“Secure the brahmins and corral them into the mines, quickly!
“Have anyone armed, man the walls and towers!” I barked a series of orders to alleviate the ensuing chaos when a swarm of cazadors was reported gunning for us.
“Fuck that! I’m headin’ to the mines! I won’t be poisoned and bit to many pieces like one of yer cannon fodders, boy,” One of the slaves with a distended belly crudely said. How uncouth.
The coward managed to rally some of his fellow freed slaves and ran for the mines. “Should we stop them, sir?”
“Let them cower. They’ll make good guards for our brahmins.” I responded to the trooper. I was almost overcome with glee at being called a ‘sir’, depicting my seniority and command. Perhaps after setting up my mines and making Frederik Chemical dominate the NCR market, I could join the military and serve the country I love.
“Shouldn’t we join them, Mr Frederik? Fewer chances of being poisoned to death.” A girl trooper addressed me.
I could see many of her comrades in arms nod vigorously at her suggestion, prompting me to give a firm and strict reply, “Absolutely not, Private. We defeat them here and now. If we holed up in that mine, we’d only be kicking the problem down the line. I cannot have the cazadors pass by us and harass the civilians back in the convoys. You’re all soldiers, you’re meant to fight and protect civilians. I expect you all to do your duty.”
That seemed to have hammered in the nail as they followed my orders to the letter and manned the walls facing the incoming black cloud.
“You were a little mean to that lass back there.”
“You disapprove, Frank?”
"No. I agreed with what you said, but you should've been gentler.”
“Noted.” I didn’t have the time to argue with Frank as I ran back and forth screaming orders like a maniac. Thankfully, a few slaves weren’t snivelling cowards and chose to fight alongside the NCR troopers, one of them being the New Caanite, Joshua Graham.
“I see you all chose to fight with us. I commend you all for your bravery.”
“It’s not every day you get a boy call men, brave. But I'll take it.” Joshua said with gusto. “More of those brown soldiers are running from their dirt camp and coming over to us.”
“Those brown soldiers are NCR troopers. The best of the best. Smart of them to come here since this base has got better coverage. If you wouldn’t mind Joshua, please gather the freed slaves and have them man those ramparts.”
“Understood.”
I saw Winnemucca holding an old lady’s hand, gently escorting her towards the mines. He was surrounded by a few people with yellow paint streaking just below their eyes. I assumed they were his family and so I didn’t want to interrupt. I’ll just have to trust that he’ll come out and fight when the time is right.
As I was heading towards the south gate to meet up with Captain Kimball, I saw a lieutenant, with two silver bars stitched his uniform, herding the prisoners and lining them up. “What are you doing?” I couldn’t help ask.
“Go away, boy. This doesn’t concern you.”
Frank was quick to cast his shadows above me. “Considering that they’re my prisoners since they surrendered to me, it does concern me.”
He nervously looked at Frank then turned his attention to me, “Listen, kid. I’m lining them up to shoot them dead. I’ll not have us winning against the cazadors only to have these slaving savages stab us in the back.”
I’m grateful for his honesty however this was against the law, “You realise killing prisoners of war is illegal. You will get court-martialled over this.”
The lieutenant just laughed, his voice became nasal and unpleasant. “We’re a long way from the NCR. Now let us do our thing without you bothering us.”
That was disappointing. The NCR was more than a piece of land with borders made from thin air. It was the embodiment of justice, the rule of law and liberty that every Californian citizen is required to burden themselves to uphold, wherever they are. Of course, I reminded him of this.
“Bah! What we're doing is justice! So go away, kid. Come back when you no longer have a stick up your arse and when your balls drop.”
Welp. If appealing to his sense of justice and the rule of law has failed, time to tattle tale. I got out my portable radio. "This here has a direct frequency to President Tandi. Along with important commanders like General Drummond." I lied in the second part since I had to pound the urgency of his potential war crime.
“S-Seriously? Why are you so adamant in protecting these scums!” He pointed his clenched fist towards the lineup of Derrick raiders.
“Because it’s part of our laws. And because it is right. You don’t have the right to act as a judge, jury and executioner. That’s up to the judges and jurors.”
“Whatever!” He ran past me and barked orders, “Sierra, Alvarez, Sithole! Get your LMGs and set them up on the northern wall!”
