[u][b]Ruins of Worland, Wyoming[/b][/u] Under the clear and starry sky, on a small hill well away from the camp, the trio sat alone. One was a man, in the regalia of a Mem-Bar warrior of the Laramie 80s, the other two were women. One, her head resting in the lap of the man, as he caressed her long blonde hair affectionately, wore the leathers common to the 'civilians'...wives, camp followers, and sometimes slaves...who accompanied them wherever they roamed. The third, however, was dressed in a t-shirt and Motorcross style trousers, the jacket spread out on the ground beneath her....not something an 80 would be likely to wear. Nor would the necklace around the neck of the young black woman which bore the rank insignia of a Senior Scribe in the Brotherhood. "Where did you get a name like 'Whispers-to-robots'?", Sister Tanya asked, "What does that mean?" "Tell her, Steve!", Ellie, his Ol' Lady, demanded, using his birth name, which was her right as his wife to do, a fact she made a point of driving home to the young woman with them at every opportunity since Tanya had joined the caravan at the Khan's Golden City. She knew her Ol' Man well enough to know she had better put her cards on the table lest he stray...as if the two Mama's he already had in their household weren't enough for him. Like them, Tanya wished to travel to the Followers investigating the secrets of the Buffalo Bill Dam, as the Brotherhood had paid in gasoline to see her delivered safely, it would be done...though it did help that she was pleasant company, full of stories of her travels to far-away places like Oklahoma, and even Nawlins, and was versed in their ways so she was little trouble to the Road-Captain. Ellie liked her, but not enough to share her man with her. "I love that story!" "Alright", Steve replied, pretending...badly...that he didn't want to tell the story of one of the most important days of his life, for the hundredth time, "It was back in '84. I was still a Prospect then, and had yet to win my war-bike...." He then launched into the story, how in the Fall of '84 the Chapter's Engine Whisperer had led him and four other Prospects into the Brotherhood lands to disable one of the Brotherhood's giant agri-bots, a rich source of parts and scrap metal. While somewhat hazardous, it was not excessively so...as long as they didn't seriously harm the farmers or other travelers they encountered, or bother the strange hairy Deathclaws Barnaky let roam Western Nebraska because their ancestors had served him against the Mutants and the Great Robot, the most likely penalty if caught was a fine of gasoline, or jail, or one of them having to join Barnaky's Army for a time. The robots themselves were not a danger unless one was careless, getting in and back out again with the prize of precious metal was where the glory in it was. As many of the Patrol were 80s that had, after an active life, hung up their signs and settled down, taken wives from Barnaky's people, and traded their war-bikes in for Shriekers, they understood their opponents and were a worthy foe. Harvest time was dreaded by Barnaky's Highway Patrol, as the harvest brought 80s looking for glory and metal...and the resultant mandatory overtime. The Great Wheel had turned, and now they were viewing their own youthful exploits from the other side. The favored way of disabling a agri-bot was to dig a trench in a row then conceal it and wait for it to travel down the row and be trapped when one giant wheel fell in the trench and couldn't get out. then the raiding party would swarm aboard and the race would begin...to remove what they could and load it into a truck and retreat before the Patrol arrived. A successful raid would net great amounts of scrap and parts they could use, more than worth the risk. He had been given the task of counting the rows, locating the targeted robot and determining it's path so they could dig the trench on the right place for it to fall into. Failure to point out the correct row for the trench would merit him a sound thrashing from the rest of the party, who would justifiably be irate at having to dig a new trench and try again. The robot of course, just ran the automated path it was programmed with and only stopped if it detected a man-sized object in it's path and honked at it. That was best avoided as it might attract the local farmer, which meant they would have to abort the attempt if he/she saw them. That, again, would earn the offender a beating. Once the path was determined, and the trench dug, they waited for the machine to fall into the trap then the fun began. This time, it didn't work that way. As he approached the agri-bot, from the left, which should have been safe, the great machine suddenly stopped, and one of the cameras swiveled to look at him. And then a voice bellowed from it's loudspeaker. Not a robotic voice, but a man's voice, the voice of a warrior... "What did it say?", Ellie asked, already knowing. This was her favorite part. "Well, what do we have here?", the voice said, "You're here to steal parts from me, aren't you?" it then bellowed, "You just fucked with the wrong robot, you little shit!" "Then it started moving again, it turned and began to chase me", Steve said. "Shouting things that would make a brahmin driver blush all the while, then it started playing this music...", he then hummed a [url=https://youtu.be/ZnHmskwqCCQ]tune[/url] that Tayna recognized