After the Vault: Chapter 05
    
    Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that 
comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own 
enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all 
original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.
    
***
    
    After the Vault
    
    -A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-
    
    
    Chapter 05
    
    Of Blades and Bullets.
    
    
    "Okay, get that suit off again and lie down."
    
    Abigail looked at Chopper with a sense of reproach from her seat on 
their bed, but did as she was told. She was getting tired of constantly 
disrobing for the woman, even if it always seemed to be for her own 
good. The pain in her leg wasn't making her any more rational either, 
and she was beginning to think that finding some more clothes of her 
own would be worthwhile, if only so she wouldn't have to strip to her 
knickers every time she grazed her knees. 
    
    Then again, the Pigrat had done more than graze her. Removing her 
boot had been bad enough, but she winced and whimpered as she peeled 
her jumpsuit from her right leg. The blood still flowed slowly from the 
gash in her shin, and it had begun to dry, making the cloth stick to 
her tender skin. 
    
    Chopper was back with her medical tin before she was finished. "Come 
on, lie down. That cut isn't going to sew itself up."
    
    Abigail swallowed hard, looking at the needle and thread in 
Chopper's hands. Knowing Chopper, this was going to hurt. "Can't we 
just use a stimpak or two?"
    
    "No need," Chopper replied, "unless you want it numbed that badly." 
Then, as Abigail lay down, Chopper took a closer look at her two 
wounds, testing them with her fingers. 
    
    "Actually, your foot has stopped bleeding already. The rat must have 
missed anything important. Try wiggling your toes."
    
    Abigail did. It hurt, but she was glad to look down at herself and 
see that all five digits were working.
    
    Chopper sighed, and pulled one of her hypodermics from the tin. "I'm 
guessing it will be too much to ask you not to go running after Sia at 
the market?"
    
    Abigail decided to be brave and nodded. "If it means I don't need a 
gun, I want to find those knives again. She said she would make sure 
no-one bought them, in case anyone heard us talking at the rat pen and 
got there before us. I don't want to make her wait for nothing."
    
    "Fine." 
    
    As usual Chopper was not too gentle with the needle, and Abigail 
hissed as it sunk into her flesh.
    
    "This isn't free," Chopper said as she emptied the serum into 
Abigail's foot, "but it'll stop the wound opening again, and after 
setting that crap up, Rathley can pay. He won enough off that fight."
    
    Abigail grimaced as she saw a little of the meds seep out from the 
wound below the needle. "You didn't bet?"
    
    Chopper's face remained impassive. "I don't like rat fights." Then 
she gave her that lop sided smile. "Couldn't you tell?"
    
    "Of course I could. You were angry at me as well."
    
    Chopper nodded. "You appear to be growing an aptitude for causing 
trouble. Now, hold still, this is going to sting."
    
    Abigail closed her eyes and turned her head away as Chopper threaded 
her needle, and scraped her chair further up beside the bed, to sit 
over Abigail's shins. 
    
    "Just do it. Ah, wait, I have Stimpaks too..."
    
    Then she felt the sharp sting in her cut, and gritted her teeth. 
"Damn it, Chopper!"
    
    "You should have said so earlier. After the shape you were in, back 
in the desert, this shouldn't be too much to handle. Anyway," she went 
on, going back to her topic, "as I said, trouble. Just like you plan on 
heading over to the police barracks with the others after sundown."
    
    "Well maybe I wouldn't feel the need if one of you would just tell 
me what that fight you were having was about! Rathley is already as 
good as signed up to whatever this is, but you don't seem to care, and 
Sharn won't tell me either. Is she afraid to or something!? I'm not 
going to break. And why would the mayor be making you and Rathley a 
'good deal' when he looks like he hates you so much? OW!!"
    
    Chopper tugged on the thread, and started the second stitch. "What 
part of 'blood money' didn't you understand? The mayor wants to find 
out the whole story behind Jack's attack, the Diamond you brained 
before Sia shot him, and what he implied when he took Erin hostage. So, 
he's sending some hired guns out to the Diamond Ring, to 'talk'."
    
    "But they aren't going to be too interested in talking now that 
we've killed some of them?"
    
    Chopper shrugged, "Who can tell? Raiders aren't usually firing on 
all cylinders. Even if you just go to trade with them, you've got to be 
ready to pull a gun at any time. Something like this? In their own 
fort? It could get very bloody. Still interested?"
    
    Abigail shook her head, and winced again as Chopper started the last 
stitch. "No. You're right. I just don't know what else I'm supposed to 
be doing. It seemed like a natural direction though, after fighting 
that pigrat. And you said before, that I'm supposed to be the strong 
type, but then you get angry about the pigrat and this."
    
    Chopper paused in her sewing, and glanced up at Abigail's conflicted 
face. "So go along. Hear the man out, and decide for yourself. I think 
you're better than the townie weaklings, but you certainly don't sound 
like it. You say you want a quiet life, and then you come out of the 
pigrat pen smiling, bloody and high on the thrill of the fight. You 
were just waiting for Sharn and her, 'good job Abby, that was cool!' 
You were practically hanging from her tongue when she finally said it. 
And you can't fight worth shit, but you've got guts enough pick on a 
raider mob?"
    
    Chopper pulled hard on the thread again and Abigail, already growing 
teary eyed from the scolding, finally let out a pained sob. "Why do you 
have to be like this!?! I finally do something right, like you crazy 
people do, and all you can do is tell me off! What do I have to do to 
make you happy?! I *don't* want to be like you, but you said I haven't 
got a choice!
    
    "And you're right, I got a thrill out of that fight! I won! I beat 
the pigrat and I deserved that applause, because I fought hard for it! 
I *don't* want to be a killer, but I'm *not* going to lie down and die, 
and just because I don't want to be a murderer doesn't mean I'm going 
to be a victim for the rest of my life either!!"
    
    Chopper stared at her as she ranted, and slit the thread in 
Abigail's leg with her scalpel without even needing to look. Then, as 
Abigail's vitriol faded, she stood up and reached out for her head. 
Abigail recoiled, suddenly scared that she had said too much and pushed 
Chopper over the edge, but before she could escape Chopper had grabbed 
the base of her pigtail and clenched the hair tight, making it pull in 
Abigail's scalp. She twisted the girl's suddenly frightened face up to 
meet her own hard eyes.
    
    Abigail quivered in the woman's grasp. "W-wait, I didn't..."
    
    "Shut up," Chopper breathed. "The more you talk, the worse you 
sound. You can do whatever the hell you like, and you're going to need 
that attitude around here, but you had better grow up and start making 
some fucking decisions of your own."
    
    She pulled Abigail closer, until the girl could feel Chopper's 
ragged breath on her face. "Because if you don't then this place is 
going to start making them for you, and I'm not going to be holding 
your hand any more."
    
    Then, just as suddenly as she had grabbed her, Chopper let Abigail 
go. "It's obvious that it won't make a difference anyway."
    
    Abigail just stared after her as Chopper walked away, the doctor 
pulling her chair back to the broken down desk. Abigail found that her 
eyes were still leaking. "But... How can I d-decide, when I don't know 
where to start? Y-you know, but I can't satisfy you even when I give 
in, and try to be what you all say I should be."
    
    "Get dressed," Chopper finally said, "and find Sia and your knives. 
That was your plan, so follow through. If you need help that badly, 
she'll look out for you."
    
    Abigail swallowed and reached for her jumpsuit. The leg was still 
torn and bloody. Now it seemed that, contrary to her playful attitude 
the night before, Chopper was more than willing to pay back some of the 
dislike that Abigail had felt towards her. A day or two before Abigail 
would have been grateful for Chopper's silence, but now it worried her. 
Chopper had been an authority on the surface, more so than the others, 
and the last thing that Abigail needed was to be severing ties that 
could help her understand it.
    
    But at the same time, Chopper was sounding like just as much of a 
broken record as Abigail guessed she herself must have been. The last 
thing that either of them needed right then was to keep repeating 
themselves, because neither of them was going to end up being what the 
other wanted. She pulled on her jumpsuit and limped downstairs to ask 
for some more water to wash the leg with before she went to meet Sharn. 
Even though it would probably leave a stain no matter how she scrubbed.

***
    
    It was a good five hours later when Abigail, with food in her 
stomach and steel in her new pockets, made her appearance at the police 
house. She felt almost thirty pairs of overwhelming eyes turn and lock 
themselves onto her as she stood in the doorway, and behind her Sharn 
and Kyle might have been invisible to them. 
    
