It is hard for me to hear Shakespeare (for heard He is always, even if you just read the words) without feeling a deep roil of many different emotions surgin in a complex symphony in this divided soul of mine: and when Shakespeare is counterpointed - as you, Andy, have done so in the previous post so magnificently - with the Christopher Marlowe of today's turbulent times, the band Metallica, none would posit that but a redoubling of emotional upswelling would result.

And they would be right.

For they fit, just as the greater theme you have hidden - but hidden not too deeply - in the text, fits with those stirring words, do they not, Andy...Andy, my brother, once and future warrior of a lifetime ago? You and others of the brotherhood of arms and virtue know this, and know this well: that the soul of true warrior rises from the blood, evil, and dross of that which men call 'war' to transcend the evil and petty meaness of it all, and discover in adversity, pain and fear the gold that is the only thing that makes war worth fighting...a cause greater than the lives of the warriors who perish in it.

Religion, country, political creed: all these - for good or for evil - have played their roles as that cause time and over again in history, and shall do so as far as the eyes of men - or this man, at least - can see. Yet though the shifting kaledioscope of causes changes, one thing changes not, which Shakespeare, the god who saw into the hearts of all men, knew and gave us a glimpse in his great plays: that the love and loyalty of men in war make them into truly a band of brothers.

And this story, sung from the dawn of history from Homer, who first sang "Of Arms and the Man I sing" still goes on into our time and beyond...for THAT, not death and destruction, is the TRUE meaning of 'War...War never changes'.

And nothing else matters...

"Artie, check your left, they're coming over the onto the sidewalk" Sarah spoke calmly into the helmet mike. She could quietly hear his breathing over the open channel, and a gruffed acknowledgement as the troopers arc pulled to the side of the street. She keyed the exterior speaker with her chin.

"Andy, I'm running low on juice." Followed by a tactical update from Artimus over the speaker system.

"And I be doubting that I'll be able to roast the rest of these, with only half a tank" His accent was showing, a sure sign he was getting worried about the current situation. And over the closed channel "Cover me Sarah."

He swept the sidewalk with plums of black burning napalm, turning the tide of baby needle tooth floaters into various sized balls of flame. Raising a heavily armoured boot Artimus stomped down a few times, squishing numerous bugs under foot, before taking a step back for Sarah to purge the area in front of him.

"Can anyone please enlighten a brother as to how so many of those little [censored]ers can come out of only one dead bug? I mean, it wasn't that big was it?"

Lucius voiced what I had been somewhat wondering myself these last few minutes. A couple of bug were one thing, but this was just ridiculous.

"I've seen it before." Danny offered, "In the Kalahari desert. Mutated ticks."

"Go on," I said, shooting a basketball sized specimen as it crawled over the railing. "Because I know I've already popped at least twenty of the big round ones and they all can't have fit inside."

"Kalahari ticks can grow a meter across, svcking the blood from victims, right." he stated, "If you burst them, zillions of pin head sized babies ticks emerge from within, just like this beastie. And they'll eat anything as well, just like you said about this beastie, right?"

"Yeah," still following him.

"Well, that means they're cannibalistic and eat each other as soon as they're hatched as well, with the largest ones surviving until advlthood. But they already start to grow babies from the size of a golfball."

"So the more we shoot.." I really wasn't liking this.

"The more there are." Lucius concluded, obviously not liking it either.

Crap.

Fast thinking and big sticks were needed now, no time to worry about all the angles.

"Danny," I shouted over a salvo from Carl's heavy BAR, "I'm chartering your vtol. Get on that wrist-radio thingy and get it prepped to lift off as soon as it's loaded."

"Loaded with what?" slightly hesitant.

"Watch." Turning to Sarah who was becoming more and more frugal with her incinerator.

"Sarah, get on the horn with the old man and have a fire team of knights, fully armored and as many working flamer units that you guys can spare, as well as a drum of napalm jelly and a drum of that high octane gas you guys mix it with, and get them and it all loaded into Danny's VTOL."

Looking back at Danny he was already talking into his wrist radio, looked at me and nodded while listening to some passionate Spanish emitting from the little radio speaker. It was drowned in another salvo from Carl. He hadn't heard Danny's biology class.

"Oi, Boathouse," using his old nickname, "Shooting them only makes more!"

He turned around, a look of fleeting wonder crossing over his face. "Uhh, I uh.., didn't know that.., uh.., it does!?" He stammered looking back at the advancing black tide of mutated creatures. All trying to desperately escape from themselves and their own manipulated instincts.

"Danny, have the VTOL meet us in the middle of the bridge."

He nodded, still talking into the radio with Maria. Later we found out that Danny was mostly apologizing to a very agitated and above all worried wife for him getting into another mess within a week.

"Lucius, You and Danny are civilians, get the hell back across the bridge to the Smones, and get them to haul anything and everything that burns, and to stand ready on their end of the bridge to roast anything that tries to get across to them."

Carl looked at me. Yeah right. "Boathouse, you ain't no civvie." He moped. "Beside, you wanted lots of thing to kill, remember? How many willy petes are you carrying?"

"Five." he stopped moping and shouldering the B.A.R., unclipping two of the cylindrical white phosphorous grenades off of his web gear. I nodded while grabbing two of the four I had on me.

"Your ass stays right here with me, so stop pouting already," And at the remaining two troopers, "Burn into the smaller ones as best you can. Leave the larger ones." Tapping one on the shoulder, "Okido people, lets pull outta here."

Sarah checked the flamers fuel indicator in her helmets heads up display. The bar was almost at the end, only a few stripes left. Maybe three or four short bursts left, if she was lucky.

Backing up she saw Andy come up beside her and tap both Artimus and her on the shoulder,

"Fire in the hole people, fall back!" and rolled the cylindrical grenade into the mass of surging insects. Looking at Carl who just also rolled a grenade into the front as well. "Remind you of anything?" I casually asked. "Like maybe rats?"

Carl cursed until even my ears wanted to turn red. I grinned.

+++

In his Praetorian Armour Carl ? still Centurion Johnson back then, had the appearance of a overly muscled Zulu warrior with dreadlocks wearing a battle-mask. But then made of metal, with the eye sensors a soft glowing red. Every so often, just under where the ear would be, a soft ?pffft- would emit from thin vents located there.

The excessive muscularity on his suit came from the myomer fiber bundles laid out along the suit in the same direction as peoples muscles would naturally adhere to the bones. The first impression of the black rubberized armored suit was that, other than making the wearer seem overly muscled, was that it also made it look like the person was, nvde.

A very muscled, large, black, dreadlocks wearing nvde Zulu warrior with a tribal mask on. I wondered what a psychologist would say about the state of the designers behind the suit. I know what the old man said when I ushered Carl and the rest of his cohort into the command bunker back at telegraph hill.

"Oh wow! Hey Andy, next time the circus is in town let me know ahead of time."

Colonel Jonathan O'Neill, Jack to anyone he had ever fought beside of, which meant everyone in the brigade. O'Neill would side up next to you just before deploying, and when you noticed him there, he would smile and simply say 'Hi.' But during the complete engagement he would be right there, next to you. Unfaltering, and stoic, he would get you through the firefight.

On the other end of it the colonel would offer a drink from his canteen and again simply say 'The name's Jack.' Now he stood behind a tactical table with illuminated maps laid out on top, held down by a colt .45 and a few clips used as paper weights. A few of the other staff officers were in the bunker at the time. They all gave Carl and the others a wide berth as they entered.

"First I wanna hear from you what kind of hero [censored] you pulled out ther on the edge of the line, the Don was apparently impressed, which has my interest perked." He said while pointing at me, then shifting towards Carl "Then Bob Marley over here can enlighten me as to what the hell they want."

The debriefing went smoothly, and then Carl told his side of the story. Finally he divulged the reason for wanting to talk with the Colonel. At the end O'Neill crunched on it for awhile.

"Normally when people ask me to solve their problems I'm inclined to tell them nicely, to [censored] off. But A, since you helped two-alfa from getting their collective butts handed to them," while staring at me. Why was I getting the vibe all of a sudden that even though the Don was impressed with what we did, the old man wasn't?

