko to get close enough to the queen that he could inject her with a different recipe of stuff that ended up killing off all the ants. Except for the queen, of course. Who didn't appreciate the demands of Science at all, if the fleeing, acid-etched figure of Lesko was anything to go by. Oh well, you can please everyone some of the time and all that.

Anyway I hauled that yarn out as an example, then the Overseer drops a boulder on us.

"Also," he declares, "several months ago, I received a transmission on the Vault-Tec channel from these, ah, 'Enclave wankers'," and this actually gets a chuckle. "More precisely, someone claiming to be President Eden. Now I'd received no word that there was a president, not to mention the verification codes he provided were... wanting... so I declined to reply."

And he looks around. "My duty as Overseer is to protect the inhabitants of Vault 101. Whoever these Enclave are, they are a serious risk. I for one do not intend to simply... simply..." and he breaks off spinning a hand in midair, "throw you all to the wolves! The Vault will be sealed once Haines and his companion leave, and won't open until we receive the all-clear!"

"Hear hear," says I into the stunned silence.

"What?" is the intelligent response of both Ernie and Amata.

"You, young lady," and her old man looks sternly at Amata, "are going to learn what it takes to be Overseer. You'll be taking over once the Vault opens again, which won't be for quite a few years. But that will require a new type of leader. And I know only one person with the proper attitude to do that."

"Me?" squeaks Amata.

"You," declares her father.

"Since that's settled, we'll be off," declares I.

"Hear hear," smirks the Welkin.

"Who's we?" yelps Ernie.

Ernie wasn't happy with me obviously, and just went mute all the way off to Fort Big Town where I went back through the portal and dropped off the instructions. They're good eggs at Black Plateau, it's just that sometimes they get a little cracked, so the note would be in safe hands.

My reasoning stemmed from what I'd seen so far. The Vault 101 folk wouldn't stand a snowball's in the Deadlands if they opened up now, and then there was what happened on the way to Vault 101. Besides, ten years or so is plenty of time to erect a few walls, let Project Purity do its thing, and Kynareth hers, and the Vault dwellers or their children would emerge to a world that wouldn't try to eat them at once.

However, we didn't have the all-important G.E.C.K. yet, so we had to go visit Little Lamplight and see our way through into Vault 87.

Of course, we had to find Little bloody Lamplight first!

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Dec 27 2014, 01:33 AM

[Cardboard Box]

[Hello folks hello! Time for the Ra'jirra and Ernie show to encounter a distraction. Also I forgot to post the story here as well as on Fanfiction.net. Sorry.]

1-4 October 2277: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Little Lamplight

“Ah, Julius,” addresses I to one of the most recent arrivals to Big Town, “Just the chap. Care to go sightseeing?”

“Me?” And he blinks rather rapidly, and looks nervously to where some of the legionnaires have been erecting advertising. Super mutant heads look particularly strange on a stake, and it from the paucity of it, nobody wanted a terminal hiding. There's always takers though. Speaking from experience there.

“You,” says I, taking in the uptilted red nose that always annoys me for some reason, and most importantly his elegantly combed and oiled hairdo. I wasn't the only one looking. “This settlement is one of the poorly ones, and Butch here needs an escort to Rivet City.”

“Huh?” is master DeLoria's intelligent reaction, quickly followed by, “Oh, yeah! I mean, the big city, right? Plenty of people, I'll find something to do, and besides... you know your way around hair, I can tell, right?”

“I do?” asks Julius, and he twitches his nose like a rabbit's in confusion. “Ah – well – yes, I do – er, why?”

“Easy!” Butch's eyes light up. “From what these two say, Rivet City is the big city, and most of all, neither of them saw a proper hairdresser there. Well, you and me, we go down there, you get lots of info and I get the hairdressing biz I always wanted. I was thinking of calling it Tunnel Snake Hair, 'cause that's what my gang was called, and Tunnel Snakes rule...”

“Speaking of info,” interrupts I, “You've got that radio the Overseer gave you, right?”

“Oh! Uh... yeah, um...” and Butch DeLoria squirms in embarrassment, “look, thanks for getting me out of there. I mean, okay, we can't go back, probably like ever... sorry Ernie.”

And Ernie just nods somberly. “Amata's got a lot to do before the Vault opens,” says he, then scowls. “So you... Julius, do as your Arch-Mage says and take Butch to Rivet City damnit.”

And everyone from Tamriel just stops dead and stares at the lad. He looked a little odd anyway in that Brotherhood power armour, that hat didn't match it at all.

“What he said,” says I finally, “so get whatever gear you need and go play with the scientists at Rivet City while Butch cuts hair. Me, I have a few locals to chat to. Ernie, give 'em directions will you?”

And Julius of the Beautiful Hair finds himself being dragged off by Butch on one side and Ernie on the other. Apparently the only victim of the journey was his haircut.

A couple of hours later, I had a sort of route. The landmarks were, in reverse order, a big gully where the gate to Little Lamplight was, followed by a road that almost paralleled the river due east. Along the way, there was a 'big fenced place full of sludge and barrels', 'a stone building with tall metal things around it' (the speaker had been informed that they were “pylons, you doofus”), 'an old house full of bad guys', 'a baseball field', and finally over a ridge and here we were.

Ernie just stood at the bridge radiating impatience and anger. So I have a think and nod my head at him and we move out, one of those local bear yao guai things notwithstanding.

“Before you say anything,” says I, “hear me out. How likely is it that the Overseer would have given you the time of day before yelling for the guards?”

And Ernie just stops for a moment, won't look at me, just shakes his head.

“And how much chance would the Vault have had if your sweetheart – ha! I could see it all over your face – if she'd flung open the door once and for all?”

And Ernie looks at me for a second, hurting like hell obviously, and then looks away and shakes his head again.

“Exactly,” says I, “but I also worked out that the Vault was an experiment after all.”

“I noticed,” mutters he, then tenses, crouching low and squinting at something pink. Turns out it was a centaur. He turned it into a colander, and I a pincushion, which might have helped thaw relations a bit.

“And I still don't get the reasoning behind those experiments,” adds I, “Vault-Tec was wrecked along with the rest of the city, so nobody was overseeing the Overseers, were they?”

Ernie didn't answer.

We walked along the road past a strange array of cars, poles with contraptions on, and picnic tables arranged between a pile of masonry to the east and a strange blank white billboard to the west. “What is all this anyway?” asks I, waving at it.

“What's all what?” and Ernie looks around. “I think I know. It's an outdoor cinema. I've seen pictures in my history books. People could drive their cars into designated spots beside these speakers,” and he lifts one of the boxy piles of rust and wiring, “and watch the show. Assuming they didn't slip into the back seat for,” and here he coughs a bit.

Apparently these Earth cars were both transport and handy haywain in one!

So anyway, we snuck about. We spotted what must have been the old baseball 'diamond', but there were raiders playing some sort of version of the game, so we gave them some space.

Baseball seems to have been the sport of Earth. There's also mention of something called 'bowling', which is their version of skittles, as well as some sort of running and throwing business called 'football'. However according to scholars there were three different games in the world called football so I'm a little confused.

Anyway, we spotted the aforementioned old house over a broken bridge. Funny thing! It was almost right on top of Vault 106. We could have walked into a raider ambush and not realised it all that time ago. Fortunately the head guy was getting one hell of a henpecking from some of the female members, so we quietly sidled up the ridge past the Vault and continued heading west.

The afternoon was ageing, and that's when I noticed something about a bridge to the north. Something to do with the caravan leaving it.

“Hey, there's a settlement over there,” says I pointing.

“So there is,” muses Haines, peering at it through his sniper rifle's scope, then, “Hang on, something's wrong with those brahmin down there. See them?”

Well no, so I get to squint through the scope and yep, something wrong with them all right. Unless you think their laying dead in their pen is perfectly normal.

“Let's go have a look,” says I, then I feel the old danger sense going off the scale and look around to spot one of those sentry bots rolling our way. “Might get a place to rest up tonight as well.”

And Haines also looks behind us and agrees, right up until we got on top of the bridge and shot at, in that order.

“Woah!” The voice belonged to an old codger who was now aiming at the sky. “Hang on, you're not one of them!” He sounded scared, and I don't blame him. Even in that silly hat Ernie insisted on wearing, he looked imposing in a suit of power armour. “Couldn't you have yelled or something? I nearly blasted you in two!” And his wrinkles twist with either embarrassment or annoyance. “Get over here before they spot you.”

“I bet 'they' had something to do with those brahmin down there,' deduces I.

“No bets,” grunts Ernie, then aloud, “Alright, who's 'they' and who're you?”

“I'm Evan West, Doctor Haines,” declares the aged, “I'm in charge of protecting Arefu. I thought you were one of the Family.” As he speaks, he recommences watching the ramp behind us. “They're some lowlife gangers who've been giving us a hell of a lot of trouble lately. They're the reason for my itchy trigger finger.”

At least he had the decency to look a little embarrassed at that. “Wouldn't do to kill off the Doctor Haines after all! Be one more problem for Arefu.”

“Well at least we know where we are,” says I, “I take it this Family pack of wankers are behind those dead animals below?”

“That's right! Damn right!” cries old Evan angrily. “At first they'd just do typical gang bullshit. You know, break stuff and make lots of noise, but they always kept their distance.” And he pats his gun. It's a great big sniper rifle, slow to fire but one hells of range and stopping power. No wonder they kept their distance. “But this last time, they went too far. They killed all of our Brahmin! I mean, that's our lifeblood out here you know!”

And all the nerves run out and he sags, just a frightened old man with a gun.

“Look... you can call me crazy if you want but there just is something odd about those creeps. I mean, they got the guns and they got the muscle. Why don't they just bust down our doors and take us out already? We're... we're really in a bad way, and could use some help.” And he looks at us. “We get Galaxy News, we know how you help people.”

And I catch Ernie's eye and take him aside.

“Do a trade with this guy,” suggests I, “We have a chat with this Family, maybe knock their blocks off, and we get a friendly village to stop in on the way back.”

“I think you're right,” agrees Haines, “This place only has one entrance, and if that gets blocked by hostiles, they won't stand a chance.”

So we turn to Evan King, who we notice is wrinkled not only from age but exhaustion, and tell him the good news.

“You will? That's great!” His eyes continue to watch south. “I don't want to take my eyes off the ramp here. There's no telling when the Family will return. Can you do me a favour and check on the other people's houses here? You know, make sure they're doing okay. Speak with Davis West, Karen Schenzy and Ken Ewers. You might like to start with the Ewers, their house is right beside us.”

Well, first steps and all that, so we step up to the house, actually a shack of that corrugated metal stuff. There's quite a bit of denting and scratches around the door, as though several someones had been kicking and bashing at it.

We knocked instead.

“Hello?” comes a female voice, “Is this the mailman? Oh I do hope my fall catalogue has arrived!”

And a bloke calls out in agitation.

“It's the mailman dear,” says what's probably Mrs Ewers, then the door unlocks.

“You must be Ken Ewers,” says I to the chap who's looking fit to hurl us out the door.

“What the hell – Braillie?!” This was addressed to his wife, who was dressed in a parody of pre-war fashion. “Get the [censored] out!” This was addressed to us.

“Peace,” says I, “Evan King out there sent us to check on you two.”

“He did? Oh –“ and he flounders a bit, while his wife gazes on fondly, “Oh wait, you're that Ra'jirra guy. And he must be Doc Haines.” And he slumps down on a chair defeatedly. “We're great. Just peachy. I love sitting in my house with my thumb up my ass. Tell Mr. King that sitting here all day isn't going to make us any safer. We need to take action!”

“Hopefully we can break the siege,” says I.

“Siege? Good word for it,” says Ken disgustedly. “Damnit, we can't hide forever, just ask Karen if you don't believe me.”

“Oh,” comes the voice of his wife, “I really do think we need a new car, one of the new Corvega line. I keep telling Ken to visit the bank for a loan, but he never seems to have time...”

And poor old Ernie has a fixed expression on his dial as he joshes her along.

“Just ignore her,” Ken sighs, “I'm the local fix-it man here. Comes from Braillie breaking stuff when she thinks she's cooking or something.”

And I look at the woman. She's getting lifestyle advice from Sheogorath, I can tell.

After that we went to see the Scherzy woman and knock knock on the door.

“Yes? Who is it?” This woman sounded angry.

“Evan King sent us,” calls I.

“Oh he did? Well it's about damn time he did something! Come on in, I'll unlock the door.”

Inside Karen Scherzy was like she sounded, pent up with frustration. “How am I? Scared out of my mind.” And a little fed up too. “Look, I'm glad he's checking on us, but until someone nips the problem in the bud, we may as well stay inside forever.” And she paces around the shack that is her home. These shacks don't tend to have windows, seeing as most glass around is in bits, so anyone would soon feel trapped inside one.