    "I think they like the new look, Abby-girl," Sharn whispered to her, 
grinning from ear to ear.
    
    Whether they liked it was hard to tell, Abigail thought, but they 
noticed it more than she had expected. She still wore her vault 
jumpsuit, she couldn't have parted with that, but it was now hidden 
almost entirely beneath the leather jacket and trousers, both so black 
that they matched her shades perfectly. It was Diamond leather she was 
sure, though only because it was not the brown hide of Chopper's coat 
or Sharn's vest, but somewhere along the way the gold and jewellery had 
been cut out of it, taking with it the entire right sleeve of the 
jacket, and leaving the stained leg of her jumpsuit visible below the 
uneven cut of the right trouser leg.
    
    Trading one set of Diamond leathers for another might have seemed 
pointless, but Abigail could wear the ones that were cleaned and free 
from the gaudy reminders of the man she had killed. What's more these 
fitted very well, so they must have been made for a very young man, or 
another smaller woman like herself. And with them had come two 
mismatched boots, paid for with Diamond's silver medallion. They had 
hunted far and wide but boots in Abigail's tiny size were few and far 
between. She had settled for the chunky camouflage green right and the 
more shapely black left in the end, but they would both serve her 
better than her vault shoes or the spare boots Sharn had lent her. Her 
plait also fell past her rear and swayed with her steps, finally free 
from the rear belt-loop that sat over her still sensitive scars, at her 
left hip. 
    
    But in the pocket of the jacket was what made the most difference to 
Abigail, though the onlookers could not see them. Inside the deep, 
clumsily stitched cloth sat her six knives, and her fingers rested on 
the cold rectangles of steel that passed for their handles. Three holes 
up each would give her all manner of grips to try, and while the blades 
themselves were only as long again as the handle, and only single 
sided, they were ground to a vicious edge. They both gave her 
confidence and made her wonder what she thought she was doing. She was 
armed now, and to her mind a person was only armed if they intended to 
use those arms.   
    
    Then again, she thought, as the three of them entered and took up a 
few more of the spare seats in the entrance hall, she did not doubt 
that she was the only one there without a gun on them. Some, like 
Rathley in his corner seat, left the stocks or hilts of their guns 
sticking from their clothing or bags, while a few more carried theirs 
openly. One man even sat on the floor, disassembling his squat, fat 
pistol and cleaning each part of it with a ratty looking toothbrush.
    
    She idly wondered why Rathley hadn't saved them seats, before she 
realised that it was Rathley she was thinking about in the first place. 
She just sat, making the effort to look as though her shin did not 
still sting and ache.
    
    After a short while one of the men stood up from the front row, and 
revealed himself to be the mayor. It was only unexpected because his 
daughter had, for once, not been with him.
    
    "Alright, I guess that's all we're getting," he announced. "Thank 
you for coming. For those few who don't know, I am Gerald Golway, 
Corva's mayor. I also pay for and organise the policing in this town."
    
    He waited a moment, in case anyone decided to crack wise.
    
    "I *also* deal with any special security measures we need to hire 
in, and our good friend Diamond Jack apparently thought that it was 
worth his life to try and get my daughter away from here. Unfortunately 
he didn't say much more before our new favourite Scav decided to make 
herself famous."
    
    His eyes, and many others, once again turned to look at Abigail. She 
swallowed hard, but tried not to look nervous.
    
    "So we need to find out what sort of plan the Hearts have in mind,"
    
    "More raiders," Kyle whispered to Abigail. "The ones Jack thought he 
had to 'protect' Erin from."
    
    "... and how they expect to carry it out. The Diamonds know, 
assuming Jack didn't go renegade on his own, so we are going to walk 
over to the Diamond Ring and ask."
    
    "That's their headquarters," Kyle told Abigail. "They're the only 
Raiders around here that don't move from camp to camp, so we know 
exactly where their leaders are."
    
    "So why hasn't anyone ever stopped them. Or, you know, wiped them 
out?" 
    
    Kyle chuckled. "Because as far as raiders go, the Diamonds are the 
best equipped. They're mostly pretty dense, but they make up for it 
with firepower, and the Diamond Ring is a fortress compared to this 
place."
    
    "What we need from you," Golway went on, "is muscle. I've already 
chosen our negotiator and the caravan. If you sign on, you'll be there 
to protect it both ways, and if the talks go bad you are to provide 
cover for our people, and get them and each other out."
    
    "Fuck the terms," one large man shouted from the middle row. "What's 
the pay?"
    
    Mayor Golway singled him out. "Five hundred caps or equivalent in 
ammunition, all up front."
    
    Three men and one woman got to their feet and left the hall 
instantly, while the large heckler swore loudly. "Man, that's shit if 
you want us going up against the Ring!"
    
    "He's right," Kyle noted to Abigail. "There's no way we could ever 
clear the place, so we wouldn't get much Diamond loot out of it if 
things went bad. Actually, I doubt we'd get any."
    
    Golway nodded. "That's why it's all in advance. If it all goes to 
plan, you get 500 caps for a three day babysitting job. More than fair. 
If not, you have to get each other out. If you die, your things get 
shared out between the survivors. But only if you get each other back 
here, bodies and all."
    
    He eyed the crowd. "No back stabbings, and no 'failed missions' for 
loot, because there will be spotters with you. Feel free to kill each 
other if you want, but we'll know what you've done. You will be put 
down for it. Any questions?"
    
    Another man, old and scraggly, "What sort of caravan are we lookin' 
at here?"
    
    "Two carts, one brahmin apiece. Assuming we get fifteen of you, 
that's four walkers at all times, plus room for water. You provide your 
own food and weapons, as standard."
    
    "And the spotters? Are they armed?" the old man asked.
    
    "Already hired, and they will have rifles. But they won't be 
assisting you, unless they want to take a few pot shots on their own to 
make your lives easier. You people are all the lookout you've got."
    
    The old man sighed. "Right, right. Hey, you old bastard, are you 
in?"
    
    From his front corner seat Rathley laughed, making himself heard at 
last. "You bet your ass I'm in, old man!"
    
    That got a few people talking amongst themselves. But it also caused 
another four to leave. Abigail knew he was unpleasant, but was he 
really that well known? And that unpopular?
    
    The mayor didn't seem too happy. "Anything else?"
    
    Silence.
    
    "Good. The caravan leaves from the front gates at eight AM. If you 
want to be paid, get there beforehand."
    
    While everyone else either filed out or clumped together into groups 
to talk about the worth of the job, Abigail pulled back the left sleeve 
of her leather jacket to reveal her PipBoy, and she punched in the time 
for the alarm.
    
    Behind her Sharn sighed. "So, what do you think? It's decent for 
Rathley and Chopper, but not so much for us."
    
    Kyle shrugged. "It seems like the easiest thousand we've had in 
months."
    
    "You don't think it will turn bad?"
    
    Kyle shook his head. "Golway is smart, and as far as Mercs are 
concerned he's as well connected as anyone. I'll bet he's hired the 
best negotiator for miles."
    
    "And anyway," he added, patting Abigail on the shoulder, "there's no 
obligation to fight. If the worst happens, we just have to cover each 
other's escape. It would be a good chance to train."
    
    Abigail looked at him and nodded. "I thought you didn't like knives 
though."
    
    "They won't beat a gun," he replied, shrugging again, "no 
penetration at all, but if that's what you want you might as well make 
sure you can make the most of them."
    
    Sharn agreed. "He can't throw for the life of him, but I bet between 
us we could both help you out. If you even need it."
    
    Abigail blushed at the compliment. "Thanks. Umm, lets go, shall we?"
    
    They look around them to see that the hall was mostly empty now, and 
Rathley was waiting at the door with a smug smile on his face. Just 
behind him, outside, was Chopper.
    
    "So," he said, enjoying her annoyed expression, "what do you think?"
    
    Chopper just looked at Abigail, Kyle and Sharn. It wasn't hard to 
guess what their plans were. "If I'm going to be sitting around bored 
either way... When do we leave?"
    
***
    
    They left at eight on the dot, just as Mayor Golway had said the 
evening before. Nine men and three women turned up besides themselves, 
including the ancient looking 'friend' of Rathley's and the tall, 
overweight heckler, who only just arrived in time to collect his bag of 
bullets before they left.
    
    By that time Chopper had once again fallen asleep, sitting slumped 
against the water barrels with a large hat over her face. 
    