“You handled that quite nicely.” I spun around to see Aaron Kimball. “That was Lieutenant Margreave. His family was killed by raiders and because of that he always relished in killing them all.”
“You ought to control your men better than this, Captain.”
“He’ll get chewed out by me later. Though, remember not everyone had a privileged upbringing like you did. So, impose your values with a bit more tact and class, next time.”
What in Dharma hells was he on about? These are no mere values but the rule of law. I was about to retort when I felt Frank flicking me at the back of my head. "Ow! Why'd you do that?!"
“Remember what I taught you, kid. No one likes being lectured by someone younger.”
“That was what you taught me when I was eight when I had to convince that Old Hag. Buzzcut is about the same age as Ed. Only eight years apart.” I didn’t want to be petulant however I was right and anyone who contradicts me, is wrong, and had to be corrected as soon as possible.
“You make a good point. But that only applies when you’re eighteen – a real adult instead of a snivelling brat. Now, let’s man the stations, shall we.” He didn’t even allow me to respond. Though I can appreciate him conceding a bit.
I spied a few soldiers with a coat of arms showing a two-headed bear pulling a cannon – a standard associated with the artillery regiment. They were holding a disassembled mortar, yet one of the barrels was significantly larger looking like a one-sided hourglass. Using a crowbar, they pried a few crates and what came out intrigued me. An arrow-shaped shell that fits seamlessly with the huge barrel.
Another bombshell came later when the troopers pulled out a radio and started to fiddle with the frequency, causing the shell to light up. I was curious and so I snuck up on them.
“Right. That’s the fuse primed up and ready. Just need to set up the radar – in fact what height should we set to make this baby explode?”
The trooper next to him looked at his binoculars and said, “I’m eye balling it but those cazadors seem to fly about fifty meters above ground.”
“Good as any.”
It can’t be?! A proximity fuse! I remember this in my dreams! My dreams became clearer and the first thing I gleaned from it was a place, which must've been something important from my past life – The Kaiser Wilhelm Society. My past life had colleagues who specialised in developing the weapon but in the end, they lost funding due to a lack of results. I chose this time to introduce myself, “Hello, what are these?”
Five of them snapped their heads and gave me an intense stare. A three-second silence ensued, which felt like an hour. I lost my patience and felt my cheeks twitching and said, "Fine. Keep your secrets. Can you at least tell me who makes these?” I needed to know who makes these. I had a feeling this weapon would revolutionise warfare and it seemed impossible for the Gun Runners to be making these.
“I’m afraid we can’t tell you, boy. We have orders from Peter von Dietel to not disclose where we make these.”
‘Peter von Dietel’? The director for the Office for Science and Industry? Excellent. With that paltry information, I was able to connect the dots to the OSI. It seemed I was lied to about the full extent of the capabilities of the OSI. Such a shame, if Frederik Chemical made these, I would be swimming in so much money. But all hope is not yet lost, I could sniff an opportunity here.
“Talking is over! The death cloud is within two kilometres! Load ‘em up!”
I wanted to see what these proximity shells were about to do. Learning about them in a dream was a tad bit too dry – only theories written in paragraphs upon paragraphs. It was boring. With an ominous thump, I was about to behold the outright devastation it was going to cause.
Activating the VATS to slow time down, I contracted my ciliary muscles and squeezed my pupils to see at a greater distance. Ever since my pipboy gave me an electric shock of a lifetime, such abilities presented themselves to me and I intended to exploit them the best I could.
I saw the three shells explode in a microcosm of thousands of red-hot shrapnel, that eviscerated hundreds of cazadors into an unholy amalgamation of melted black smudge. After a few seconds, the smudge turned runny and splattered the ground beneath it.
A couple of barrages later, the tide of cazadors was reduced to a few hundred.
Many more were blown out of the sky later, but I saw with great dismay, several cazadors – much bigger and, by the way they shot out to the sky, also more agile and quicker than their vermin brethren. The artillery regiment took precious time to adjust their portable radio and radar to set off the fuse at a greater altitude.
Precious time we didn’t have as they started to descend upon us.
But not all hope was lost as I saw a ranger pierce the larger cazador, with their oversized sniper. Frustratingly, only a few of them were present, and to their credit, they were downing one per shot, but it wasn’t enough to thin their numbers.