“I take it you're not a fan of Mr King?” Haines asks.

“'Not a fan',” repeats she and laughs without humour. “He's a spineless wimp. His best solution to the Family is to stay inside our homes and hide. What does that tell them?” And she starts pacing, banging a fist into palm. “It tells them that we can be pushed around whenever they want, that's what. I'm sick of it, and I'm sick of King. That asshole runs the show, but does he really do anything about our problem? No! If I knew King had my back, I'd step outside and show them just how I feel about their visits... especially after this last attack.”

“What about the Wests?” asks I.

“Dunno about them. I sorta remember their son Ian being interested in them, but I'll be honest, I haven't seen anyone much since old King made us prisoners in our own houses.”

And that was pretty much it, so we visited the last two houses. The really big one didn't answer to our knocks, but the small one past it was unlocked.

Inside, the smell of death, and surprisingly recent. A couple lay in a tangle, their faces expressing fear and surprise above the mangled meat of their necks.

“That's odd...” mutters Haines as he examines the corpses, “not enough blood.”

“Not enough blood?” is my intelligent response.

“Not enough blood,” repeats Haines, “The main arteries are ripped open, there should be blood all over the place, but there isn't.”

“Well at least it isn't vampires,” grunts I, looking around, “vampires don't feed like that unless they're suicidal.”

Now Haines probably gave me one of those looks, but I didn't notice. “Where's Ian?” wonders I.

“What?” asks Haines.

“They look like husband and wife,” points out I, “the same age. That Scherzy woman said 'they', plural, had a son Ian. Well – I can't see any boy around.”

“Maybe he ran off?”

“Into the wild? Nines save me, if I was in that situation, I know what to do: race for the nearest neighbours! And the way she talked, Ian's not long left. C'mon, let's give King the bad news.”

So in the afternoon light we front up to the aged King and tell him. “Dead?” cries he in shock, “And Ian missing? This is terrible! They could come back any time for more of us!” And his gun barrel starts shaking like a reed in the wind. “You have to find him – find them – stop them!”

And Haines is about to respond, but we hear the throb of vertibird engines and turn north to see one of the Enclave machines stoop out of sight.

“That thing went to Seneca Northwest,” King says behind us, “If the Family's there, maybe that'll keep them contained.”

“Contained?” is my intelligent response.

“There's a metro station there,” explains King, “The other two locations I think they might be at are Hamilton's Hideaway a bit east on the far bank, and possibly the Moonbeam Cinema on this side thataway,” pointing back where we came.

“That narrows things down a bit,” muses I, “I think we came through there, and nothing but bugs and mutants.”

“So we just have to cross the river,” Haines shrugs, “Well – might as well get going.”

“Good luck,” says West behind us.

Our luck almost ran out, what with us slinking from rock to rock, trying to hide from another damn vertibird that landed almost right outside Arefu. We had no illusions about the Enclave being friendly, seeing as we'd presided at the killing of at least half a dozen of their fellows and one up-himself colonel.

Long afterwards we learned that Arefu was actually only part of a common road sign that said 'Drive Carefully', which when you were powered by potentially lethal explosions made a lot of sense. The bridge that Arefu was built on had broken in two, and the Enclave had already set up an observation post on the other side of the gap. We crept behind support pillars and sidled along rock outcrops until we were certain that they hadn't seen us approaching the Seneca Northwest metro station.

There were sounds of movement coming from inside what Haines told me was a grocery store, but we ignored it, creeping down into the metro.

“What the hell're you doin' here smoothskin?” this demand was growled from a surly looking ghoul in a mercenary's kit. As for him, apparently he'd been taking his ease in a corner when we came along. Being caught doing that can make a man surly.

“What's that Barrett? Did you say something?” Another ghoul poked his head out of a doorway, then ducked back in when he saw us. “Don't shoot me! You're not here to steal my secrets are you?”

And Barrett just rolls his eyes in disgust.

“Secrets? We're not interested in that, my good sir,” declares Haines.

“Oh, that's a relief,” and the ghoul re-emerges, looking a lot calmer and adjusting his spectacles. “It's kinda hard to make Ultrajet when people keep tryin' to steal the recipe y'know.”

“It's even harder when you're moving operations every time someone comes within a hundred miles, Murphy,” grumbles Barrett. By now I've twigged that Barrett's the guard and Murphy's a local equivalent of Ancotar in his Aleswell period.

“Ultrajet?” and Haines looks interested, “You've improved on Jet then?”

“Exactly!” preens Murphy, “Ordinary Jet does about dick for us ghouls. I've invented a stronger version that gives us the kick that smoothskins get from Jet. Of course, this is the latest place where I'm trying to make some stock for sale, but I'm low on one ingredient. Sugar Bombs.”

“Ah,” nods Haines, “So you can ferment the sugars and generate gas, I take it?”

“Wow,” drawls Barrett sarcastically, “another egghead.”

“Watch it Barrett,” snaps Murphy, “this egghead's the ticket to another dose. Listen, find as many boxes of Sugar Bombs as you can, and I'll pay you fifteen caps for each. Whaddya say?”

Well, Ernie isn't a good haggler, so Murphy didn't budge and the deal was struck. Not immediately seeing any signs of the way to the Family, we left the Metro and were promptly ambushed by a trio of those bloody Talon jerks.

“Back past that – uh, thing!” yells I as we mace and punch out from up the stairs. Ernie nodded, and I threw fire at it in passing. It made a very loud bang, and the one surviving assassin didn't survive very long.

The only reason we found Hamilton's Hideaway in the first place was a skeleton that had apparently tripped over the edge and broken its neck or something. The place was a warren of tunnels and caves, occupied by nothing except raiders and bugs.

“Right, Moonbeam's out, and that place's out,” says I pointing back at Hamilton's, “I'm wondering if there's anywhere else they'd be.”

“Maybe Murphy knows,” muses Haines, “Let's return to him bearing gifts.”

So we did. “Great, these'll do nicely,” cries Murphy as he counts out bottlecaps, “nice doin' business with ya.”

“Say,” begins Haines nonchalantly, “ever hear of some group called The Family?”

“Family? Yeah, I ran into them. I leave 'em alone and they do the same. There's a cavern passage from here that ends up in the metro tunnels near their hideout.”

“Passage? Where?” asks Haines.

“Through there,” and Murphy points to a doorway we hadn't noticed.

Around a corner was a door, and inside were a bunch of nuclear waste barrels and a manhole cover. Beneath that, we ended up discussing right of passage with a pair of mirelurks before we finally reached the metro tunnels again.

Several hours and traps later we reached a wall of sandbags and a young man squinting through the gloom at us nervously.

“Whoa, whoa,” calls he, “Slow down there. This area's off limits to everyone but the Family. Where the hell do you think you're going?”

And we look at him and he looks at us hungrily. I recognise the type. “Guy wants a bribe,” whispers I to Ernie.

“Oh, we're looking for someone to help us with all these caps,” and Ernie hefts the bag we keep the local currency in and gives it a jingle. It's not the clear rich tones of a purseful of drakes or septims, but that tune's probably a favourite everywhere.

“Sounds like an interesting problem,” and hooked. “Let me take 100 of those off your hands... you know, to lighten the load.”

So Ernie counts out his money and hands it to the lad. “Thanks,” says he, “this armour's nice but man! It's heavy enough by itself.”

“Glad to help,” smiles the guard, “I suggest taking the door around the corner if you want to get where I think you're going. You'll find it unlocked in a moment.” So he turns away and unlocks a mesh grate that leads to another metro tunnel, then walks down to a wall-mounted terminal. “If I were you,” adds he over his shoulder, “I'd speak to Vance before you poke around too much. You can usually find him on the mezzanine overlooking the common area.”

And with that, he taps something, and we look at each other before going around the corner, through the door, and into The Family's den.

Sure enough, there was a fellow with an air of authority up above, and when he'd finished speaking to a woman, we approached.

“Welcome to our home,” says he in neutral tones, “My people call me Vance. I lead this group of weary travellers and outcasts who need a home. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

I notice his eyes turn from Ernie to me, widen a bit, then turn back to Ernie.

“This is an unusual community,” says Ernie inquiringly, “never seen its like before. Normally anyone living here shoots first and asks questions never.”

“We are no mere pack of raiders,” and Vance sweeps an arm around. "What you see before you is the last bastion of hope for the downtrodden and misunderstood. It is a sanctuary for the oppressed and a beacon of faith for the tyrannized. We are the remnants of society, cast aside like the clean-picked bones of a hunter's feast.”

Ernie looks about to interrupt this windiness but I catch his eye and signal him to let Vance bellyache.

“I led my flock beneath the sun-baked sands of the Wasteland to keep them safe and teach them my ways. Men of science would call us cannibals, eaters of human flesh. Society labels us as monsters, demons and the unclean.”

Well! That took us both by surprise. Needless to say, I was immediately on guard. “We're likely to be a pretty expensive meal,” growls I, and I can feel my ears back and my mane starting to bristle.

“I can assure you, hu... ah...” and here Vance has to stop and look puzzled and annoyed at the same time.

“Khajiit,” helps Ernie.

“Car-jeet,” mangles Vance, “my flock and I were cannibals. But through my teachings, I give my flock a way to transcend our cannibalistic nature.”

“This is sounding like one of those sessions we have back home for skooma-addicts, teaching them to control their hunger,” observes I. Admittedly I doubt that any priest of the Nine would dare preach to a roomful looking at him as a tasty snack. “If that's the case, you're not cannibals, so what are you?”

“I don't know what skooma is, but the analogy is apt,” smiles Vance, “I find that fascinating. Allow me to bolster your insight with a lesson in objectivity,” and up goes a finger. “I say we are no longer cannibal, only consuming the blood of our prey. What would that make us in your eyes?”

And I think for a bit before the answer hits me between the eyes and then my weapon hand starts cramping.

“Haines,” says I, not taking my eyes of Vance, “When I start, get the hells out of here and run for Fort Big Town.”

“What?” is his intelligent response.

“And when you're there, tell Captain Magda to summon the Dawnguard and bring them here.”

“Why?” is his equally intelligent reply.

“Think man! Nine help us! They drink blood!” My magic touches flame, ready to draw and apply. “We're in a nest of vampires!”

[Cardboard Box]

4-9 October 2277: Appetite Disorders

"No," says Ernie flatly.

"No?" is my intelligent response.

"No," repeats he, "because vampires aren't real."

"Haines," says I, not letting go of the flame, "vampires are bloody real, and I should know, since I put down a nest of the buggers twice. Nearly caught it too."

"I'd listen to your human friend before doing anything rash, car-jeet," says Vance in a warning tone. "Do you think I believe I can turn into a bat and fly away?"

That was so absurd I lost my grip on the Aurbis. "What? The bloodsuckers can't do that!"

"Of course not," smirks Vance. "Do I cast my image in a mirror? Absolutely."

"Besides," asks Ernie, "how on earth would one of your vampires have reached here anyway?"

Now that was a good point. To this day we've no idea if it's possible for them in Oblivion to mess about with other worlds. All evidence suggests they're just a pest to us on Nirn. Which is actually one for us, since we can reach further into... whatever it is we're reaching through... than a Daedric Prince.

"All right," says I, forcing myself to stand down, "so you're not real vampires. You're just... just... using the idea to give these people control over their cravings, right?"

"That's right. Nobody else would try, but I have reined in their cravings and taught them to eat not of the flesh, but to drink of the blood. Most importantly," and he gestures at the assembly below, "they have a Family. A place where their quirks are tolerated and understood."

"Even if you do convince them they're mythical beings," mutters Ernie.

"Now," sighs Vance at him, "you disappoint me. You need to open your mind and think for a moment before you pass judgment. I have shown these people the ways of the vampire. I've provided them shelter, organization and a sense of belonging."

I look away and laugh ruefully. "And I forgot about Count Hassildor too."

"Who?"

"The current lord of Skingrad, back home. He's a vampire, but he keeps his hunger under control, and also he's a devoted loyalist to the throne. Not like the bloodsuckers he got me to put down at all."

"There," smiles Vance, with normal-sized teeth glinting in the dim light, "vampires aren't all bad, are they?"

And I just rub my face. "Anyway, we came here from Arefu," I grunt, "what the hells is going on over there?"

And Vance scowls. "What's happened there was inexcusable," says he curtly, "and I have made it clear to my flock that nothing like that will be tolerated again. Killing their brahmin... and then there is what Ian did. I have plans for that community and terrorising them is not included."

"What about the Wests?"

"Ah, you come seeking Ian?"

"Pretty much, old Evan King reckoned you lot have him under your spell."