    "She had no intention of staying behind, did she?" Abigail asked. 
Her attention was split between the sleeping woman, the mass of Mercs 
and Scavs around them, and her PipBoy.
    
    "She would have if she hadn't been the only one," Kyle said, kicked 
back next to her, with Sharn sitting on the edge of the cart by his 
shoulder. "She's not the combat type. Thinks it's counterproductive if 
she's just going to end up patching everyone up again anyway. But 
'Sheriff Dad' won't let her practice in town, so she really would be 
sitting around doing nothing. A doctor's not much good if she's been 
banned from healing."
    
    Abigail looked back at Chopper's sleeping form. "Really? Why, 
because she's rough?"
    
    "Because a lot of people die on her table," Sharn explained. "She'll 
try and fix anything, given a chance, so if you're dying and you're 
desperate enough... Like those Black Widowmaker victims, or people with 
so much lead in them they could start a used ammo store. It gets her a 
bad rep, and the officials don't like it. The thing is," she finished, 
as if it was a secret, "she's a half-assed fixer-upper, but she's 
probably the best surgeon in the Mid Wastes."
    
    Beside them several of the other Mercs laughed. "Heh, ya' think?" a 
well muscled and thickly bearded man asked. "If she's the only medic 
we've got, I want to be put out of my misery if I get shot up!"
    
    A smaller man, sitting wrapped in a cloak on the open back of the 
cart, made a pondering noise as several others laughed. "Mnn, I'm sure 
you will find a few people happy to oblige, Jassic."
    
    He rolled off the edge of the cart as the heavily bearded Jassic 
stuck out a boot to kick him that way. "Screw off, Lyster. Go piss 
yourself again."
    
    Abigail tried to ignore their nasty banter and started pressing 
buttons on her PipBoy again. 
    
    "Say, what is that anyway, new girl?" one of Jassic's similarly 
built friends, Bason, asked. "You've been playin' with it long enough."
    
    "It's a P.I.P. computer. Personal Information Processor," Abigail 
replied, tilting it towards the heavy set man before punching a few 
more buttons. "I'm plotting our journey on the GPS tracking system, 
since it still works."
    
    Bason just stared. "And in English, hon?"
    
    "She's making maps," Kyle translated, both for Bason and an equally 
bemused Sharn. "Does it show the location of your vault, Abby?"
    
    Abigail nodded. "Yes. That was the first thing I looked for. But the 
journey plotter signal must have been messed up by the radiation. I can 
give you the direction from town, but not the distance or exact co-
ordinates."
    
    "Damn," Jassic said with a wide, crooked smile, "thought I might 
have been onto a mother load there. How much Rad-X was it to get there 
though? More'n healthy I'd heard."
    
    Abigail decided to change the subject quickly, before these strange 
people got equally strange ideas into their heads about her vault. 
"What *I* want to know," she said, asserting some authority into her 
voice, "is why all the raiders are named after playing cards. Are there 
Clubs and Spades too?"
    
    Kyle explained, while four men and two women looked at her like she 
had just asked what colour the sky was.
    
    "It started off the other way around. When I was a kid there were 
four raider gangs around here. Picking caravans off by the Cobalt Line 
supply routes is easier than elsewhere, since people don't like getting 
too close, so it's less well defended. To keep people, and each other, 
guessing they used to pretend to belong to each other's gangs though, 
or they kept changing their names every few months.
    
    "The only way people could tell who was who was by giving the gangs 
permanent names, which the raiders didn't know at the time. All the 
warnings were kept secret, using a deck of cards, so each gang was 
named after the suit that suited them!"
    
    Sharn giggled at the pun, while Jassic and Bason guffawed, and one 
of the other women smiled.
    
    "The Diamonds were the idiots who were easy to identify. Always the 
shiniest guns and slickest leathers. They played up to the name when 
the system got out, that's why the boss's son was called Jack." 
    
    Abigail swallowed, and hidden behind her shades her eyes widened in 
realisation. "We killed his son..."
    
    "Yeah," a punkish looking woman in slender but shapeless green 
armour confirmed, from her seat opposite the spot Lyster had vacated. 
"He's the king, his woman is the queen, their boy was Jack, and their 
trained bitch is Ace. They love it."
    
    "The Hearts are the other big gang these days. They stay on the move 
in lots of smaller camps and keep their numbers high with kidnapping 
and their whole sex and drugs thing. They're less rational than the 
Diamonds, since they're big into sleaze and backstabbing where 
outsiders are concerned, but they're smarter, and when they all get 
together it means something is going to go to hell.
    
    "The Clubs used to be huge, but they got greedy and overconfident. 
It was a matter of pride that they could do anything the others could, 
but without guns. You put a load of club and spear wielding men in 
front of a few town militias and police forces who know that they're 
coming, and they're not going to last long. What was left of them fled 
west. Dunno what happened to them after that."
    
    The punk girl spoke up again. "We keep getting rumours out here that 
they've taken over some pissant town down south east. No-one's ever 
been able to confirm it so they must be doing well, if it's true."
    
    Jassic huffed and turned to Abigail and Kyle. "Don't mind her, 
thinking she knows it all. You *know* you don't know shit about 'em, 
Kirren."
    
    "Any word is better than no word," Kirren replied, looking at the 
man with condescension. "And since raider blood is all that keeps the 
drink coming, I for one like to stay well informed."
    
    "You are such a slave to your wage," came Lyster's nasal voice as he 
leapt back up into his seat opposite her, evidently having had enough 
of walking beside the wheels. "But you are probably right. The Club 
King's body would have been made a very public prize if anyone had 
managed to claim it."
    
    "And the Spades?" Abigail asked, finishing with her PipBoy and 
pulling the sleeve of her black leather jacket over it.
    
    "Disbanded and deceased," Kyle said. "They never got the same kind 
of foothold as they others, so people kept hunting them down and wiping 
them out. A new group calling themselves The Spades pops up every few 
years, and usually get put down again before they've got enough people 
or weaponry to defend themselves."
    
    "So," Abigail surmised, "we're better off nowadays then, with just 
two gangs to worry about?"
    
    "Mostly it's just easier to manage," Kirren replied. "But the 
Diamonds and Hearts have become more of a threat individually too. And 
there's the Jokers too."
    
    "They have their own gang?"
    
    Kirren shook her head, and shifted on the floor of the cart. "No, 
there's just the two of them. The two dud bullets that keep showing up 
at the wrong time." She shrugged. "Don't worry about them though. 
You'll probably never meet them. I doubt anyone here has, except the 
quiet guy walking with the other cart." She pointed over to the cart in 
front. "Nathanial. The one with the sand-mask."
    
    Abigail looked over to see who she was talking about. True enough 
there was a fairly tall, short haired man walking ahead of them, 
wearing a cover-all type suit in a colour that matched the yellow of 
the sand, and with a filter-mask over his nose and mouth. Rather than 
carrying a pack like the rest of them, all his belongings seemed to be 
hidden in the dozen or so pockets and sewn on holsters in his clothing.
    
    "So, what did he say about them?"
    
    Jassic chuckled evilly and beat Kirren to the answer. "Heh, he never 
said much of anything 'bout it. His tongue was one of the bits they cut 
out of him."
    
    Abigail looked back to the man, who walked along with a steady 
purposefully stride. "Christ. What is with this place?"
    
    "Eh," Jassic shrugged. "Life sucks sometimes. 'specially for him. At 
least the girls love him for it. You chicks really go for the tragic 
hero type, eh? I hear he got the whore house all to himself one time in 
Micasa, didn't cost him a single cap. Pity he's got nothing to get up 
any more, ha ha!"
    
    Kirren tilted her head to one side. "Strange, I heard he managed 
well enough regardless. I might try and find out. Apparently he's a 
real challenge to satisfy! Maybe you'd care to lend a hand, girls?"
    
    Abigail blanched behind her shades. "No, I'm... I'm good, thanks."
    
    Sharn just smiled in self-satisfaction and shook her head, sliding 
herself down into Kyle's lap. "Me too."

***
    
    The carts made steady progress as the day wore on, the brahmin never 
seeming to tire or complain about their heavy loads, and the 
encroaching tedium was staved off as their bored travelling companions 
grew chattier to pass the time. 
    