Not wanting dozens of people to die from a mauling and poison, I ran up to the ranger who just finished reloading his sniper. “You’re too slow. Gimme.” The older man was too stunned to voice his rejection.
I hefted it and struggled to even point the thing up. Not to worry, I invested 2 more points into strength. At least I did. To the testament of my eidetic memory, I can definitely say I didn’t put points into immense pain!
My blood felt like lava burning through my skin. My chest felt as if an anvil was crushing it. Eventually, my muscles twitched – myocytes flaring, and I could finally see some refinement in them. The pain was not worth it, but I looked in satisfaction at my toned biceps.
Just before the old ranger reached for his gun, I activated VATS making him pause, and I aimed the sniper towards the sky.
I patiently waited a couple of hours, though I knew it was just a few seconds in real time when three to five of the damn mosquitos aligned. Then I shot, ejecting a .50 calibre round which bisected half a dozen cazadors. I aimed and shot nine more rounds, cutting their number down to half a hundred.
I would’ve loved to continue but when I reached for another magazine strapped to the ranger’s strap, I became paralysed.
"Boy, I don't know what you've just done, but that was awesome!" The old ranger patted me on the shoulders which was enough to tilt me dangerously close to the edge of the rampart.
“Watch out!” My cowboy guardian angel was fast enough to reach me. The ranger blurted out a few excuses, but he didn’t know I couldn't move a single muscle, including my vocal cords. The poor man thought I was giving him the silent treatment! I had to thank him later for letting me use his rifle.
Frank held me up whilst shooting his revolver at the cazadors who survived my rampage.
Many of the freed slaves ran as soon as they came within spitting distance. A few were successful and retreated to the mines but some were stung and started to convulse, their saliva frothing in their mouth.
I looked at Joshua Graham as he valiantly ran to a group of poisoned people and started to unload his .45 auto pistol with fury. “The Lord God planted the garden of Eden. And there He created Man, not you foul abominations of satan! Begone!” Just like that, the coast was clear to inject my antivenoms into them, stopping their convulsions within seconds.
However, a few were not so lucky. A pot-bellied man had his head sliced into several layers, by their sharp mandibles – spraying copious amounts of blood in the process.
In a twist of dark irony, the blood pooled from the dead man’s head attracted a smattering of cazadors where they were ruthlessly shot down by saturated fire.
These enormous cazadors had thick skin that could barely withstand 5.56mm rounds, but with enough volume, they went down all the same.
Lieutenants, sergeants and Captain Kimball were doing their very best to organise their troopers to gun them down.
Unable to close my eyes, I saw another gruesome death where a cazador oozed and spat fizzling saliva across the corpse of a sliced up female trooper, dissolving her in a yellow soup on which the cazador feasted, their claws twitching with excitement.
Scenes like this repeated across Derrick camp though I wasn’t disheartened by it since slowly but surely, we were winning. The last of the cazador was shot down by a sniper causing it to explode in a hail of chitin and mandibles. Good timing too, since I regained control of my limbs.
“You may want to talk to Doctor Calhoun about your paralysis, kid. This ain’t normal.” I appreciate your concern, Frank, but this is the result of my amazing pipboy. Frank wrapped his calloused hands over my mouth, “And no. Whatever you did five minutes ago and back at that vault is not down to your pipboy. It’s only a tool. It’s not supposed to do anything close to what you’re doin’.”
I puffed my chest at that, “Maybe I’m just that good.”
“Perhaps, or you're just a moronic kid that’s killing himself using that pipboy.”
“What a spoil sport. Fine, I’ll see Doctor Calhoun.”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Once again, our celebrations were cut short when I heard Captain Kimball in an animated conversation with someone on his portable radio.
“What do you mean there are more?!”
I heard a crackle from the radio, "Our eyebots have detected a number of swarms, sir! Thankfully, they aren't as large as the ones that passed by us. They seem to be hovering around the Grand Canyon, northeast from here."
That’s where Winnemucca lives. I looked where he was and the brute was standing on top of three carcasses of cazadors with his service rifles and bayonet covered with black slime. A relatively large host was the first to get out of the mine and they immediately went over to Winnemucca and started to cheer and dance.
I unknowingly released a heavy sigh I didn’t know I was holding. At least his close family is safe. But he must have friends and cousins back where he’s from, Paiute land, I think. I needed to tell him.