from old pre-war comedy vids, then continued. "I ran like a rad-rabbit, damn robot chased me all across the field for ten minutes before I managed to lead it over the trench and got it stuck. It fell in, tried to get out, and then one of the cameras swivels back to me and it starts talking again. "You got me, you little bastard", it said, "Well played." It actually sounded amused. "Then it said we had two hours before it called the Patrol on us." "What did you do then?", Tanya asked. "We cut the robot up and got out clean with two full truckloads of scrap", Steve said, "Best haul in years. The Engine-Whisperer gave me a strong engine to complete my war-bike in exchange for my share....and the Oil-Shamans gave me my War-name once he told them what had happened. They say Barnaky himself talked to me, but I'm not sure that they are right." "It's possible", Tanya replied, "He has the ability to take control of the machines that once served the Calculator...or as you know it, the 'Great Robot'. Why he would do that in this case, I honestly do not know." "My first trophy was one of the cameras from that robot," Steve said, "If you and the Oil-Shamans were right, then it was a good Omen. Won my sign a year later, out Nevada way....and found my Ol' Lady, here." "Eloping with you was the best decision I ever made", Ellie said sleepily, "If I hadn't, I'd be stuck back in Nevada farming dust and paying House's taxes like Ma and Pa probably still are, with nothing to show for it. Barnaky has too many rules, but at least he provides for those who ride behind him...House doesn't do shit for anyone." In the distance, far above, the drone of engines could be heard. Tanya bade the others to be quiet, and pulled a pair of binoculars out of the bag sitting by her and scanned the sky. eventually she saw them, three small shapes moving in a Northwesterly direction, well to their south. No running lights. Just like the ones she had seen several hours ago, going the other way. "Might be ours", Tanya thought, "But why East to West for a return journey? I had better report this." She pulled out a compass and a notebook, then consulted her wristwatch and wrote the time and a rough heading down. She then watched the flying objects for a while longer then lowered the binoculars and put her things back in the bag, and then stood and stooped to pick up her jacket. "We're done here", Tanya said, "Time to go back to camp and hit the sack, we have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow." [u][b]SAC HQ Bunker, Operations. [/b][/u] The reports had been flowing in for hours, from listening posts, Missionaries in the field, and troops in the Michigan, Indiana, and Kentucky front. Unknown aircraft had flown across Wyoming and Minnesota, over the Lakes then crossed into Republic Airspace and from there south into Kentucky....then back again. Some radio traffic was picked up, but it was encrypted and not nearly enough was intercepted to decipher it. Who...or why...was unknown for certain, though analysts agreed the likely origin of the aircraft was the Western Order. A high altitude drone recon flight was ordered for Eastern Kentucky, the presumed AO of the mysterious aircraft, to see if the target could be identified.... [u][b]Duluth Docks - Administration Building - Inquisition Offices[/b][/u] Anita pulled the typewritten letter, on Inquisition letterhead, that she had just finished typing out of her typewriter and examined her handiwork. Satisfied the letter was in proper form, she opened the manila folder on her desk, and shuffled it and another letter into the slim stack and placed it back in the folder, then closed it and turned her attention to compiling a digest of the results of last round of interviews of the brothel workers at the Full Moon, the brothel that serviced the dock area, as she waited for her opportunity. After around fifteen minutes, the phone at her desk rang, the inside line for Inquisitor Morton blinking. She picked up the handset and pushed the blinking button. "Yes, Inquisitor?", Anita asked in the cheerful, professional tone she always used with him...and hid her true feelings quite well, "How may I serve you?" "Coffee, please", Morton replied, "Milk and sugar". "Right away, sir", Anita chirped, hanging up after the Inquisitor did. "Showtime", she thought as she stood up and put her purse on the desk, fishing around until she found her makeup kit, then placed it on her desk and headed over to the coffee maker, where a fresh pot, from coffee smuggled upriver from the Keys was brewing. She grabbed a cup and saucer, then prepared a cup as requested, and took it back to the desk. Pulling a small brown vial and a Q-tip from the makeup kit, she carefully opened the vial, careful not to touch the contents. The trace scent emanating from the vial alone made her flush and she could feel the dampness that signaled arousal beginning to form. While welcome, given what she was about to do, she knew she had to be careful lest she lose control of herself. She barely moistened the end of the q-tip, then put the lid back on. She then ran the q-tip along the inside of the rim of the cup, then wadded up the q-tip inside a used coffee filter and threw it in the garbage. She then pulled out her compact, checking her makeup and applying more lipstick, admiring her swarthy and slightly exotic good looks, then packed up the kit and put it away. Straightening up