    As it turned out Jassic and Bason, who were now the pair that walked 
on guard beside the cart as the afternoon wore on, had been partners in 
pretty much everything from crime to construction to mercenary-licensed 
killings since they had been in their teens. Now both a great deal 
larger and hairier they leaped on any available Merc jobs they could 
find around Corva, and otherwise made their livings repairing the many 
half-build homes in the town. Abigail thought that Jassic was as bad as 
Rathley, if not nastier, with his cruel humour and gruesome talk, but 
Bason seemed a much milder sort. Where Jassic was strongly built Bason 
was more a mix of muscle and fat, but he was both interesting himself 
and interested in learning about the others. The gentle straight man to 
Jassic's bull-headed clown.
    
    The other man she had caught the name of, Lyster, was obviously 
regarded as a coward and a liability by the others. He looked like a 
human weasel, and was probably as thin as a rake beneath his huge 
cloaks, but he was quick witted and had a very penetrating stare. He 
seemed as though he was analysing whatever he looked at, even with just 
a glance, and it made him unnerving to watch. He was a run of the mill 
Scav according to the others, but one that had a knack of coming back 
to town with a suspiciously large profit.
    
    Rathley and his old friend had taken Jassic and Bason's seats in the 
cart, and the old man was introduced to her just as Bert. Bert was 
easily in his sixties but had still walked beside the cart for miles 
before Jassic and Bason had taken over their shift, so he was obviously 
fit despite his stoop. He also had the unnerving habit of forever 
checking the safety on his long, double barrelled shotgun, but Abigail 
was assured that he knew exactly what he was doing with it. He had made 
his living in gecko hunting in his youth, and gradually worked up to 
larger vermin or prey.
    
    By turns Bert also shed some new light on Rathley himself. They had 
teamed up several times in the past to hunt scorpions at the behest of 
several towns east of the Cobalt Line, like Corva. They had a good 
amount respect for each other, but one that couldn't quite be called 
friendship considering the amount of verbal abuse Bert lavished upon 
Rathley. However, he did say that if he was ever lost in the desert 
then the one man he would want with him would be Rathley. He was, in 
Bert's opinion, a survivalist extraordinaire. And while Rathley was 
evidently not popular among their cartload of Mercs and Scavs, no-one 
denied it either.
    
    The last man in their cart was a very tall and square faced Merc, 
who Abigail had seen cleaning his pistol at the mayor's meeting the day 
before. He wasn't particularly sociable, but Abigail found out that his 
name was Seb and that he was much more of a wanderer than the others in 
their cart. Like Chopper he was known to have wandered from town to 
town, ending up in Corva twice over the last ten years, and for all 
anyone could get out of him he would probably be leaving again soon if 
nothing came of this job. However, while Chopper had come from the 
west, travelling below the Cobalt Line and then back up north, Seb had 
been born on the east coast of the Wasteland. He was much like Kyle, a 
gun for hire, but he seemed to have a much wider repertoire of weapons 
to his name.
    
    It made Kyle quite defensive when that subject came up. "I don't 
*need* to be good with your shotguns and rifles. You make any shot with 
your rifle, and *I* can match it with a nine mil pistol!"
    
    Unfortunately for the rest of the men, Seb didn't take him up on 
that offer. He just muttered to himself about wasting ammunition and 
went back to sorting through his huge pack.
    
    Chopper was similarly taciturn, now that she had woken up. Abigail 
suspected that she was still annoyed at her after the day before, but 
she, like Rathley, didn't seem to be much loved by the rest of them 
either. However, unlike Rathley she didn't invite their accusations or 
abuse. Instead she just read through page after page of the medical 
textbook Abigail had brought with her to pass the time herself. The 
rest of their belongings had been stowed at their usual Corva 
employer's safe house, but Abigail had had the foresight to bring a 
book that was both large and that she, Sharn and Chopper all had an 
interest in. Basic first aid was always useful, while Chopper had 
ignored that and instead started on the chapters about massive blood 
loss, and how to prevent it in five easy steps.
    
    Thankfully for Abigail the other two women were more amicable. 
Kirren was a wanderer and professional Merc, like Seb, going from town 
to town and offering her services. She, however, had a much more 
specific niche. She hunted raiders. They were all she set out to kill, 
and she had become very good at it. She was also the ideal infiltrator, 
thanks to her mutable punk look, completed with bright green mohawk and 
ears full of piercing holes, and her knowledge of raider lifestyles.
    
    The other woman, Stephanie, seemed much more normal, but Abigail 
knew that on the surface that didn't necessarily count for much. She 
had long blonde hair and wore a very wide straw hat the keep the sun 
off her skin, along with the yellow-brown leather armour that seemed to 
be so predominant among them. What was curious about her was her choice 
of weaponry because, once it had been made the matter of discussion, 
she was all too eager to show off her guns. 
    
    Frankly, Abigail thought that they looked bodged together out of 
scrap, but she feigned interest since the others seemed so impressed. 
One was a very large pistol, but built to fire high velocity rifle 
ammunition. It was the sniper's equivalent of a sawn-off shotgun, 
Abigail guessed, though why a sniper would sacrifice accuracy for 
concealability was anyone's guess. The other was a large, double 
barrelled shotgun of sorts, but made fully automatic with a rotating 
cylindrical cartridge underneath either side. It looked and sounded 
hideous, and being able to fire fourteen shells in five seconds was 
surely massive overkill, but Abigail didn't doubt her when she claimed 
there was nothing it couldn't kill. 
    
    And the girl had technical skill, if she had made them herself. 
Abigail had not expected surface dwellers to be mechanically inclined, 
but this woman seemed to be a notable exception. It was just a shame 
that she could only put that skill towards making things that killed 
people more quickly.
    
    In the end, as evening began to fall and people started to talk 
about setting camp and who deserved to use the campfires to cook first, 
Abigail finally followed Chopper's lead and pulled her jacket sleeve 
back from over her PipBoy. She would worry about food when Sharn told 
her it was time. Until then she could read the small, green glowing 
words that came up on the screen, and finally lose herself in her 
written memories for the first time since coming above ground.

*** 
    
    "Ah, so you are here after all."
    
    Abigail knew that voice. She looked down from the gymnasium climbing 
wall to see the one person who, above all others in Vault 42, she had 
so desperately *not* wanted to see right then.
    
    Overseer Jahera stood plainly below, looking as middle aged and 
annoyingly calm as ever. Nothing ever seemed to fluster her - Abigail 
knew, she had tried - and she had a lecture for every occasion, always 
delivered simply and without judgement.
    
    It was enough to make Abigail spit. To her, every word sounded 
spoken down to her. Overseer Jahera knew all of life's little secrets, 
and she was just too smug and self satisfied to share them.
    
    "You missed our appointment."
    
    Abigail looked back up to the wall, and launched herself angrily at 
her next hand hold. "I don't need it."
    
    Her hands slipped easily over the moulded grips. Her legs missed. 
Abigail suddenly found herself falling down the face of the wall, until 
her upper arms took the strain and kept her hanging on by her 
fingertips. She heard Overseer Jahera gasp below her, and that only 
made her limbs tremble harder after that moment of adrenal fear. She 
didn't need anyone to see a fumble like that. Not now. She pulled 
herself across so her toes could reach their own plastic purchases, and 
swallowed down her nerves. She was sweating now, and that would only 
make it harder to climb.
    
    Then Overseer Jahera spoke again. "Abby, how long have you been 
going? You look exhausted. Just come down and sit with me for a moment, 
to catch your breath. Please."
    
    Abigail closed her eyes and swallowed down her rebellious urge to go 
higher. That hadn't been a request. When an Overseer gave you an order, 
you did as you were told.
    
    Abigail made her way shakily from grip to foothold to grip, scaling 
her way down the advanced wall and wishing that she hadn't been caught. 
"Lets just get this over with," she said, deciding not to beat around 
the bush. "Am I sacked from the festival? Or are you going to kick me 
off my maintenance training?"
    
    To her annoyance Overseer Jahera smiled at her. "No need for all 
that, there's no drama involved."
    
    "No drama?!" Abigail retorted. "I fell off the ropes ON STAGE! In 
the *middle* of the festival!! That's..."
    
    Abigail didn't know what it was, but whatever it was, it was so 
*very*... that!
    
    "Embarrassing, I know. And everyone, and I do mean everyone, was 
worried for more than your pride."
    
    "Exactly!! In front of *everyone*..!"
    
    Overseer Jahera shushed with a look. "... none of whom laughed, and 
all of whom were glad when you stood back up on your own two feet. I 
know you're not so arrogant that you would try and justify your 
failures, so why not take this as a learning experience? It looked like 
a difficult routine, and the worst you have to worry about now is 
people saying you bit off a little more than you could chew."
    
