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aaaaaaaagh_skyWhen Ellen is three-quarters of a mile from home, she catches sight of a stirring in the darkness. It's man-sized. If it were bigger she'd fire on it and be done with it; nothing good comes of beasts in the dark. As it stands, it might be a raider (too far out of her helmet's built-in lighting to say), but there's only one of it. No sense killing someone who hasn't offered her harm.
She pulls up the reins a little, slowing Shiphrah and Puah to a cautious walk. The figure's stopped moving, trying- maybe- to blend into the shadow of an upthrust rock. It's not doing very well.
"I'm not interested in shooting you if you're not interested in shooting me," Ellen calls. "You can come out, if you want."
There's a moment's hesitation.
"Or I can keep going. Up to you."
There's no answer at first, but as Ellen moves to spur the Brahmin forward a voice says, "Wait." The man who steps into the cone of her helmet's light is dressed in old, battered Brahmin-skin clothes. His hair is dark, his skin is pale, his eyes are- well, there's a sunken sort of look about them, but given the lighting conditions it's hard to tell much else. He stands stiffly, like the last shreds of something are holding him up, and lifts a hand to shelter his eyes from the headlamp's glare.
"Are you all right, sir?"
He stares a little longer. Ellen wonders, maybe, if he hasn't been poisoned. Scorpion venom can do strange things to a man's mind. Maybe he's sick; even without the light directly on him he's haggard, gaunt. He's not a ghoul, so he's probably not feral, but-
"A Brotherhood Paladin, riding an armored Brahmin," he says, and his voice sounds oddly brittle. "Now I've seen everything."
There's a soft rumble from somewhere down around Shiphrah's knees. "Dogmeat," Ellen says sternly, "hush."
"Don't tell me. The dog's armored too."
"As a matter of fact he is, sir," Ellen says, politely as she can. "Safety precaution before a patrol."
"Riding a Brahmin, trailed by a dog, nobody else around for miles... and that looks like a Pip-Boy on your arm there. You're 101, aren't you?" he says.
"I suppose I am, sir," Ellen says. "Is there a problem with that?"
He laughs. It sounds like the opposite of humor. "I've been looking for you a long time now," he says. "Never really knew what I'd do if I caught up with you, though."
Nobody means anything good when they say things like that, ever. She starts to reach over her shoulder for her Gauss. There's no need, though. That stiff stance of his gives way all at once and he collapses in a heap on the ground.
His name's Peter Tarzey. He doesn't remember when he last ate, or slept. He says it all runs together after a while.
He used to be Enclave, he tells her, back when that meant anything at all. He watches her as he says it, waits for the reaction, but all 101 does is look at his face (his cheekbones, he thinks; damn things stick out like knives by now) and turn away for a moment. When she turns back she's got an old, sealed ready-meal from before the War, and she hands it to him without a word.
Maybe it's poisoned. He'd be all right with that by now.
(It's not.)
He's been hunting her since Colonel Autumn set him on her tail so very long ago, he tells her. He's the one who sent the Dogboys ("Who?") to Vault 87. He got a reward for that, or he was supposed to. When Raven Rock exploded-
"That was your President," she says quietly. She's not looking up at him; she's building a fire. "Eden. He... didn't deal well with his own contradictions."
Pete's not sure whether to believe her or not. She's a cultist- she's THE cultist, really- and it's possible she believes what she's saying, but whether it's true or not is something else. He supposes it doesn't matter.
So he tells her, in between near-inhalations of the ancient self-heating dinner, about everything else. About seeing the purifier lost, hearing about Autumn's death. About the fire that fell from heaven and annihilated Adams.
She winces at that, murmurs something:
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
"I'm sorry." She looks up now, looks straight at him- she's got her helmet off, he doesn't know quite when she did that. She looks awfully young, for someone who's caused so much destruction. "It's one thing to fight people who're trying to kill you. It's something very different to wipe out so many others, the way I did."