“What do you mean? Our homes are destroyed! By these things?!” He kicked a carcass causing its head and part of the thorax to violently disconnect in a shower of gore and ink. Winnemucca then advanced towards me, his height blocking the sun as he said, “Do not underestimate my tribe, Leon. The ways of the Spirit run through us all, fuelling us with life and strength. We’ll head back and there’ll still be the Paiute standing strong and proud.”
He gave me a big grin and I reciprocated by schooling my features as neutrally as I could. Trust me, I wanted to tilt my head in utter confusion and demean him. I was raised better than that though. But the question remains, how to go through a primitive’s hard skull that was so ignorant - he calls guns as ‘gods’ wrath’. It’s easy, by calling him stupid and savage, but I want it to be as genial as possible. After all, I wanted these people as allies since subjugation was much harder and less likely to work.
"We have shamans that use flying spirits to scour the future. They see nothing but death and destruction for your people.”
An elderly woman with a back, perpendicular to her legs cried. A few kids just a few years younger started to wail. A small whimper swiftly turned into a tsunami of tears from various relatives of Winnemucca. I didn’t really care about the crying. They needed the truth hounded on them. "What are we going to do?" The elderly woman with an impossibly hunched back asked.
“You could come with us. The NCR has a welcoming policy for refugees.”
“What’s the En-se-arh? Is that you’re chieftain.”
Oh boy, I think I have them hooked. If they’re just one-tenth as useful as Winnemucca, then this will be a boon for Edward and the NCR outpost in Flagstaff. I swear to God, we’ll get there one day! If only the cazadors don't turn southeast, we'll be good, otherwise, we'll be forced to turn back to Needles, crossing that damnable bridge again.
I spent the entire time on the way back to the convoy, answering their questions. Occasionally looking concerned at Winnemucca as he devoted all his rage and angst into being a human sheepdog, herding dozens of brahmins into an orderly formation. Well, as orderly as those cows can get.
“How many people live in Shady Sands?" The Paiute people asked and I answered with five thousand. “Wow! That’s ten times as many compared to us! How’d you grow that much corn to feed that many people?”
That stunned me so I asked, “What’s corn?”
"Corn is a sweet and heavy crop! Backbreaking to harvest but taste like heaven." Interesting, now that’s an opportunity. Maybe sugar can be extracted from that crop and give those price gougers in Imperial Valley some competition in the sugar market. Serves them right for hogging all that sugar and increasing the price every month!
I was getting more tired and weary from back-and-forth questions yet I endured for the sake of recruiting them in the future. Seeing the commotion at the front, I politely slid away from them.
In my head, returning back to the convoy was a matter of urgency since there were swarms of murderous insects that may or may not decide to roam further south and make our lives hell. It was a matter of life and death to continue on with the journey but I had the misfortune of settling yet another dispute when we stopped by at the vault.
“Since we’re all here, we can rescue him and kill that glowing ghoul!” A lady with glasses exclaimed – I think her name was Rita.
“Absolutely not, Sergeant. My orders are absolute. It was egregious enough for you to disobey Lieutenant Simmons, but this ends now. You’re lucky I’m feeling lenient today. Probably caused by my near brush with death,” Captain Kimball said.
“But, Sir! He can still be saved! We all owe him!” She turned to her comrades who looked away in shame. “Traitors! Cowards! He saved you all and this is how you repay him!”
“People with common sense really,” I whispered beneath my head provoking Frank to slap me in the head.
“You, who has none, can’t afford to comment on common sense – so be quiet.” I was quiet, hence the whisper. “Remember, you persuaded them to enter this vault. Now take responsibility and do your thing.”
I sighed and rolled up my sleeves. My thing? To be a mediator? To be the middleman between two grown adults that can’t have a civilised debate. Fine. “Excuse me,” the two jerked and pointed their heads to me, “Sergeant Rita, how much do you have faith that Private Owens is still alive?”
“Enough, that I’ll gladly risk my life to save him. I’ll storm that vault again, not to loot, but to rescue someone more precious.”
“You would waste your own life when George Owens sacrificed so much to save you.” And me, and all of us.”
“He hasn’t sacrificed shit! You’re talking as if he’s dead! He’s not.” I hope he’s dead – can't have the Brotherhood of Steel and their witch-hunts sniffing for a blue mutant near here. Though, I can’t tell her that, so may as well give her some hope.