    Abigail took a seat on the bench, a safe distance away, and looked 
down at her feet. "They're calling me 'Jinx' again."
    
    "Ah, that." Overseer Jahera sighed. "A bad joke, I know. We all have 
our faults, Abby. I can't keep my nose to myself, just the way you 
can't help a little inattention at the wrong times. So, I'm a busybody, 
and you're unlucky. I know it's not fair when people spread rumours 
like that, especially when it's boys like Alfred, but if you don't let 
it get to you then they'll get bored of bringing it up."
    
    Abigail didn't believe it. "Everyone keeps saying that, but whenever 
I do something wrong it's all 'Jinx' this and 'Jinx' that all over 
again."
    
    From the look on her face Abigail could see that, even though she 
did not know it herself, Overseer Jahera knew she had a chip on her 
shoulder over that unfortunate joke. "And you get flustered all over 
again too. I know you don't lack confidence, Abby, so where does that 
self-doubt come from? Do you believe it when they say you're unlucky?"
    
    Abigail lost a little of that angry fire inside herself. "But it's 
not my fault I mess up like that!"
    
    Overseer Jahera gave her an odd, accepting look then, and she 
wouldn't really come to understand what it meant until a few more years 
had passed. Maybe 'Jinx' had become Abigail's excuse not to be perfect. 
Her own secret, guilty cop-out. 
    
    But then, that didn't explain why that bad luck seemed to afflict 
those around her either. That was the ridiculous straw that always 
broke the poor camel's back. The failures of others were, for some 
unfair reason, also her fault. Because they always happened more when 
she was around.
    
    "Then don't let it get to you. I know you can laugh it off, Abby, 
because that's the kind of girl you are. You've just got to put that 
confidence of yours into practice, even when things start to go wrong."
    
    Abigail would never come to like the woman, but at fifteen she had 
just discovered that she might be able to respect her.
    
    Overseer Jahera got up from the bench, and motioned for Abigail to 
follow. "Here, like this."
    
    The Overseer led her over to the door, and Abigail held her breath 
expectantly. Gillian and Alice would be there, listening in, but in her 
memories and her diary Abigail had found them after Overseer Jahera had 
left her with those things to think about. Instead, now, Gillian was 
not accompanied by Alice, but by Overseer Beatrice, and Sharn.
    
    "Go on," Overseer Jahera urged. "You can say it."
    
    Abigail trembled nervously under the weight of their combined gaze. 
"I... I lov..."
    
    The suddenly, before she could finish, she found a pair of strong, 
bare arms around her, and a pair of lips pushing heavily against her 
own. Abigail blinked to find herself staring into Chopper's complex, 
smiling eyes. "Hey, Abby..."

***
     
    "... Abby!"
    
    Abigail's eyes shot open, and she gulped in a lungful of air to try 
and ease the shock of being woken so suddenly, and from so disturbingly 
vivid a dream. 
    
    "Come on, it's sun up already," Chopper said, standing fully dressed 
beside her bedroll. "We've got to get the tent down before the caravan 
leaves us behind."
    
     Abigail looked up at her with wide, bleary eyes, and felt herself 
flushing.
    
    Chopper smirked, the first one Abigail had seen on her since the 
pigrat fight, and quirked that overactive left eyebrow of hers. "Aww, 
sorry, did I interrupt anything good?"
    
    Abigail grimaced and pulled her shades over her eyes before Chopper 
reached the tent flap. "It was going to get good before you barged in." 
The worrisome thing was that it probably would have got good even if 
the dream Chopper had been able to stay, instead of Sharn or Gillian or 
Overseer Beatrice. Chopper would have been more pleasant in the dream, 
Abigail guessed, and she would not have been above enjoying the fantasy 
for what it would have been. She looked down at the jacket that had 
been thrown onto her bed. That explained it. Unfortunately it wasn't 
such a good substitute for a pair of imaginary arms around her, now she 
was awake.
    
    Now she was left feeling sluggish and frustrated as she pulled her 
leathers back over the jumpsuit she had slept in, before wandering out 
into the morning sunlight to help pack up. 
    
    "She seems more lively this morning," Sharn noted as she and Abigail 
folded up their tent. "I know she's a killjoy when we have to work en 
mass like this, but yesterday was a bit much."
    
    Abigail felt as though she should take some of the blame for that. 
"Well, we did have a fight, sort of. I guess she's over it now. Ow, I 
think I got sunburned again. Or were my hands this red already?"
    
    "At least they're not peeling any more. You should have worn your 
cloak." Sharn's look, however, was curious. "What did you fight about?"
    
    "Just me. And what the hell I'm doing here. Even I don't know, and I 
guess she had plans for me or something."
    
    "Don't worry about *her*," Sharn said seriously, waving off 
Abigail's concerns. "She's got lots of weird ideas. But don't let her 
threaten you. She tried to bully me too, when she joined up with us. 
Just remember; she may talk tough, but she's the one who needs *us* to 
protect her. She just likes to feel in control."
    
    That made some sense, but... "Really, Sharn, it wasn't a big deal. 
She scared me a bit, but I actually think I needed it. I've been pretty 
reliant on you all. Especially you."
    
    "What? Don't be stupid. I'm glad we've got another girl around." She 
let out an infectious giggle, which made Abigail feel warm. "There's 
only so much solidarity you can get from Chopper. When it comes to 
lifestyle and desert attitudes she has more in common with Rathley than 
me."
    
    Mention of the wastelander's name made Abigail look around them as 
they finished. "Where is he anyway?"
    
    Kirren stopped beside them, playing a bloodied skewer around in her 
fingers. "You're with Rathley? You poor girls. He's up with the 
drivers. Has been since sun-up."
    
    "Is there a problem?" Sharn asked.
    
    Kirren shrugged, and pulled on her short, dyed mohawk to straighten 
it. Abigail didn't dare to guess what it was lathered with to keep it 
straight, but it smelled like kitchen fat. "Who knows?" Kirren replied. 
"Let's go find out."
    
    Then, as they approached the line of serious looking men, the tall 
and heavily muscled heckler from the meeting voiced their collective 
concerns. "Hey, what's the fuckin' hold up?!" he shouted from his seat 
in the first cart. "We gonna get to the Ring today or what?"
    
    The drivers ignored him, while Rathley and old Bert turned to the 
small crowd that was gathering around them.
    
    "Our lookout saw that swarm durin' the night," Rathley told them, 
pointing into the distance. Abigail thought he was being unusually 
businesslike, but then she remembered that desert survival *was* his 
business. "They've been sat there for the last four hours, so unless 
some of you boys are feeling gun-happy we'll have to drive wide around 
them and hope they don't follow. Bloody things are too close as it is."
    
    Abigail looked to Kyle, ahead of them in the crowd. "Hey, what are 
they?" She could see the pale, white-green blur in the distance, but 
couldn't make out any individual creatures in the undulating mass.
    
    "Mantises," Kyle replied. "They're what left the insect casings you 
saw on the other side of Corva." He squinted at the carpet of insects. 
"There must be... twenty five or thirty of them in a swarm that size. 
They're predators, so normally if you see a couple of them you just 
shoot - they're pretty fragile as desert insects go - but that many? 
We'll just have to see if there's a group here willing to waste the 
ammo on them. Otherwise we'll spend half an hour backing up and trying 
to leave them alone."
    
    "Why didn't you say that before?" came a woman's voice from the back 
of the group. "I'll clear them in no time!"
    
    All eyes turned to Stephanie, and she pulled her double barrelled 
machine gun from her pack and hefted it into her hands. "Time to show 
you what the Shotheart Double Driver can do!"
    
    The lead caravan driver looked to his female companion, who 
shrugged. "If you think you can do it, then do it."
    
    "Hold up," Kyle called as Stephanie stepped forward. "We'll play 
clean up for you. Just in case."
    
    The Abigail got a shock as Kyle suddenly took her hand, and hauled 
her forward along with him. "Hey! What..." she grabbed hold of her wits 
and tried to act as coolly as she dressed. "Kyle!" she whispered, as 
the pair of them walked up to a rather non-plussed Stephanie. "What are 
you doing?!"
    
    The obscenely beweaponed woman stared at them hard, and reached her 
hand up to play with her long blonde ringlets. Of all of them in the 
carts, only she, Abigail and Chopper had hair that could really be 
called long. "You think I can't do it? I don't need your help."
    
