Lawbringer

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen stepped through the door of Milliways and into her Megaton home, Dogmeat at her heels. "Hi, Wadsworth," she called out; the robot was nowhere in sight. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, yes, mistress." The tinny voice was muffled by distance and a wall or two's worth of separation, but still carried. "I'm just upstairs tidying up the place. Dust will get in, won't it."

Ellen smiled. Wadsworth was, she felt, a rather nicer robot to have around the place than Andy had been back in the Vault. There'd always been something a little too aggressively cheerful about Andy. "I could try pinning up that old Brahmin hide, sealing some of the chinks-"

"No need, mistress, it'd only be a stopgap." Wadsworth glided out of her bedroom to hover at the top of the stairs. "By the way, I have a message for you. Sheriff Simms requests the honor of your company for dinner this evening, if you aren't planning on heading out into the Wasteland straightaway."

That was a surprise. Ellen blinked. "Say again?"

"'Sheriff Simms requests the honor of your company for dinner this evening, if you aren't planning on heading out into the Wasteland straightaway,'" Wadsworth repeated patiently. "He stopped by earlier, not long after you and Tyler set out for Vault 101."

"Huh," Ellen said, and looked down at Dogmeat. This being Dogmeat, he was too engrossed in biting at an itch on one hip to notice. "I wonder what he's after..."

"I couldn't say, mistress. He didn't share it with me." Wadsworth sniffed primly, an interesting effect given that the Mr. Handy had no breathing apparatus whatsoever. "May I make one small recommendation, however?"

"Um- sure?"

"Do leave that new armour of yours here, won't you? Occasions such as this call for attire that won't speak out of turn."

---

It was a little before nightfall when Ellen knocked on Sheriff Simms' door. "Sir?"

The door opened, revealing a sober-faced, dark-skinned child of about eight or nine. He wore a patched denim jacket over the same sort of Brahmin-skin shirt and trousers as most of the adults in Megaton. "Hey there," he greeted her. "You're Ms. Park, aren't you?"

"That's me," Ellen said, "but I don't think I know you, I'm afraid."

"That's okay. Dad doesn't want me talking to strangers until he says it's okay. My name's Harden Simms," he said. "Come on in. Dad's getting dinner ready."

Simms' house, Ellen saw as she stepped inside, wasn't much bigger than her own. It had a more lived-in look, though. Most of the ground floor was covered by a big, oval rug of braided rags and scraps. Abstract pictures and colorful designs had been dyed into the Brahmin hides that hung on several of the walls. Dozens of tiny lights were strung on wires across the open space and along the walls. There was even a jukebox just like the one in Vault 101's diner, although Ellen didn't think it looked like it was going to work. "Nice place," she murmured.

"Thanks," said Simms from the top of the stairs. "We do our best. Welcome back to Megaton, kid."

Ellen smiled a little. "Wadsworth told me you'd asked me over," she said. "I hope I'm not late or anything."

"Not at all. Come on up," Simms said. "We're having mirelurk cakes tonight."

Ellen's experience with mirelurk meat in any form other than forcibly dug out of the shell, then roasted over the most easily-built fire, was rather limited. The smell was appetizing, though, so she nodded. Harden pulled out a chair at the little table for her, and eased it back in as she sat down. "Thank you," she said. "Is there some kind of special occasion? I've been out for a while now..."

"Actually, that pretty much is the occasion," said Simms as he sat down. "You're a hard kid to get hold of sometimes. Been keeping busy out in the Wasteland, I hear."

Oh dear. That didn't sound good; Ellen fidgeted slightly. "Well- yes..."

"Relax, kid, I'm not complaining." Simms laughed. "Man. I haven't heard Three Dog get so excited about anything but the Brotherhood and his Good Fight in years."

"Oh."

"I had a good feeling about you pretty much as soon as you walked into town," Simms continued. "And from what old Three Dog says, I haven't been wrong yet."

"Um." Ellen glanced down at her Pip-Boy. "I haven't really... I don't have the radio on all that often. What has Three Dog been saying?"

"You cleared out a hell of an ant problem in Grayditch, for starters," said Simms. "Got that Wilks boy a home, too. Fixed his transmitter almost as good as you fixed our bomb." There was a bit of a twinkle in his eye as he said that. "Cleared up a real serious problem with the caravans up Canterbury way-"

"I had help with that."

