I will do my best to put Brutus to paper (Namely because I am a fan of Caesar's Legion) and then work down the line. Finished a preliminary of Brutus and sent him off to ya.

Hoping the PM system works as it does not say I have sent any messages.... Anyway he is on my Deviant if the PM failed.

I really like that arm....

I got a kick out of Abby earning the hiring and then blackmailing them to hire Ed, lol. Loved your invention of the "tusker" - and the (urk) detailed killing of it, but especially the "oink oink" at the end, lol. Great Write !!

Thanks very much, Malx!

Already getting a soft spot for Abby, and I'm quite proud of the tuskers (I'm going to need to feature them again, some time). Can think of a few places I can put them...

You really should be proud of the tuskers. I love coming across examples of a writer's own world-building like that (and modders that create something out of their own imagination) - and I agree, Abby is a very interesting and likable character so far.

Malx: Ah, now you're making me want to make a tusker mod for New Vegas. Yeesh, imagine coming across one of those in the Thorn...

Anyway, more is hnyah


Chapter 8

“And this next song is brought to you by Anston and Co.; people hurt and things broken. Find them on Freeside, in old cinema by the Strip Gate.”

“You hear that?” Michael asked, as Mr New Vegas’ husky tones were replaced by cheerful guitar chords and male voices singing in quite a pleasant harmony of what they could do with a little bit of money and you. “That’s the sound of business coming in; music to my ears.”

“Nice lullaby for you, then,” Brutus remarked from his place by the fire, comment accompanied by a regular scraping as he ran a whetstone along the blade of his machete. He had been trying to get at least something resembling an edge on the dented part, but so far it seemed that he’d need to hammer it back into shape first. Not that it really needed to be all that sharp, Michael thought; that weapon was less a sword and more a club with an edge.

“Yep,” Michael said, as he lay the parts of his disassembled pistol on the lining of his shrugged-off jacket. “Sweetest tune I’ve ever heard.”

He opened the cleaning kit he’d taken from his satchel, and began to clean the chamber of the small firearm in the light of the fire. That jam with the tusker earlier in the day hadn’t been helpful, and last thing he wanted was a repeat incident with some radscorpions or cazadores or anything else equally nasty.

“Mike, I don’t get something,” Ed said suddenly.

“Don’t call me Mike, I’m your boss,” Michael replied simply.

“What? Brutus does?” Ed said.

“That’s because Brutus earned the privilege to call me Mike,” Michael replied. “You haven’t yet. So it’s Michael, got it?”

“Alright, fine,” Ed said. “Anyway, can I ask that question?”

“Go nuts,” Michael replied as he flicked some stray dust particles out of the chamber of his stripped down pistol with a brush.

“You said you were a pacifist, right? So how come you were shooting at that tusker?”

“It’s a tusker,” Michael replied dismissively. “Besides, the thing didn’t care.”

“That’s not really an answer though, is it?” Ed pressed.

“Look, it’s just some dumb animal,” Michael said. “It’s only really with people that I have that rule.”

“Why is that?” Ed asked. “I mean, this is the Mojave; people kill each other all the time out here.”

“I know,” Michael said. “I just always felt that killing people is, I don’t know, messy. Unprofessional.”

Ed frowned, before he said; “You’re the boss of a merc company, though. I mean, you kill people for money.”

“That’s different,” Michael said. “I coordinate the killing of other people for money.”

“How’s that different? I mean, that seems the same as just killing them, to me,” Ed said.

“It’s just…it’s just how I do things, alright?” Michael said. “I never said it’s a perfect system, but it works for me.”

Ed shrugged.

“Alright,” he said. “Just wondering, that’s all.”

“Fine,” Michael said. “Abby, how’s that food going?”

“Gimme a minute,” she replied. She pulled the old frying pan on which the porkchops and tubers they were cooking sizzled on, and poked one of them with a slightly rusty fork. “Think they’re good.”

“Great,” Brutus said. “I’m hungry.”

“Then chow down,” Michael said, as Abby slid the food onto a few battered tin plates. She just had hers right in the pan, and Michael couldn’t help but notice it was the biggest of them there, but he let it slide. He supposed she’d earned it by making sure Brutus’ innards stayed inside him. “You’ve got first watch, big guy.”

