Heckno12
Thayr
Red Wizard
Alby47
Letter Bee
Crusader Lord
QJT
PrizrakChez Nathan & Colonel Denver Abernathy – Fort Golf — Afternoon, October 17th
(A Collaboration with @cymbeline90)
Chez sensed their approach to the Fort before word was passed down to him from the front. There was a subtle ratcheting up of tension, diffusing through the Followers like particles dancing in water. He remained in the back of the wagon, facing outwards, refusing to look at the Fort until the last minute. They were waved through a checkpoint and allowed to draw close to the building that served as the army’s headquarters. A security detail coalesced around them.
“Best behavior, everyone,” Beth muttered.
Chez had seen soldiers act aggressive when conducting security checks, particularly when they were further from the top brass and under less supervision. These men and women, however, were professional and detached. They patted the Followers down and rooted through their cargo with a swift, relentless efficiency. For their part, the Followers offered minimal resistance. Each side understood the delicacy of the situation. They were like strangers forced into proximity at a society dance, going through the steps with stiff formality.
Once cleared, they were signaled to move their wagons closer to the building. Aides appeared, offering to stable and water their horses. The human members of the caravan were invited to disarm and proceed to a mess hall for refreshment, and directions regarding their accommodations.
As they trailed after the aide, Beth muttered into Chez’s ear, “You ever been here before?”
He shook his head.
“I have,” Beth went on, keeping her voice low. “It was a couple years ago. We were on medical dispatch nearby when a couple of NCR grunts got torn up by raiders. We kept them alive until they reached this place.”
“Yeah?”
“There are more guard towers here now. More dead zones around the Fort, too. They ain’t been idle.”
Chez had been too busy looking at the soldiers and their holstered weapons to notice anything else. Trying to appear nonchalant, he glanced around, and saw that Beth was right.
“Well… ” Chez said, “holding the Mojave isn’t easy.”
“True enough. I don’t reckon givin’ it up will be either.”
Trying not to be discomfited by Beth’s words, he walked the rest of the way in silence. They were shown into a mess hall, and the crew, tired and dusty from the road, fell gratefully upon the plain rations that had been set out for them.
Chez called one of the aides over. “I believe Colonel Abernathy is expecting me.”
The aide nodded. “Someone will be with you shortly, doc.”
Chez found that he had no appetite. He pulled out a notebook and flipped through it, coming to a set of pages filled with disjointed scrawling. Energy conversion, he had written. Airborne pathogen. No survivors?? Unsustainable population growth – infrastructure burden – massive population of displaced peoples. Resource scarcity → conflict inevitable. The Green?? → enormous mass of raw materials. But death by Greenlung — choose. quick death by Greenlung /slow death by resource deprivation.
A young private appeared and bobbed her head at him. “Colonel Abernathy will see you now, Doctor.”
Chez clapped the notebook shut, tucked it away, and followed the private to the colonel’s office.
Colonel Abernathy was a clean-cut and respectable-looking man. Out of uniform, he probably wouldn’t have caught Chez’s eye – or perhaps he would have. There was a sense of restrained power about him. Once you spent more than a few moments with him, you felt that there was something dangerous behind the unassuming surface.
“Welcome to Fort Golf, Dr. Nathan.” Denver held out his hand. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I want to begin our conversation with an acknowledgement of the resources and time your organization has spent in getting you here. Given our sorted histories with one another I am deeply appreciative that you all have answered our call for aid. I hope that today can be the start of a new relationship between the 3rd Infantry and the Followers.”
Chez took the hand that was offered and tried to make his grip firm and sincere. “The pleasure is mine, Colonel. I believe the people of the Mojave can only benefit from our cooperation. I am ready to pool whatever resources we can for the common good.”
“Indeed it is my concern for the common good of the people of the Mojave that I have called you here today. Please sit.” He motioned to one of the two chairs across from his desk. Denver sat down as well. He paused for just a moment, trying to weigh who this Dr. Nathan truly was. This meeting would be a chance to lay the foundations for a better tomorrow, a safer nation and to heal old wounds. But it depended on how Denver was received and how he presented himself and so he wasted no time.
Chez took a seat in the chair the Colonel indicated. It felt surreal to him to be sitting here with the commander of Denver’s Dogs.