"'B', we wanted to get to that intersection anyway, so helping you lot clear it kinda falls right in there with that, and 'C', I really like your shiny black suits"

He smiled at Carl. "You can count us in. Now, gentlemen, if you don't mind I would like a word with Sargent Anderson here."

Carl turned to me before leaving and said "I'm afraid you are about to have your butt handed to you anyway."

After they left the colonel turned back to me. "Really Andy, are you that desperate to get your squad turned into food paste?"

It seemed a rhetorical question, so I just kept quiet.

"Okay, I have to admit that the building was a good idea, and comms being crapped out wasn't your fault." He grinned, "Nice move with the mirrors by the way." And stopped grinning, "But dammit Andy, you had no idea how large those forces were, whether they were together or not, and ran the risk of being completely cut off by advancing across the street." He pointed to the bunker door Carl and his cohort just exited,

"If Bob and the rest of the Wailers hadn't shown up when they did, what would you have done then? Aside from dying without authorization to do so, hmm?" I almost opened my mouth, and thought better of it. The Colonel glared at me for a few seconds more and then softened, "Well, seeing as everyone else thinks it was hot [censored], I can't very well put you on report for reckless endangerment, so I might as well give you a citation for commendable field maneuvers under fire." He smiled,

"And you can tell the rest of two-Alfa that you're all assigned to the Institute as our liaisons officers. Teach 'em a thing or two about soldiering, hey Sargent?" I snapped to, salute popping into place, smiling. Carl had told me a few things about Institute living.

"Yessir!"

The cloverleaf overpass was a T-junction on its side, formed by the Massachusetts turnpike that came from under the eastern business district and turn northward into the Interstate 93 that then went all the way through Chinatown. I stood next to Carl with the eastern business district behind me and we looked down the turnpike towards the cloverleaf in the distance.

"So." I started. "The plan is to just follow the turnpike to the overpass, while the colonel comes up from the south along the interstate, and we flush everything northwards off the cloverleaf as we go."

"That is what we agreed to with you commanding officer." he replied from behind the faceplate of the helmet.

"Riight, and then it would be your goal to uhh, clean out the Boston downtown area ?China town, Beacon hill, northend and the Boston Business District, to basically stop scavenger scum from either re-entering that quadrant and secure it for you. Am I missing anything?"

"They shoot at us." the tall Centurion mentioned dryly. I chambered a round in my carbine, and checked that there was a grenade in the launcher.

"Then by all means, lets shoot something back" raising the carbine almost vertical and pulling the trigger on the forty millimeter under-barrel grenade launcher, I shot a flare round high into the air, signalling the assault.

Most of two-Alfa advanced along the turnpike, with a cohort on both sides of the freeway to watch our flanks and assist where needed.

Which they weren't at the moment.

We moved up from Columbus Avenue all the way to the Tremont Arlington street bridge that crossed the turnpike. Here we waited until the rest of the brigade had advanced from their line on East Berkeley and West 4th street up the Interstate until they met up with us.

Between our position on the Arlington Tremont bridge and the overpass were four more bridges that crossed the turnpike in front of us. I could see two-Charlie coming up along Tremont street. They reached us unobstructed. I waved Donald to us.

"What's the scuttlebutt Don?" I asked, referring to the brigades nickname for gossip. "Anyone catching any heavy resistance, or is it as boring everywhere else as it is here?" Knowing it wouldn't stay this quiet for very much longer, one way or another.

"From 'ere onto Shawmut ave is nothin' but residential on ar side" His Louisiana accent was thicker from running. "Thairs that apartmint buildin on the other side that needs clearin out before we move on." He noted, "Then it's a few business building, and the Building of the Boston Herald, an' Tango-two-Baker was saying it looked fortified, so Sierra-one-Foxtrot is just gonna flatten it with the eighties, after which I'm guess we move in and shoot whoever is havin notions 'bout not being dead."

The eighties were the brigades eighty millimeter mortars that the support units used. And Sierra-Foxtrot ?aka [censored]-faced, knew how to lob mortar rounds like nobody's business. I told Petey give me the radio set and dialed the mortar support team.

"Tango-two-Alfa for Sierra-one-Foxtrot, over." I waited a bit, "This is two-Alfa, c'mon [censored]face, pick up the horn.."

"[censored]faced here, s'up, muppet." Came the deep guff bass of the mortar units commander, affectionately known simply as animal. No rank, no last name. Just animal.

"Animal? Great, listen, can your boys also drop shells behind the Boston Heralds buildings, basically into the turnpike? I'm just wondering your range, is all."

"Dontcha fret none, we can easily reach out and touch anyone up to the Boston commons north of Chinatown. I think we can cover you." Brilliant, I thought they were still up on the hill.

"Nope, old man pulled us down and we're set up over on, uh hang on Andy" I could hear him yelling at someone on his side of the radio, "Hey, you! Yeah, you dipstick.. Were the hell are we anyway? What?? Christ all mighty stop mumbling! Fortstreet? Oh, 4th street, by the trainyards. Oh yeah, I see choo-choo's, now buzz, make vacuum. Hey," at me again, "You copy that, muppet?"

I had. I noticed Carl's head turned in my direction, eye sensors glowing red against the black of the faceplate. The side vents hissed and his voice came over his external speaker.

"Muppet?"

+++

"Muppet!!" Carl yelled at me, "Got any more willey-petes? I'm all out!"

It was my last one, leaving me depleted now, aside from the few WP-incendiary shells for the M203.

Hey, why not.

"Here," Tossing the grenade underhand to Carl and pulling up the carbine. Carl yanked the pin and threw it deftly into the still oncoming surge of creepy-crawlies that would be at the forefront of my dreams for the next few weeks. I popped the grende launcher into the writhing mass.

We pulled back a little further to stay clear of the exploding phosphor. It burst in a burning cloud of white smoke, contrails of white hot phosphor raining down of the bugs, frying everything it touched. They were still coming our way.

"I'm dry." Sarah announced as her flamer sputtered empty. Dousing the pilotlight and immediately switching to her laser rifle, she pelted the mutated arachnids with the other two troopers. One basketball sized bug jumped clear of the surge and landed squarely on a troopers chest knocking him prone, its legs clawing at the soldiers armored suit, trying to pry it open. I upended the carbine, holding it by the muzzle and in three steps was next to the fallen trooper.

"Fore!!"

And sent it sailing into the river. Carl commented on my swing. I mentioned that the country club had been nuked two centuries ago and to shut up. Just as I was about to fire another WP shell into the pooling of creatures, I heard a high pitched hiss coming from behind me, along with 3Doggs voice.

"Yo brothahs," He was shouting. "CHECK OUT what these guys put together in their spare time. You will not BELIEVE this freaky [censored]!"

I saw Ramon, his father and father-in-law, and one of the older cousins walking up onto the bridge each carrying a self made contraption strapped to their backs and holding some kind of firehose assembly in their hands. Ramon's invention had two firehose nozzles, one for each hand. For the rest there were vacuum cleaners, leafblowers, something that looked like had been on a wood-chipper before, and lots of old motorcycle gastanks welded onto each one. A pilotlight burned in front of each of the firehose nozzles.

"Are those.." I started asking as they came up to us, and then all four, standing abriast, unleashed an inferno of black oily flame all along the width of the bridge, pushing the baby needle tooth floaters back. Carl came to stand next to me, one of his cigars hanging unlit from the corner of his mouth.

"They are." He finished for me. "Hope I can get a light from them"

"Hope I can get the home built flamer blueprints from them." I commented. Danny came up beside us as well.

"Still need the others? They're inbound one minute." He stated. I nodded.

"Those baby floater things will be all over the underside of the bridge, and along the sides too. We still need to let the river burn and scorch the bridges underside properly." I smiled, at least I didn't have to worry about the Smones taking care of themselves.