Brutus shrugged, before he said; “Fine.”

Michael nodded as he chewed. He swallowed the mouthful of pork and said; “Anyway, get some sleep after we’re done eating; we’re on our way to Nipton tomorrow.”

#

“Goddamn dust,” Michael muttered resentfully as he wiped the fine powder off the lenses of his sunglasses. “Last leg of the journey and we get hit by a dust storm. Typical.”

“This one isn’t too bad,” Brutus said. “I mean, we can still see ahead of us, can’t we? We’ve been hit by worse.”

Michael nodded as he squinted through the ochre haze, one hand held on the bridle of his horse. He checked the compass on his Pip Boy to make sure they were going the right way through the dust once more, and was relieved that they were; getting lost in one of these things wasn’t life threatening, but it certainly was irritating.

“I guess,” he said. “Jeez, you remember that time the weather got so bad that that arm of yours seized up?”

“How could I forget?” Brutus said. “Now that was a dust storm.”

“Hey!” Ed called from his place a few metres ahead, voice slightly muffled by the scarf he was using to cover his face. “I think I see Nipton up ahead.”

“Well thank god for that,” Michael remarked. “Be good to get out of this dust.”

The storm began to slack off as they approached, moving into the lee of the arid, rocky hills on the west side of town that sheltered it from the wind. They climbed up a bank of earth that lead up from the cracked, parched expanse of flat ground they had just traversed, the crude barricade of scrap metal, old wood and debris that surrounded Nipton coming into view.

“Is that smoke?” Ed asked as he looked at a pillar of the stuff that was gently drifting skywards.

“Looks like it,” Michael said, still heading forwards. “Hope there ain’t anything wrong; might not get paid if there is.”

Brutus nodded as they approached, but it was only a few minutes later that they saw the two banners of Caesar’s Legion standing right outside the entrance of the gate.

“Ah crap,” Michael muttered as he saw them.

They drew to a halt, and Abby asked; “Well, what do we do?”

“We’re getting paid on delivery,” Michael said. “We’ll need to check it out.”

They were about to enter the town, when there was a whooping noise, someone cheering. The small band paused as they saw someone running towards them, hands going to weapons before they saw he was the one laughing.

Michael frowned, before he called; “You alright, pal?”

“Alright? Alright? I’m great!” came the reply. “I won the lottery! I’m okay! I wont the lottery!”

“What lottery?” Michael asked as the man drew to a halt by them. He was dressed in some kind of stained denim coverall, and was there was a crude bandage made from a strip of cloth around his upper arm.

“The lottery!” the winner replied. “And I won it! Hah, I’m free!”

He pushed past them, jumping in the air in exultant joy with a cry of “Winner!” before he disappeared into the haze.

“Goddamn lunatic,” Michael remarked disparagingly as they watched him go. “C’mon, let’s go check this out.”

Nipton was in a bad state as they entered it. A lot of the small, one-storey wooden prewar houses that made up the majority of its architecture had been burned and were nothing more than collapsed piled of scorched timber, ash and embers, the smell of smoke and death causing their horses to whicker and whinny nervously. Those that had been fortunate to remain upright had had windows smashed and their doors kicked in, and there were more than a few bodies scattered around. They rounded a corner, and froze for a moment, briefly stunned by the crosses that lined the street, men and women alike lashed to them.

“Eesh,” Michael muttered. “This ain’t pretty.”

Now, I’m no saint, and I won’t pretend that I am. I’ve had people do some pretty nasty things on my behalf, and had more than a few beaten up and even killed, but even I have my limits and crucifixion is beyond those. I mean, there’s sending a message and then there’s being just plain old nasty for no good reason, and that’s definitely in the second category.

They advanced along the road cautiously, and Michael noticed that Abby wasn’t trying to look at the unfortunates lashed to the rebar crosses, shuffling closer to Ed. Brutus looked to be completely impassive, and Michael realised that he was probably used to this sort of sight; he was formerly of the Legion, after all. The far end of the street was occupied by a grand building, one wing slightly scorched, and there were several figures waiting outside it.