her dark blue Brotherhood police uniform, bearing no insignia except for an armband with the word "TRUSTY" on it, she then carefully picked up the coffee cup and saucer, and put the folder under her arm and walked down the hall, past the empty offices where the other three Inquisitors..long since sent East..had once been, to the one occupied office. She quietly knocked, entering at the bidding of a gruff voice inside. In the office, hard at work behind his desk, was Inquisitor Morton, a not unappealing red-headed man in his mid-twenties. Duluth, and the Iron camps, was his first big assignment. Normally, he would be junior Inquisitor, under the guidance of more experienced hands, but the Order had it's hands full in Michigan and Indiana, the experienced hands were needed at the Front or behind the lines waging the endless counter-insurgency war against Cult spies and stay-behind saboteurs....so by default, he became Head Agent, presiding over a office of one, completely overworked and having to rely on the Security Chiefs of the labor camps and even trusted prisoners, such as Anita, to cope with the workload associated with maintaining Barnaky's Regime. "Thanks, Anita", Morton said gratefully as he accepted the cup and saucer. "Got papers for me?" "Just routine, Inquisitor", she said, mugging in a way to non-verbally signal that she wanted him to drink what she had prepared for him, "It can wait." Morton, picking up the cues subconsciously, obliged and took a drink. He paused for a moment, as the coffee tasted just a bit odd....though the puppy dog eyes she threw at him when she noticed the pause coaxed him into drinking more, just to please her....as he suddenly realized how luscious her lips looked. Anita watched and waited, it wasn't long before the pupils of his eyes showed the pheromones were working. A tiny dose, but then she just wanted to make him more biddable to suggestion, not compel him to bend her over the desk and ravish her until he was completely spent and then dry-hump her until he was exhausted. She then walked around the desk and shot him a lewd look that had worked on many a man in her line of work. She smiled as he immediately became erect in response. Totally distracted, he didn't even notice as she placed the folder on the desk, just that she had kneeled down next to him. "That cock looks rock-hard, Bob", she said seductively in his ear, "would you like me to suck it for you?" "I.I.I can't!", Bob stammered, "They'd shoot me if they found out!" "No they won't, Bob", Anita replied, "We've been through this before. I promise I'll swallow it all and then there will be no evidence...it will be our secret." She then lazily ran a finger and traced a line up his clothed, and fully erect member. "I just need you to do something for me...." "Do what?", Morton asked impatiently, "I want you now!" "Just sign these papers for me", she said as she flipped open the folder, "I need these signed so they can go out in today's packet." "Oh, right", Morton said. glancing at the top paper, it was the weekly discipline report for Camp 11. he signed it and flipped to the next page, to find his report on suspected sabotage of a mining rig at the Keewatin Pit, the investigation had determined it was a hydraulic failure caused by a defective hose. He signed it, but became distracted again as Anita began fiddling with his belt. "C'mon Bob", Anita said huskily as she succeeded in unfastening his belt, "hurry up so I can suck it!" At that point, Morton's resistance finally crumbled and he hastily signed...without reading...each succeeding document in turn, in the spot where Anita helpfully indicated with a carefully manicured nail, casting down the pen when he had signed the last one. "Good boy", said Anita with satisfaction as she stacked the papers and put them back in the folder and closed it. "Get ready....." Bob struggled to pull down his pants to his ankles and leaned back, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head as Anita moved in and expertly pleasured him. After a time, he groaned in pleasure has he climaxed into her skilled mouth. After finishing up, she looked up at him, and opened her mouth to show that it was empty, then leaned up and made him kiss her. She then stood up, and picked up the folder. "Thank you, Bob", she said, then turned and went to the door, as he recovered. She then looked back and said, "Inquisitor, I need a car to pick up correspondence from the camps and Brainerd....It will take most of the day. could you call ahead to the motor pool and get one released for me?" "I'll take care of it", Morton said, picking up the phone and mashing the button for a outside line, "Just make sure you're back before curfew...and be careful. the Brainerd area isn't secure yet." "I'll go there first", Anita replied, "Raiders won't be out in the morning." Morton grunted in reply, then waved her off then began pulling his pants back up as she closed the door. Back at her desk, she prepared the morning correspondence to go out, then examined the last letters...the ones she hadn't wanted Morton to read...and smiled predatorily at the signature on them. Susan had told her to just forge the documents....but why take the risk when she had a Inquisitor wrapped around her finger? Now all she had to do is head to Mimi's, report and pick up a helper, then complete the mission. As for Inquisitor Morton, his time would come soon enough.