"Do you think he's strong?"
“Of course!” She jumped and punched... Air?
“Do you think he can win against the Glowing One?”
“Yes!”
“Does he know where we’re going?”
“Yes! He keeps going on and on about how his ancestors came from Flagstaff!”
“Then no need to worry then. If you have this much faith in his strength, then there’s no need to save him. Come with us and don’t waste your life. I wouldn’t like to be the one to tell George, when he comes back, that you died to save him.”
Rita’s legs wobbled a bit – it was proof of her convictions that she composed herself and said, “You’re right. I-I'll wait for him in Flagstaff.” Yeah – he's dead. You’ll be waiting for a long time.
“Good choice. Now let’s get moving. I don’t want to melt under a cazador’s spit!" Kimball saluted me then turned back and led from the front.
More walking later and more questions answered I finally saw a ring made of coaches.
Edward and I fist-bumped and I quickly pushed him into the horde of refugees and former slaves. I figured it would be useful for him to learn about his future citizens. I hated to admit it but he was more charismatic than me. Charming the ghouls of Necropolis to supply us with high quality steel for precious few dollars. Persuading many miners and farmers to pack up and go in the middle of Arizona for a better future. It just goes to show how much I need to learn from him.
I saw groups of refugees get herded into a makeshift hospital where medics bearing the cross of the Followers of the Apocalypse, scrambled back and forth with masks on their faces. If they were checking them for infectious diseases, it’s entirely too late now since a lot of soldiers, including me, were in close proximity to them.
When I saw Edward disengage with Winnemucca’s tribe, I made a move towards him until I felt Frank holding my head. “Where are you goin’, boy? You said you were goin’ to the doc.”
Tsk. “Fine.” I didn’t pout. Doctor Calhoun was by himself in his trailer when I knocked.
"Please go away, mister Higson! I don't have any more painkillers, and even if I did – I certainly wouldn't give you anymore." Wrong person. “Ah! Mr Frederik. Off in a little adventure. A dangerous one, too. Do I need to keep reminding you to stop endangering yourself? And what about you Mr Peterson! How can you let a little boy run off into near death!”
Frank stared placidly and stated, “I was paid to protect, not to lecture.”
Bill Calhoun wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. “There's no reasoning with you people. Clearly, you're not here to listen to my advice, so what can I do to help?"
I pointed to my pipboy, “When I first wore this, it gave me a frightful shock of my life. I thought I was about to die. I felt my nerves burning, muscles contracting and blood vessels reforming. And whenever I turn on the aim assist in my pipboy, I become locked-in – unable to move my legs, yet my arms are a million times faster. The world slows down too, which makes aiming easier.”
"Can you demonstrate?"
I turned VATS on, the world ground to a halt, and took out my gun – making sure to unclip and clip the magazines perhaps a hundred times in a few seconds.
“Incredible! The level of precision to execute those movements at such an outstanding time! I couldn’t even see it.” The doctor pondered over his notes and murmured, “Not mentats – that increases brain activity which makes the world slow down – similar but not quite. Hmmm.
“Any other side effects other than paralysis? Like migraines, headaches, loss of focus?”
I shook my head and said, "No. In fact, I was very focused. I saw every detail when fifty or so, cazadors were attacking the base." Shivering slightly from my memories I carried on, “I’ve always been good at remembering things and now it seems I can retrace my memories – hour by hour, minute by minute and second by second. Still no migraines.”
“Very intriguing. Any abnormal muscular control?”
I didn’t mean to recoil from that since the question was specific – too specific. It’s as if Bill Calhoun has already experienced this before. “Y-yes,” I meekly groaned not knowing whether to conceal this particular activity. It wouldn’t be hard since I was hiding the fact I have supernatural dreams about my past life that I haven’t even told anyone – including my parents and Ben!
Bill once again shuffled his notes and brought out a few books as he clumsily threw them down on the table. “Can you give me any examples like can you see super far away by adjusting your eyes?”
That-That didn’t sound too good. He was hitting far too close to home to be a coincidence. Calhoun knows and I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or fear. “Yes, I can. I can see from your eyes that you already know what my condition is.”
“I do. Only two people in history are recorded to have this particular infliction. The Vault Dweller - the proto-president of the NCR and the Chosen One of Arroyo.