“The Green is a threat to us all. None in the Mojave know this to be more true than your people. Since the first infection of Greenlung in Camp McCarran the Followers have suffered greatly. Both from direct contact and through the societal fallout that the Green has caused. A third of New Vegas covered underneath a mat of vegetation, sporadic outbreaks and now a flood of refugees from the NCR. The Mojave teeters on a precipice and the slightest misstep will send the entire region into a green hell from which there will be no escape.”
“You know this already though or else you would not have come here today. Since you are the one they sent I know that you are not yet hardened against the 3rd or the NCR as a whole. I know you are optimistic and diplomatic. I may not always agree with how the Followers conduct themselves or how you all have responded to certain matters. Nonetheless I trust that your organization and your people have the best interest of others at heart. Therefore I have no option but to trust you.” Denver paused for a moment, allowing Chez to process everything.
Chez listened as the Colonel laid out each blow the Followers had endured. On the one hand, it felt profoundly gratifying to have their losses acknowledged, at last, from someone in the NCR. And the Colonel of all people! He knew, with almost clinical precision, the toll these years had taken on the Followers.
Of course he knows, Chez thought. It’s his job to know the players in the Mojave. That’s how he routed the Brotherhood of Steel, and massacred the Khans. The Followers exist because he permits us to exist. Because we fit into his vision for Vegas. And he knows that we know this. He thanks me for answering his summons, like I had a choice!
“We find ourselves without friends here in the Mojave. The 3rd I mean. The Van-Graff administration in Shady Sands looks at the Mojave and sees an oasis. A dam that provides immense power, a city that bleeds caps and a divided people to be subjugated and taxed. They do not see it for the mirage that it is.” Denver took a breath. “I was born to a dirt farmer back west. I grew up on the land but I am no expert on ecology nor do I claim to be. Yet even I can see the Green for what it is. Inevitable. We cannot fight it. We cannot harness it. We cannot stop it. We must avoid it. For as long as we can. That is why I need your help. You have access to the people capable of performing the work necessary to determine how fast the Green is expanding. How long does the Mojave have? Ten years? Five years? Two? Six months? It isn’t a matter of if the Green conquers the Mojave but when.”
The Colonel was still saying all the right things. Chez, who’d been prepared for the Colonel’s political savviness, found himself being disarmed nonetheless. He’s reminding me that the merchant houses in the capitol view this place as an investment, Chez thought. Their concern for Vegas waxes and wanes with the market. When drought or the Legion incursions lower our value, they’re prepared to cut us off – as they did to his regiment. Now that the dust has settled the vultures have returned. He fought for this place personally. He spent the blood of his own men and women to secure the Bear’s interests in this region. That’s the coin he weighs this land’s price in, not valuations by investors. He even reminds me of his own farming background as he speaks of us toiling the land! Ah, if he hadn’t taken up the rifle, what might this man have achieved with the pen instead? But perhaps it’s good he never studied with the Followers. We already have one Caesar on our conscience.
As the Colonel spoke of the threat posed by the Green, Chez felt a weight settle on his shoulders. The Colonel’s individual words blended together, registered on his awareness, and melded with disparate bits of data floating in Chez’s short-term retrieval. Since Letty had stung him out of inaction, Chez had been rummaging through old Holotapes on the Green, binging on the few reports that remained from back when Followers still had resources to spare.
This Colonel is not a man to frighten easily, Chez thought. And he speaks of the Green as an existential threat to the Mojave. Based on the scattered, outdated data we have, its growth has been explosive, exponential. The Followers should have seen this first. But an organization can only be brought to the brink of extinction so many times before all threats look the same. We’ve been looking inward, trying to rebuild. We cannot see beyond our own immediate survival.
Denver reached over to a small shelf on his desk and retrieved a faded red folder. He opened it, turned it around and slid it across the desk to Chez. Inside was a compilation of reports on the Green, PH sampling of soil, sketches, time-tables of growth, photographs and lists of names, dates, locations. There had been a logic to the way it was arranged but that logic wasn’t immediately apparent.