Michael and his small cohort drew to a halt as they were noticed, Legionaries gathering in front of the building, and for a moment a tense silence reigned. Michael’s gaze flickered across the group they were facing; there were ten of them, against just four. If they decided to attack, there was no way they would get out in one piece.

“Who are you people?” one of them suddenly challenged. He wore dark goggles, and there was the head of an animal, a fox, growling over his own, worn like a helmet. “And what are you doing here?”

“My name’s Michael Anston,” Michael answered. “I’m in charge of Anston and Co. We’re here to deliver a package.”

He looked around at the massacred town, and added; “Or at least, we were going to.”

A Legionary suddenly emerged from a house, a young man with a strange dent in the left side of his shaven head, before he said; “Frumentarii, we searched the house. It wasn’t in there.”

The one in the fox helmet glanced over at him, and said; “Did you check everywhere, Nuncius?”

“I did, Frumentarii,” the one called Nuncius replied. “It wasn’t there.”

Fox Helmet shook his head, before he turned back to Michael. “What were you delivering and to whom?”

“We weren’t to tamper with the package, so I’ve got no idea,” Michael replied. “Said we had to deliver it to some old guy called…lemme see…”

He flicked his Pip Boy on and read out from his wrist; “Give to a John Payne.”

This seemed to get their interest, Michael noted, before Fox Helmet said; “I’ll have that package, Michael Anston.”

“Whoa, hey, not so fast here,” Michael said. “I can’t just go handing it out to anyone. That’s not what I was paid for.”

He noticed the change in the body language of the Legionaries surrounding Fox Helmet, hands resting on the grips of weaponry, leaning forwards slightly and he stepped back, before eh said; “Hey, look, let’s take things from the top here, alright? What about some proper introductions, huh? You know me, so can I ask what your name is?”

“Vulpes Inculta,” Fox Helmet replied. “Frumentarii of Caesar’s Legion.”

“Vulpes Inculta, right,” Michael said, nodding. “You mind if I call you Vulpes?”

Michael guessed that he was being frowned at, but beneath the goggles and the outlandish helmet that Vulpes Inculta wore it was impossible to tell.

“If you really have to,” the Frumentarii replied slightly icily.

“OK, great,” Michael said. “Look, Vulpes, I’m not gonna lie; you try and jump us and take this package, then, well, it’s eleven on four; you’re gonna get it. But, we’re all armed, we’ve all fought people before; we aren’t just some townies who just rely on walls to keep us safe. So, you try and take it, it’s yours, but we’re going to do some damage, aren’t we, you’re going to lose people. But, and here I am guessing that this package of yours is important, if you go back to Caesar with a full-strength raiding party as well as whatever it is you’re looking for like when you came out, then that’s going to make you look good.”

Vulpes Inculta was quiet for a moment, before he said; “What do you suggest?”

“Well, we were being paid on delivery,” Michael said. “So you give us the fee for it, we give you whatever’s in this package and then we part ways amicably like civilised people.”

“How much was the delivery?” Vulpes Inculta asked.

“Five hundred caps,” Michael said, pulling up the highest plausible figure he could.

“I’ll give you two aureii for it,” Vulpes Inculta replied.

Michael was about to press it, before he looked at the Legionaries that had him and his small group surrounded and decided against that course of action.

“Alright,” he said. “Can’t really argue with that, can I?”

He withdrew the small cardboard-wrapped package from the satchel he carried it in, and passed it over to Vulpes Inculta, who handed over a few small golden coins in return. Michael bit one of them to check if it was genuine, before he nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Good doing business with you, Vulpes.”

Vulpes Inculta nodded, before he said; “A final question for you, mercenary; one of our long-range patrols out here disappeared a few weeks ago, one lead by a Decanus called Calidius. Do you have any idea what happened to them?”

“Afraid not,” Michael said, thrown for a moment. “Must have run into the NCR or something.”

Vulpes Inculta shrugged.

“I thought as much,” he said. “We’ll be returning to the Fort now that we have this.”

Michael nodded.

“Anything worth taking here?” he asked, gesturing to the stricken town around them.

“We haven’t looted much, no,” Vulpes Inculta replied. “You’re welcome to help yourselves.”