*sings the old Harry Belafonte song*

I say let us put man and a woman together
To find out which one is smarter
Some say man but I say no
The woman got the man de day should know

And not me but the people they say
That de man are leading the women astray
But I say, that the women of today
Smarter than the man in every way

That's right de woman is uh smarter
That's right de woman is uh smarter
That's right de woman is uh smarter,
that's right, that's right

Ever since the world began
Woman was always teaching man
And I you listen to my bid attentively
I goin' tell you how she smarter than me

Samson was the strongest man long ago
No one could a beat him, as we all know
Until he clash with Deliah on top of the bed
She told them all the strength was in the hair of his head

You meet a girl at a pretty dance
Thinking that you would stand a chance
Take her home, thinking she's alone
Open de door you find her husband home

I was treating a girl independently
She was making baby for me
When de baby born and I went to see
Eyes was blue it was not by me

Garden of Eden was very nice
Adam never work in Paradise
Eve meet snake, Paradise gone
She make Adam work from that day on

Methusaleh spent all his life in tears
Lived without a woman for 900 years
One day he decided to have some fun
The poor man never lived to see 900 and one

I was bawling reading it. That was one of the most powerful imagery you have done. I could hear the song in my head as I was reading, and ever place between the speech that the chorus breaks through sent chills - AWESOME Imagery !!!!

Thanks


So, yeah, I have PTSD. No real biggy -actual war is worse, believe me. And meds help a huge ammount with just ironing out a few of the wrinkles
But I have been having humorous anxiety attacks and a few assorted dreams/nightmares since I realised that people actually read it...

"Ahhh!! The critics are after me! They're on the perimeter line.., quick! Pop smoke and get some well versed grazing patterns cutting off any advancing commentaries and flanking remarks they have!"

They were all around me. Who was I talking to? Dunno, but at least barking direction shows you think you're in control of the [censored]. To the others, that often means the difference between standing and falling.

"Watch for that argumentation, it's falling back to their line of reasoning, get ready for a quoted factual saturation barrage.."

Moments later,

"INCOMING!!!"

Just thought everyone should know

Andrew


Ps.. I'll put a chapter here in about ten minutes after this edit..
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"It's my hair." I could feel the look of confusion coming from behind Carls faceplate. I guess Donald could as well because he explained my comment to him.

"It's gets really wild if he doesn't keep it cut high and tight. Turns into something of a muppet." Don grinned, "Young Sargent Anderson here would rather knock the block off of anyone who calls him that, except it was the Colonel himself who thought it up, so he had to just deal with it."

And pointing at me, "See? He gets red every time, dontcha son."

"Punching you doesn't constitute striking a higher ranking officer anymore, ya know?" I mentioned, frowning but not really mad. It was something that bugged me a little because of all the nicknames in the world, this wasn't one I was expecting. Or maybe I was.

Truth was that after being with the brigade for about six months I had to report to the Colonel, and standing there I removed my cover, only for him to jump back in mock terror as my hair sprung outward every which way ?I hadn't had it cut since I joined and in six months, it had grown in all directions at once.

"Whoa Golly! stand still son, there's a Muppet growing out of your head, hang on," grabbing what I hoped at the time was an unloaded gun. "I can kill it for you, juust stand still."

I had stood rigidly at attention, not knowing whether he was kidding or not at the time. Still a newbee in the brigade I lived under the impressions, myths and stories that the other soldiers had told me about the Colonel.

That he was a great leader, a brilliant tactician, father figure to the entire brigade, knew every soldier by name from day one, loved watching cartoon tapes, hated saluting with a passion unless protocol demanded it, wore his uniform cap on the back of his head 'because I'm old school motor pool' he would say, and usually had his over shirt unbuttoned, or off. In a lot of way he was like mister Nice, without the English accent. And a dryer somewhat goofball sense of humour.

"It's my, uh, hair sir." I try not to let it sound stupid. The colonel did an exaggerated double take, laid down the firearm and stated to whoever was standing next to him at the time.

"Well hell, really? It's not alive? Damn son, then we need to reassign you to the sapper squads as our new secret weapon." And looking around at the other staff officers "Someone take a note please?"

I was really trying not to smile, and failing at it. He noticed of course. "What so funny their private? Sapper squads not good enough for you?" I said that I was already assigned to tactical duties with Tango-two-Alfa.

"You're with Mister Nice?" the colonel questioned me, knowing full well that I was. I confirmed. Turning to a radio set operator in the corner, "Get mister Nice on the horn will ya?"

Moments later with a mike in his hand, while more and more staff officers and unit commanders accidentally wandering into the command bunker, all the while me and my hair both standing at attention. My hair more so.

"Hey there Henry, say that new kid you got?" Looking at me as he spoke into the mike, "His hair, have you seen his hair-do? Geez Louise Henry, it's almost a warcrime just to look at this Muppet."

There it was again. One more time and it would be official. He finished the call and put the mike down.

"Well, considering your capability to stand fast and remain at attention in a correct military fashion while being at the center of ridicule by your commanding officer is worth commending." He held his hand out to shake mine. This was where I wasn't sure anymore what was going on, so I shook his hand. He held his other one out stretched as well. Opening them were corporals pins for my lapel. "So, with personal danger to one's own reputation and good name while under heavy ridicule from me personally yadda, yadda, bla, bla, bla, here. You're now,"

Why did I get the idea it had been a set up from the beginning, to get me to exactly this point?

"Corporal Muppet. Congratulations son."

I still smiled a wide cake eatin' grin though.

+++

"Course, only Sgt and greater can call him it without getting punched" The Don commented.

"I am a Centurion of the first Century" Carl mentioned

"That'll do." Was all the Don said. Great. I might as well have it tattooed on my forehead by now.

"Still," He continued in his laid back drawl, "It was hella funny when the new kid a few weeks back, what's her name?"

"PFC Summer." I said flatly. Knowing where this was going.

"Yeah, the Alaskan chick, or Canadian, Inuet, whatever. Gets sent as a runner up to brigade with a message from Animal for Andy here," Donald told the armored Centurion. "All Animal says to the kid is 'get this to Muppet, the new squad commander of tango-two-Alfa' and the kid double times it all the way to the bunker, runs in and shouts 'Runner note for commander Muppet!'. And quick as [censored] through a goose Andy here beans her in the head with a softball-"

"It's what I was holding at that moment. She was lucky I weren't off duty and drinking a beer." I interjected.

"I swear, I peed mah-self ."

"Sides, she shoulda been wearing her helmet. Anywho, she's fine, we both said sorry and it's done." Hoping it was.

"Jack couldn't keep a straight face all day either.." Donald of course being one of those people who would never let it be done.

"It's done." I emphasised again.

Christ, didn't we have a job to do today or what?

So spelling it out we were going to march down the turnpike, meet up with the units as they emerged from the building on our right, me, the rest of two-Alfa and Carl's cohort here in the turnpike trench, and two more cohorts from Carl's Century up on our left sweeping the building there, ascertained that Animal could bring down the rain where ever I wanted it to get wet.

Further more, the turnpike we were on was the lower lying of all the highways and it disappeared into a tunnel just under the cloverleaf. The tunnel went under the water and didn't break ground until just north of what used to be the convention center, and was sealed shut from cave ins on that side. also, there was the old railroad that had tracks next to the turnpike and they turn northward over the tunnel entrance. Old boxcars stood everywhere up there and the turnpike itself was littered with abandoned cars all the way to the tunnel entrance.

Moving out we formed two man teams and leapfrogged forward, making sure we only advanced as we saw friendly troops emerge to our right from in between the buildings.

There had been gunfire throughout our initial push, it was just that it wasn't really targeted at us. Carl's two other cohorts came under brief fire up on our left flank as they swept through an apartment building, but that ended just as quickly as it started. Carl silently looked in the direction of the building where the weapons fire echoed from, and then shook his head.

"It was a forward observation post." stressing 'was'.





^{Hi Summer, it was only a softball, and I would never throw a beer at you. Maybe toss one from a cooler someday, but never throw.}

And I am ready to copy and paste into my MS word file, which is now 230 pages, 46 Chapters, and 84.264 words!!!