“The scientific community doesn’t know the exact mechanism of their great gifts. But they have something in common, they had rather common abilities – yes, above average compared to most people, but attainable from practice. Yet, as soon as they wore a pipboy, they became monsters.”
Doctor Bill Calhoun hummed and stared repeatedly at his growing stacks of notes, filling and picking each sheet with refined precision, like a surgeon removing a layer of skin. “From the way you’ve described your experience - your neurons firing, myocyte hypertrophy and rapid angiogenesis, the pipboy basically reconstructed your body. And in the process gave you abilities that many would die for.
“But the question remains, there are thousands in Vault City wearing pipboys. Why don’t they have the same abilities as you, the Vault Dweller and the Chosen One?"
I didn’t like where he was going with this.
“There are theories, hypotheses and primitive grasping of straws that somehow have logic. It's been discussed within academics that those two are mutants. Born from eugenics or genetic engineering likely carried out by Vault-Tec before the war.” I gulped hard and attempted to slow my rapidly beating heart. Not saying anything and completely oblivious, the doctor kept talking.
“It wouldn’t surprise me since terminals in Vault 8 – a vault under Vault City, stated that it was one of 'seventeen control Vaults' established by Vault-Tec. That sounds ominous and sinister. Then Vault 15, as you know its descendants created Shady Sands; was an experiment by combining thousands of people with differing ethos, ideologies, principles and ethics. That’s just one experiment being carried out in one vault. There are at least a hundred scattered across North America.”
“Should you be sharing this with me and Frank.” This all sounds like it should be highly classified for good reason. Distrust between vault-dwellers and native wastelanders was simmering and bombshells like this would only ignite it like an uncontrollable wildfire, causing tensions to reach a boiling point.
Bill eyed me like an eagle, “I’m good friends with Adam. And I’m also a patriot, just like yourself, and a devoted servant of the Republic. Both Chancellor Adam Farkas and President Tandi regard you highly. You have a good head around your shoulders, I’m sure you know the consequence of loose lips.”
He straightened his back and cracked his knuckles, “Anyways, back to you. I suspect you’re a mutant that was genetically engineered to receive the full benefits of pipboys. Vault-Tec and RobCo, the company who makes pipboys, were very close before the bombs fell. I wouldn’t put it past them to carry out unethical experiments to create a perfect human, without side effects like turning into a green brute with no brains.”
This can’t be. I can’t be a mutant! I’m normal! Barring the dreams, I’m normal! “But I wasn’t born in a test tube! Mamma gave birth to me!”
“I wasn’t saying you weren’t a product of natural intercourse. But you can trace your heritage back to the dwellers of Vault 15.”
I felt the world gather around me, trying to crush and destroy me, conspiring against me. It was all making sense. The brutal and disgusting experiment I read about in the Overseer’s terminal back in Vault 36. The seventeen ‘control vaults’ and now I knew there was an experiment in Vault 15.
It wasn’t really a leap of logic to think if Vault-Tec has the ability to conduct these experiments on paying people, then what’s stopping them from genetically engineering people to have a high affinity to pipboys?
Heck! Not even genetically engineering but simple eugenic programs where people with desirable DNA are mated with each other, like peas in a pod similar to Gregor Mendel’s studies. After all, it’s widely known all Vault-Tec participants had to undergo genetic screening.
In the end, it wasn't a metaphorical 'leap' in logic and more like a slight hop over a puddle of reasons. It wasn’t concrete but the chances of me being a product of Vault-Tec's experiments hence making me a mutant, was likely.
“But why me?! How about those in Vault City.”
Doctor Calhoun clicked his tongue and wagged his fingers then said, “You’re not listening. They come from Vault 8 – a control group. There’s likely nothing wrong with them other than the lack of telomeric DNA damage caused by ionising radiation.”
Clouds of death swam in front of me, trying to rationalise the situation I was in. I had to keep practising my abilities from neuron control to improve muscular control. However, the more I kept practicing the more exposed I was. The more likely the Brotherhood would target me for being a mutant, the same way they’ve targeted the Chosen One.
But did they target him for having the same ability as me or because he held lots of advanced technologies, he learned from the Enclave oil rig? Doubt and hope swirled in a rapid vortex, making me more edged and jumpier than usual. It got so bad I had to excuse myself to vent my frustration by kicking sand. Irrational? Yes. Did it calm me down? Yes.