Chez’s eyes fell on the reports like a herd of Brahmin on clean water. Automatically, his hand slid out and flipped through the top couple of pages. He drank in the neatly tabulated information, dates and images. He felt like a prospector who’d stumbled on a fabled Old World cache.
Then his hand withdrew, as if seared by fire.
He felt the Colonel and himself sitting across from each other, in a nexus of variables, like Bighorn herders in the eye of a radiation storm.
What will the Followers think of me, Chez wondered. Will I be remembered as someone who made the painful choice to work with a ruthless power in order to fight a greater threat? Will I be seen as the traitor who volunteered the Followers’ resources to a warlord? Will I be the stooge who aided and abetted a second Caesar? The truth was, he’d already made the decision. Seeing that folder had only confirmed his choice. The decision had been made when he’d seen the envelope lying on his desk in the medical center, when he’d chosen to come here.
Maybe that’s why the others sent me. So they could have a clean conscience when this goes wrong. So their names will not appear beside mine in future histories of the Followers, when they teach me as a cautionary lesson to the young.
“For the past six years I have worked to learn all I can about the Green. That folder contains some of the most important information I’ve discovered. I offer it to you on the condition that you accept my offer. Work with me, build a team and find out how long we have. If you agree, there will be no secrets between us.” Denver’s eyes held a stern gaze implying there would be consequences if he found out Chez was lying. “If you refuse, you are free to leave. But I will remember your refusal.”
He did not miss the implied threat in the Colonel’s words. But somehow he’d lost the terrible fear of the Colonel that he’d suffered before coming here. The Colonel was a pragmatic, at times ruthless, man. Viewed in that light, his choices made sense. What Chez feared now was how easily he’d been won over. What had the others seen in him that he hadn’t yet seen in himself? He feared how eager he was to take the first step, when he didn’t know how far he might fall.
Chez said, “If what you say is true, this threat is bigger than you or me, Colonel. I may not approve of all your actions, but I can discuss ethics with you. I can’t negotiate with an ecological disaster.” Chez held out his hand. “Consider me on board for this venture.”
Denver felt a wave of cool relief wash over him as the bargain was made. He wasn’t one to trust easily but the Followers were known to be honest people. They spoke directly and clearly even if it didn’t always work in their favor. For that, Denver admired them. Duplicity and selfishness were demons working in the heart of humanity and the Followers were the only people who seemed deaf to them. Still a nagging anxiety chirped within him and Denver thought it best to have some kind of leverage over Chez. If only to assure the man wasn’t agreeing out of fear.
“Thank you. I had hoped you’d agree. However, since we shall be open with each other I have something I must reveal to you.” Denver paused for a moment. He hadn’t yet said these words aloud and wanted to be deliberate with his speech. “Three days ago my rangers recovered irrefutable proof that the Brotherhood of Steel remains active within the Mojave. We captured two provisioners just outside the Gulp ‘n Grub in South Vegas. One of them is being escorted to the NCRCF as we speak, the other is secured within the basement of this building.” Denver paused to let the information settle. Rumors had always persisted about the Brotherhood but most dismissed them. He wanted to be sure that Chez understood the importance of this information.
Chez thought: The Devil and the Deep Green Sea…
Chez felt as though he’d slipped awake from a dream. For a moment, he heard the strains of his mother’s voice, carrying over the rhythmic scraping of a mixing spoon against a bowl, smelled the fragrance of roasting gecko flesh, sweetened by prickly-pear fruit relish.
“I don’t want you…
But I hate to lose you
You’ve got me in between
The Devil and the deep blue sea.”
That’s where I am, Chez thought. Between the Devil and the deep green sea.
So the Brotherhood was still active in the Mojave. And the Colonel had never given up hunting his old enemy. Of course not. Chez could already tell this was a man who hated to leave a job unfinished.
“I believe that someone as educated as yourself is at least partially aware of who the Brotherhood is and more importantly the threat they pose. I’m not ashamed to say that I have a long and violent history with them. I earned my colonelship at the battle for Helios One and I disagreed with my superiors when they ordered me to stand down and allow the survivors to flee into the hills. They believed that the catastrophic losses the Brotherhood sustained during that battle would cement the end of their organization. I knew better. You see Dr. Nathan, the Brotherhood of Steel is not a group of people, it is an idea. A dangerous idea that should’ve been destroyed decades ago. When I was ordered to stop my pursuit that idea was allowed to fester and grow. I did not hunt them with the intent to slaughter them wholesale, I want to make that clear. The wanton obliteration of human life has never been my goal.” Denver put a grim emphasis on his words and suppressed the thoughts of Bitter Springs that bubbled within him. He had done what was necessary.