"This was nothing like the rats" I looked up from my view out of the opened side door in Danny's VTOL at Carl who tapped me and had just spoke. I was watching the Smones mop up the rest of the baby needle tooth floaters, still crawling here and there over the bridge. The brotherhood had traded a number of their refurbished heavy flame-throwers for a couple of their home made incendiary units and the Smones where, quote

'Happy as a pigrat in [censored]'

Sarah stated that it didn't matter what they looked like, if Durgas could reverse engineer them, then it would go a long way to filling the hole in the armoury inventory that they had when it came to flamer weapons.

"Really? I noted lots of resemblances." I grinned. "Hordes of creepy crawlies coming at you, lots of explosions and napalm burning and you freaking out like a little girl."

"I did not freak out like a little girl!"

"What about that one medicine ball sized svcker that jumped at your face at the end?" Payback is eternal between us. "I distinctly remember you being the one yelling 'Get it off! get it off, but don't shoot it!' while trying to hold it at arm's length, right Sarah?"

Sarah was admiring the sleek detailing that the craft displayed just everywhere. This craft along could out-fly anything on the north American continent, and out gunned too. Full piloting, all weather, night or day, self searching AI that would fly and land anywhere it was told. Independently tracking and targeting weapon pods with again, their own dedicated AI gunnery processors, all tied into on board databanks with arial warfare tactics dating back to the first world war dogfights. Single spin reactor that powered the two directional thruster pods on the outsides and well as the main rear thruster and the nose stabilisation thruster at the front. She estimated that the craft could probably fly completely across the country in a single bounce before the reactor needed replenishing. And all it needed was more water.. wow. Part of her agreed with what Kight Glade said about the VTOL.

"We're not just letting it leave again?! With all respect elder, but that's just [censored] up!" Glade shouted, standing and knocking his chair over.

The Knight commander stormed out of the brotherhood conference chambers, once the main conference room of the pre-war secretary of defence and joint chiefs of staff, deep inside the bows of what still was, in a slightly altered state, the most powerful military building in the entire DC region.

Some of the others seated in the room voiced cautious agreements. Here was an aircraft, further advanced than anything they had ever seen anywhere, in the hands of a civilian of all things, and they weren't going to claim the technology for the BoS? Others replied in reprimanding tone that what they proposed was the cold blooded murder of numerous individuals ? basically everyone including Lucius, just for an aircraft, while they actually had aircraft already.

Laughter at this, since the three army surplus vertibirds were outdated models of their own accord, having been salvaged from an air national guard station nearby. These were UAV-64B, as in busted. They were almost completely phased out by the time the bombs fell. Nothing like the Echo and Foxtrot versions that were made right up until the bombs actually were falling. Although serviceable, the 64 Bravo's could be knocked out of the sky with rocks.

'Not this sweetheart.' Sarah thought. With seventy two separate missile pylons under the winglet and fuselage, and three full swivel, multibarrel energy weapon systems, one in each winglet, and one in the nose,

"She's the one blasting things back into little rocks" She smiled.

"Right Sarah?" seemingly invaded her thoughts.

Riight..

"Hey! Little dreamer, we're talking to you sweetheart!" Huh, he, what.., where were we-.. Sarah did a double take, and noticed everyone looking at her, grinning like she was the pun.

"Heellooo.. I was talking about Carl, freaking out?" I snapped my fingers a few times, "Wakey, wakey.."

"Oh.. uh, completely." smiling at the more recent memory, "Screamed like they were in his underwear 'til I pulled it off him and threw it on the bonfire."

"See? Just like the rats." I smiled.

What rats? She was listening now though.

"Oh. uh, way back when we met," I had to remember not to let anyone know about Boston.

"-in Jersey," Carl was thinking at least.

"Yeah, we were doing a sweep of this turnpike that fed into this cloverleaf overpass intersection," I figured, as long as I stay vague and stick to the story, I could tell it.

"-the new Jersey turnpike and Interstate eighty express." Damn, he was thinking!

"Uh.. really?" Carl nodded solemnly "Well, yeah, them. And we we had to sweep the turnpike eastwards and-

"Expressway." Now what was he on about. "Not the turnpike, it ran north south, the expressway ran east-west." Geez.., what did Carl do, swallow a Rand McNally road atlas for breakfast?

"Oh, well okay." correcting myself, "Sweep the expressway eastwards that fed into a tunnel underneath the overpass." Checking, but Carl was keeping quiet, for now. "Now the freeway was sunk beneath street level, probably to align with the tunnel entrances, so we were basically walking in this wide twenty foot deep ditch-"

"Trench. It was more of a trench form than a dit-"

I whacked him upside the head this time.

"And no one is really paying us much heed."

Everyone was listening now, Danny and Lucius as well as the rest of the BoS troopers, "So we're making some good advancement, with support up on the top of the embankments, right? I mean, we're there to seriously evict these guys and they certainly had thoughts of their own on the matter. So shots are being fired, but just not at us."

I lit a smoke. "Oh yeah, and the embankment.. vertical. No climbing out without a good sized piece of rope." I looked at Carl grinning. He was too, from plotting his revenge on me, no doubt.

"So, there was only, what four hundred meter to go, and almost eight hundred to get back to the collapsed bridge?" He nodded, "When a sort of slow-ish rumble emits and just keeps getting louder. We both were wondering who farted when all of a sudden we realise it's coming from the tunnel entrance." Looking at Carl, I had to admit, I was enjoying the moment. "What exactly did you shout?"

+++

Oooh, SHII-!!

No waay!

I'm not the only one seeing this, am I?

Hoo-HAW, we gots ourselves a stampede!!

Buttwipe, that dang stampede's a coming straight fer us, or ain'tcha noticed?

Madre mia

Si.

"Everyone, GET ON THE CARS!"

I jumped on the back of an old military truck with an open flatbed, the cab facing the tunnel entrance where I expected the pending tidal wave of-

"[censored] Rats!!" And there went Carl, pulling a sprint straight at them.

Carl wasn't on the same page as everyone else. Personally, I had misgivings whether he was indeed even in the same bookstore as the rest of us. Two-Alfa were climbing onto anything and everything that was more than four feet off the ground. Even his own cohort were well positioned behind and on top of an overturned trailer truck. Some I ordered to reposition to my truck, as it seemed one of the larger and more robust structures in the road.

Soon, most were standing with me on the back of the truck, with Ed, Wilbur and the taco twins up on the over turned truck with Carl's cohort. Wilbur was sighting deep into the tunnel using infrared, and shouting stuff about the numbers and sizes of rodent about to emerge.

"Sarge! Looks like every rodent on the eastern seaboard and their big brothers are headed this way."

Charming. I directed Moe to get Animal on the horn ?Petey was light duty commando and most likely in the command bunker listening in, and for Animal to redirect some of his arty onto the highway, feeling very grateful for asking earlier. But to wait with it until he had a fire order. Because..

+++

"And where the hell was Carl? Please, someone ask."

"Where were you Caarl??" wow, almost as creepy as the twosome twins, and all at the same time too.

"He's standing in the middle of the [censored] highway, guns drawn, dust whipping around him from out of the tunnel, waiting for the stampede to exit, right where I would otherwise have big honking mortar rounds raining down!"

"I hate rats." Came a meek response from Carl.

Sarah spoke up suddenly, "We can't go back to the Citadel."

"Sarah!" Artimus said warningly.

"No Artimus, my father is right! Besides, we owe our lives to these people."

"Oh Gott! My father will kill me!!" It's the vitality of the youth that allows one to jump out of bed that fast, after so little sleep the night before.

Celeste propped herself up on one arm, found a cigarette beside the bad and was intent to just watch the comical scene unfolding before her. Because there is nothing funnier than watching a man dress himself when he's stressed and in a hurry.

"My socks, where are they?!?" Okay, maybe underwear before bending over to look under the bed would have been nice. She giggled.

"On the chair? And maybe undies too, huh?" A mop of blond bed head looked up and between his legs at her past the dangling bits.

"Whaat? Oh." He grinned.

"Kika-boo."