He nodded to the Legionaries under his command, and they headed for the town’s gate past the rest of Michael’s small group.

“Ave, Brutus,” he said to the massive man as he passed him, the mercenary returning the greeting, and with that they left.

Michael looked around the half-destroyed town, before he shook his head.

“Well, we definitely got the short straw there,” he said. “Damn, can’t believe it.”

“We got paid, didn’t we?” Ed asked. “And we got out alive.”

“I suppose,” Michael said, eyeing the two coins he’d bee given. “Not as well as we could have been.”

He shrugged, before we said; “We’ll split this once we get back to the strip. Might as well see what we can take while we’re here.”

...Why no shootee head off?...Arnaud shootie Vulpes' head off...So why no shootie head off?...

...

The first time I got to Nipton...My Fallout Farn character walked up to Vulpes, suffered his waffle (not a euphamism) and then blew his head off...and while yes, he barely made it out in one piece, took all of the rest out...Arnaud was well unimpressed...

But that's just me... ...

As for yer story...Oh-ho-ho yes!!... ...

Loved it...

Nipton was brilliantly realised, not a pretty place...

The indoor campfire scene was excellent... ...

Loved this...



That made me laugh...Brilliant characters...Brilliant scenes...

Needs more Ripley... ...

But that's just me... ...

Nice one!!!... ...

*Applauds heartily*...

Awesome story man, i realy like that. You should publish somewhere in blogs or something you are good writer.

McBadgere: In answer to your question, well,from what I'm guessing, this Arnaud fella of yours is a heroic badas$. Michael, on the other hand, is a cowardly, greedy, self-serving swine; there's a big difference.

I'm having a lot of fun working Michael's rather odd form of pacificism into the story, and it does make for some interesting dilemmas in a world as violent as the Mojave. And Ripley should poke his ugly face into proceedings in the next chapter, don't worry.

Gerun: Thanks very much! I never really considered blog publishing before, but I might well give it some consideration now that you mention it. Cheers!

*

Ooh, you should make the mod! Urk, I hate Cazadores! Oh no, Nipton! I've got memories of guard dogs there, lol.

Awesome meeting with Vulpes Inculta, (loved his character in game!) really loved the interchange the trio had with him! Great Write!

*

Malx: But I don't have the ub3r 1337 skillz to do that. Or New Vegas on my PC. So how would I do so? HOW?!

Vulpes sequence was rather fun, even if it was simply because it went for the rather unusual approach of bargaining with him and then, instead of telling him to mend his Wicked Ways ™ just asked nicely if there's any loot. It's surprisingly fun to write a character as amoral as Michael.


Anyway, more is here. As of this chapter, I have decided that I hate both the King and the Kings for having such confusing interchangable names. Damn them. Damn them all…

Also, before anyone yells at me for getting it wrong, I’ve taken a bit of creative license with the King and made him a little older than he appears in the game. He always just felt like he should be slightly older than he is with his voice, so I figured I’d just roll with that idea. Whatever, it’s creative license and art and stuff. So, y’know, complaining about it actually means you’re oppressing art and freedom of speech, which probably means you’re a Communist or something.

Commie…

Chapter 9

All in all, I guess Nipton wasn’t a complete train wreck. Hardly our biggest success, but we got out of it with our hides in one piece and with a bit of cash as well. As for the loot, well, Nipton was a hole in the ground even before the Legion came, and all that we found that was worth any caps was a laser rifle that Abby picked up which she decided to keep. So with that done, we saddled up and headed back to base. I wasn’t too worried about taking flak for giving the package to the wrong person; oh, we delivered the package, yeah, picked up some supplies and headed back here. Really? The Legion raided the place and burnt it to the ground? Jesus, what are the chances?

The walls of concrete chunks and detritus that surrounded Freeside and New Vegas finally hove into view, the buildings within spearing skywards, and Michael grinned as they approached.

“Good to be back home, eh?” he asked as they made their way along the cracked road they were travelling along, in the shadow of an ancient and crumbling raised freeway.

“I’ll be feeling better once I’ve had a nice cold beer or something,” Ed remarked.

“I’ll drink to that,” Brutus remarked with a chuckle.