Chez remembered there had been a name for such strategies in the Old World, back before even the Great War. Before the scientists had split the Atom, and in doing so, had united humanity in fear of their own mutual extinction. Scorched earth tactics, they’d called it. This had been in the period of conventional warfare, before the proliferation of atomic deterrents had made such things unworkable.
“But I did want to destroy them.” Denver continued, “Who they were, how they saw themselves and most crucially how they saw us. The danger of the Brotherhood of Steel lies not in their energy weapons and power armor but in its doctrines and codex. It is an ideology that separates them from the rest of humanity, elevating them to the level of ‘chosen ones’ blessed with the divine right to decide how the rest of us should live. If it were up to them they would watch us die and think themselves the better people for it. I’m sure you agree, Dr. Nathan, that such a worldview is not compatible with the continued survival of humanity.”
A memory came to Chez, surprisingly, from Latin and Ancient History with Arcade Gannon.
There was a city whose people were loved by the goddess Juno,
Above all others on Earth.
Enthroned was she on Tunis’ imperial shore,
Clad in Tyrian purple, her streets of gold,
Her ships swift in fury when provoked to war.
The Carthaginians had struck at Rome’s heart, and the Eagle’s fury in retaliation had known no bounds. The city of Carthage was razed to ashes, so that nothing would ever grow there again. A warning to all Rome’s enemies of the consequences of defiance.
But the Colonel isn’t speaking of that, Chez thought. He claims not to be another Caesar. He speaks of destroying their ideology.
“I have no love for the Brotherhood’s teachings, sir. We respect the democratic principles of the NCR’s constitution, whatever qualms we have about how you put them into practice. The Brotherhood’s ethos, as you say, is elitist, exclusionary, and unlikely to maximize the welfare of the Mojave’s human population, much less the other sentient species. But history has taught us to be cautious about eradicating a people’s beliefs. As any sawbones can tell you, sir, a scorched-earth cure can sometimes be worse than the disease it heals.”
Denver sighed heavily, folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward.
“Nonetheless, we need their help. The Brotherhood has access to technology and knowledge that cannot be found in any other nation or peoples in the wastes. If we are to accurately predict the spread of the Green we will need their assistance. However, I cannot ask them for help. Even if I knew where they were they would not listen to me. They are stubborn and dogmatic people and highly xenophobic. I’ve interrogated enough of them to know that they revile me and the NCR and would sooner choose death over helping us. I’m not going to give them that choice. That is where you come in. As a leading member of the Followers of the Apocalypse you have a recognized neutrality that allows you to operate freely between hostile factions. Do you understand what I am asking of you? I need you to speak to the prisoner below, get her to talk as she hasn’t said anything to us. Find out where the Brotherhood is and meet with them. Tell them what you are working on and ask for their help. I have no doubt the Brotherhood has been studying the Green for as long as I have and though they may be resistant to working with an outsider, you’ll simply have to make yourself indispensable to them.”
“I can’t promise anything, but I will do my best to negotiate with this member of the Brotherhood in good faith. I swear I will do whatever I can to effect a working relationship with the Brotherhood. I am doing this for the purpose of pooling our resources to combat the Green, which you’ve shown me is a threat to all residents of the Mojave. Beyond that, any hostile intentions you have towards the Brotherhood, whether ideological or military, I cannot be a part of at this time. It would require me to consult with the Followers as a whole to endorse an action that would violate our neutrality towards any other faction. Particularly a faction that is heavily armed and likely to be dangerous to us in our already weakened state. I will follow any reasonable command to combat the Green, but hostile actions against a group of people are of a different order.”
Chez spread his arms, trying to be as open as possible. He looked almost pleading as he gestured towards Denver. “Please understand, sir, the Followers have built up a great deal of goodwill among the people of the Mojave by following our own ethical code. That is the only precious resource we have, and one that would end us if we cast it away. There are many ways to destroy the heart of an organization… and I would not be the one to lead the Followers into darkness.”