    Kyle lowered his voice. "Listen, just play along, okay? Our little 
Abby gets some training in against any stragglers, and no-one finds out 
that you can't shoot straight, okay?" 

    Stephanie looked at them both hard for a moment. Then she grumbled 
something under her breath before forcing a smile onto her face. "Deal, 
let's go."
    
    As they walked towards the insectile mass Stephanie fidgeted with 
her weapon for a moment, before finally saying what was obviously on 
her mind. "How could you tell I don't shoot?"
    
    Kyle shrugged. "A few little things. The hair is a giveaway. Like 
Abby, you're more for show than for fighting with it long like that. I 
kept wondering what was with the straw hat. All the outright showman 
stuff too, like that sway with the hips, and the huge smile whenever 
you're showing off that thing. That's too flirty just to be showing 
off. You're either looking for a partner or a buyer."
    
    Stephanie sighed. "Buyer. This trip was *supposed* to be my sales 
pitch. Trying these weapons out is all the practice I have time for. 
Not that I care about shooting anyway."
    
    "So..." Abigail said, "we are walking towards thirty meat-eating 
insects, and only one of us is a fighter?"
    
    "That's the beauty of it," Stephanie said, beaming. "Even the worst 
shooter in the world could kill a whole pack of molerats with this, as 
long as they can handle the kick! This armour," she slapped her leather 
covered chest, "is just in case."
    
    Unfortunately that didn't ease her worry as much as Abigail had 
hoped it would. As they got closer she could start making out 
individual insects within the swarm, and they looked a larger than 
their dried up casings had suggested. Sitting there, their pale wings 
sat flat against their bodies, and had appeared to be a whole creature 
on their own, while in truth each one lay close to the dry earth, with 
their bulb-eyed heads and long, grasping forearms held out in front of 
them, making each creature over a foot long. 
    
    And it wasn't too long before the first spied them, and the entire 
blanket of green rose up on slender, twiggy legs to greet them.
    
    "Oh shit."
    
    "You really are a newbie, Abby," Stephanie said with a smile. "Now 
watch this."
    
    She spread her feet and levelled the large, double barrelled weapon 
at the approaching swarm, and once the first insect was close enough 
all hell broke loose from its muzzles. 
    
    The noise was deafening as Stephanie, straining under the repeated 
recoils of the gun, fired off her first five shell burst. Abigail had 
to cover her ears, and make sure she did not look to far into the 
erupting mass of insects, or else the blasts from the gun would blind 
her around the edges of her shades. 
    
    But it was a horrific sight, watching as a second four shell burst 
shredded another seven creatures. Legs and pincer-like forearms flew 
from their bodies, trailing blood as they flew above the twitching and 
chattering mass that lined up for the slaughter. Whether they were dumb 
or just moving on their own swarming instinct Abigail didn't know, but 
they skittered and flew at Stephanie until only a few were left, and by 
then they did not have the cover of their numbers to save them from the 
gunsmith woman's machine.
    
    It was all over in seven seconds, and it probably would have been 
less if Stephanie had not needed time between bursts to steady herself 
and aim again. Abigail just looked on, stunned at the bloody sight as 
the last fully mobile insect was ripped to pieces by Stephanie's last 
shotgun shell. 
    
    Or second to last shell, at least. The gunsmith swore as the weapon 
made a clanking sound, and the trigger jammed. "Damn it! Seriously, the 
first time ever you have to jam, and it happens now!" She set the 
weapon down and pulled a screwdriver from under her leather vest. "And 
I must have wasted three shells trying to finish off those flying ones. 
Just goes to show how good this gun is if it can finish that lot in my 
hands, eh?"
    
    She pried the right cylinder from its casing, and out popped the 
offending shell. "Just for that, you are getting sold!"
    
    Abigail had to marvel at the woman. Outwardly she was a proper girly 
girl, in her attitude at least, and yet she spent her time building 
weapons like that! If she had not been wearing the leather armour 
Abigail would never have guessed what she did for a living.
    
    "It is impressive," Kyle had to agree as he surveyed the damage. 
"Though far too blunt for my tastes."
    
    He pointed into the bloody mess, at a mantis that could still move, 
though its left wing and a left leg had been blown off. "There, that 
one. Abby, see if you can hit it from here."
    
    Abigail looked at the distance, and at the lopsided and staggering 
creature. "Kyle, I really don't want to do anything more to it. I mean, 
look at it."
    
    Kyle turned to her, and after a moments thought he adopted a gentler 
demeanour. "Then put it out of its misery, hm? Remember, most of the 
creatures out here would try and chew you up if you let them, and he's 
not going to last long out here trying to fly around like that. Either 
you kill it now and show yourself that you can rely on your weapons, or 
we let it go and it gets eaten by a gecko."
    
    Abigail looked at the limping thing, and swallowed hard. "Alright."
    
    Even bobbing and wobbling like that, Abigail didn't think it would 
be a difficult shot. She reached into her jacket pocket, and pulled out 
one of her steel handled knives. She couldn't throw it like a dart, 
there was not enough hilt to make a proper grip, and it was an 
awkwardly slim rectangle to hold anyway. However, she slipped it 
between her fingers, and with a little wind up she threw it straight.
    
    It hit the mantis with none of Stephanie's cacophonic fanfare, but 
the blade cut into its bleeding body and knocked the creature to the 
ground. The giant insect let out an alien sort of hiss, and it tried to 
get back to its feet with the help of its fore claws, but the knife had 
done enough and slipped from the mantis' body, leaving its vital fluids 
to pour from the wound. In a few seconds the creature stopped moving 
altogether. 
    
    "Damn," Kyle whistled, sounding impressed. "First throw too. I guess 
you'll do okay with those things after all. You know, even your jacket 
could block a decent amount of the damage from a thrown blade, but as 
long as you aim for somewhere that isn't protected..."
    
    Abigail just nodded. It didn't feel as justified as it had against 
the pigrat. Then again she hadn't finished the pigrat off herself, only 
made sure that it would die one way or the other.
    
    And now she had to retrieve her knife.
    
    'Well,' she thought, walking across the pile of mantis bodies while 
Kyle put a finishing bullet into another struggling, half-dead insect, 
'that is that. I can do it. Chopper said I had to be able to defend 
myself. It doesn't mean I have to like it.'

***
    
    When Abigail had heard that their destination was called the Diamond 
Ring, it had put into her head the image of a great circular market, 
entrenched behind vast sheets of steel and almost military 
fortification. There would be a leather clad bastard patrolling those 
huge walls, and huge, heavy doors would let in the amoral trading 
parties that the raiders would need to survive. In return for their 
water, food and guns the traders would be paid in gold or gems as the 
Diamond's showed off their ill gotten wealth. 
    
    The real place did not live up to that image, even from a distance. 
It was large, but that was where the similarity ended.
    
    "It looks like a prison," Abigail noted to the others as they drew 
up outside the gate made of metal meshing, topped with coils of 
glinting razor wire. Inside was a huge yard, before you got to the 
building proper; a huge, flat concrete thing four stories high, with 
more miniature windows across its front surface than Abigail could 
count
    
    "It is," Kirren replied, while the others accepted Abigail's 
assessment. "This is the strongest pre-war building between the Cobalt 
Line and the edge of the Mid Waste. It's amazing that the Diamonds 
could take it at all."
    
    "If they had to." The weasel-like Lyster was grinning as he said it. 
"You think those fools could have fought their way in here? They got 
lucky and found it unguarded, that's all."
    
    The slimy man got a smack to the head from the heavily muscled 
heckler (Abigail hadn't caught his name, and didn't want to) for taking 
the trouble to speak at all. "Zip it, rat-Scav. Welcome to the Ring, 
ladies and fuckwads! Ain't it just the best shooting gallery you ever 
been part of?!"
    
    Abigail could see that several of the others were thinking similar 
things. "What, you mean we have to camp out here?" Stephanie asked. 
"We'll be sitting ducks!"
    
    "Eh, tell me about it," the heckler huffed. "I dunno why I keep 
coming back to this deathtrap."
    
    "Hey," called the one woman Abigail had not met properly, the first 
driver's companion, "you keep coming back alive. What have you got to 
complain about? Okay everyone, listen up, here's how this works! If you 
don't already know, myself, Cain and Anton here are going to be the 
only three they let through this gate!"
    
    The noise from those who had never visited the Diamond Ring before 
was impressive, worried and angry in equal parts. And somehow Rathley's 
own astonishment could be heard over it, quieting them again.
    