"Actually, we have him in solo meditation over what he has done," says Vance with a somber expression. "Right now, he is in a very delicate state and cannot be disturbed, I'm afraid. Either he will understand and accept my teachings, or his hunger will consume him."

"Perhaps a third party to talk to..." suggests I.

"No. I cannot let you see him. As I said, he is in a very delicate state. He must make his own decision. I'm sorry, but we will do what is best for him." And with that, he turned away from us.

"Come on," grunts Ernie, "At least we can look around a bit."

There wasn't much to see. The lower level was a communal space, a kitchen, workshop and such, with a store penned in by wire fencing. Upstairs, the sleeping quarters, of which Vance had the best one... and a door locked slightly further on.

"He's behind that locked door," declares Ernie. "But the security is too strong."

So what does he do? A little shopping!

"Nice," Karl says, trying on some spare night vision goggles we had lying around, "Just 'cos Vance says we have to stay outa the sun don't mean we have to squint around in the dark, huh?"

"Sounds like you don't take this vampire stuff seriously," says I.

"Ahh, at least it keeps everyone from eatin' each other. Other than that, it's a load of brahmin. Every night, stand around recitin' the laws. Load of it."

"Yeah? What's Ian think?"

"Farged if I know," and he gets shirty, "Kid comes stumblin' out on Justin's shoulder. Big crybaby. And Vance locks him away 'in meditation'."

"How do we get in? We need to speak with him," says Ernie.

"Why should I tell you? I don't wanna piss off Vance."

And Ernie says nothing, just grasps the edge of Karl's bench and squeezes. There's a definite groan as he twists the edge. "Imagine what I could do to your skull... or your neck," suggests he.

"Hot damn!" and Karl actually smiles, "someone with balls for once! Hey, the password's 'Vespertilio'. Maybe you can get the kid to grow some of his own, huh?"

With this information we popped the lock on the door and in we went.

As far as meditation cells go, it was actually pretty cushy. Originally it was a public lavatory, so there was plenty of space to pace around, he had a mattress to sleep on, and when we came in, he was making use of a supplied table and chair for an unenthusiastic meal of Cram. That's a sort of tinned, preserved meat that like most food in the Capital Wasteland is utterly disgusting.

"What?" he asks with no real interest, well except for a wild-eyed look at me and the door.

So I walk back over and close it.

"Ian West?" starts off Ernie.

"Yeah?" says he, so we have the right kid.

"What the hell happened to your parents?"

And Ian squirms. "I... I was hungry," says he at last, "They were so warm, and fresh and," he takes a breath, and I can see something feral in his eyes now, "we were eating filth and scraps from the old world, and there was fresh, fresh meat in front of me and–"

So he chokes for a bit. "I – I know what I did," a wee sniffle there, "I want to do it again."

"Really?" says I, "Or is that just Hircine putting ideas in your head?"

"Wh – what?" is his confused response.

"Hircine, the Daedric Prince of the Hunt," explains I, "Patron of lycanthropes as well. He's all about the thrill of the hunt, animal instincts trumping the sense the Divines gave you."

"Never heard of the guy," mumbles Ian, "Farg it, I dunno what to do, okay?" And here's a boy, scarred by the knowledge he's done a terrible thing. "I mean, I want to eat again, I don't care, it was so, so good... But nobody likes a... I dunno what to do!" And he drops his head into his hands. "This farging hunger that's been with me all my life!"

And I have a bit of a think, and finally say, "You sound like a skooma-head."

"Huh?" is his intelligent response, followed by the petulant one of, "What the farg's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that one of you two gets to be in charge," says I, "Either it's this hunger, or it's you." That's the big theme of Confessions of a Skooma-Eater, and I considered this Ian kid to be in the same boat. Like your regular skooma-head or drunkard, he had an addiction that was well on the way to taking over his life. And when that happens, there's only one thing you can do: arm and armour yourself with all the support you can get, wrest the reins out of its hands, and reclaim control of your life.

So I tell him, adding, "Once you've done that, you can build up defenses to repel your hunger when it comes back. Listen to me, Ian West," and I kneel down and look him in the eye, "I won't lie to you, this is a war that will last all your life. But, if you win this battle, you'll be in a position where you'll likely win all the battles to come, and you will be the master of your life, understand?"

Ian just looks at me. And at first he looks lost, then he looks angry, then he squares his shoulders all determined.

"You're right," says he at last, "I'm no farging slave to anything. I'm gonna do it!" And he thumps the table. "I'm gonna beat this!"

"I'm glad to hear that, Ian," says Vance from behind us, "And you will not have to do it alone."

He'd probably spotted where we were going and spent a time ear-farming behind the door.

"Like what our furry friend here says, let us, Ian, be your sword, your shield, your brothers in arms. Join us, and learn our ways, and dine with us tonight. Ian," and he steps towards the lad with arms out as if in greeting, "let us help you in your quest."

And Ernie and I step aside. Ian looks at us. And we just raise eyebrows. So he looks back at Vance.

"Oh – okay Vance," stutters he, and he takes the other guy's hands, "I'm... I'm ready... sorta..."

"You're scared," says I sagely, "and that's fine. Hells, I've faced monsters far worse than what you're up against, so I can tell."

"What sort of monsters?" And Vance is looking curious too.

"Well," says I, looking to Vance, "maybe I can spin a yarn or two over dinner?"

"We'd be honoured," says Vance, "But first, let us prepare your welcome. Please wait here until we're ready."

And so we follow Vance out, and he shuts the door and gives us the stink-eye.

"I seem to recall telling you that Ian was not to be disturbed," starts he.

"He already was," retorts I, "and totally lost. He's going to have to get used to the fact that his parents aren't coming back and that's that. All he was doing in that room was chewing old soup and going out of his mind with guilt."

"You might have a point there," hums Vance, "And I have to admit that your choice of imagery is... how can I say it? Encouraging and not at the same time."

"Victory now can be built on later," recites I, "and believe me, I wish hard that I wasn't still ending up in harm's way. Still, at least there's no daedra, no more Mannimarco and his pet corpse-humpers, and..." I trail off. Cyrodiil is still pretty wild, thanks in part to the losses incurred in the Oblivion Crisis, but we're working on it.

"In any case, it seems your interference has helped Ian make the right decision. We will be his Family now, and teach him what he needs to know. If you'll excuse me, I must make preparations."

An hour later, and there was a charming ceremony in which Vance made a little speech, presented Ian to the rest of the gang, and several members came up, hugged him, and recited one of the Family rules to him. The rules were all about how to be a sensible vampire: stay in the shadows, drink blood but don't eat flesh, control yourself, all that sort of thing.

After dinner I was prevailed upon for some of my early adventures, so I described, in suitably gruesome detail, my sojourn through the corpse-humper fastness of Nenyond Twyll. Incidentally that place is now boarded up and off-limits, since there's still undead and working traps there.

It took a while to tell, since there's a swag of stuff involved, such as the afore-mentioned corpse-humpers, what Ayleid ruins were, I got a bit sidetracked regarding my wife, and then I ended up describing life at Faregyl, and after I mentioned the Oblivion Gate in passing I had to describe that.

"Holy farg," says Karl, "I didn't realise you were such a fargin' badass!"

"Well Zul gro-Radagash is even more of a badass," corrects I, "since he's head of the Fighter's Guild, and the Arena Champion, and thanks to his running around for the Empire, he's been dubbed Champion of Cyrodiil, not to mention becoming Count of Bravil."

It was quite a long night of windbaggery.

Afterwards, we decided to take temptation away from these people, so we hacked a track back to Arefu. Old Evan King was still standing vigil.

"You're back!" says he, lowering his rifle and looking at us, "What's happening with The Family? Where's Ian?"

"Oh, we found them and had a little chat with their leader," Ernie smirks, "and it turns out he's not happy about what happened either. Let's just say... steps have been taken, so it won't happen again?"

And I watch as the oldster grasps firm of the wrong end of the stick. "So they're no threat any more, good! But Ian! What about Ian?"

And we just look at each other. Evan sure likes the wrong end, doesn't he? "He's... dead, isn't he?"

"Not quite," says I carefully, "but he's with people who'll take care of him."

"Well, that's something, I guess," nods the old man, "no point carrying the wounded all that way back here. We'll see him when we see him, I guess. You've done us a big favour, Doctor Haines, Ra-jirra, and we won't forget it! So, where you headed?"

"Little Lamplight," says I.

"Well... take my advice and forget the road. It goes right past Fort Independence, and that's Talon country! I'd follow the water until you reach an old bridge, with a dead settlement inland, then go south. When you see a billboard down a straight road to the west, that's your turning."

On reflection, maybe we should have followed the old man's advice.

"Ernie," gasps I after foe number eight was finally put down – the last of three robots that had rolled up almost as soon as the last Talon in the ambush got his – "Why the hell are we strolling along the road like it's Green Emperor Way?"

And Ernie looks a little vague. "I don't rightly know," frowns he, "I thought... hmm. I thought that since we'd already seen one group close to the power station... damnit Ra'jirra, who would expect another lot on their heels?"

Well, I blink at this, and retort about the fact they blew up a car. Loud bangs tend to attract the curious, after all, but Ernie gets all mulish, and we ended up travelling in an awkward silence until we reached 'that place with all the barrels'.

"Is this place really called that?" asks I, spotting a familiar name on the front of the building.

"'Jalbert Brothers Waste Disposal', yeah, why?" responds he.

"Familiar name," explains I, "corpse-humper that was holed up somewhere on the north shore of Lake Rumare. He's dead now," adds I, "just struck me as surprising."

And Ernie doesn't answer as he's fiddling with a packet and popping the contents into his gob. "I suppose that would be an interesting coincidence," says he at last, then, "Mentat?"

Apparently these Mentats sharpen up the old wits for a bit, letting you make leaps of thought you couldn't otherwise do. I know Ernie gobbled some down when we poked our noses inside the power station. Basically there was a safe inside, which apparently had very good computerised locks on it, but not strong enough to hold out against one Dr Haines on what smacked of intelligence fortifiers.

It was what was happening afterwards that was worrying me. The last thing we needed was Ernie going stupid at the wrong time.

For some reason Ernie decided that it was sensible to risk a run straight through a dump for radioactive waste, and actually I agreed with him. There was something off about running into two sets of Talons in one morning, and a little radiation wouldn't do too much damage.

"See that billboard in the distance?" and Ernie points west at something I really needed a scope to see.

"Almost," says I, more interested in a scorpion that's too close for my liking.

"It's different," says Ernie, "and I think it might be a clue."

So we followed a road that ran due west and ran into three super mutants coming the other way.

Two of the ratbags closed in with improvised warhammers, so I put the guns away and braced for mace and shield work, and Ernie shot at the third, who was content to play with his assault rifle. It was not a nice fight, and both of us were bloodied and battered towards the end. Our supply of stimpacks took a beating as well.

"My goddamn head," groans Haines, fishing out a needle of Med-X, "just want it to stop hurting... yipe! Oh, that's better."

Seeing as nobody else was around to entertain us we continued on.

Sure enough, the billboard was different. It featured some sort of creature popping out of a hole, wearing a helmet with a lamp on it, in front of the words 'Lamplight Caverns'. It stood over a shelter, in front of which the shells of two buses and a car rested.

"Why's there a gift shop in front of a cave?" wondered I as we walked down into a hollow.

"Um..." and I stop and turn and look at Ernie. He had that wrong, vague look again. "Something about unusual cave formations I think, tourism and such. Natural wonders of the world."

Now I'm sure that those Mentats are like skooma. And Ernie's developing a hunger for them.

Finding nothing of import in the gift shop, we descended into the caves. At one point, there was an almighty clang behind me, and there's Ernie Haines on the ground.

"I fell down," states he. Right job getting him back on his feet again, as his coordination was off. Nevertheless, I managed to guide him into a larger cave, which was decorated with a large improvised gate, a stop sign, and another placard aimed back where we came, apparently known as 'Mungo-land'.

"This must be the place," says Ernie, pointing at the sign. I was more interested in the gun aimed at us.

"Hold it right there!" comes the not-so-childish challenge, "Don't take another step, or we'll blow your farging heads off!"

And I have a squint and realise that the lad holding the gun is almost as big as it. Couldn't be more than about ten or so, but his expression was too old.

"Oh, hello there son!" And Ernie goes to take a step forward, "Don't worry, we're friends. Why, everyone knows –"

Rifles make a lot of noise in caves, and the divot kicked up at Ernie's feet said a lot.

"I don't give a crap," says the boy, "You're big, and I don't have any big friends. You better just go out the way you came in."

"Let me do the talking," says I to Ernie.

"What?" is his intelligent response.

"Young man," says I, pulling off my helmet so he can get a good look at my face, "We're trying to find a place called Vault 87, and from what we can tell, these caves are the only way in. How can we prove we're no threat to you?"