(A Collaboration with @cymbeline90)
Chez sensed their approach to the Fort before word was passed down to him from the front. There was a subtle ratcheting up of tension, diffusing through the Followers like particles dancing in water. He remained in the back of the wagon, facing outwards, refusing to look at the Fort until the last minute. They were waved through a checkpoint and allowed to draw close to the building that served as the army’s headquarters. A security detail coalesced around them.
“Best behavior, everyone,” Beth muttered.
Chez had seen soldiers act aggressive when conducting security checks, particularly when they were further from the top brass and under less supervision. These men and women, however, were professional and detached. They patted the Followers down and rooted through their cargo with a swift, relentless efficiency. For their part, the Followers offered minimal resistance. Each side understood the delicacy of the situation. They were like strangers forced into proximity at a society dance, going through the steps with stiff formality.
Once cleared, they were signaled to move their wagons closer to the building. Aides appeared, offering to stable and water their horses. The human members of the caravan were invited to disarm and proceed to a mess hall for refreshment, and directions regarding their accommodations.
As they trailed after the aide, Beth muttered into Chez’s ear, “You ever been here before?”
He shook his head.
“I have,” Beth went on, keeping her voice low. “It was a couple years ago. We were on medical dispatch nearby when a couple of NCR grunts got torn up by raiders. We kept them alive until they reached this place.”
“Yeah?”
“There are more guard towers here now. More dead zones around the Fort, too. They ain’t been idle.”
Chez had been too busy looking at the soldiers and their holstered weapons to notice anything else. Trying to appear nonchalant, he glanced around, and saw that Beth was right.
“Well… ” Chez said, “holding the Mojave isn’t easy.”
“True enough. I don’t reckon givin’ it up will be either.”
Trying not to be discomfited by Beth’s words, he walked the rest of the way in silence. They were shown into a mess hall, and the crew, tired and dusty from the road, fell gratefully upon the plain rations that had been set out for them.
Chez called one of the aides over. “I believe Colonel Abernathy is expecting me.”
The aide nodded. “Someone will be with you shortly, doc.”
Chez found that he had no appetite. He pulled out a notebook and flipped through it, coming to a set of pages filled with disjointed scrawling. Energy conversion, he had written. Airborne pathogen. No survivors?? Unsustainable population growth – infrastructure burden – massive population of displaced peoples. Resource scarcity → conflict inevitable. The Green?? → enormous mass of raw materials. But death by Greenlung — choose. quick death by Greenlung /slow death by resource deprivation.
A young private appeared and bobbed her head at him. “Colonel Abernathy will see you now, Doctor.”
Chez clapped the notebook shut, tucked it away, and followed the private to the colonel’s office.
Colonel Abernathy was a clean-cut and respectable-looking man. Out of uniform, he probably wouldn’t have caught Chez’s eye – or perhaps he would have. There was a sense of restrained power about him. Once you spent more than a few moments with him, you felt that there was something dangerous behind the unassuming surface.
“Welcome to Fort Golf, Dr. Nathan.” Denver held out his hand. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I want to begin our conversation with an acknowledgement of the resources and time your organization has spent in getting you here. Given our sorted histories with one another I am deeply appreciative that you all have answered our call for aid. I hope that today can be the start of a new relationship between the 3rd Infantry and the Followers.”
Chez took the hand that was offered and tried to make his grip firm and sincere. “The pleasure is mine, Colonel. I believe the people of the Mojave can only benefit from our cooperation. I am ready to pool whatever resources we can for the common good.”
“Indeed it is my concern for the common good of the people of the Mojave that I have called you here today. Please sit.” He motioned to one of the two chairs across from his desk. Denver sat down as well. He paused for just a moment, trying to weigh who this Dr. Nathan truly was. This meeting would be a chance to lay the foundations for a better tomorrow, a safer nation and to heal old wounds. But it depended on how Denver was received and how he presented himself and so he wasted no time.
Chez took a seat in the chair the Colonel indicated. It felt surreal to him to be sitting here with the commander of Denver’s Dogs.