    "Hey, those two are the heavies... The *whore* is our negotiator?!"
    
    Everyone went very quiet after that.
    
    "Rathley!" Abigail exclaimed, assuming he was being rude, but 
apparently he was just stating a fact.
    
    "Eh? She's not one of Marge's, blow it out of your ass Rathley!"
    
    Rathley just returned Jassic's rebuke with a dull stare. "No, she 
is. She's just too specialist for your type. Right Lilis?"
    
    Lilis looked less than please with him, but shrugged her shoulders. 
"I prefer the term 'exclusive', and considering I'm the one who will be 
trying to get you back alive you might want to watch your step, 
Rathley."
    
    "Anyway," she went on, changing the subject to the disappointment of 
several of the men, "yes, the rest of you get to camp here. The 
Diamonds tend not to take prisoners, so if we don't come out by sundown 
you can consider us dead. If they gun us down in the yard, it might be 
worth blowing down the gate and haling us out for our shares, but 
otherwise just leave, because you won't get to the building alive. If 
the Diamonds start shooting at *you*, return fire and take cover behind 
the fence poles. It's not much, but they are better than nothing. Most 
of the shooters will be on the top floor and the roof, so aim high. If 
the Diamonds cease fire they'll only start up again if you stick around 
too long, so that's your cue to load up the bodies and run."
    
    "That doesn't sound like much of a choice for us," Kyle said.
    
    Lilis shrugged again, and smiled. "You'd be surprised how much 
damage you can do to them from here with a spread of lead shot and a 
few good rifles. They get overconfident."
    
    "How much do you cost?" Jassic asked with an amused leer.
    
    Lilis' stare was deadpan. "If you wanted what I have to offer, the 
girls would refer you, so keep it in your pants. Your job is to guard 
our ride home, and keep watch on the windows and roof. If it's likely 
to go bad, we'll be getting out ASAP."
    
    "How?" Sharn asked. "It sounds pretty impenetrable."
    
    "Only from the outside," Kirren said. 
    
    Lilis looked fairly impressed. "Exactly. If we have to escape," she 
added, "they'll be too busy with you to worry about us until we are 
already outside."

***
    
    "Come on you old bastard, what does she cost? And what do you get 
for it!?"
    
    "Hell, what makes *you* so special in the first place?" 
    
    Rathley grinned. "I'll try anything once. She's one of those girls 
whose parents must have gone skinny dipping in a glowing spring on 
their honeymoon..."
    
    Abigail tuned her attention back out of that conversation as quickly 
as she had tuned in. "Is it always like this?" She asked as she sat in 
the shade of the cart with Sharn, Kyle, Stephanie and Kirren. Chopper 
sat above them in the back of it, still reading the huge medical 
textbook.
    
    "It depends on the job," Sharn replied. "I've not done too much 
proper mercenary work, so..."
    
    "Well, I'm usually one of the ones going in," Kirren said. She was 
giving herself an impromptu manicure with her hunting knife. "But 
negations suck either way. Being bored's all well and good, but if 
you're waiting to find out whether you're going to be shot for it... 
it's not so much fun."
    
    "Oh, don't," Stephanie moaned, letting her false professionalism 
slip. "They've been in there for an hour. I mean, how long can this 
take?"
    
    Kirren shrugged. "Depends. Our negotiator might be a whore, but the 
Diamond King already has a Queen, so I doubt she can sweeten the deal 
the way Rathley expects her to."
    
    "You're kidding," Sharn said, "a monogamous raider boss?"
    
    "Yep. That's the word on it. Except a few rumours about him and his 
Ace when the Queen is away, but people who spread that one tend to end 
up dead. They're a protective little play-family at the top."
    
    "But not at the bottom?" Abigail asked.
    
    Kirren shrugged. "Grunts are grunts. They dress alike, but they say 
you only think like a Diamond if you were born a Diamond."
    
    "Though they'll be the only ones who think that's a good thing," 
Kyle added.
    
    Then from the back of the cart Chopper spoke up. "Speaking of the 
retards..."
    
    Kyle and Kirren instantly got to their feet. "What?"
    
    "I think our roof watchers have something." She pointed to Lyster 
and the silent, masked Nathanial. "Two on the left side, one right... I 
think I see one on that raised block as well, beside the broken water 
tower."
    
    "Oh Shit!" Kirren exclaimed, reaching into the back of the cart for 
her rifle. "Everyone! Get down and take aim! They're setting up 
positions!"
    
    Sharn picked up her own more slender rifle, but squinted at the 
building. "I see them, but they don't look like they're all gunning for 
us."
    
    Old Bert had his binoculars out, and had to agree with her. "Your 
right girl, more like they're makin' a perimeter."
    
    He panned his view down along the side of the horizon. "Unless we've 
got company as well..."
    
    His pause would have been followed by another call for cover, had 
the distant reports of rifles not shattered the tense air. Everyone who 
could dived or scrambled for any bit of cover they could find, 
clambering over the carts and over each other to be the first to 
conceal themselves. Instantly Sharn was under the cart, laying herself 
safely between the wheels and taking aim, while Jassic and Bason filled 
the air with more explosions, letting rip with their shotguns.
    
    "Perimeter bullshit!" old Bert cursed himself as he steadied his own 
shotgun over the side of the cart. "Those bustards were even aiming for 
our spotters!"
    
    Kirren let off a round from her rifle, before turning back to those 
of them who had yet to ready their guns. "Get the Brahmin behind the 
carts and keep them still!"
    
    Kyle knew his pistols would not be worth as much as a rifle or 
shotgun in this fight, and dashed to the second cart to grab the reins 
of the brahmin that kicked and struggled against its harness. Abigail, 
realising that she had to do something, ran to try and calm the animal 
behind their own cart. Jassic was using the crying animal as cover, and 
she smacked him to get him out of the way before tugging on the reins 
and, struggling against its frightened strength, pulled it around 
behind their meagre wooden cover. 
    
    Between the thunder of their own guns she could hear those distant 
shots ring out again, and she flinched, and tried to pull the animal 
down, but there was too much panic and gunfire around her to tell 
anything other than that she was still unharmed. For now. 
    
    But after trying to psyche herself up, this was a battle that she 
could not even take part in. Sharn and Kirren were in their element, 
taking careful precise shots with their rifles, and of the others 
behind their cart only old Bert seemed frustrated by his shotgun's lack 
of accuracy. Even Stephanie, her panic now subdued, was unloading her 
repeating shotgun at the building, and her rifle-pistol was ready, 
tucked into the back of her belt for the moment that the shotgun had 
emptied itself. 
    
    Kyle also shot, leaning back against his kneeling brahmin for 
stability, and taking pain over his aim with just one of his pistols. 
However, Abigail could feel for his annoyed expression. Fighting - no, 
combat - seemed to be his expertise, and yet this was a kind of battle 
that marginalised the weapons he was most skilled with.
    
    Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the terrible noise ended. Their 
more sensible shooters had realised that they were no longer being 
attacked, and Jassic's shotgun, along with the whining rattle of 
Lyster's thin automatic pistol, was halted when a screeching, amplified 
voice called out from the prison building.
    
    "That's enou-h, Mercs! You ca- -top shooting now. It won't do you 
any g-od anyway!"
    
    They all waited, but like Abigail none dared to show themselves yet.
    
    "This deal is done, so keep your pa--etic and noisy guns quiet 
unless you want to shoot your own precious negot--tor. You've had our 
blood, we'v- -ad yours, so run away back to your little h-mes before we 
lick our wounds and deci-- to up our price!"
    
    True enough, looking over the top of the cart Abigail could see the 
slender form of Lilis walking out, with her hands raised above her head 
but standing straight and unafraid. Then with wary eyes, she looked 
around at the rest of their caravan. Most of them had come out of the 
fight unscathed, but those who had not held her gaze with frightening 
power.
    
    The large, obnoxious heckler man had been killed quickly and 
efficiently, before he had even had the chance to find cover. He lay 
sprawled on his back, three neat holes in his tough, armoured leather 
breastplate, and at least one of them had punched through into his 
chest, because the blood had welled up to fill the hole and seep out 
into the hardened fabric. One of the caravan drivers must also have 
been hit in the first volley of fire, because his body lay crumpled in 
the back of his lead caravan. Only a single bullet had taken him down, 
neatly entering his temple and tearing away the opposite side of his 
skull as it had exited. 
    