Michael nodded as they trotted further onwards. The journey wasn’t long, and the most major hazards that they had to deal with were a few potholes, and soon enough they’d reached the east gate of Freeside. The gate’s infamous sign, a massive construction of ramshackle scrap metal with ‘Freesid’ spelt out on it in flickering neon letters, was still intact, and they guided their horses to the base of it where Freeman Ike’s stables were.

There was a trio of Kings hanging out by the metal gates to the stables, the place’s security, wearing their usual uniform of leather jackets and jeans, and Michael and his small party suddenly got their attention as they approached. One of the stepped forwards as they reached it, flicking his burnt-down cigarette into the dust, and said; “You’re Michael Anston, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement, and Michael pulled his horse to halt.

“Who wants to know?” he asked.

“The King wants to see you,” was the answer he got. “Now.”

“OK,” Michael said. “I’ll go see him once we’ve got our horses stabled.”

“No, he wants to see you right now.”

“And you expect me to take horses into Freeside?” Michael said. “Someone’d steal and eat the damn things before I could blink.”

“Not my problem.”

“Well,” Michael said, dismounting and approaching the King who’d challenged him. “Tell his majesty I’ll be right over once I’m done with the horses.”

The King stared at him for a moment, before he said; “Fine.”

“Good,” Michael said, patting him gently on the cheek. “Go on, off ya go.”

He turned away from the ganger, heading through the open gates of the stables as the others dismounted and followed him into the dusty yard. There were a few horses tethered in place underneath a corrugated iron shelter, out of the sun as a stablehand groomed them, and there was the sound of whinnying and whickering from the barn that dominated the far corner.

“Hey, Freeman!” Michael called. “Freeman!”

There was no reply, though the stablehand gave them a glance, and Michael said; “Go fetch your boss, kid.”

He got a nod, and the kid hurried to the wooden building that sat next to the barn. He knocked on the door, and it was pulled open by a rotund, flabby man in a vest and stained trousers.

“What is it?” he growled past a smoking cigar.

“It’s me, that’s what,” Michael called over with a grin. Freeman saw him and smiled with stained teeth, before he said; “Michael! Good to see you back in town already.”

He glared irritably at the stablehand and added; “Go get their horses already.”

“Good to be back,” Michael said as the kid took the bridle from him and lead it away. “Though I was getting lip from the guys at your gate just a minute ago. What was that about?”

“Oh, yeah,” Freeman replied, taking a puff from his cigar. “King was getting antsy about that little base of operations you’ve got set up in Freeside. Apparently he had some people knocking on your door just yesterday only to find you were out of town.”

Michael frowned.

“You know what he wants?” he enquired.

“No idea,” Freeman answered with a shrug. “All I know is he wants to see you.”

“Eh, fine,” Michael said. “Oh yeah, how are those horses I sold you?”

“Those Legion ones?” Freeman asked. “Managed to flog ‘em off for a pretty good price to some Chairman in a fancy suit and some Khan bodyguards; going on some trip to Goodsprings or somewhere around there, I think he mentioned. Anyway, it was good of you to send ‘em my way on the cheap.”

“No problem,” Michael, a man who knew the value of an unreturned favour, said. “Hell, they’d have been more trouble for us if we’d kept them.”

He shrugged, and said; “Anyway, I should probably go find out what the King wants with me. Probably isn’t anything good.”

“Well, best of luck, then,” Freeman replied. “Try not to wind up dead, will ya? You’re a good customer.”

“Believe me, I’ll be doing my best not to,” Michael said with a grin.

They made their way into Freeside, heading towards their old cinema through the dilapidated half-ruin that was New Vegas’ outer slum. The streets seemed quieter at the moment, more subdued; you didn’t last long in Freeside if you couldn’t smell trouble, and there was tension in the air.

“Lot of Kings about,” Brutus remarked quietly.

Michael nodded, seeing members of Freeside’s impromptu law enforcement lounging on street corners or old lampposts. They weren’t doing anything and there didn’t seem to be more than usual, but Michael couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being surrounded. The King believed in the rule of law and the rights of man, he told himself, and if there was anyone who’d at least let him speak his peace it would be him; the Kings wouldn’t just surround them and shoot them down, that wasn’t his style.