“The Green is a threat to us all. None in the Mojave know this to be more true than your people. Since the first infection of Greenlung in Camp McCarran the Followers have suffered greatly. Both from direct contact and through the societal fallout that the Green has caused. A third of New Vegas covered underneath a mat of vegetation, sporadic outbreaks and now a flood of refugees from the NCR. The Mojave teeters on a precipice and the slightest misstep will send the entire region into a green hell from which there will be no escape.”
“You know this already though or else you would not have come here today. Since you are the one they sent I know that you are not yet hardened against the 3rd or the NCR as a whole. I know you are optimistic and diplomatic. I may not always agree with how the Followers conduct themselves or how you all have responded to certain matters. Nonetheless I trust that your organization and your people have the best interest of others at heart. Therefore I have no option but to trust you.” Denver paused for a moment, allowing Chez to process everything.
Chez listened as the Colonel laid out each blow the Followers had endured. On the one hand, it felt profoundly gratifying to have their losses acknowledged, at last, from someone in the NCR. And the Colonel of all people! He knew, with almost clinical precision, the toll these years had taken on the Followers.
Of course he knows, Chez thought. It’s his job to know the players in the Mojave. That’s how he routed the Brotherhood of Steel, and massacred the Khans. The Followers exist because he permits us to exist. Because we fit into his vision for Vegas. And he knows that we know this. He thanks me for answering his summons, like I had a choice!
“We find ourselves without friends here in the Mojave. The 3rd I mean. The Van-Graff administration in Shady Sands looks at the Mojave and sees an oasis. A dam that provides immense power, a city that bleeds caps and a divided people to be subjugated and taxed. They do not see it for the mirage that it is.” Denver took a breath. “I was born to a dirt farmer back west. I grew up on the land but I am no expert on ecology nor do I claim to be. Yet even I can see the Green for what it is. Inevitable. We cannot fight it. We cannot harness it. We cannot stop it. We must avoid it. For as long as we can. That is why I need your help. You have access to the people capable of performing the work necessary to determine how fast the Green is expanding. How long does the Mojave have? Ten years? Five years? Two? Six months? It isn’t a matter of if the Green conquers the Mojave but when.”
The Colonel was still saying all the right things. Chez, who’d been prepared for the Colonel’s political savviness, found himself being disarmed nonetheless. He’s reminding me that the merchant houses in the capitol view this place as an investment, Chez thought. Their concern for Vegas waxes and wanes with the market. When drought or the Legion incursions lower our value, they’re prepared to cut us off – as they did to his regiment. Now that the dust has settled the vultures have returned. He fought for this place personally. He spent the blood of his own men and women to secure the Bear’s interests in this region. That’s the coin he weighs this land’s price in, not valuations by investors. He even reminds me of his own farming background as he speaks of us toiling the land! Ah, if he hadn’t taken up the rifle, what might this man have achieved with the pen instead? But perhaps it’s good he never studied with the Followers. We already have one Caesar on our conscience.
As the Colonel spoke of the threat posed by the Green, Chez felt a weight settle on his shoulders. The Colonel’s individual words blended together, registered on his awareness, and melded with disparate bits of data floating in Chez’s short-term retrieval. Since Letty had stung him out of inaction, Chez had been rummaging through old Holotapes on the Green, binging on the few reports that remained from back when Followers still had resources to spare.
This Colonel is not a man to frighten easily, Chez thought. And he speaks of the Green as an existential threat to the Mojave. Based on the scattered, outdated data we have, its growth has been explosive, exponential. The Followers should have seen this first. But an organization can only be brought to the brink of extinction so many times before all threats look the same. We’ve been looking inward, trying to rebuild. We cannot see beyond our own immediate survival.
Denver reached over to a small shelf on his desk and retrieved a faded red folder. He opened it, turned it around and slid it across the desk to Chez. Inside was a compilation of reports on the Green, PH sampling of soil, sketches, time-tables of growth, photographs and lists of names, dates, locations. There had been a logic to the way it was arranged but that logic wasn’t immediately apparent.
Chez’s eyes fell on the reports like a herd of Brahmin on clean water. Automatically, his hand slid out and flipped through the top couple of pages. He drank in the neatly tabulated information, dates and images. He felt like a prospector who’d stumbled on a fabled Old World cache.