"That was you." It should've been a question. He can't find questions in himself any more.
"That was me." She looks away. "I had to end it."
"You did a pretty good job."
She's silent for a while.
He looks at her across the flames. 101 really is young, he realizes. She's younger than him. He didn't think anybody who grew up in the Wastes could ever look that young; the poisoned world took it out of them first. Maybe she really did come from a Vault. It'd explain a few things.
101 glances up at him, though, and as young as she might be those are not young eyes. "I always do," she says, but there's no pride in it. "I'm really, really good at- at killing, when I have to be. It- I don't like it, but-" She looks down, takes a deep breath, looks up again. "When I'm done it doesn't have to be done a second time. It's over."
What do you say to something like that? He hasn't got the energy left to rage at her. He used up all his willpower a long time ago, when he was still trying to survive and make the best of it. What little strength he has in him is from-
He's still holding the remains of the ready-meal she gave him. After what she just said.
"Mr. Tarzey," 101 says, "I can't imagine what you think of me. I have to admit that I don't think I ever really bothered to stop and think of what it must have been like to be one of your people. But I never hated you. I had to stop you, but I never hated you."
"We were trying to make a better world," he says, numbly.
"And we were trying to make the world better," 101 says in reply.
"There's a difference?"
She smiles, sort of; there's too much of what looks like sadness in her eyes for him to believe it. "You had plans," she says. "The ones I heard from the President were pretty drastic. Mostly they involved wiping out mutated life pretty much anywhere you could find it. Colonel Autumn didn't seem quite so drastic, but he was... pretty much up there, from what I could tell. Maybe I caught him at a bad time, I don't know. Either way, the Enclave wanted to establish the America that used to be, but they had to get rid of everything else that had sprung up in the process to do it. To make room for your better world, you had to destroy the one that already existed."
"And how is that any different from what you people did?"
(He shouldn't have said that. Oh God. He shouldn't have said that.)
101 glances at him before saying, very calmly, "We never wanted to rule."
(He doesn't know what to say.)
"The water was my father's project from the start. He had dreams of just handing it out for free, no obligations at all. I'm not sure how he planned to keep the operation up that way. The Brotherhood makes trade agreements to keep the water flowing. We're not interested in controlling the Wasteland. People might come to see things our way-"
"Three Dog makes sure of that," he mutters.
"I can't argue there," 101 says. "He saw what the Brotherhood offered as a beacon of hope before I ever even left the Vault. People listened to him, and saw his words in action every time they saw a Brotherhood soldier in the field."
And President Eden made Eyebot speeches galore, from one end of the Wasteland to the other, but took too long to make his move- oh, yes, Peter knows this story all too well. His mouth twists bitterly.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Tarzey. But that's what happened. The Enclave wanted to make their better world at the expense of the one that already existed, and we couldn't let that happen."
"People deserve better than this," Peter says, gesturing viciously at the darkness around him.
"And they are getting better than this," says 101. "But the price the Enclave would have asked is more than anyone should ever have to pay."
He starts to say something. He doesn't know what. He's just drawing breath to form the words when he realizes 101's set a bottle of Nuka-Cola in front of him. "You're in no condition to argue philosophy right now, Mr. Tarzey," she says. "And honestly, I was on my way home when I found you. I have to be back before daybreak, or people are going to come looking for me. I don't think you want that."
... wait, what? "I thought you people had declared us all war criminals," he says.
"That's true. Citadel Command did say that Enclave combat personnel were to be treated as such," says 101. "And so did Rivet City Security. I just don't think that it'll do anyone any good at all for me to haul you in and make you face a tribunal. I'm pretty sure you've suffered enough for one lifetime. A firing squad won't make things any better for anyone."
His eyes narrow at that.
"I told you, Mr. Tarzey. I might be good at killing, but that doesn't mean I like it. And I don't think any good will be served to the people of the Wasteland by adding one more killing to the tally today. Drink your soda, if you want it. I have a few more supplies if you think they'll help; you can have them and go where you like, as long as you don't come back to bother anyone in Megaton." 101 smiles again. This time it might just reach her eyes. "If anyone asks, I'll tell them you were long since dead when I found you."