They reached the final run of the Strip, where the King’s School of Impersonation was as well as their own base, the tinny music that played from the School echoing across the street emptily. Michael slung the satchel that he carried off his shoulder and handed it to Brutus.

“Go head back to the base,” he said to the ex Legionary.

“You sure you don’t want me in there?” Brutus asked,

“Nah, I need to look like I’m willing to play nice and, no offence, but you’re not gonna make that kind of impression,” Michael said. “Besides, if the Kings decide to jump us then I doubt there’s all that much you could do about it anyway.”

“Alright,” Brutus said. “I’ll see you later.”

Michael nodded, and headed towards the King’s School of Impersonation.

I’m not gonna lie; I was pretty damn nervous about this whole meeting. The Kings had one hell of a lot more muscle than Anston and Co., and if they decided to kick down our door then we were done for. But if I could talk him round, then we should be good. Of course, this was the second time I had to negotiate from a weak position in the last couple of days, and believe me when I say it isn’t a fun situation.

“Hold up,” one of the Kings said with a raised hand as Michael entered the main theatre hall of the King’s School of Impersonation. “Any weapons?”

Michael pulled out his pistol and handed it to him without argument. The King nodded, and quickly patted his pockets down.

“He’s clean,” he called over his shoulder.

“Send him through,” another voice ordered, and the King who had just searched him nodded.

Michael stepped past the ganger and sat down in the chair proffered to him, next to the King of Freeside.

For a man who carried such authority in the slum, he was a rather unimpressive sight in many ways. His thinning hair, styled in a quiff, was streaked with grey, and more than a little belly protruded over his belt, but Michael knew from the way that the Kings that surrounded him looked at him with respect proved him their undisputed leader. He was in the presence of someone powerful, and if he didn’t tread carefully then he would invite that power to come crashing down on his head.

“You’re worrying me, Mr Anston,” the King said as Michael sat down. He had a deep, rich velvety voice, one that would probably be able to sing one hell of a song if he put his mind to it. “I can’t say I like that.”

“That so?” Michael asked carefully. “Might I ask why that is, Mr, uh.”

He paused for a moment, and said; “Actually, before we go any further, what do I call you? King, Mr King, Your Majesty?”

“King will do just fine,” the King replied. “And as for why I wanted to speak to you, well, as I said; you’re worrying me. You’re throwing your weight around Freeside, and there are quite a few concerned citizens out there who asked me to have a word with you and ask what the hell you’re doing.”

Michael nodded, before he said; “OK. Throwing our weight around how, exactly?”

“I would have thought that, all things considered, that would be pretty obvious,” the King said. “You seem to have beaten a lot of people up, and I had Mick over from Mick and Ralphs and some merchant named Feyman complaining to me that you full on threatened to kill them. Now, back then I thought you might be some run-of-the-mill gang of thugs, but then you put on a radio ad, and suddenly you’ve got yourself a little base of operations just down the road. That stinks of ambition, and there are a good number concerned citizens here in Freeside who are worried that this place isn’t going to be big enough for you people as well.”

“Who’re these concerned citizens, then?” Michael asked, deciding it would probably be good for him to find out exactly who it was that he could find himself up against.

“Well, Julie Farkas from the over in the old Mormon Fort mentioned you people just a few days ago,” the King said. “And Gloria Van Graff was all for busting the doors of your base and letting you know what’s wrong with threatening her business. You should be thanking me, you know; I was the only person who managed to talk her out of it.”

Michael managed to control his expression for the moment, but that was worrying; the Van Graffs, a merchant family armed to the teeth with energy weaponry and with their own small, but elite, group of guards in their employ, were hoping to go after them. He wouldn’t stand a chance if they decided to.

“The Van Graffs?” he asked, injecting his tone with confused concern. “Why the hell are they going after us? We’re not a threat to their business.”

“Gloria didn’t seem to think of it that way,” the King replied. “She thinks you’re dangerous, too ambitious.”

Michael was quiet, nodding slowly, before he said; “Well, I guess I can’t say I blame her. I won’t lie to you, King, I am an ambitious guy. I dream big, and I want to make those dreams real some day. But if she thinks we’re a threat to her business then I’d tell her myself that we’re not interested in selling energy weapons.”