Then his hand withdrew, as if seared by fire.
He felt the Colonel and himself sitting across from each other, in a nexus of variables, like Bighorn herders in the eye of a radiation storm.
What will the Followers think of me, Chez wondered. Will I be remembered as someone who made the painful choice to work with a ruthless power in order to fight a greater threat? Will I be seen as the traitor who volunteered the Followers’ resources to a warlord? Will I be the stooge who aided and abetted a second Caesar? The truth was, he’d already made the decision. Seeing that folder had only confirmed his choice. The decision had been made when he’d seen the envelope lying on his desk in the medical center, when he’d chosen to come here.
Maybe that’s why the others sent me. So they could have a clean conscience when this goes wrong. So their names will not appear beside mine in future histories of the Followers, when they teach me as a cautionary lesson to the young.
“For the past six years I have worked to learn all I can about the Green. That folder contains some of the most important information I’ve discovered. I offer it to you on the condition that you accept my offer. Work with me, build a team and find out how long we have. If you agree, there will be no secrets between us.” Denver’s eyes held a stern gaze implying there would be consequences if he found out Chez was lying. “If you refuse, you are free to leave. But I will remember your refusal.”
He did not miss the implied threat in the Colonel’s words. But somehow he’d lost the terrible fear of the Colonel that he’d suffered before coming here. The Colonel was a pragmatic, at times ruthless, man. Viewed in that light, his choices made sense. What Chez feared now was how easily he’d been won over. What had the others seen in him that he hadn’t yet seen in himself? He feared how eager he was to take the first step, when he didn’t know how far he might fall.
Chez said, “If what you say is true, this threat is bigger than you or me, Colonel. I may not approve of all your actions, but I can discuss ethics with you. I can’t negotiate with an ecological disaster.” Chez held out his hand. “Consider me on board for this venture.”
Denver felt a wave of cool relief wash over him as the bargain was made. He wasn’t one to trust easily but the Followers were known to be honest people. They spoke directly and clearly even if it didn’t always work in their favor. For that, Denver admired them. Duplicity and selfishness were demons working in the heart of humanity and the Followers were the only people who seemed deaf to them. Still a nagging anxiety chirped within him and Denver thought it best to have some kind of leverage over Chez. If only to assure the man wasn’t agreeing out of fear.
“Thank you. I had hoped you’d agree. However, since we shall be open with each other I have something I must reveal to you.” Denver paused for a moment. He hadn’t yet said these words aloud and wanted to be deliberate with his speech. “Three days ago my rangers recovered irrefutable proof that the Brotherhood of Steel remains active within the Mojave. We captured two provisioners just outside the Gulp ‘n Grub in South Vegas. One of them is being escorted to the NCRCF as we speak, the other is secured within the basement of this building.” Denver paused to let the information settle. Rumors had always persisted about the Brotherhood but most dismissed them. He wanted to be sure that Chez understood the importance of this information.
Chez thought: The Devil and the Deep Green Sea…
Chez felt as though he’d slipped awake from a dream. For a moment, he heard the strains of his mother’s voice, carrying over the rhythmic scraping of a mixing spoon against a bowl, smelled the fragrance of roasting gecko flesh, sweetened by prickly-pear fruit relish.
“I don’t want you…
But I hate to lose you
You’ve got me in between
The Devil and the deep blue sea.”
That’s where I am, Chez thought. Between the Devil and the deep green sea.
So the Brotherhood was still active in the Mojave. And the Colonel had never given up hunting his old enemy. Of course not. Chez could already tell this was a man who hated to leave a job unfinished.
“I believe that someone as educated as yourself is at least partially aware of who the Brotherhood is and more importantly the threat they pose. I’m not ashamed to say that I have a long and violent history with them. I earned my colonelship at the battle for Helios One and I disagreed with my superiors when they ordered me to stand down and allow the survivors to flee into the hills. They believed that the catastrophic losses the Brotherhood sustained during that battle would cement the end of their organization. I knew better. You see Dr. Nathan, the Brotherhood of Steel is not a group of people, it is an idea. A dangerous idea that should’ve been destroyed decades ago. When I was ordered to stop my pursuit that idea was allowed to fester and grow. I did not hunt them with the intent to slaughter them wholesale, I want to make that clear. The wanton obliteration of human life has never been my goal.” Denver put a grim emphasis on his words and suppressed the thoughts of Bitter Springs that bubbled within him. He had done what was necessary.