    And Nathaniel, the silent and once tortured man that Abigail had 
felt so sorry for, sat slumped against the railings. Like the heckler 
man he had been at the front, and so had quickly taken refuge behind 
the meagre pole that held the fence up. They must have done their job 
as Lilis had said, because the poles were now bent from the force of at 
least one shot, and Nathaniel still sat in his cover position. 
Evidently the Diamonds had wanted him dead, because two bullets had 
caught the poor man in the stomach, through the fence poles, but not 
penetrated his own tougher and more synthetic looking armour. Then a 
third had slipped above the lip of that armour, between his collar 
bones. It must have been a lucky shot to find that opening between his 
armour and his mask, hidden beneath his cloak, but it had been deadly. 
As she stared morbidly at his limp form, she wondered if the impacts to 
his stomach had been enough for him to fold over and open his guard, 
while still looking up at the building for his targets.
    
    Lyster, also behind one of those poles, had a frayed hole in his own 
armour, but it did not leak in the way the heckler's did. By the faint 
rise of his pained chest, she could easily tell that he was playing 
dead. It was just as clear that he had lost control of his bladder. 
Again, apparently.
    
    "Chopper," she whispered into the cart, where the doctor had hidden, 
"He's still alive..."
    
    Chopper huffed, looking as harassed as Abigail felt. "Another dud 
bullet comes back... "
    
    Beside Abigail Bason was watching Lilis' return as he clutched at 
his own arm. "It looks like she's lost her guards."
    
    "And we've lost our spotters," old Bert added. "They must have some 
real marksmen in there to pick off a couple of targets like that."
    
    Kirren nodded and checked the ammunition in her rifle, sitting back 
against the wheel of the cart. "Of course. This place has to be 
defended from a distance. Ace is a knife fighter when she's outside, 
but with a rifle she could take out a Radscorpion from a mile away. And 
I know they had at least four other decent snipers last time I was in 
there."
    
    "Then they could have killed us off if they'd wanted to," Sharn 
growled, crawling from beneath the cart and spitting out a few grains 
of sand.
    
    "I doubt it, but there wouldn't be many of us left, and we'd be 
leaving on foot," Rathley corrected her. "You got good eyes, Sugar. How 
many do you think we got?"
    
    Sharn looked annoyed, but at herself rather than Rathley's question. 
"I know I made one kill on the roof, but beyond that..."
    
    Kirren looked at her in surprise. "That was your shot? Damn... I 
knew it wasn't me. I just scared Ace back down, after she capped our 
driver.  Almost got her too, but no way was I giving her time to get a 
second shot at us."
    
    Sharn smiled in appreciation. "Well, we got a few hits in I think, 
but whether they were what those bastards deserve..."
    
    Old Bert grumbled a little to himself. "Eh, I guess that's where the 
maths gets us then."
    
    Abigail turned her attention to him. She felt ill again, but that 
seemed like such an odd thing to say after four people in their party 
had been shot. "What do you mean, maths?"
    
    "If they got both our spotters..." Bert took a moment to straighten 
himself up again, and looked over to Lilis as she walked out through 
the electronically operated gate. "And both her guards, then they must 
think fair is fair. Was that the plan, Miss Negotiator? Blood for 
blood?"
    
    Lilis paused in her surveying of the damage, and looked straight at 
them. "Believe me, Bert, this was the better of the options, and we are 
coming out with a far less costly deal than King wanted: the lives of 
six of his raiders, and his son, in exchange for seven of us, of his 
choice. Thankfully the idea of taking the Mayor's own men was appealing 
enough to keep five of you alive."
    
    Abigail looked aghast. "This... they were killed for a deal?"
    
    Lilis nodded. "We got our information, and we lost fewer decent men 
than any bad deal we've ever made with these fuckers. We knew there 
would probably be blood, so Mayor Golway made sure our guard was as 
expendable as possible." She looked over to the cart, and the dead 
driver inside. "Though I didn't bank on losing Samuel when I suggested 
this compromise. And I had hoped they might not be able to claim 
Nathaniel either. He was a good man."
    
    "He'll make a good martyr then," Rathley said. "What did you trade 
for the information? The eighth victim? A little special service?"
    
    Lilis looked around, and finished counting up the bodies. "One of 
you must have got a good shot early on."
    
    "Well you could have told us that this was the plan!" Sharn yelled.
    
    Lilis looked dispassionately at her. "It wasn't a plan, it was 
decided when King made his own ultimatum. Believe me, I could be 
happier about this."
    
    Not even Abigail expected it when she erupted into Lilis' face, and 
punched her so hard that even with her small frame the taller woman was 
knocked back and left reeling, her nose bloody. "You 'could be 
happier'!?! You heartless surface freak! I don't care how disgusting 
they were, how can you say they deserved to die because of these stupid 
murderers!? How did someone like Nathanial deserve this after 
everything he must have gone through!?"
    
    By the time Abigail had run out of breath, and Lilis had steadied 
herself and brought her hand to her bloody nose, Chopper was behind 
Abigail and pulling both her hands behind her back. "Abby, that's 
enough, right now."
    
    Abigail stared over her shoulder at Chopper, before turning her 
watering eyes back to Lilis. The Negotiator just looked at her blood 
smeared hand, and then at Abigail herself. "Yes, I'm a 'freak'. I 
suppose Rathley couldn't keep his mouth to himself. It must have been 
too much to ask them to shoot him instead of Nathanial. But remember, 
Vault Girl, we only lost two men today who would have tried to save 
your ass from these people, if they had been invited to have a turn in 
exchange for their silence."
    
    "What..."
    
    Chopper didn't let her articulate her reply as Abigail slowly 
realised what Lilis meant. "Abby, time for us non-combatants to earn 
our pay. Help me put these bodies on the cart."
    
    "Hey, don't forget I could use a medic here, Chopper."
    
    True enough a stray bullet had grazed Bason's arm, which bled 
unpleasantly through his fingers as he held the wound.
    
    "And get me off this fucking floor," Lyster grated out through his 
clenched teeth. "Before they realise I'm not dead!"
    
    Abigail tried to reign in her instinctive revulsion as she and 
Chopper both took hold of one of Nathanial's arms. But even though he 
was dead and blood had poured down his cloaks from the hole at his 
collar, she told herself that surely the poor man deserved to be taken 
home. How she would bring herself to do the same for the unpleasant 
heckler she did not know.
    
    Chopper was far less concerned by the corpses she would have to 
handle. "Don't worry, you slimy bastard. We'll sling you on the corpse 
cart last, after I've had a look at Bason!"
    
    "Let's make it fast," Lilis called to them all as Chopper and 
Abigail got started. "They *will* start shooting again if they find any 
more corpses in there!"
    
    Next to Sharn, Kirren noted as they both packed away their rifles, 
"That Abby, she's not quite the wastelander you people made her out to 
be."
    
    Sharn didn't think she could deny it, after Abigail's heartfelt 
outburst. Then again, she doubted Abigail would have hit Lilis at all 
only four days ago. "Actually, I think she's becoming that wastelander 
so quickly she doesn't know how to cope."
    
    As Kyle rejoined his partner he had to agree. "She's out here, isn't 
she? And I'd say she took control of the brahmin fast enough. Not bad, 
when you think she's only been out of her vault for a week."
    
    Kirren gave him a disbelieving look. "A week?"
    
    Sharn nodded. "She was so sick with radiation she's only been eating 
solid food for three days!"
    
    They watched, curious, as Abigail tried to lay Nathanial's body into 
the cart as gently as possible, and closed his staring eyes.
    
    It seemed to be on impulse that Kirren walked over, followed by the 
other two. "Hey. It's a damn shame we had to lose him."
    
    Abigail looked up, but she was too upset about everything that had 
just happened to feel the appreciation she knew she should.
    
    Instead Sharn gave her a smile. "Come on, Abby-girl, I'll help you 
out."
    
    Abigail smiled back, watery eyed, but shook her head. "Thanks, but I 
should get used to this, right?"
    
    Behind her Chopper spoke, her voice calm but with a faint note of 
her old, morbid humour. "No you shouldn't. You've just got to live with 
it every now and again."
    
    Abigail looked up at her, and for once she thought she understood 
what Chopper was getting at. She wiped at her wet cheeks with her 
jacket sleeves, before the tears could slide further from behind her 
shades. "Then let's get it over with. I want to go home."
    
    Wherever that was.
    
***

To be continued...

***

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