I looked at my silver watch and noticed it was time for my secret weekly report to President Tandi. I took out my portable radio and dialled and tuned the frequency directly to the President, whilst perching myself behind a rock making sure no one was near me. The encryption, born from immense paranoia, took a while for it to connect. Unfortunately, it left me with my thoughts, something that was unwanted.
I grit my teeth and tried to remember what happened in the past four days. We went through a lot and as Frank would say, ‘out of the danger and into the other’. From encountering competent raiders to killing hundreds of ghouls to killing thousands of cazadors.
Me getting a pipboy and somehow getting unimaginable powers that a respected physician and scientist dubs as 'mutant'. Revelations upon revelations came as frequently as tumbleweeds rolling in the desert. It was mind-breaking and nearly drove me mad. Thankfully, I was stronger than in mind and body thanks to my pipboy. I caressed it and turned it on. Surely, I don’t need a portable radio if I have this? Just need to know how to use it like what it was intended. Wait? Do I even know how to use it like a radio?
Radar and radio are similar since they use the same electromagnetic waves. Perhaps I can fiddle with the user interface later. I smacked my head and cringed – I should’ve carefully looked through that vault looking for a manual.
I was grateful that my portable radio finally picked up a signal before I anguished in regret. “Operator, speaking. This is the Oval Office. May I have your clearance number?”
“11262236,” Quite easy to remember my birthday.
“Mr Leon Frederik, it’s a pleasure. Transferring you to Madame President now.”
A crackle and fizzle later, “Leon, my boy. How are you doing?”
I stopped bristling when he addressed me like that ages ago because I knew she didn't mean to disrespect me. "It has been a turbulent half-a-week." I rattled off what had happened.
“Oh dear. It’s good news I don’t have to write a letter thanking the relatives of Private George Owens.”
“Respectfully, Ma’am, you should write it and send it. The more people who know he’s dead, the safer this expedition from Brotherhood scrutiny.”
“You’re talking about the recent demand from the Brotherhood?”
"Yes, Ma'am. What you told me last week was too brief. I need specifics. What type of mutants are they asking you to... Dispose?”
I waited for her response with bated breath. "I remember you weren't too interested in their demands last week. I wonder what changed?" Lady, please answer my question first before asking another question.
“I didn’t mean to be so dismissive last time, Ma’am. I had complete faith in your diplomatic prowess to reason with them." I really tried hard to be as egalitarian as possible – challenging my prejudices and biases, but after that ghoul slaver, a former ranger, my opinion on ghouls dropped to a new low. It wasn’t right to judge a tree from one rotten apple but seeing those slave pens manned with ghouls acting as prison officers was too much. President Tandi picked a bad time to drop that information on me.
“I appreciate your flattery, Mr Frederik. But I just had a meeting with Paladin Elijah Samson, specifying what they need us to do. They wanted any research based on the forced evolutionary virus and yes to isolate the supermutants, with the goal of answering the mutant question.
“Not just them but to cripple manufacturing companies owned by ghouls. Those blundering fools don’t know that will decimate the economy of Necropolis. Now what has changed for you to refocus on the mutant question?”
“To answer your question, I didn’t see the threat of their focus against mutants, but now that Private Owens and his powerful radioactive activities is around, they’ll be busy sniffing around north Arizona. I’m not too comfortable having to host power-armoured luddites tracking down George Owens.”
“How prudent of you, though I’ll have to remind you that those supermutants and ghouls are New Californians. Ultimately, that’s not your problem. That is Edward Sallow’s responsibility as a leader.” If the Steel Plague ever discover my ability there’s a high chance they’ll detain me. Perhaps try to kill me like they did with the Chosen One?
I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. To defend myself from the Brotherhood, I had to train my pipboy abilities but the more I used it – the higher the chance they'll discover me. “With all due respect, Ma’am, if I'm not the leader – why are you asking me to report to you. Why not instruct Ed, himself?”
"People in positions of power often overexaggerate their achievements and downplay their problems, from my experience. I need someone who's close friends with Mr Sallows and also able to give an unbiased report. Now if you don’t mind me ending -”
“Madame President, what are you planning for our mutant citizens?”
"We'll protect them. An injustice to some, is an injustice to all. You best remember that, Leon Frederik."