Straightened up Stockholm went to the chair and grabbed his socks. But, being in a hurry, didn't sit down to put them on, no he stayed standing.

Man rushed + putting socks on + stays standing = Celeste laughing.

Once more she quietly confirmed that God must be a woman. She was sure of it. This little display was just another example of the universes ultimate design. Because the opposite situation, a woman stressed and in a hurry to get dressed, was never a funny or pretty sight to behold. And all men, worthy of being named intelligent bit their tongue before laughing at a woman having troubles and rushed while dressing. not if he values his life.

But a man dressing while stressed could only be Gods own little sitcom, and only a woman could appreciate the antics ? a guy would only go 'yeah, that happened to me this morning.' It was probably why married woman brought single men home the night before their husband was due back from where ever. She giggled at that. Because any sane single woman wouldn't dream of going home with a married guy. Not to his house. Hell no. His wife might be home, or worse, might walk in.

He fell, again.

"Sit down, sweets. Before you break something, or something on you." Taking another drag and realizing that last night had been a string of humorous antics and clumsiness, but extremely enjoyable. Stockholm looked over, a wide grin on his face as their eyes locked.

Again, he toppled over.

She laughed. Andy's view was that God was a man, and Mother Nature was a woman ?it was in the name he would explain. Mother Nature, not Uncle Nature Bob. And God, which spelled backwards was dog, thus a guy.

God designed the universe, probable while drunk, and Mother Nature was responsible for the day to day functioning of it, and cleaning up after God. It also easier explained then why the universe was such a violent place, it was because God and Mother Nature acted like an old married couple that fought on occasion, with plating flying, super novas exploding and galaxies colliding, but at the end of the day, loved each other.

Celeste held another view of it. God was a woman, mothering nature was just her day job, and men were entertainment after work, and heavy lifting.

Stockholm stood, half a shirt tucked in, buttoned up wrong, hair all messed up.

The young man was about to leave, unsure how to exactly go about the actual leaving part. Did he shake hands? Kiss? Was there money involved ?he didn't think so, and she hadn't mentioned it.. further thought was suspended as Celeste stepped out of bed and walked over to where he stood, with a stride reminiscent of a large cat.

Feeling himself become increasingly nervous as she approached, even though he was dressed, and she wasn't.

'Gud , du er s? sk?n.'

Walking up to him, she re-buttoned his shirt, tucked it in and straighten out his hair, somewhat.

"And now?" the inevitable question.

"Now," as she placed her armed around his shoulders, strong shoulders. Stockholm was definitely growing into on hell of a man, and she had contributed to that development. "Now we are friends, like we always were. Nothing changes there."

"But last night.." a confused glance and furrowing of the brow

"Last night is a memory," Celeste whispered, watching Stockholm close his eyes expecting a kiss, mouth pouting. She almost giggled, "Tomorrow is a dream," kissing his nose lightly,

"And you are hard on your way to being a fine man. Moira is lucky with a guy like you."

His eyes opened so wide the white was visible completely around the iris. not the first time that the name of a wife or girl friend invoked that reaction. And now the speech.

"I.. but we.. uh.. and then you.. you! not to mention.. wow... " She pressed a finger to his lips, quieting him.

"Like I said, Moira is lucky with a guy like you." Tapping his forehead, "Get it, blondy? She's really nuts about you." Grabbing a gown to put on, Celeste sat at her vanity to brush her hair out.

"And I saw how you were both looking at each other last night. That was real." Watching him in the mirror.

"I also know that's what's in your heart." Smiling, "Last night was my personal birthday present to you. No charge." With a wink.

Celeste stood up again, and walked him to her room door, "Besides, I have a man to fend for my honor and I doubt you want to take it up with Andy about the position." His head shook, "Then I'll see you later, friend."

Stockholm wasn't sure whether he felt happy, or not. On one hand last night was the greatest night of his life, and on the other hand how was he supposed to face mister Andrew again, after having... well done it, with miss Celeste? Pondering all of this as he went to to his post above the gate, that he didn't even see Moira, tears on her face, as she watched from the moment he walked out of the saloon.

Celeste turned a corner only to run into Jenny and Lucy, both apparently not happy. They stood in front of her, blocking her way.

"Why'dya do it?" Came the no nonsense question from Jenny, Lucy staying silent. "Why'dya hafta take him? When you has them curves an' them bedroom eyes, and kin gets anyone yous wants?"

-shlick-

A switchblade gleamed in the morning light, Lucy was now holding a small caliber revolver ?probably a .22, by her side, the hammer locked back, finger lightly along the trigger guard. Jenny was in tears, torn by what she knew and what she felt, and what she felt she had to do for her friend.

"Why, when you already has mister Andy an' ev'ryone else in Megaton, WHY!!!" Lucy took a practised step back, weapon held firmly in two hands, feet shoulder length apart, eyeing straight down the one inch snub nose at celestes head. Jenny only had to say the word and she would start squeezing off rounds into the woman's cranium. Lucy had been drilling out the tips of the bullets all the while listening to Moira sop her story of watching Stockholm walk hurriedly out of the saloon.

"Doesn't even has the common decency to use the side door, like her other customers." Lucy muttered at the table, as she was examining the newly made hollow point round. Now she stood looking deadpan at Celeste.

Celeste was careful to pick her words with tact and consideration. The consideration was mostly for the .22 Lucy was holding with some professionalism, the tact was for Jenny's sake.

"Ladies," she started, "I realize that some things might seem a certain way, especially if viewed in a certain way. But," nodding at the two, "As admirable as it is to guard a friend such as yourselves do, the issue seems to be between Moira and me, right?" The girl nodded, "So, if I can square things with her, then we're square as well then?"

"How we know you ain't gonna just shoot her and keep Stockholm fer yerself? Huh?" Lucy interjected. It was a fair question.

"Because I'm leaving my weapons with you two, and if she says later that we're still at odds, then you can kill me." Celeste winked at the two, "That way, you've still protected your friend though everything, and you get my weapons without a fight." And leaning in, "Or do you want a fight?"

+++

"Mighty decent of you to tell us before we landed at the Citadel" I mentioned. Artimus had his hand floating over the holster with the mk eighty eight in it. I shook my head and nodded downward.

My .45 was already in my hand, laser dot happily dancing on his forehead. Lucius Had his massive Desert Eagle nervously in hand, with Danny's P90 suddenly loosely gripped. The other two troopers were caught off guard and Sarah held her gloved hands in front of her.

"No one's doing anything stupid." She stated, looking mostly at Artimus, but giving me a weary look as well.

"That's right, cuz it's my bloody aircraft, and I'll toss anyone out who starts mucking about!" Danny thought to remind everyone. I disengaged the laserdot, and placed the Colt in my lap, close at hand. Artimus dropped his hand into his lap as well, and sighed.

"So do we get to know why we shouldn't be landing there." I asked, sounding slightly more tense than I wanted to.

"There were voices in the brotherhood," deliberately not eyeing Artimus, "Who felt that it was the brotherhood of steel's sworn duty to secure any and all advanced technology that were to come their way, and that included all technologies represented in Mr. Boersons-

"Please, just Danny. Or D.Foxy if you want.." and noting a glance from me. "Or not."

"Danny's aircraft, to be used at the brotherhoods disposal after eliminating the possible objectors." Sarah was looking at the ground.

"What?!" Lucius exploded.

"You mean you lot were gonna bloody off us!?!" Danny was verbalising the same.

Lucius raising the large weapon again, "And I [censored] paid you [censored]s in the promise of oodles of tech, and we were just gonna get wasted!"

I laid my hand over the gun barrel,

Looking at 3Dogg, "I think what the good man is saying here," and lowering the weapon, I looked back at the BoS troopers, "Is when did the brotherhood come down with a collective case of the galloping stupids? Or did everyone just take their A-levels in moronic behaviourism and pass with flying colours?"

Artimus looked like he was going to say something in some kind of defence, and didn't. I did it for him, "Yeah, yeah. The BoS oath to find and salvage the technology from pre-war and rebuild society with it, after you've played with it for a few centuries yourselves. Didn't it occur to any one to maybe," I looked around, "I don't know, maybe ask?"