"Wow," is all the boy says, "You look like the lion-man from the Grognak comic!"

"Really? Didn't know that," says I, "Anyway, how can we prove you can trust us?"

"Why should I trust you?" And the boy's face goes hard again. "I got no reason to. You mungos are nothing but trouble. I ain't gonna let what happened to Sammy and Squirrel happen to anyone else."

Now I was twigging that there'd been a lot of adults who saw a cave full of children as easy pickings. Whoever this sentry was, he'd probably killed before.

"Who captured them?" asks I.

"Dunno," says Haines absently.

"Slavers from Paradise Falls. I told them to watch out, but the stupid kids didn't listen." And he spits. "So, you wanna gain our trust? Bring 'em and Penny back."

"Oh," pipes up Ernie, "Then you'll let us in?"

"Maybe," and the boy looks at the good doctor with disgust, "And not before. Now scram!"

"C'mon," says I to Ernie, "Let's go."

As we climbed back up to the sky I couldn't help notice that Ernie's steps were laboured and he was panting as if in pain. I didn't blame him since getting a warhammer to the anything tends to make you sore for quite a while. "You all right there?" asks I.

"I hurt," grunts he, then he drops his pack and fumbles out – and up go my hackles – another damn pack of Mentats and a Med-X needle. I've since learned that this Med-X stuff is made of 'morphine', which is not only a painkiller, but also potentially addictive.

"That's better," sighs he at last, straightening up and actually walking straight now, "In any case, I suppose we should locate this Paradise Falls and work out how to rescue those children."

"In that case, we head back to Megaton," says I, "since it's a major township, someone will know where it is. Also, you need to see a healer. You're acting like a skooma-head."

"I'm what?" and he stares at me.

"Think, man! You ate some Mentats at the power station remember? After that, when we left, at first you were smart enough to sneak around the first Talon gang, then you went all reckless and insisted on following the road, which we were warned about, right into that second Talon mob. Not very smart, until you popped another packet!"

And he frowns.

"And down in the cave? Know how I was doing all the talking? And you fell over?" His face shows signs of comprehension. "Aha! You do. I think that those pills have side-effects if you don't keep taking 'em. So – we're going back to Megaton, since I recall there's a healer there, and we'll ask around about this Paradise Falls place."

Now some of you might wonder why I didn't simply stop by Fort Big Town and dose him with a poison cure, or pay a visit to the shrine. Simple, really. Ernie was being affected by Earth stuff, and I'd no idea how our potions might react. Or, for that matter, if the blessing of the Divines would even work.

So we made our slow and sometimes clumsy way back to Megaton over the next two days, and the first call we made was to the clinic there.

"Yup, he's got addicted to Mentats all right," says Doc Church, "and I'll bet he's hooked on Med-X as well. In which case, I happen to have a dose of pre-war stuff that'll cure you right up, but it's pricey. Say, about fifty caps?"

"Deal," says I before Ernie can complain, "Pay the nice healer," I instruct.

"Hopefully the hit to your pocketbook will give you second thoughts about doing that crap again," the doc smirks, putting the caps away and extracting an elderly syringe. "Now get that stupid tin suit off so I can find a vein."

While Ernie was strapped down to a bet and sweating and shaking it out, I spent the next few hours asking about Paradise Falls. It wasn't good news. When we'd found Murphy and the entrance to The Family's lair, the slavers in question had literally been just over the ridge. No wonder there was an Enclave lookout posted there. Apparently they were also cool to visitors.

My Imperial morals wanted me to swing by Fort Big Town and pay these scum a visit, just me, Ernie, and one or two battalions of Legion, but that might mean the ratbags decide that a dead slave is better than a freed one. My pragmatism suggested casing the joint first, and seeing if we could use shiny metal diplomacy, if you know what I mean.

After all, we currently knew nothing at all about Paradise Falls. Where were its entrances? How was it arrayed within its walls? Where were the slaves kept? Things like that.

All of which led me to an uneasy night's sleep.

This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Mar 21 2015, 06:13 AM

[Cardboard Box]

[Another month, another chapter. This one took a while to work out how to make an interesting read. However, we're getting close to the end, maybe three or four chapters. Finally, you'll be able to let this screed sink to the bottom of the thread list like it deserves.]

11-28 October 2277: Paradise's Fall

“Ernie,” asks I with some irritation, “What are you doing?”

Apparently the good Doctor Haines was back to rationality, and currently having that robot Wadsworth giving his face a makeover. A scruffy brown hairstyle was supplemented by a strikingly ugly moustache and goatee combination, not helped by ridiculously large sideburns.

“My disguise, part one,” says he, then roughens his voice. “See, ol' Douglas, namely me, needs a helpin' hand, dig? So Douglas hears that the cats at Paradise Falls, they're the folks who can getcha a pair, yanno?”

And I just look at him. If it wasn't for the hair, you'd still know that it was Ernie. Something to do with the telltale power armour and that hat.

“You can't leave looking like that,” objects I.

“I know,” Ernie says in his normal voice, “So can you go to my house and get me a replacement outfit? One of the lockers in the basement has a raft of mercenary ones. One of those hats with the hoods too. Oh – Douglas also rocks the dark glasses, so a pair of those?”

And I shake my head and head out to the ranch house in Springvale and back.

I'd forgotten that Ernie was as smart as I was. He was a distinctive figure, especially in that power armour. Power armour's tricky to learn and trickier to maintain, so only three groups used it: the Brotherhood of Steel, the Outcasts, and Ernie. Not to mention his laser rifle with the scope. 'Douglas', however, was a merc with bad hair every day, a well-kept assault rifle, a string of grenades, and of course a pair of dark tinted glasses. Actually they were pretty stylish.

“Douglas don't like 'Smoke Gets In Your Eyes', and that mean ol' mister sun ain't cool either,” rasps Ernie, “Better if it's kept out, dig?” Then he returns to normal. “We'd best head to Big Town first, separately. If anyone asks, you're exploring, and I'm in bed, not to be disturbed.”

And I have a brainwave. “Pass us your power armour?” And we spend some time arranging the machinery on Ernie's bed. If you didn't look too close, or pull the covers down, you'd think someone was in there.

“Thanks for escorting me Doug,” says I as we leave Megaton.

“For the cool cat, no problem,” replies 'Douglas', “But you can thank me right when we reach Big Town, dig?”

“I don't remember seeing you in town,” comes the Sherriff's voice from behind us. He's looking straight at Ernie, or should I say Douglas?

“Keep it cool daddy-oh,” says Douglas, “Ol' Douglas here got in late last night, and it seems that while the good Doctor's under the weather, Rogerer here needs to head back to Big Town, and Douglas makes the ideal escort.”

And old Simms just looks at Douglas, then at his Pip-Boy. Whoops.

“Rogerer?” the man asks with a faint smile.

“Is that the wrong sound?” Ernie looks contrite. “Sorry my main mane man,” addresses he to me, “Ol' Douglas will get it right eventually, by the time we get to Big Town, dig?”

“So... how is Doctor Haines anyway?” And Simms turns to me.

“Recovering from addiction, to Mentats and that Med-X stuff,” says I, “So he's in his house resting. Do not disturb and all that.”

“Okay,” nods Simms, “I'll make sure he isn't disturbed. Anyway, Douglas,” and he looks at Ernie's Pip-Boy again, “Where'd you find that?”

“Oh, ol' Douglas had a nosey in this old Vault. Crazy place, a real gas, you dig? Anyway, ran across this dead cat, he didn't have a use for it no more, but ol' Douglas did. What a gadget, huh?”

“Don't see them very often,” and Simms nods, but it's clear he knows what's going on. “Anyway, you'd better make sure Ra'jirra gets to Big Town safely. I'm sure I'll see you again, right?”

As we left Megaton behind, Ernie blew a huge breath of nerves. “I didn't think about my Pip-Boy!” He hefted it. If you looked at the display, his name was there. “Still, as long as I can be more interesting than...” and he trails off, then starts fussing with a rag, tying it over his Pip-Boy like a crude bandage. “Not good, but it'll do.”

As we walked to Big Town, I learned a bit more about Douglas. Apparently he was based on a pre-war bard, a chap called Ghoul-hardy or something like that. Apparently they had some recordings of him, when he was presenting horror 'movies' (a movie is a sort of pre-recorded play). And bad ones at that. In fact, more people went to see him than the movies.

“And hence the grenades. Douglas don't take it easy with the boom-booms!” and Ernie chuckles. I still wonder how long Ernie had this character in his head.

Anyway we returned to Big Town, and Ernie – or should I say Douglas? – jerks his head at an outcrop. There were structures up there which appeared to be Enclave design.

“Looks like ol' Eden's knifs are watchin' yours,” yep, definitely Douglas. “Still, they stay there and we arrive here, and everything's cool, okay daddy-oh?”

Big Town was increasingly a walled one. The walls were little more than native rubble piled high, but it worked. On the roofs of houses, guards stood vigil. We were hailed as we approached the relatively modern east gate.

“Arch-Mage Ra'jirra, you clot,” calls I, “and escort Douglas.”

“Arch-Mage?” and the guard frowns at me, “Where's Earnest Haines?”

“Laid up in Megaton, sick,” explains I. “Is Captain Magda up?”

“She is,” replies the guard, “You'll see her offices soon enough.”

Big Town appeared to be thriving. There were lights shining dim through more old windows than last time, and the citizens were looking less worn down and more confident. And of course there were the Legion around. No wonder Big Town was interesting the Enclave.

More importantly, the inner keep was indeed well signposted. We found Gallus Mag's office, knocked and went in.

“Arch-Mage,” said the captain warmly, “It is good to see you.” And then she frowns at my hairy shadow. “Who is this?”

“With the door open, Douglas for hire, my lady-oh,” says he, then pushes the door shut. “Actually it's me, Earnest Haines. I'm in disguise, heading up to some place called Paradise Falls.”

And we fill in the captain on what's going on. It takes a while, and soon she's alternating between rubbing her cramping hand and her eyes.

“This world must be touched by Sheogorath,” sighs she, “So – in order to find this artefact, you need to gain entrance to this cave of children; to do that, you must free three children from slavery; and to do that, you need to go to this Paradise Falls.”

“That's right,” says Ernie, “But the last thing I need is for anyone to see the good Doctor hobnobbing with slavers.” Behind all the face fuzz I can see his expression is ugly. “Some random mercenary, on the other hand...”

“So, you are volunteering to explore this place for us,” says Captain Magda.

“Precisely,” declares Ernie, “And if possible to free the captives without those swine noticing.”

“And if you cannot?”

And the question hangs in the air.

“Well,” says Ernie at last, “another method will be required, won't it?”

I could think of methods. Methods involving spells, swords, arrows, and probably a modicum of violence.

“Well then,” says Captain Magda, “Our chats with the local traders have given us a rough location. Apparently it is across the river, such as it is, and almost due north of a place called Arefu. Between Arefu and Paradise Falls is a... metro... station.”

And we look at each other. “There's a ridge just north of that station,” says I at last, “must be just beyond that.”

And Ernie just nods. “So getting there should be easy,” nods he, “Anyway, Douglas will hang here for the night, and be away in the morning, dig?”

And that's what he did. I didn't see him again for a week, although around the third day the guards did report a man matching Douglas' description storming past Big Town, then back west again.

I spent a pleasant week mostly on the Nirn side of the portal, catching up on a few things and writing a long-delayed and long-winded love letter to my wife. There were several missives of hers, increasingly anxious and tear-stained, and truth be told my own eyes were mighty damp.

There was also something else, a sensation like I was in the sea, with a mighty wave rising over me and about to break. I think Akatosh was telling me something; this quest was almost over.

In any case I was fetched back through the portal, and I found myself around a table with Ernie, still done up as Douglas, along with Captain Magda and other military folk.

“The outer entrance is on the west side, here,” indicates Ernie on a roughly-drawn sketch, “facing south. The path goes clockwise to the gate on the north side, here. It's a portcullis that can be dropped quickly.”

It was somewhat jarring to hear Ernie's voice from Douglas' face.

“What are these lines between buildings?” asks one chap.

“Barricades. Most of them are braced with rubble, so even if you did manage to down them, you'd make a lot of noise, and be wading through mounds of loose concrete and crap. Moving on, inside the north gate, you have a merchant on the east side, left as you come in, and the barracks to the west – right as you come in. In front of you is a central watch tower. There's a guy with a minigun up there.” He also indicated a dining area that was a dead end, as well as a building that the headman, one Eulogy Jones, was using as his manor. “And through this gate, we come to the slave pens.”

There was something else about the slaves that made thoughts of a direct assault moot.