“I think she was more worried about the number of heads you were breaking,” the King replied, leaning back in his chair.

Michael shrugged.

“Look,” he said. “We’re mercs. Breaking heads is what we do. If you wanted us to stop that then we’d have to find some whole new way to make caps and, frankly, I’m not too interested in stopping. And I’ll admit it; we’re not exactly saints around here. But, if you’re worried about our modes of operation, then don’t be. We’re concerned with doing business in a nice, civilised manner, and we’re not the sort who’re dumb enough to crap on our own doorstep.”

“So what’s that mean, exactly?” the King asked.

“Simple,” Michael said. “We carry on doing our work, but when we do jobs in Freeside we don’t touch anyone important to business, none of the Van Graffs or the Followers or anyone like that. I can’t say our work isn’t going to involve us killing people here, because that’s what it’s about, at the end of the day, but to be honest most of our work isn’t going to be in Freeside anyway, so you don’t need to worry.”

The King was quiet for a moment, and Michael took that as a cue to continue.

“Look,” he said. “I can appreciate that you’re concerned, but you don’t need to be. I’m not here to turf everyone out of Freeside and burn the place to the ground. I’m here to do business, first and foremost, and if that means playing nice, then fine, I’ll play nice.”

The King nodded at this.

“Alright,” he said. “That’s fair. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Michael Anston, and I reckon there’ll be other people in Freeside doing the same. Just keep that in mind, son.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Michael said, standing up and extending a hand, which the King shook. “Was a pleasure talking to you, King, and I’m glad we got this little misunderstanding straightened out.”

I paid a little visit to the Silver Rush and talked things over with Gloria Van Graff (something that was even more nerve-wracking than speaking to the King; he’s a reasonable guy, but the Van Graffs are armed with some of the most powerful weapons in the Mojave and that harpy’s on a hair trigger even at the best of times). Anyway, I explained to her that I wasn’t out to get the Van Graffs or anyone else in Freeside, and as a token of my goodwill I bought a nice new plasma pistol from there and offered her a discount on any jobs she’d want us to take up on. I don’t think I made her actually like me, but she doesn’t like anyone much and so long as I don’t have them trying to kill me I’d probably be alright.

Of course, the real lesson in all this was that I wasn’t playing this game carefully enough. The others had been willing to let stuff slide now I’d explained it, on account of me being a new player without a full understanding of the rules, but now that I was in the know I knew that they wouldn’t be so willing to do so again. I’d have to play nice and careful and, God forbid, might even have to turn down jobs if they meant I started treading on people’s toes. Because if the Kings or the Van Graffs decided they wanted us out of town we were done for. Maybe some time in the future, things would change, but until then I’d have to be careful.

But I wasn’t going to quit just yet.

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

Aaamywho...

Loved this chapter...Good fun...

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

Brilliantly done...

Nice one!!!... ...

*Applauds heartily*...

Hehe, interesting sounding fella then, this Arnaud.

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

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

*


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

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

Awesome Write !!

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

ROFL !!!!

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

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

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

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

Right?



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

Chapter 10

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened in there?” Alex asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doris nodded.

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

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

“Yeah, how did that go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, let’s go,” he said.

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

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

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

“Sounds reasonable enough,” Brutus said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anston,” she said by way of greeting.

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

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

“Vodka martini,” Michael said.

“Just a Sunset for me,” Brutus added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got one thing wrong,” Brutus said.

“And what’s that?” Alison asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brutus snorted at this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brutus nodded.

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

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

An excellent job, as ever...

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

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

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

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

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

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

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




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


Chapter 11

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

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

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

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

“Your name, stranger?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good thinking,” Doris said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pinched my a$s,” Abby murmured.

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

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

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

“That’s me,” Michael said.

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

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

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

“What? Ah, very good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the pay?” Michael asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stepped away from the doorframe.

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

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

“Who’s that?” Michael asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you say so,” Michael said.

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

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

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

“Anything you need?” he asked.

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

“Who-ly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael nodded.

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

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

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

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

Ooooh!!!...

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

But, I digress...

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

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

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

Loved it then, loving it again now...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds most heartily*...