From Sarah came a small response.

"It was never a majority voice, but things might have happened if we went back." Still not looking my in the eye.

"Sweet cheeks, I don't give a whiff whether it was a fart in the breeze! LOOK AT ME!!"

She did.

"You people still don't get it, it seems." I paused, this had to be sorted right now. "Danny," I mentioned, "Ask Maria to hover just outside the main gate of the Citadel," and turning back to Sarah, "Get your old man on the [censored] horn, right [censored] now." Hoping I sounded threatening enough.

I never knew that copying, pasting, and THEN editing was such a hassle....but what the hey, I get to read a whampalazoozaa of a story, AND be one of the characters in it too!! Payment enough!

Man, I am BUSHED. Will give a longer comment later!

Phee-yew!

BTW Andy, you have my Insane Malice in Deliberate Spoonerism land Language Loopalooza tactics down perfectly! How did you get that...wait I know. You've been reading my posts in the other threads I frequent, no doubt, you sly ole Sun and Moon Zoophiliac, you!

Hee hee...only a few people, you included, will catch the hidden zinger there...

Love you big guy.

BTW again, churning out nearly 100,000 words a month is powerful, but it does mean you make and leave a few bloopers lying around I have been cleaning up after you, and sometimes I have had to unavoidably change a few sentences.

Since I think I should get a tiny bit of revenge for doing this...I shall not tell you where they are. You'll have to search them out yourself, I'm afraid. Hur de hur hur!

BTW AGAIN...

"Rohugh" :rofl: Oh may you SLAY me!!!

Whew, you are really rolling these out Andy! I see Rachel (the Minx) in male form - burning up the keyboards and story boards with addictive reads!

She hadn't had to sound threatening, and was walking up the stair to the roof of the water treatment building where the hot tub was. Having pried Moira's whereabouts from her would be revenge-hitwomen-for-hire, Celeste had first gone inside the rickety treatment facility to ask Walter if he could turn on the heating for the hot tub. Walking outside again Jenny and Lucy had looked puzzled.

"If I'm going get shot, I'd rather be in a hot tub relaxing."

Now as she climbed the stairways to the roof, and remembering how Andy almost fell off she noticed that now there was a railing, all new. At the top Celeste saw the troubled teen sitting on a couch that was also there ? having taken some considerable effort to get there as well she recalled hearing from Andy once. Moira was whittling away at a stick and didn't say anything as Celeste walked up to the hot tub and felt the water. Not quiet warm enough. She went over to the couch,

"Mind if I sit?" She asked the redhead.

"Itsa free nuff world, so s'pose so." As she whittled away.

"Isn't that your walking stick I see you practising quarterstaff moves with?" Trying for small talk can take on many forms, between women. Moira nodded. "and wasn't it closer to six feet long?" It was barely two feet left.

"trying to get a point on it, but it keeps breaking off." Moira explained, "Course, ain't much use as a spear anymore."

"A spear!?" Celeste blinked.

"I had a fleeting notion to stick it in Stockholm somewhere, or you." Looking sideways, half serious. Moira looked over at the woman. "Why'dya steal him from me, miss Celeste?" tears welling up, "After I finally gets him to notice me after almost throwing myself at Leo-"

"So Leo was bait for Stockholm's affections?" understanding the girl's strategy as tears flowed more freely.

"Uh-huh." sobs erupting, "An' now, an' now, he's- he's not gonna notice me from ham anymore, and just make googley eyes at yer curviness, and yer butt an' boobs, likes all the rest of the men." as a torrent of teenage hormones came to the surface.

"And I ain't got any boo-hoobs!!"

Yup, fourteen. On the verge of being a woman, just uncertain how to start. Celeste fished a half stogie she still had from last night. Lighting it and taking a deep drag off the self-rolled cigar, she held in the smoke, and then exhaled a long cloud.

"You know, these actually are really well rolled." Celeste commented, passing it to the teen.

[censored] it. She had some obvious mending to do here.

+++

[censored] it. I had some obvious ego busting to do here.

Inbound one minute from the citadel I told Sarah to have her father meet me outside the main gate. "And have every idiot with the bright ideas to join him."

As we came in on our approach I saw Elder Lyons and a number of BoS trooper exit the gate. opening the outer door and dropping a repel fast rope out the door I hooked on and looked at Danny, "Coming? It's your bird they wanna bag." And hopped out.

On the ground, with Danny a few seconds behind me, I checked my weapon. Nervous, Danny inquired whether it would come to shooting. "Hope not." as we walked over to the waiting troopers "That's why we have that behind us pointing all of its guns at them." Looking over my shoulder at the hovering VTOL craft, "Yup. Looks menacing enough. Now trust me, I promise whatever happens, I won't hurt you." Keeping the weapon in hand.

"You won't hurt me?" It wasn't what Danny expected. "You?"

"Yeah," smiling at him. "I promise, not a scratch."

Just as we came before Elder Lyons and the rest of the BoS troopers, with the elderly brotherhood leader wanting to say something, while looking at him I raised a momentary finger of pause at him, and raising my weapon at Danny's head, I fired once.

"What on Earth!" Lyons blurted out. Others stated similar.

"[censored]. Did I miss you?" I turned and asked Danny, who was visibly shaken. The bullet had passed inched in front of him.

Turning back at Lyons, "That's the idea, right? We off him and get to keep his pretty toy over there." Looking at the others, and repeating with more authority,

"Right?!"

Walking up and down the line, "And then what? Keep his wife to teach you to fly the thing because he's dead? And how willing do you reckon she'd be to teaching the murderers of her husband! Huh?! Oh, so if she's not co-operative, we'll just off her as well. Maybe get a little poontang in there, before blowing her brains out!" standing in front of a trooper who was looking away. Vargas his name was.

"Hey?! I'm talking to you!! Did it ever occur that you would need his biometrics to start the damn thing?" Vargas looked back, "Oh, oh! We didn't think that far. No [censored]! I can throw you farther than you can think!! You bunch probably sit around having deep thought in a [censored] puddle!!!" I was raging now. Just letting it flow, not holding back.

"Then what? Oh [censored], now we gotta off Lucius as well, because you just wasted his friend and wife!!" stopping and addressing another trooper, "Oops! Oh [censored] well, too bad you guys had a sweet salvage deal with him. Tough nookies, because someone just went over and BLAMMO!! Is that it?"

I was going down the line again, "And I really wanna know which one of you cans of dog [censored] thought that Carl and I would sit by idly while all of this took place? Or were we to get happily murdered as well, because I'll go A-holes to elbows with any of you, bare [censored] handed, right now, and I'll peel those [censored] tincans right off your asses!!!"

"YOU ARE *NOT* THE NEXT [CENSORED] GOVERNMENT OF THIS DEAD NATION, TO DO AS YOU [CENSORED] PLEASE. YOU JUST HAPPEN TO BE A BUNCH OF *PEOPLE* WITH RESOURCES TO *HELP* OTHERS."

I ramped it up, "If there is ever going to be any decency, ever, in the wastelands, then it's going to start with people acting decent, starting with you happy bunch of numbnuts here." I turned to Elder Lyons,

"Thank you sir for letting me the chance to explain to these gentlemen the error of their ways." And looking at the troopers again, "Any of them ever conjure up notions like these again, feel free to send them over to me for some personal counsel, AND a broken arm."

Hello -

D.Foxy emailed me the MS Word of your story, and I just finished reading it.

Between the laughing at the "twins" and sitting on the edge of my seat over the combat scenes and soaking up everything else in between, I absolutely enjoyed "Memories." Though I don't play Fallout, I didn't need to in order to be submerged in this - the story is written well enough to stand on its own.

Good job! :foodndrink:

Not sure if this chapter will fly by the Mods since this site is PG-13, but great write all in all - though I am still haunted by the last chapter of book 2, and have gone back to read it several times. That one needs to go down in the annuls.