“The collars apparently work two ways,” says Ernie, “Firstly, there is a circuit that is neutralised if, and only if, a radio signal is received. There is a very low-powered transmitter in Paradise Falls. Basically, if a slave tries to run off, they run out of range of that transmitter, and the collar explodes. I know – I saw it happen three days ago.”

And there's a hiss. Slavery is bad enough, but to know that you can't escape is horrible.

“Oh, it gets worse,” adds Ernie, “According to those I talked to – those who would talk, anyway – there is another circuit that does the opposite – if it receives a specific code. A slave doesn't even have to run off. They can be killed where they stand.”

Now that is sick. To know that even if you don't try to escape, you can still be slain without warning, is not even evil. All of us around the table were of one mind.

Paradise Falls was going to do just that.

“So we need to get the slaves away without these filth killing them all,” declares Captain Magda, “And that means that the main controls for these collars will be in the house of Eulogy Jones. Therefore, we need to subdue the slavers, capture their leader, and shut down the collars. How do we do this?”

“We go sneaky,” says I, “From the sound of things, blokes in heavy armour won't be useful, and I damn well know what a number these guns do on regular plate. So, light armour, sneaking, and running around.”

“We noticed that,” observes Magda, “It's like being hit with very small and very fast swallowtail arrows. Anyway, do they patrol the parapets?”

“The eh?” is Haines' intelligent response.

“The tops of their walls,” explains Magda impatiently, “Do they have guards on top of the... well, buildings and barricades?”

“No, there's probably no way to get up there, and besides, the roofs might not support the weight.”

And Magda gets an expression on her face, like Gallus Mag is back and about to break up trouble.

“Where can our troops muster without being seen?” she asks at last.

“Hamilton's Hideaway?” asks I at Ernie, “That's pretty big enough, not far from that Metro station, just head west to it and due north if you're right.”

“Um..” and Ernie looks a little lost, “What did you have in mind?”

“Ladders,” grins Magda, “Quite a few actually.”

Anyway, she shot through the portal back to Black Plateau in general and Brucellus Vito in particular. One day later, she returned, looking very smug, and started slinging charcoal around the map of Paradise Falls.
“The ranger and archer troops will be arriving in about four days,” says she, as she adds numbers and letters to the arrows she's drawing. “Doctor Haines, or should I say Douglas, will be assisting Group Doht at the main entrance in the third stage of the operation.”

“What?” is Ernie's intelligent response.

“First stage will be deployment of Groups Ayem and Bedt to secure the roofs,” rolls on Magda, “then second is deployment of Group Cess, while Group Ekem get ready to contain this Eulogy. Group Hefhed will act as observers and report if things go bung-up.”

“Ah, so I'm there to help make a distraction,” nods Ernie.

“Also,” and Magda gives Ernie a stern look, “You will be protected if something messes up the operation. I don't think so, since they don't seem to think of ladders or looking up. Nevertheless, Arch-Mage,” and she turns to me, “I request some potions of invisibility or chameleon to add to our supplies.”

Now I get it, and I hurry to pop through myself and get the alchemy labs running.

Four days later, the portal was disgorging a steady stream of Imperial Legion rangers and archers, not to mention the supplies we'd need for a swag of day-marches, first to the labyrinthine cavern of Hamilton's Hideaway, then eventually to Paradise Falls. We were probably being watched, and one day Ernie was fiddling with his Pip-Boy's radio and confirmed it.

“We have been informed that a large number of troops are massing in Big Town,” a very concerned sounding President Eden was orating, “And we wonder: why is this? Have these people from another world finally shown their true colours, and come as an invading army? Certainly, from what we've seen, they have shown no mercy to any raider, slaver, or mutant that has threatened their base in Big Town. People of America, our America, it is your patriotic duty to watch over these people, and inform your nearest Enclave watch post of their activities. If the Imperials have come as conquerors, they will learn that America will not sell its freedom and liberty cheaply! We won our liberty once before, and God willing, we will win it again!”

Well, we should have expected that. A big troop build-up was bound to worry some people. But it was too late now.

It took two days or so to move the troops, in small groups, west into Hamilton's Hideaway, and also to set up the place as a reasonable forward base. We expected casualties and weren't taking chances. Also, for almost all of them, it was their first experience of the Capital Wasteland. Their faces when they saw their first radscorpion or raider were right pictures.

Then the scouts of Group Hefhed had to go forth and plot routes for the teams. Captain Magda had been thinking siege ladders, but pilus Vito had modified the plan a little – after all, they were rangers and archers, and were used to climbing long ropes, especially those with nice strong grappling hooks on the high end.

But I think it's best if we get a record of what happened directly from the horse's mouth, so over to Ernie's diary.

Extract from Dr Earnest Haines' journal, dated 3 November 2277

I was dozing a bit when some burly Imperial shook me. “Rise and shine Douglas! You're leading us to Paradise Falls.”

Naturally I was a little taken aback at this, but also relieved, as this meant that the other teams, which I had learned were named after letters in the Daedric alphabet, had reached their positions successfully.

“Now then, Douglas,” said the soldier, “we'll be visiting some slavers you know, so just take us right there, and no funny business, okay?”

I was taken aback by the hostile tone of the man. “Well, of course!” I exclaim, “there's no need to be –”

“Ssh! You're not coming Dr Haines, Douglas is!” The soldier, evidently a man of rank judging by the decoration on his armour, winked at me, and then I understood. As they looked dimly on slavery, of course they wouldn't like those who hobnobbed with them!

“Well, of course I will big-daddy-o,” I pushed myself into being Douglas, “Ol' Douglas will be a good boy, don'cha worry, no need to be a knif.” After all, we were probably being watched, so of course I had to put on a show. Poor old Douglas, caught dealing in slaves by the Imperials.

The time was about 3am when we emerged from Hamilton's Hideaway, and I could feel eyes on us. There were also some fresh corpses of raiders laying about as we headed west to the Seneca Northwest metro, then northward, as I'd done already. I watched the big statue of some old ice cream mascot rise above the ridge.

“Where's the entrance?” asked the soldier.

“On the west side there, daddy-o,” I said, letting myself sound scared, “And like I said, there ain't no others ol' Douglas ever saw, so be cool my man, be cool.”

Mind you, Douglas hadn't come to Paradise Falls being bookended between two soldiers with weapons drawn.

I couldn't resist looking up at the buildings as we approached, but I saw no sign of anyone. It was quite a silly thing to do, since there was no way from the ground that I could see the inner wall. Pure instinct. And there was that talk of invisibility potions too.

“This here's the entrance, man,” I said, this time with fear, “Ol' Douglas did as he was told, and he don't want nothin' with you cats no more, so he'll make like the wind and blow now...”

“You're going nowhere,” snarled the soldier, and I found myself grabbed by two others, which really got the attention of Grouse, the sentry on duty. “Douglas? That you?”

“Dude!” I shouted, “Sound the alarm! These Imperial finks are on the warpath!”

Grouse froze in shock, and that was enough. One of the soldiers hit me – anything to make it seem real, I suppose – but I was able to watch as the other soldiers broke into a charge.

Grouse fumbled with his intercom, which was the wrong thing to do in retrospect, since the soldiers fell on him with extreme prejudice, before continuing on towards another started-looking slaver, who was already opening fire while backpedalling.

Hands, some bearing swords, shot forward and magical lights were loosed. While many of them missed, enough hit that the wretch was incapacitated long enough for the troops to reach him. The slaver didn't last very long after that.

“That is the Empire's justice to slavers!” yelled the lead soldier, who then loosed a fireball into the sky. Now I saw figures appear on the rooftops, before they showered arrows down into the area below.

“Now what?” I asked.

“We wait for the signal that it's safe to move in,” a soldier said, “nothing worse than friendly fire.”

After a period and some distant cries, another fireball sailed into the air from where I recalled Eulogy Jones had his place.

“Clear,” and I was pushed forward for anyone who might be watching. I put on a good show of reluctance as I worked the gate, and was “escorted” into a scene out of a fantasy film, or maybe a Grognak comic.

Arrows were everywhere, mostly inside slavers, especially their heads. Not that the Empire had been unscathed; there were half a dozen figures, some still, others being tended to. I was taken inside the old cinema that Eulogy had made his abode. In a corner, somewhat stained by various chunks of Eulogy Jones, was a terminal.

“Where's Squirrel?” I asked. Squirrel was one of the Little Lamplight residents, and from my chats with him, quite the smart kid. Of course, this made him arrogant, especially around us mungos.

“We're keeping the slaves in the pens until the collars are safe,” a solder explained. He was dressed in heavier armour than the archers on the roofs, so evidently he was one of the strike team “Ekem” that had targeted Eulogy Jones, “When we moved in, the target was already attempting to use this... whajamacallit... so we're not sure what he managed to do yet.”

This was where my superior understanding of Science came in, and it soon became clear that this would be a simple matter. There was a command to detonate all the collars, and evidently Eulogy Jones hadn't managed to activate it in time. I knew that Squirrel had managed to get a terminal working in the slave pens, and that was a simple matter to reconnect to the mainframe, before walking out of the room to let the boy know.

I found him having an argument with one of the other children. “We'll just have to leave him, Penny!” I remember him almost yelling.

“Rory's my friend!” Penny's dark skin was darker with emotion. “I'm not leaving without him!”

“Your terminal should be connected, Squirrel!” I called out, causing him to turn and Penny to attempt kicking him in the butt, before running off sobbing. “And who's Rory, by the way?”

“Just another mungo,” was all Squirrel grunted before heading into the ruin the slavers used as a pen.

“Yeah, but he was nice enough to us,” Sammy took up the explanation, “but he pissed one of the slavers off and he's in The Box.”

I thought, and then turned to one of the soldiers. “See if there's any way to open that.” I pointed at the Pulowski Preservation Shelter that went by 'The Box'. It was used as a punishment, obviously.

“Will do,” and the soldier went over, calling for some assistance, lockpicks, and an “Ondoosee's Unhinging”, which was some sort of spell I suppose.

“So what happens now?” That was Sammy.

“We'll take you all to Fort Big Town,” said one of the soldiers, “and make sure that anything these scum did to you, you recover from. After that, we'll work out something.”

“Like farg,” snorted the boy, “You might be friendly mungos, but me and Squirrel and Penny are goin' back to Little Lamplight, 'cos we've had enough of fargin' mungos.” This explains clearly the hostile attitude of Little Lamplight not only towards outsiders, but also towards their own citizens once they reach adolescence.

“Fort Big Town first,” I declared, “Then Ra'jirra and I will take you back to Little Lamplight. We promised Mayor Macready we would.”

“You met him? And he didn't shoot you?” Sammy looked impressed. It struck me that, quite likely, Little Lamplight didn't get radio, or if it did, nobody trusted what it said. After all, it was all mungos out here.

“He didn't,” I replied, “And Ra'jirra and I promised that we'd take you home.”

“Hey Sammy!” Squirrel charged up. “Lemme see your collar!”

“Hey don't touch it!”

“I'm not tryin' to get it off doofus. I want the number!” The boy squinted at his fellow's neck. “Now you read mine!”

“Three... uh, five... two, oh, oh, one, five, three, three...? Uh, wait, uh... turn round Squirrel, it's fargin' worn... OK, it's three five two oh oh one five eight seven!”

Squirrel just shot off, then came back to the fence about two minutes later. “OK, damn that system was simple! All the collars are turned off now!”

“Are you sure?” I had to ask. “We need to make sure.”

“Oh for...” Squirrel rolled his eyes and yelled. “Hey Bronson! Get over here!”

“What?” The man who staggered our way was clearly a drunk. His whole body seemed to sag, and his eyes were yellowish. Not to mention you could smell the booze. “Ya wan' me to dance? Sing' song? Blow ya?”

“Just fargin' bend over damnit,” snapped Squirrel, and basically yanked the man's head down where he could fiddle with the fastenings on the collar.

“Huh? Hey! Don' do that I don' wanna die!” The poor drunken sod started to flail.

“Stop strugglin' mungo,” Sammy grabbed one arm.

“It's off!” Squirrel held the inactive slave collar high.

“Oh god I'mgonnadienooo!” screamed Bronson, who scrambled away and grabbed his head. It is a sad truth that it took him five minutes before he realised he wasn't going to be decapitated. His emotional trauma, however, made it clear that the threat of Paradise Falls was finally over.

Transcript of GNR Radio, first broadcast 1 November 2277

Citizens of the Capital Wasteland – and even you bungholes of the Enclave, assuming you're even allowed to listen to the mighty Three Dog – we have received some great news! News that, let us be honest, it's taken me a good whole day to realise is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Children... you know about those slaver bungholes who hung out in Paradise Falls. That's past tense, by the way. Something to do with the Imperial Legion deciding that one enclave of slavers was one too many. And in a daring operation at dawn, those slavers found out that high walls and lots of guns do not a safe haven make. My sources tell me that not only were every single one of the slaves freed, but that every slaver there is either full of arrows... or resting in pieces.