She pulls up the reins a little, slowing Shiphrah and Puah to a cautious walk. The figure's stopped moving, trying- maybe- to blend into the shadow of an upthrust rock. It's not doing very well.
"I'm not interested in shooting you if you're not interested in shooting me," Ellen calls. "You can come out, if you want."
There's a moment's hesitation.
"Or I can keep going. Up to you."
There's no answer at first, but as Ellen moves to spur the Brahmin forward a voice says, "Wait." The man who steps into the cone of her helmet's light is dressed in old, battered Brahmin-skin clothes. His hair is dark, his skin is pale, his eyes are- well, there's a sunken sort of look about them, but given the lighting conditions it's hard to tell much else. He stands stiffly, like the last shreds of something are holding him up, and lifts a hand to shelter his eyes from the headlamp's glare.
"Are you all right, sir?"
He stares a little longer. Ellen wonders, maybe, if he hasn't been poisoned. Scorpion venom can do strange things to a man's mind. Maybe he's sick; even without the light directly on him he's haggard, gaunt. He's not a ghoul, so he's probably not feral, but-
"A Brotherhood Paladin, riding an armored Brahmin," he says, and his voice sounds oddly brittle. "Now I've seen everything."
There's a soft rumble from somewhere down around Shiphrah's knees. "Dogmeat," Ellen says sternly, "hush."
"Don't tell me. The dog's armored too."
"As a matter of fact he is, sir," Ellen says, politely as she can. "Safety precaution before a patrol."
"Riding a Brahmin, trailed by a dog, nobody else around for miles... and that looks like a Pip-Boy on your arm there. You're 101, aren't you?" he says.
"I suppose I am, sir," Ellen says. "Is there a problem with that?"
He laughs. It sounds like the opposite of humor. "I've been looking for you a long time now," he says. "Never really knew what I'd do if I caught up with you, though."
Nobody means anything good when they say things like that, ever. She starts to reach over her shoulder for her Gauss. There's no need, though. That stiff stance of his gives way all at once and he collapses in a heap on the ground.
His name's Peter Tarzey. He doesn't remember when he last ate, or slept. He says it all runs together after a while.
He used to be Enclave, he tells her, back when that meant anything at all. He watches her as he says it, waits for the reaction, but all 101 does is look at his face (his cheekbones, he thinks; damn things stick out like knives by now) and turn away for a moment. When she turns back she's got an old, sealed ready-meal from before the War, and she hands it to him without a word.
Maybe it's poisoned. He'd be all right with that by now.
(It's not.)
He's been hunting her since Colonel Autumn set him on her tail so very long ago, he tells her. He's the one who sent the Dogboys ("Who?") to Vault 87. He got a reward for that, or he was supposed to. When Raven Rock exploded-
"That was your President," she says quietly. She's not looking up at him; she's building a fire. "Eden. He... didn't deal well with his own contradictions."
Pete's not sure whether to believe her or not. She's a cultist- she's THE cultist, really- and it's possible she believes what she's saying, but whether it's true or not is something else. He supposes it doesn't matter.
So he tells her, in between near-inhalations of the ancient self-heating dinner, about everything else. About seeing the purifier lost, hearing about Autumn's death. About the fire that fell from heaven and annihilated Adams.
She winces at that, murmurs something:
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
"I'm sorry." She looks up now, looks straight at him- she's got her helmet off, he doesn't know quite when she did that. She looks awfully young, for someone who's caused so much destruction. "It's one thing to fight people who're trying to kill you. It's something very different to wipe out so many others, the way I did."
"That was you." It should've been a question. He can't find questions in himself any more.
"That was me." She looks away. "I had to end it."
"You did a pretty good job."
She's silent for a while.