"You broke his arm?!?" Giggling as they both sat submerged to their necks in the steaming water. The remnants of the stogie just being finished between them,

"Almost, we fell over." Celeste looked at the teenager. The girl was pretty, just in a next door kind of way. "Moira," she began, "you are the one that Stockholm thinks about. Not me," and shaking her chest under water, "And not these. Well, unless directly confronted with them I suppose." Looking up at the uncertain teen, who was now gazing forlornly at her own apparently deflated chest. "Hey, sweetheart." Lifting her chin, "It's your emerald green peepers he wants to lose himself in." Moira smiled at the compliment. Miss Celeste always did know what to say to make someone feel at ease with themselves. "Besides, think of me as nothing more than road testing and tune up." She continued,

"The only time that men are okay with knowing absolutely nothing in the bedroom, and I stress 'only', is when they think that the other person-" pointing at herself, "knows everything there is to know." while vividly shaking her head in denial, "But that's what they think, and that's the fantasy." Moira giggled.

"It's true sweetheart. Lets say for sake of argument it was the other way around last night, and you were in my room with him, door shut. Complete privacy," Moira sighed at the thought,

"If only." she breathed.

"Then you would have been dealing with the most nervous creature ever placed in the care of a woman." She smiled at the thoughts, "I mean, high marks for enthusiasm and stamina, but there were moments that could be considered downright dangerous." she leaned in and whispered in Moira's ear. "..and so after about two minutes I said 'you're doing great honey, but you're not exactly in there yet.'. Honestly, you did not want to be in my position last night."

"Which one?" Mischievously grinning at Celeste.

"Pfft. Well, there were a few that weren't a complete torture." Ducking under water.

"Hag." Trying to splash the receding head as it completely submerged. Moira put her mouth under water yelling it again. Celeste rose again, squirting a mouthful back at the teen.

"Brag?" She repeated, questioning. "Well, okay, if you insist. I'm quiet flexible you know."

Moiras eyes went saucer shaped, "I can't believe you don't split down the middle doing that." And tilting her head, "Are you like, double jointed or something?" Celeste smiled but shook her head.

"No, nothing so exotic." Thinking back to an earlier life, "I just had a very strict, uh.. mother who thought that we should keep well trained."

"We?"

"My sisters and I."

"I didn't know you had family, miss Celeste." Came from behind her head.

Jenny and Lucy walked up cautiously, wondering whether everything was alright. It was hours ago that miss Celeste went up to the roof to speak with Moira, and Moira had gone up there hours before that, saying she needed to figure out a way to kill both Stockholm and Celeste without anyone suspecting her. And now they were both in the hot tub, laughing like nothing had ever happened. fleeting looks of disapointment that they would have to give the weapons back were replaced by smiles from invites to get girly and get in the water. Soon all four whre wet and laughing.

"I don't anymore." Celeste was answering Jenny's previous question, "Have that old family anymore," And smiling again at Moira, "I have new family, right here."

+++

Back to reality again.

Now where to?

You said you wanted to meet people. Well, these are people.., my people. Family so to speak.

Standing with Danny on the first deck under in Midship City, I started to get a feel for the sheer density of people on board. First deck under meant the first deck level under the top deck. Deck one. Looking down over the railing I could count nine levels before the rest disappeared in the gloom below. How many decks did it go down? I had arrived at the waterline mark which was level eleven, so maybe thirteen? Fourteen? And the farther down you went of course, the less sunlight got through, and the less civilisation you came across. With on every deck downwards people upon people, huddled together, just glad to be alive.

"Man, is this ship is amazing.." I let it trail as a ricksha being pulled by an Asian teen tore past with two beautiful women sitting in it.

"You *have* no idea." Danny mentioned as he came to look over the railing with me.

He went into the numbers concerning the ship ?ships actually, in plural, since it wasn't just the one ship, but it was the one massive, honkingly huge, mother of a ship that floating in the middle of five other slightly smaller freighters that in anyones book were still sized 'Damn'. Just like someone showing off there new home town to an old friend first the first time visiting, which he was. Showing off that is, as well as an old friend. I listened while looking out over the city in a ship.

"Mate, the tub is over nine hundred meters long, and almost a hundred meters straight out at the beam. At the depth she riding these days that nearly a million metric tons of water displacement, and it was more than twice that back in the day when she was fully loaded." He jerked his thumb up and backwards, "So big these ships could only dock at off shore installations like Steelland off the port bow."

"Which would be why it's docked there now?" I asked.

"Smart ass. But yeah, that's it. Every time we sail up the coast this is one of the main stops." He was referring to Chesapeake bay, and the old offshore liquids-, solids and bulk cargo terminal where the ships too large to enter the actual harbours would unload their goods, take on supplies and a new cargo, and then leave. Never getting closer than this to dry land.

"The cargo hatches are a good eighty meters across and the under deck levels on each of the sides are all five meter wide. This bit," Pointing at the part separating cargo hold three and four, "Is double that, ten meters wide. And that's for every level downward. So, using my trusty calculator function here.. wait a minute.."

"eighty times five time four, plus four time the square of five? Seventeen hundred." Danny blinked. So I'm good with numbers. One of the reasons I never sat in at the card games in the saloon on Saturday nights. People's suspicions of a person of cheating tend to increase dramatically when they're losing.

"Sevente-, uh.. yeah. Say, make sure I never play cards against you." It was the smile he was wearing that said that would not be the case somehow. "But yeah. Seventeen hundred square meters. you wouldn't happen to know the square feet would you?"

"Multiply by eleven and a quart." I said lazily. As he typed the numbers into his EIKL,

"ninteen thousand- one, two, five." I laid out for him.

"Okay" "Now your gonna tell me how much that piece of cybernetics cost you to have installed"

My brain just exploded...

DANG Andy...you should warn me before playing in your story one of mah FAY-VOR-REEET pieces of music! GOD how many memories those lyrics bring back..

And on, BTW, so deadly, so sinister, so fitting to your story...and with a dramtic foreshadowing as well..


Ole! C'est Magnifique! Blooddy Good Show! Shabash! Ganz Gut! Yakub Takub Dobro!

EDIT:

AND ONWARD THE UNSTOPPABLE ANDY WRITING MACHINE MARCHES TOWARDS 2,000 VIEWS!!! NOTHING CAN STOP HIM NOW!!!

*cue Wagner music with plenty of brass*

I'll just keep hangin' with the Metallica, lol. Ar Ar Ar.

Now I've got to wait for the next chapter like the rest of us poor schmucks . . .

Gawd, do I know the feeling about another hole, dungeon, etc in the near future! Oy, vey, here we go again. Yoiks!

"Easy, eleven and a quart is just ten, one and twenty-five percent of the initial figure."

"So. Does that make it easier?" He who lives by the calculator...

"That, makes it seventeen thousand, plus seventeen hundred, plus four-twenty-five." I looked at him. "one-nine-one-two-five." He was grinning again. "You want me to play cards against someone, don't you?" grinning and nodding. "I'll think about it."

"Right, you please do that." letting it sink in, "So, think about it, nineteen thousand square feet of space on every level all the way down." It was a lot of space. Looking up, the hatches that covered the cargo holds were half, maybe two thirds of the way open, with numerous buildings and structures built directly on top of them, even hanging over the side and constructed to the underside of the hatch. Make shift catwalks and stairways scurried along their walls and over their rooftops downward. Al the decks below that were built up tight with container dwellings, a lot of them jutting out into the void of the cargo hold itself, only being held in place by the welds that secured the container in place..

The middle of the hold wasn't an empty eighty meter expanse either, but filled in with tower buildings that rose up from the lower depths almost out of the holds themselves. More catwalks, balconies and stairs allowed for movement between floors. Bridges, that were either fixed or just hanging rope, connected the different buildings together, and the buildings to the decks. I pointed them out.

"Secure housing?" I figured. A lot of the bridges looked to have posted guards. Seeing Danny expression, I helped him out, "I know. I *have* no idea."

Danny continued pointing stuff out to me as we stood there, taking in the sounds and colours, "There's Ka-chinga towers up against the bridge house and upper deck super structure," pointing at me, "Where you spent such quality time with those helpful gents from the Boat Investigation Boys."