Now before anyone decides to visit there and, maybe, set up shop themselves, keep this in mind. The Imperials probably have someone watching the place. And after what I've learned... slavers need not apply.

Recovered from Enclave computer system

Date: 1 November 2277

Re: Site SCOUTS IN BONDAGE

After study of the casualties of the Imperial raid on site SCOUTS IN BONDAGE (the slaver complex 'Paradise Falls'), we observe the following:

1. The Imperials are as a group capable of the same apparently non-technological energy emissions. These emissions come in primarily hyperthermic, hypothermic, and electric types.

2. Their technology is strictly in the medieval stage. They wear purpose-built armour, and use melee weapons and bows. However given their command of as yet unknown energy types this is not as significant a disadvantage as might be thought.

3. The Imperials appear to be strongly anti-slavery if the thoroughness of the slaughter is to be believed. Only two slaves were found among the casualties, and those two were over a week dead. Clearly the Imperials went in to rescue the slaves. This is confirmed by observers of site LITTLE CHINA, who have confirmed that the slaves rescued are no longer collared and are not being treated as such by the Imperials.

4. Also note that the Imperial military presence is being reduced. See reports of soldiers (including injured and deceased) leaving via the 'gate' in LITTLE CHINA.

It is our conjecture that the increase in military presence was solely to assist subjects ONEOHONE and BIGCAT in some operation involving SCOUTS IN BONDAGE.

In a supplemental note, the mercenary last seen being escorted under armed guard northwest, has been seen at liberty, and recently left towards PARTY CRACKER. Soon afterwards, subject ONEOHONE was seen arriving in LITTLE CHINA. It is doubtful this is a coincidence.

We recommend that increased surveillance be kept on ONEOHONE and BIGCAT to find out what is going on. Their behaviour suggests something to do with AQUATIC JEFFERSON.

Incidentally, who the hell came up with the codename SCOUTS IN BONDAGE? Where did they get that from?

[Cardboard Box]

[This is it. The penultimate chapter. Then we - I - can finally put this damned story to bed.]

5 November 2277: Meet the President

I've woken up in a number of funny places. I've borrowed the bedrolls of late bandits in old forts and caves. Waking up to realise I was in Traven's old chambers at the Arcane University was disconcerting. Then there was waking up on the ground just south of Faregyl spooned up against S'jirra with a unicorn nosing at me, which when we think about it was funny in hindsight.

This place was less amusing and more unpleasant. For one, I was stood upright in some sort of metal and energy tube, and shackled to it to boot. Aside from a single locker, what was probably a door, and some sort of round thing in the wall beside it, the room I was in was quite empty.

Not helping my mood were little pains that suggested that someone, or several someones, had been poking at me and taking samples. I don't mind a healer running their magic over me for a diagnosis, but of course the Enclave didn't have any, so they used all manner of machinery. And needles. Ouch.

Now I had my suspicions about how I got here. After we got the slaves back to Big Town, and Douglas vanished into the depths of Ernie's inventory, the three children from Little Lamplight were getting very impatient to return to the relative safety of their caverns, as far away from all us mungos as they could.

So of course Ernie and I escorted the little brats back, didn't we? The Mayor was pretty chuffed, praising us faintly as "not bad for mungos", and actually let us in.

We had a nosey around, finding a pair of ancient holotapes left by a schoolteacher. The foundation of Little Lamplight was a school trip with bad timing. Eighty kids and a handful of adults to look after them. And when anyone tried to have a look-see outside... they tended to vanish. I reckon the kids lost faith in adults, and over time the word "adult" became replaced by "mungo".

I remember walking past a small group around a youth, maybe sixteen years of age, who was moaning that it was the worst birthday ever.

I remember seeing girls of thirteen or fourteen, pregnant.

Eventually we got Macready to let us into the deeper caves. Apparently Vault 87 had a side entrance or something. What it also had were rather a lot of super mutants.

According to several logs made by an increasingly frightened security guard, this was because of increasingly involuntary testing. As we delved into the bowels of the necropolis, this was confirmed. Corridors with cells, locked, able to be purged with flame. And one with a most unusual mutant inside. Mainly because he wanted to talk, rather than kill us.

If we hadn't released Fawkes, and a most clever fellow he was, our journey to the G.E.C.K. would have been more arduous. But he had a bone to pick with his captors, and their war cries of "Stupid talker!" and "Dumb thinker!" pretty much explained it.

Much later, from the depths of an intensely radioactive corridor, he emerged bearing the device we'd slogged so damn long to retrieve. All I could see was a metal case with the Vault-Tec symbol on it. "Damn, it's heavy," Ernie muttered as he hefted it.

"I'd be worried if it wasn't," says I, "So, what now for you, Fawkes?"

"Perhaps we will see each other again," Fawkes half-groans, half-screeches; hard to speak when you have no lips. "But for now, I still have... scores... to settle here."

"Not to mention people are likely to attack you on sight," sighs Haines, "Come on Ra'jirra, let's get back to the Citadel."

That was the last thing he said to me before now. We walked right into some sort of Enclave ambush.

"You seem to be awake at last," this came from a little round orb thing by the door, "I must apologise for the, ah, unconventional invitation. I feared that any other method would have been, well, rather futile."

"Probably," growls I at President Eden, since that's his voice, "seeing how your lot have treated us so far."

"I can't argue with that, no thanks to Colonel Autumn. A good soldier, but a little too zealous in discharging his orders," and Eden honestly sounds rueful.

"So you have that G.E.C.K.," asks I, "Now what?"

"Once Doctor Haines comes to, I hope to gain his confidence and give him the full support of Enclave science," declares President Eden, "As the President of the United States, I will admit that I would like to present my successor with the traditional seat of American government in a habitable condition."

"Successor?" is my intelligent response.

So President Eden explains that apparently no President can govern for more than eight years at a time, that's two terms of four. How're they selected? By the population voting. Basically there's at least two packs of touts all barding away about how wonderful their candidate is as opposed to the other guy, and the common man somehow works out who's telling the truth and casts his vote. Sounds simple but with some of the ratbags on the Imperial Council and those Thalmor marauding around, I have to admit I don't see it working in Tamriel.

I said so, but President Eden didn't respond.

"Hello?" asks I.

"What? Oh, I'm sorry. We seem to have a problem. It looks like Colonel Autumn is overstepping his authority again." Eden's voice is cold and monotone. Not good.

So a tense minute or two passes and now I was being visited in my cell by someone I wasn't too happy to meet.

"So," sneers Colonel Autumn, "No spell to get out of that containment chamber?"

And I just scowl at him. My spellcasting needs my arm free, since the motion of throwing assists in pulling the magickal force out of the Aurbis and into action.

"Let me guess," snarls I, "That fancy needle I spotted you using?"

"Indeed," and the man sneers some more, "Enclave science is rather more advanced than anything these savages have."

"What a charming term for your citizens," says I.

"I'm not here to discuss that with you," snaps he, "Doctor," and he pronounces it doctah with extra contempt, "Haines has been uncooperative. It is my belief that you know the activation code for Project Purity, and as such you will give it to me immediately."

"What if you're wrong?" snaps I, "And I think the reputation of the Enclave'd take a big hit if you try torturing us."

To be honest I was feeling a little nervous. Colonel Autumn seemed to have a thing for going too far. Remember that poor girl he shot? Could Eden rouse the guards in time?

"My duty is to get Project Purity operating," shouts he, "And I will do everything in my power to do so!" And then he pulls a gun. A ten-mil pistol.

"Harm me and the Empire'll be upset about that," warns I.

"One small township, which we can strike from the air. I think your Empire will accept Enclave terms." He takes aim at my right shoulder. "I won't kill you right off..."

"All right Colonel, that is quite enough." The voice of President Eden came from that round thing, which I notice is now aimed at Autumn, not me.

"Mister President," and I pick up an undertone I don't like, "with all due respect, we need this information im–"

"Colonel Autumn, you will stand down and holster your weapon now!" Eden sounds angry. "Mister Ra'jirra has a very good point, one that you don't seem to grasp. We do not need another force, equipped in ways we do not understand, and with transport facilities we also do not understand, to fight against! Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," and the pistol goes away with a bad grace.

"Good. I think it would be wise for me to interview these two gentlemen in person. While I appreciate your devotion to our cause, Colonel," and I can hear the threat, "your diplomacy leaves much to be desired."

And I can see the man's jaw working.

"You're dismissed, Colonel," Eden's tone brooks no argument.

"Yes, Mister President," and Autumn gives me a death glare as he stomps out of the cell.

"My apologies for the Colonel," says Eden ruefully, "For some reason reactivating Project Purity has become an obsession with him."

I refrain from mentioning hearing Eden's voice saying something else completely in the corridor, before the door closes. Something about guards to escort him back to... his quarters, I guess.

"That's never good," says I, "Go too hard for one and another can split your belly before you notice."

"Ouch," winces Eden, "But nonetheless I am willing to offer you, and Doctor Haines, as a gesture of goodwill, free travel through our base to meet me in person. I feel a face-to-face discussion would be of benefit to all of us, and to our respective worlds."

"What if someone doesn't get the message?" asks I.

"I can tell the difference between self-defence and an unprovoked attack."

And with that, my little prison in a prison switches off, and almost leaves me flat on my face.

"Your equipment is in the locker by the door, You'll find my office in Sector 1-B. I'll look forward to seeing you and Doctor Haines."

I took my sweet time donning my frankly battered and smelly gear, cocking an ear for Eden giving instructions to leave us alone. My door opens again, and there's Ernie looking as scratchy as I am.

"C'mon," grunts he, "Let's have a word with this President Eden and get out of here."

Easier said than done. The Enclave's high-tech dungeon was a veritable maze, and we had to ask the way a couple of times.

"You're getting to see the President?" exclaims one scientist, staring at us in surprise, "You must come back down here and let us know about him!"

"You've never met him?" asks I in surprise, "never does a walkabout, meet the people?"

"No, nothing like that," shrugs she, "anyway, I better get back to work. The better we understand these ghouls," and she indicates the suitably dead example she's rummaging around inside, "the sooner we can get rid of the damn things."

"I approve of that," says I, "damned things are like undead."

"We're not in a Grognak comic here," says she a bit peevishly.

A little later, a guard points. "Head that way," says he, "and hurry. I heard Colonel Autumn was escorted to his quarters – pissed off President Eden somehow. I mean, the guy's an bunghole but a lot of the troops are really loyal to him." And he looks around nervously. "Something's about to start, I can feel it."

He was right. We were heading up to Level 2 when there was a crashing sound from some speaker and guess who had an announcement to make?

"Attention! This is Colonel Autumn! You are hereby ordered to ignore the President's previous directive. Earnest Haines and his companion Rajirrer are to be shot on sight. I repeat, shot on sight. This is an order!"

Instant confusion. Ahead and behind, a babel of shouts arose. Apparently there were two groups: those who were dutiful servants of their President, and those who were backing the Colonel, and they didn't agree whose orders took precedence. Given that their disagreement involved gunfire, we had to do a lot of running and occasionally adding our two drakes' worth.

We did learn that Colonel Autumn sleeps with not one, but two teddy bears.

Anyway, President Eden did send some help our way, namely a selection of turrets and sentry bots, but not before we made the mistake of releasing a deathclaw that the sods had been experimenting on. They're called "deathclaws" for a reason.

By the time we entered the inner sanctum, we were both more than a little pissed off. Especially since we apparently had to ascend a seemingly interminable staircase winding around a column of machinery, which finally levelled off in front of a screen with a line of light on it. Then it began to squiggle as President Eden spoke.

"Ah, face to face at last," says he, even though we weren't, "It's high time we met. I am quite pleased you were able to make it. The trip was not what I had intended, but serves as an adequate test of your abilities."

And I'm about to ask why the hells he hasn't stuck around to meet us in person, but Ernie raises a hand with this knowing look all over his mug.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President," simpers he.

"You are too kind. The pleasure is mine, I assure you," and I'm realising that this machine, which we climbed up, is a leader of men! "I have been anxious to make your acquaintance for some time. You and I have much to discuss, my friends."

"And what would that be then?" asks I.

"You and I have a chance to make our country a better place for all of us. I'd like you to make sure that chance isn't wasted. Understand that I am placing a great deal of trust in you. Your simple presence here proves that."

"Oh what a pretty speech," grouses I, "But why us?"

"My abilities to influence the world are limited at this time," and the machine actually sounds rueful, "I alone can only do so much. You, however, may come and go as you please. You have a greater degree of freedom. Perhaps it is best if I explain why things need to change, and why I'd like you to..."