"Nothing wrong with help," Simms said. "Or with fighting alongside the Brotherhood, either. I hear you did some mutant hunting in the ruins."

"I don't know that I'd call it hunting, sir," Ellen said. "The Brotherhood needed to clear them away to get to Three Dog's building, and I needed to get to Three Dog to find my father."

Simms nodded. "Still," he said. "How's that going, anyway? Finding your dad?"

"... it's not," Ellen admitted, looking down at her tin plate. "I thought I'd found a lead, but that Vault up north wasn't the right one at all. It was just a big old ... grave, really."

"Sorry to hear that," Simms said quietly. "So you're back to square one, huh?"

Ellen nodded soberly.

"Mind if I make a suggestion?"

"Sure," Ellen said. "It's not as if I have much else to go on."

"I have to tell you, kid, I don't know where you'd start looking from here," Simms said. "Like I told you when we first met, they call it the Wasteland for a reason, and I don't go out in it much. But I can tell you this. There's a whole lot of people out there who could use your help along the way, like those folks up in Big Town."

Ellen opened her mouth, then closed it; Simms didn't look like he was done yet.

He wasn't. "If you're gonna keep on looking for your father out there, you may want to consider just how long your caps are going to last," he said. "I don't know where you got those shiny guns of yours, and frankly, I don't think I want to. Ammunition's expensive stuff, though. So's parts and repairs. I know you've got a stash of caps of your own, but it's not going to last forever. You're going to need a source of income, sooner or later."

It was a lucky thing Ellen had left the remaining Brotherhood reward money in her house when she'd started out north, Ellen realized. God only knew what would've happened to it all if she'd had it on her when the aliens caught her. "I guess so," she said.

"Well, the fact is, a lot of the smaller places out there aren't gonna be able to pay you anything," Simms said. "The caravans stop here because we've got the caps for it. A lot of places don't. You're not going to see much in the way of reward money. Probably not even going to be able to sell whatever you might pick up, most places- trade, maybe, but that's no guarantee you're gonna get what you need wherever it is you end up."

"So... what do you suggest?"

Simms gestured with his fork towards his leather longcoat hanging on a peg on the far side of the room. "I don't just wear that coat and that hat for show, you know," he said. "There's a reason for it. Ever hear of an organization called the Regulators?"

Ellen shook her head mutely, puzzled.

"We're lawmen and women," he said. "Or as close as it gets in a lawless place like the Wasteland. The Brotherhood protects folks from the mutants, best they can manage. They're pinned down in DC, though. The Regulators are more... freelance. Most of us travel the Wasteland, looking for problems to put down or trouble to clear up. Most of the time, that means raiders. Sometimes it's those slaver types at Paradise Falls, grabbing people who can't fight back." He shook his head. "A Regulator who clears up a situation like that and brings back proof to headquarters gets paid a pretty fair sum, no waiting for Harith or Crow or any of the others."

"What kind of proof are we talking about?" Ellen said cautiously.

"Guns, usually," Simms said. "Or whatever weapons were involved. Unused slave collars, if it's slaver trouble. Armor, sometimes, if it's not the sort you need yourself. You get a fair price and ammo or medical supplies of your own in return."

That actually sounded pretty reasonable, Ellen thought- and easier than finding buyers for guns at Milliways.

"Sometimes," Simms continued, "there's bounties."

"How do you mean?"

"A few years back there was a man up in Shalebridge who killed four people and kidnapped a little girl," Simms said. "His bounty was up to a thousand caps by the time they brought him down."

Ellen thought, for a moment, of the note that the first few Talons had been carrying. Then she thought of the people in Big Town, and what Dusty had said- what the mutants didn't carry off, the slavers did...

"It sounds like they do useful work," she finally said. "It won't get in the way of searching for Dad?"

"It's all freelance," Simms said. "All we ask is you live a respectable life, as long as you're wearing our coat and using our name. Mess up, and it doesn't matter who you brought down- you won't be welcome at headquarters."

Ellen nodded. "Okay," she said. "I could probably use the work. Where do I sign up?"