He looks at her across the flames. 101 really is young, he realizes. She's younger than him. He didn't think anybody who grew up in the Wastes could ever look that young; the poisoned world took it out of them first. Maybe she really did come from a Vault. It'd explain a few things.
101 glances up at him, though, and as young as she might be those are not young eyes. "I always do," she says, but there's no pride in it. "I'm really, really good at- at killing, when I have to be. It- I don't like it, but-" She looks down, takes a deep breath, looks up again. "When I'm done it doesn't have to be done a second time. It's over."
What do you say to something like that? He hasn't got the energy left to rage at her. He used up all his willpower a long time ago, when he was still trying to survive and make the best of it. What little strength he has in him is from-
He's still holding the remains of the ready-meal she gave him. After what she just said.
"Mr. Tarzey," 101 says, "I can't imagine what you think of me. I have to admit that I don't think I ever really bothered to stop and think of what it must have been like to be one of your people. But I never hated you. I had to stop you, but I never hated you."
"We were trying to make a better world," he says, numbly.
"And we were trying to make the world better," 101 says in reply.
"There's a difference?"
She smiles, sort of; there's too much of what looks like sadness in her eyes for him to believe it. "You had plans," she says. "The ones I heard from the President were pretty drastic. Mostly they involved wiping out mutated life pretty much anywhere you could find it. Colonel Autumn didn't seem quite so drastic, but he was... pretty much up there, from what I could tell. Maybe I caught him at a bad time, I don't know. Either way, the Enclave wanted to establish the America that used to be, but they had to get rid of everything else that had sprung up in the process to do it. To make room for your better world, you had to destroy the one that already existed."
"And how is that any different from what you people did?"
(He shouldn't have said that. Oh God. He shouldn't have said that.)
101 glances at him before saying, very calmly, "We never wanted to rule."
(He doesn't know what to say.)
"The water was my father's project from the start. He had dreams of just handing it out for free, no obligations at all. I'm not sure how he planned to keep the operation up that way. The Brotherhood makes trade agreements to keep the water flowing. We're not interested in controlling the Wasteland. People might come to see things our way-"
"Three Dog makes sure of that," he mutters.
"I can't argue there," 101 says. "He saw what the Brotherhood offered as a beacon of hope before I ever even left the Vault. People listened to him, and saw his words in action every time they saw a Brotherhood soldier in the field."
And President Eden made Eyebot speeches galore, from one end of the Wasteland to the other, but took too long to make his move- oh, yes, Peter knows this story all too well. His mouth twists bitterly.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Tarzey. But that's what happened. The Enclave wanted to make their better world at the expense of the one that already existed, and we couldn't let that happen."
"People deserve better than this," Peter says, gesturing viciously at the darkness around him.
"And they are getting better than this," says 101. "But the price the Enclave would have asked is more than anyone should ever have to pay."
He starts to say something. He doesn't know what. He's just drawing breath to form the words when he realizes 101's set a bottle of Nuka-Cola in front of him. "You're in no condition to argue philosophy right now, Mr. Tarzey," she says. "And honestly, I was on my way home when I found you. I have to be back before daybreak, or people are going to come looking for me. I don't think you want that."
... wait, what? "I thought you people had declared us all war criminals," he says.
"That's true. Citadel Command did say that Enclave combat personnel were to be treated as such," says 101. "And so did Rivet City Security. I just don't think that it'll do anyone any good at all for me to haul you in and make you face a tribunal. I'm pretty sure you've suffered enough for one lifetime. A firing squad won't make things any better for anyone."
His eyes narrow at that.
"I told you, Mr. Tarzey. I might be good at killing, but that doesn't mean I like it. And I don't think any good will be served to the people of the Wasteland by adding one more killing to the tally today. Drink your soda, if you want it. I have a few more supplies if you think they'll help; you can have them and go where you like, as long as you don't come back to bother anyone in Megaton." 101 smiles again. This time it might just reach her eyes. "If anyone asks, I'll tell them you were long since dead when I found you."