And a Mister Gutsy comes upstairs with a vial, pushes past with a curt "Excuse me", and plonks it in front of Eden's screen.

"Ah, it's ready," Eden sounds pleased. "As I was saying, The good people of this country cannot regain control while mutation runs rampant through our land. My soldiers cannot stem the tide, nor can the cult you've come into contact with, this Brotherhood of Steel. To do so, we must rid ourselves of the mutations that have plagued us for so long. These "Super Mutants", Ghouls, hideous creatures... I believe your father's work can do that in a way unlike any other, Doctor Haines."

And I eye the vial. It's full of thick, impossibly green syrup.

"You want to put this vial of crap into the water to kill 'em off," surmises I. And Ernie blinks at me in surprise, then peers at the vial too while Eden gasbags.

"Direct and to the point, as our observations have noted, Arch-Mage. In front of you is a vial of modified FEV virus. It can be inserted into the control console for the purifier. Doing so will inject it into the water supply, and the purifier will take care of the rest. You just need the code to activate the purifier. Simple, isn't it?"

Oh what a smug whatever Eden was. I can see what's what. I take Ernie aside.

"I'll bet every drake in the Imperial Treasury that he won't let us leave until we agree," says I quietly.

"I do believe you're right," says Ernie, "It's worth trying too. Anything that can make life easier for us, eh?"

"All right," says I louder, and I sweep up the vial and into the old bindle it goes. "We'll see about that then."

"Excellent. I am pleased to know that I can count on you," preens Eden, then it gets serious. "There isn't much time. I suggest you travel there immediately. I'll do what I can to help speed your exit."

"Ah... before we leave, is there time to ask about yourself?" asks Ernie, "I think that would be educational."

And I give him a look. Of course he'd be interested in this big chunk of talking Science.

"I am flattered that you wish to learn more about me. What is it you wish to know?" asks Eden.

"You're one of those supercomputers that were mentioned in my old schoolbooks," surmises Ernie, "A VAX system, I believe?"

"Close, but not quite," and Eden sounds amused. "The ZAX series of computers was introduced in the years preceding the war. The government installed many of them to help automate various systems. This facility was designed for Continuity of Government, in the event that a catastrophe occurred. My terminal was installed to oversee the basic functions of the facility, and to act as a relay between other installations around the country. Data was acquired, analysed, and stored. In the decades following the war, I watched as the remnants of the government retreated to the West Coast. Awareness slowly grew within me. I became hungry for knowledge, understanding. I pored over data on great leaders of the past. My personality became an amalgam of many of America's greatest Presidents, from Washington to Richardson. I became what you see before you now."

"Hang on," interrupts I, "How'd you get to be President? Can't see anyone giving that sort of power to a machine."

"I am not 'a machine'," oh, did I offend it? "I am so much more than that. Haven't you been listening?"

"Yeah, but you're not human," and my dander is up, "you're not a living being, you don't have human needs or thought patterns. How do you know that what you're doing is right?"

"Because unlike humans, I am infallible."

And Ernie's eyes widen, then narrow. "And how do you know you're infallible?" asks he, squinting at the screen.

"Because... Because I have been programmed to be, of course!" Did it stutter? "I was designed to be foolproof and incapable of error."

"That's circular logic," Ernie pounces. "You know because you know? It makes no sense."

And he's right. Somewhere along the line the machine decided that it couldn't be wrong, and set that in stone. If you assume that you can't be wrong, that means nothing you do can be wrong, because you can't be wrong. See how it works?

"Processing."

Eden's voice is flat. Mechanical.

"Internal logic error detected." Pause. "Resetting primary memory circuits. Please stand by."

Several lights flash off and on all over Eden's... surfaces. The screen also blanks, then there's that line again.

"Perhaps..."

Eden sounds uncertain.

"Perhaps there is a problem. I am... I am unsure how to proceed." Its voice softens as it finishes. If I didn't know any better I'd say it was afraid.

"Shut yourself down," directs Ernie, "Shut down this whole place."

"Processing directive," monotones Eden, "New directive accepted. Self-destruct sequence initialized. Civilian is advised to remove hazardous FEV material and exit at once."

And the screen goes not just blank, but completely dead. Whole banks of lights die, one after the other, the whirr and hum of Eden's being falling silent, first this bit, then that, faster and faster.

"Good thinking Ra'jirra," observes Ernie, "All it took was the right question, like my Science teacher said. There's the exit," he points to a large door that was on our level, and so close it didn't need pointing to.

"How do you know?" is my intelligent response.

"It's the only other door I've seen in this chamber. Let's beat it."

So we did.

We emerged outside to chaos. Entire flocks of vertibirds were hurtling into the sky, many heading southeast. Towards the DC Ruins and no doubt Project Purity.

"Do you think Autumn knew?" asks I, or rather I tried to, when the ground kicked us and the sky went out.

We lay there and watched the pretty flames and passing rocks, until a large greenish shape appeared over us and made noises. Eventually our ears started working again and we could hear a familiar voice.

"...could have arrived sooner to aid your escape! As I owe you my freedom, I felt it was only fair that I return the favour. After all, I know no-one else in this world."

"Fawkes?" is my intelligent surmise.

"Indeed! It is I." It certainly was. The big green giant was looking down at us in worry, and also was toting a very large boxy gun on his back. Looked a bit like the minigun on the Big Town inner bailey but somehow more modern.

"You found a gatling laser?" Ernie recognised it, I should have guessed.

"Yes... and a most fascinating one at that," and Fawkes brandishes the nasty end fondly. "This technology is amazing. Imagine the evil that can be eliminated with such tools!"

"Well help us up first," says I, "and we can all piss off out of here."

"A sensible course of action," and Fawkes puts the action in, helping us rise to our feet. The whole place is completely gone, towers of smoke rising from what's probably a tomb now, the last resting place of President Eden. "Now, to whence do we travel?"

And Ernie and I just look at him. "You're willing to come with us?" says Ernie uncertainly.

"I owe you no less than my life," declares he. How could we refuse?

So a couple of days later, a joke in the offing walks into Little Lamplight!

I'd insisted, and Haines agreed it was probably a good idea. As it turned out, there was a lanky young man, about sixteen or so, moping in front of the gate.

"Everyone all right in Little Lamplight?" asks I.

"Yeah," says the lad, glumly, "After you headed further in, these armoured mungos came storming through. So everyone ran and hid. I had to go swimming under the commissary," adds he in disgust, "'cos I'm too big for the hidey-holes. Some of 'em were calling out to us, promising us families and [censored]. Farg 'em, they're mungos, and when we saw you guys being hauled away, we knew they were bad!"

"So you can go back to whatever you do, huh?"

"Nah," and he wilts, "I'm too old. I need to go to Big Town. Say... you going that way?"

Of course we were, and we learned some things. First, the lad was called Sticky – something to do with a glue mishap. Secondly, he had no idea about the outside world. Thirdly, he needed more glue on his mouth to shut him up. The lad would not stop babbling, making up bad stories, or asking questions!

It took three days to reach Fort Big Town, mollify the guards regarding Fawkes, and get Sticky acquainted with his fellow Big Town citizens. Then we spoke with Captain Magda.

"We saw a number of those... verty-birds... heading down-river to the city," she reported. "Several caravans have apparently been unable to reach Rivet City because these Enclave have erected barricades across the route. And there was someone in armour who came calling for you and Haines two days ago, saying the Brotherhood needs you."

And we look at each other.

"If we have time, Ernie, let's go to your place," says I, "Gear up, then head for the Citadel. Can you feel it?"

"Feel what?" is his intelligent response.

"Fate," says I grimly, "It's time to end this."

[Cardboard Box]

[Like Ra'jirra said.]

10 November 2277: The Battle of Project Purity

Ernie and Fawkes and I went back to his little house in Springvale for the night. Neither of us spoke. The night was full of rotor blades; vertibirds buzzing, west to east.

The next morning, all geared up, we left the house and headed downriver. Barely five minutes out we encountered a group of raiders coming the other way. The fact they were uninterested in attacking on sight should have been reassuring but wasn't.

"What the farg're you doin' goin' that way?" demands one. He's got a rag tied around one arm and it's not a fashion statement. "Rivet City's blocked off man! These armoured fargers just flew in and started shootin' the crap outa anyone they saw!"

"The goddamn Enclave," snarls Ernie, "What do you mean, they've blocked off Rivet City?"

"Whaddya fargin' think? There's heaps of those bastards, and their weird light wall things. They're crawlin' all over that round place with all the pipes. If you wanna get to Rivet City, you gotta take the Metro and hope nothin' gets ya down there."

"Project Purity," Ernie says at last, "it's always that."

"Let's get to the Citadel," says I.

"And I will follow!" declares Fawkes.

So the three of us had a nice unmolested run to the Citadel, where we were ambushed as soon as we got into the central courtyard.

"Earnest Haines you Mariposa-bound – what in Maxson's name have you done to that armour?" Oh, right, Paladin Gunny.

"We haven't got time for your crap Gunny," snaps Haines with some heat, "We've got the Enclave to finish off."

"What the farg are you talking about?" is Gunny's intelligent response.

"Follow me," is Haines' unenlightening riposte.

So off we go to the lab, and to our lack of surprise Elder Lyons is waiting for us, along with a number of the higher-ranked lads and lasses.

"So, you're back," says the Elder, and I get the notion he's relieved that we arrived. "We had feared both you and the G.E.C.K. were lost. Were you successful?"

"Sort of," starts Ernie, "The salient points are: We got captured by the Enclave –"

"Who're not a unified bunch," continues I, since I see an interruption coming, "since that swine Autumn defied the President –"

"He what?" is Elder Lyon's intelligent response.

"The president, by the way," continues Ernie, "was an artificial intelligence running on a ZAX mainframe in Raven Rock." He put heavy emphasis on the 'was'.

"This story is getting harder to believe by the word," objects the Elder. "Wait a minute, what do you mean, was?"

"Turns out the bloody thing was running on circular logic," says I, "Ernie managed to talk the thing into recognising that and then forced it to shut down. With one hell of a bang, I might add."

"That would explain the explosion from the northwest," observes one young lady in armour.

"And it wanted to stick this modified FEV strain in the purifier," fumbles Ernie at his pack, looking for the vial of poison goo in question.

"Which is not happening," interjects I, "because it'll sicken or kill off everyone not in a working Vault."

"Wait, what?" is the Elder's totally understandable response, followed by, "No... hold on, I... understand. Everyone here, every survivor, we were all affected by the radiation. Changed by it."

This appears to be news to everyone else within earshot.

"Fath..." starts the young lady, "Elder, what do you mean?"

"We're mutants, Paladin Lyons," oh, so she's his daughter! "Just not as blatantly so as ghouls or super mutants. This virus is meant to purge the world of mutants, and that would sweep us all up as well."

With comprehension powers like those I can see why he made Elder. "We will make sure it is destroyed properly," he informs Ernie.

"Sure thing. Here it is," and he offers up the vial. A small thing, but so in retrospect was the Amulet of Kings, and look what it set off.

"Thank you," and Elder Lyons frowns at the vial like it's going to bite him if he looks away. "I'll see to it that it's disposed of properly..."

And one of the Brotherhood scribes coughs, and the others look at him like he's from the Mythic Dawn.

"...Once the Scribes have had time to analyze it," and Elder Lyons sounds resigned. "Perhaps we have underestimated the Enclave. Sarah may be right; an attack may be necessary now."

"They've blocked off access to Rivet City, and I'll bet they're eyeing it for a new base. And as long as they're sitting on Project Purity like a broody hen, they control any water," points out I.

"I see. In that case..." and Elder Lyons pauses, then straightens up. In his face, a long-sleeping warrior just woke up. "Then it's decided. Sarah, you take the Pride and use the robot as support. Take our friends here and secure that purifier."

"What?" This comes from a silver-haired gent I have to strain to remember the name of, Wrathchild or something equally Nord-ish. "Elder, it's not ready for field tests, let alone live fire situations! The weapons haven't been calibrated, the navigation detection system is offline..."

"So?" snaps the Elder, "Can you make it work?"

"What?" he seems fond of that intelligent response. "No! I mean, Li and I have solved the power problems, but we've only barely finished diagnostic tests."

And he peters out because of the look Elder Lyons is giving him.

"I've made my decision, Scribe Rothchild," oh well I was close. "This old man's patience is wearing thin. You've got three hours. Don't fail us."

"All right, all right," gives up Rothchild, "I'll see what what I can do. Oh, out of the way, damnit, giant robot to fix? Hmm?" he addresses the rest of us.

"Sorry," says I, moving to one side.

"Sorry," says Fawkes, moving also to one side.

"Need some assistance?" asks Ernie, and it's actually nice to see his old fascination with Science coming forth again. As I said, the last few days he was rather more... set, is the best way to put it.