Chez remembered there had been a name for such strategies in the Old World, back before even the Great War. Before the scientists had split the Atom, and in doing so, had united humanity in fear of their own mutual extinction. Scorched earth tactics, they’d called it. This had been in the period of conventional warfare, before the proliferation of atomic deterrents had made such things unworkable.
“But I did want to destroy them.” Denver continued, “Who they were, how they saw themselves and most crucially how they saw us. The danger of the Brotherhood of Steel lies not in their energy weapons and power armor but in its doctrines and codex. It is an ideology that separates them from the rest of humanity, elevating them to the level of ‘chosen ones’ blessed with the divine right to decide how the rest of us should live. If it were up to them they would watch us die and think themselves the better people for it. I’m sure you agree, Dr. Nathan, that such a worldview is not compatible with the continued survival of humanity.”
A memory came to Chez, surprisingly, from Latin and Ancient History with Arcade Gannon.
There was a city whose people were loved by the goddess Juno,
Above all others on Earth.
Enthroned was she on Tunis’ imperial shore,
Clad in Tyrian purple, her streets of gold,
Her ships swift in fury when provoked to war.
The Carthaginians had struck at Rome’s heart, and the Eagle’s fury in retaliation had known no bounds. The city of Carthage was razed to ashes, so that nothing would ever grow there again. A warning to all Rome’s enemies of the consequences of defiance.
But the Colonel isn’t speaking of that, Chez thought. He claims not to be another Caesar. He speaks of destroying their ideology.
“I have no love for the Brotherhood’s teachings, sir. We respect the democratic principles of the NCR’s constitution, whatever qualms we have about how you put them into practice. The Brotherhood’s ethos, as you say, is elitist, exclusionary, and unlikely to maximize the welfare of the Mojave’s human population, much less the other sentient species. But history has taught us to be cautious about eradicating a people’s beliefs. As any sawbones can tell you, sir, a scorched-earth cure can sometimes be worse than the disease it heals.”
Denver sighed heavily, folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward.
“Nonetheless, we need their help. The Brotherhood has access to technology and knowledge that cannot be found in any other nation or peoples in the wastes. If we are to accurately predict the spread of the Green we will need their assistance. However, I cannot ask them for help. Even if I knew where they were they would not listen to me. They are stubborn and dogmatic people and highly xenophobic. I’ve interrogated enough of them to know that they revile me and the NCR and would sooner choose death over helping us. I’m not going to give them that choice. That is where you come in. As a leading member of the Followers of the Apocalypse you have a recognized neutrality that allows you to operate freely between hostile factions. Do you understand what I am asking of you? I need you to speak to the prisoner below, get her to talk as she hasn’t said anything to us. Find out where the Brotherhood is and meet with them. Tell them what you are working on and ask for their help. I have no doubt the Brotherhood has been studying the Green for as long as I have and though they may be resistant to working with an outsider, you’ll simply have to make yourself indispensable to them.”
“I can’t promise anything, but I will do my best to negotiate with this member of the Brotherhood in good faith. I swear I will do whatever I can to effect a working relationship with the Brotherhood. I am doing this for the purpose of pooling our resources to combat the Green, which you’ve shown me is a threat to all residents of the Mojave. Beyond that, any hostile intentions you have towards the Brotherhood, whether ideological or military, I cannot be a part of at this time. It would require me to consult with the Followers as a whole to endorse an action that would violate our neutrality towards any other faction. Particularly a faction that is heavily armed and likely to be dangerous to us in our already weakened state. I will follow any reasonable command to combat the Green, but hostile actions against a group of people are of a different order.”
Chez spread his arms, trying to be as open as possible. He looked almost pleading as he gestured towards Denver. “Please understand, sir, the Followers have built up a great deal of goodwill among the people of the Mojave by following our own ethical code. That is the only precious resource we have, and one that would end us if we cast it away. There are many ways to destroy the heart of an organization… and I would not be the one to lead the Followers into darkness.”