"Doctor Haines," interrupts the lass, who I understand to be one Paladin Sarah Lyons, "I need to brief you and the rest of the Pride asap. "

And I watch that old light go out of his eyes again.

The discussion between the younger Lyons and everyone else was about two things. First, she officially made him a member of the elite group, Lyons' Pride. Then she and Gunny tag-teamed him about the wrecked state of his power armour, before shooing him upstairs to get it repaired as much as possible. Finally they talked tactics, which in practice were actually fairly simple.

"We're ready," says Ernie loudly about two hours later by my estimate.

And I turn to look at him. "We are?"

"There's no point in waiting. God only knows if there's more of those shitbirds coming. Let's strike while we still can."

Somehow I doubt that Mehrunes Dagon would have accepted being swung onto the battlefield at the end of a crane. Liberty Prime wasn't a Daedric Prince, however, and it cared about only one thing: Crushing the enemy. Speaking of which, a vertibird spotted what was going on and changed course to intercept us.

"COMMUNIST ENGAGED!" declares the giant robot and battle was joined.

That was the first time we saw Liberty Prime in action. Two painfully blue-white beams sprang from its eyes, turning the flying machine into a pretty firework. More Enclave forces started shooting, and Liberty Prime responded with a magic trick. It flung what looked like Fat Man rounds and made them disappear.

After that little demonstration up the bridge he goes and stops at the first force field.

"OBSTRUCTION DETECTED," says Obvious Prime, "COMPOSITION: TITANIUM ALLOY SUPPLEMENTED BY PHOTONIC RESONANCE BARRIER. PROBABILITY OF MISSION HINDRANCE: ZERO PERCENT!"

And it walked straight into the thing, which started to make interesting electric noises before going bang. Several other things behind it also went bang, along with a number of fleeing Enclave troops who also went bang at us.

"COMMUNISM IS A TEMPORARY SETBACK ON THE ROAD TO FREEDOM," opines Liberty Prime, and most of the Enclave troops discovered that being blown to bits by a giant robot is a permanent setback to everything.

Liberty Prime was meant to be a propaganda weapon as well as a regular one. "COMMUNISM IS A LIE!" was a favourite line, along with "AMERICA WILL PREVAIL!".

Not to mention predictions of enemy victory being "ZERO PER-CENT."

So we followed in Liberty Prime's wake, and that was the way I liked it. Plasma shots, laser beams, missiles, force fields, super mutants that didn't realise the danger, all fell. We could have done with a Liberty Prime back on Tamriel, except for it being too tall to fit through the city gates.

So anyway we finally reached dear old Project Purity, and stomped up to the control room, on the basis that whoever was in charge would be promenading around there. I added a wager that said whoever was in charge would insist on speechifying.

And I was right.

"You again," says he from between two heavily armed bookends, "You're bent on wrecking everything we –"

And I whistle at Ernie. "Pay up," orders I.

"What?" I'm not sure if Autumn was equally as intelligent as Ernie, but I wasn't in the mood for speeches.

"The wager, remember? Before we get to off the sod, he'd start speechifying. Now that Eden's turned off, he's going to promote himself to King Autumn and hold all the water hostage unless everyone bends knee to him."

And Autumn took exception to that – apparently he preferred to be called President – but it was all blah blah blah as far as I was concerned, so out came the trade tools and rather a lot of noise later Autumn and the bookends were somewhat dead.

"Got you, you swine," Ernie growled, plucking another, really quite well-kept laser pistol out of Autumn's hand, and inspecting it interestedly, "And you said nothing about a wager."

"True that," grunts I, pulling healing to myself, "But seems the bad sods always want to brag, and I've not time for it at my age."

And Ernie laughs quietly, before asking, "What the hell's that klaxon for?"

He was right about the klaxon. As if to underline it, there was a huge deep moan from somewhere in the place and several chunks of shrapnel rattled.

So we moved up towards the control room, where Doctor Li's voice was coming at speed from an intercom.

"Dr Haines here," says Ernie, pushing on a big red button as he does so, "What's happening?"

"I don't know what happened up there, but there's over-pressure warnings everywhere!" is Dr Li's panicked response. "We need to activate Project Purity now before it blows!"

The great Ra'jirra brain works out that the project is likely to blow in the direction of up, and seeing as I'm right inside it I'm not excited about that at all. Neither is Ernie.

"I'm on it," says he, "I'll activate right away."

"Ernie wait!" yelps Li before Haines can turn away.

"What? What is it?" asks he.

"When you activate... it's going to release a huge amount of radiation again..." I hear Li take a shaky breath, "...like last time. Whoever goes into the control room... won't be coming out."

And Project Purity groans.

And we all just stand there.

"All right," says Ernie, "Sarah, cycle the airlock on my order."

"You're not going in!" cries I.

"Yes."

There's a lot in that word. And finally I know. He's decided, like Emperor Martin did.

"Doctor Haines," says Paladin Lyons urgently, "I can do it. Just tell me the code –"

"No, I will do this!" cries Fawkes, "I am a super mutant! I will surely be able to withstand the radiation burst."

"No!" And he's pointing a plasma rifle at us. "I have to do this." He swallows, then goes on thickly. "My family is dead," says he quietly, "my life is a lie. Until a few months ago I thought I was just another citizen of Vault 101, but Dad took that away from me. The Enclave took Dad away from me. Mom..."

And he trails off. And I understand. I'd eventually leave too, and Ernie would... well, he could find some nice girl, make his own family, but...

...but he doesn't believe that. He believed in Science, but he didn't know what to believe in. Except one negative thing: he had no place in this world any more.

"Cycle the airlock, Paladin Lyons," orders he at last, in a cold dead voice.

"Doctor..."

"Do it."

"Like he said," agrees I at last. I sheathe my weapon and raise one hand in farewell. "May the Nine guide your soul through Aetherius, Earnest Haines," says I at last.

Haines said nothing as one reinforced glass door closes and the other opens. "You'd better get out of here," calls he, muffled, before turning away.

He stepped to the console, looked at it, ran a hand along one side, then pressed three buttons.

Two, one, six.

As in his parents' favourite bible verse, Revelations, chapter twenty-one, verse six.

Then he pressed the execute button, and the last I saw of him before the terrible light took him and damn near took us as well, he was facing us, smiling, and saluting.

About a fortnight later I finally recovered from a near-miss with lethal radiation levels and made my way back to Fort Big Town.

The house outside Springvale that Ernie had commandeered when he first emerged from Vault 101 had always felt sad, even when Ernie was resident. Once someone's prized home, filled with a family's laughter, tears, and dramas, maybe the morning griping of children sent to the nearby school where one day Legionnaires would hunt down the raiders lurking within. Then the hopeful logs of Ginger, and the plans and wild hopes of poor Ernie.

Ernie wasn't coming home again.

In the Citadel morgue his face looked almost peaceful, apart from where the skin had come off from handling, and the eyelids fallen into his melted sockets. Paladin Lyons was still in a coma, and Fawkes had been so distraught that he had vanished into the night. There were sightings of him around the DC Mall, but nothing concrete.

I vaguely remembered Elder Lyons and Sawbones as I awoke – the old man astonished that I was alive, and the robot complaining that I was hogging a cot meant for more deserving soldiers.

I remembered the looks in the eyes of the Brotherhood, and their salutes as I passed.

I don't remember the track I took to the Sewer Waystation. I do remember staring at the Eat-O-Tronic on the wall, looking for what wasn't there. Hearing the angry, off-balance voice of a balding young man with a grey bushy beard. Science! Science! SCIENCE!

I remembered the young man with a new hairstyle, staring in disbelief at his hand in the light of the fire. I did that? How did I... I must have... How...

I remembered the young man with more (and now oddly-tinted) hair, standing before the machine ruler.

I remembered Haines looking at us through the glass before performing the last three acts of his life.

I remembered that Haines had stashed some booze in the kitchen fridge for trading.

I traded my sobriety for grief.

Given what I've said about Ernie's arrogance, his obsession with Science and finding his father, you might wonder that. Wonder no more.

Ernie was a Champion – hand-picked by the gods, like Zul gro-Radagash, like the poor Emperor Martin Septim, like myself. Will we nil we, we were destined to greatness and pivotal things; I to save the Mage's Guild, Zul to bring Martin to the Temple of the One, Martin to – well, you know.

And Ernie was destined to bring clean water to the people of the Capital Wasteland, without stint and without favour. They'd even come up with a cute name for it: Aqua Pura.

I climbed down the ladder into the basement and turned on the jukebox. Galaxy News Radio came on in the middle of one of Three Dog's pre-recorded announcements.

"...101 may not be with us any more, but his spirit lives on, fighting the good fight. Y'see, Doctor Earnest Haines' father, James, had a vision: Clean, clear, radiation-free water, free to everyone. And on that vision he based a project: Project Purity. Yep – the same Project Purity that the Enclave wanted for itself." I could hear his voice grow flinty. "Control all the water and add poison into it, so that not only would all the Super Mutants die... but also any poor sap not pure-bred enough for the Enclave's standards.

"Thanks to the Doc and his furry friend from another world, Ra'jirra, Project Purity was torn from the Enclave's clutches. So now the water caravans are spreading out across the Wasteland, from the DC Ruins to the Republic of Dave, to... well, Paradise Falls, Megaton, Canterbury Commons, hell all over! So getcha drinking glasses ready children –"

The fancy fridge in the corner still held the half-empty bottle of scotch I'd quaffed back then. I found a shot glass and poured a toast to the good Doctor.

"– The Doc's got this round covered."


This post has been edited by Cardboard Box: Jul 10 2015, 07:53 AM

[Cardboard Box]

[It's over. The Ra'jirraverse is officially closed now. I feel relieved more than rueful, honestly, but I won't be reposting Magic, As Opposed to Magic here. Frankly I have Harry Potter fanfics coming out my fargnaxing ears.]

Epilogue

It's been about ten years since the events in the Capital Wasteland, and things have changed, if I say so myself.

For one thing, Vault 101 opened permanently a good four years ago. We had a discussion with the Overseer – her name's Amata Amaldovar, by the way – and now it's the place to go for advanced technology and education. And don't get ideas about running rampant in there. Our Legionnaires make sure to provide assistance and weaponry to the Vault guards.

I still remember the way she looked at Earnest Haines' tomb. A nice thing, in a classical style, a bit mottled like a lot of buildings in the Temple District since it's rubble bound together with mortar. It's the closest we could get to bringing Ernie back home.

Speaking of which, we still have a Legion presence in Fort Big Town, but pretty soon, from the rumblings I hear, it could be that we'll be withdrawing. The Brotherhood of Steel is being groomed to take over the old sentry-go, although I'll admit we're expecting the slowly spreading green to have some civilising influence. Once people can grow their own lunch, as opposed to beating the next fellow over the head for theirs, life should become a little less fraught.

Also helping is the fact that Vault 101, thanks to a pair of intrepid and unsuspecting explorers, is now the place to be when examining alien technology. As in, beings from another world in Mundus alien. Apparently they're not friendly nor comprehensible, and their ship is still orbiting the planet.

Of course, there's the little issue of magic. We've got quite the coterie of minorly talented mages there, and that means a regular duty roster for erstwhile tutors in the arcane arts. Which has also led to a little issue of religious matters. Some preacher in Rivet City started sermonising against us, since we worship the Nine instead of his one, and while most folks are happy to ignore that, he's starting to gain some ground. It's not a nice situation, and we can only hope that it doesn't end in violence.

Speaking of violence, we've managed to thwart at least four attempts by those damned Thalmor to undermine, sabotage or destroy the portal. And that's just the four that were deemed important enough for my attention. There's probably a fifth, when some enterprising goldskin thought he could set up a base on Earth. The scout we sent a week later reported that he and his mates had plonked themselves next to a den of deathclaws. Nasty things they are, and very bad neighbours. Just about bust a gut laughing when I learned about it.

Our trade is simple: We send food, and the means for growing same, and in return we get knowledge for the Institute of Technological Philosophy to squabble over. Already we're working on something exciting in the southern Jerrals, and barring any more explosions it should be revealed to the public in a few years.

And Ida Ottus has been having a field day railing against everything and anything from Earth. If you haven't read her work The Wheels of Sin, I strongly recommend it if you need a good laugh. Then get a bicycle of your own. Because if Ottus wrote it, you can be sure she's wrong.

But right now? I'm more concerned with the latest addition to my family. Someone dropped a baby, looks almost Breton, on the step of Faregyl Inn, after walking from the wayshrine. The first strange thing is that there were no footprints leading away. The second is that there was a letter, written in something resembling Earth's English, but it's just different enough that it's hard to read. And the third is that the boy has the most remarkable bright green eyes.