BIBs?

"Nickname for them. No ones actually calls them the FBI, please." Rolling his eyes, "Paid jack offs, the lot." And he was back to his fingers, "Still counting, oh yeah, behind the bridgehouse is the skippers deck. Off limits unless you are god, or me. And then in front of Ka-chinga towers are the holds. Pointing in front of us "That there with the secured housing you pointed out, is then cargo hold four, and half of Midship City. Officially named the 'a Larriere', which is French for 'aft'-,"

"I knew that." I did..

"Uh-huh. your Spanish is schyte but you know French? Anyway, over time it bastardised into 'ala Rear', which became quickly just 'rear' and everything you can associate with it." then turning and facing the front of the ship, he continued, "That over there is cargo hold three , and the other half of Midship City, also known as 3sec. Care to guess what it stands for?" Looking at me.

"Section three?" I ventured.

"Ha!, that's what they want you to think, buddy boy. Nope. Stands for 'three seconds', the average life expectancy of those that venture to far down into the hold, with no business for being there." Tapping the side of his nose, "Sensitive industries hidden away in those deeper levels, if you know what I mean." Drug production. He went on to explain the differences between the two parts of the city in demographics. "3Sec is more working class, most working in either the rear here or Ka-chinga towers. A Larriere is more the party town for those who like to slum it down from Ka-chinga towers"

"Like we're doing?"

"I don't slum, my good fellow. I mingle." He was resting against the decks railing facing forward, I was still facing the aft section, seeing that my cigarette was finished, I stubbed it out on the heel of my boot.

"Okay to toss the butt over the railing here?" I asked, wondering about possible ship etiquette, although as I said it I saw someone empty a bedpan of some form of liquid straight out of a window.

Danny laughed, "Mate, they toss people over the railing here." and continuing with his explanation of the inner workings of Midship City. "See Andy, for the longest time, the only sections that were actually built up were the containers of Ka-chinga, and these two holds, and then only down five levels."

"Is that why Greasy's goes down five levels?"

"You get a cookie. Exactly, they claimed the real estate and built straight down."

"Why only five levels?"

"Something about that being the maximum amount of stairs any given person wants to climb. It's why buildings were never taller than five to seven stories before the invention of the elevator."

"Why do you even know that?" Number was one thing, but this was so random.

"Project development in Frystaat. you wouldn't believe what tennents come up with for living demends." Okay, maybe not so random.

"Like elevators?" Zing.

"Yeah, and things like electricity, indoor plumbing and sewage, glass in the windows.." He was grinning, so I assumed he was kidding.

"Glad you're not my landlord, geez." The obvious response.

"You are sleeping on my couch, though.." Whoa, best nip that in the bud.

"Which makes your place my crash pad, hope you have a well stocked fridge." check.

"Don't worry, mate. There's Maria's cooking, my bush grub, and even room service, which you can't afford." check mate. I was broke.

"So it's either Maria's, or stealing your credit card, or whatever works for cash around here." Hmm, stupidly, I actually assumed it to be bottlecaps until a second ago.

"Cash mate. Cold, hard cash. Don't worry, we'll find you some." Sounded good to me.

Getting back to his enlightenment of the ships demographics, local economics, and body disposal traditions. "So if this and that" indicating the two holds that made up the city, "Were only built downward five levels out of,-" fishing for him to answer since I wasn't sure.

"Fourteen to fifteen, depending where you are standing." not a bad guess on my part.

"Then what about the other nine or ten levels underneath all of this? Was it unused? Or is that where they just threw all the bodies?"

"Cute. But yeah, actually, for the longest time thats's almost exactly what happened. And anyone who didn't have the means to pay for a place on one of the five upper levels could move downstairs into the Dreggs"

"Which is why when I arrived I was detained at-"

"Dreggs gate, yup. Opens out into the troll market on deck eleven and that goes down to the hull. Power that be could care less what happened down there in the begining so it just grew from the top and the bottom towards each other."

It must have been a tactical nightmare down there.

Again, you *have* no idea. I think I'm going to make a little sign that says that and just hold it up every time I need it the next couple of days. Admitting I was clueless got him to continue, "Security just doesn't *do* the Dreggs. And I mean even nowadays they won't show their mugs south of deck eleven, where they have the customs house"

"Dreggs gate." Showing I was a good little tour guide victim

"Bingo. And you know what the sec guards call the gate among themselves?" Rhetorical question so I just shook my head, "Fort Apache. Another reason for having security down to deck eleven is also of course Midship City Harbour."

You mean where I came in? This place was starting to slightly confuse me. I needed a map or something.

Woo Hoo, Celeste is back... but wait, is she cheating on HER Andy? And is Sheriff Simms thinking of hopping that train too????

MalX1, methinks you judge 'Celeste' too harshly.

I have know many, many ... [censored]s? harlets? prosttutes? ... in real life, and partly due to my discerning taste and partly due to the law of averages, I have known a few 'good' hearted ones like Celeste.

(And just for the record, let me point out to all and sundry, especially the sundry, that it is possible to know a prosttute without necessarily having to..er..Freddy Uncle Charlie King..them. As to whether I knew the bulk of my 'strassenmadchen' in that way, it's N.U.N.Y.A, acronym supplied by the wonderful and wise MalX1, long may she write!).

Most [censored]s become [censored]s through a combination of desperation, laziness, stupidity, exploitation, and self-directed hidden anger resulting in low self esteem. A rare number deliberately choose to become [censored]s through a combination of razor sharp intellect and stone cold greed: these are the sort who become (usually very successful!) madames in later life. Contrary to some popular myths, almost NO woman becomes a [censored] through horniness...a horny woman may become a [censored], but almost never a [censored].

Some women become [censored]s through necessity, to escapte grinding poverty or even slow death through starvation, and I suspect that Celeste is one of them. Her young age is a clue: a large proportion of [censored]s, perhaps the overwhelming majority of them, were forced to six at an early age, thereby leaving a heavy psychological imprinting (see sixual psychology on this point) that make them feel low self esteem and also the sense that the only things which they can truly rely on in this miserable life are their youth, looks, and money.

cf. "Diamonds are a girl's best friend"...

I see Celeste as a [censored] of necessity, who by the force of her willpower and essentially good personality has retained the goodness of her heart...but even a good-hearted [censored] has psychological scars in her mind, and I suspect Celeste is no exception.

One part of Celeste's mind is deeply in love with Andy. Yet another part of her mind, the life-hardened, battle-weary part, (and in truth, are not all of us a collection of many parts of mind?) the part which has suffered disappointments so many times, is asking her 'If he really loves me, why hasn't he offered to marry me?'.... and as a chorus, the insidious low self-esteem part of her mind is whispering 'what man could love a [censored] like you anyway...'

(As a side note, see how D.Foxy in the story deals with this problem? He marries his former prosttute straight away, and has the balls to bring her to his parents and deal with the inevitable H-bomb explosion by his old man. No wonder Maria is impressed by his literal, literary, and metaphorical balls. But then, that's D. Foxy for you :D )

And yet another part is arguing to her 'And even if he really loves you, and is planning to marry you, and is willing to forget or forgive you being a [censored], what's the average life expectancy for a Wasteland Warrior, HUH?'

And again the insidious whisper '...better stick with what you know...' '..better harden your heart now rather than have it broken later..'

Yet in spite of all this, Celeste remains - in her fashion - true to Andy. And true to her own version of a certain type of moral code.

She will not steal husbands away from wives. She will sell six only to those who need it. And she will give six, freely, to those truly, deeply in need...like the boy Stockholm.

And, I suspect, deep in her heart a small wisp of hope still remains that she will get married, and live happily ever after, with Andy.

But I infringe on Andy's artistic imagination, so this must remain my speculation only. Andy, perhaps you would care to elucidate, and if necessary expound?






AND BY THE WAY, ANDY, CONGRATULATIONS ON GOING OVER THE 2000 VIEWS HURDLE! NEXT STOP...2500!!!

All I was complaining about was that HER Andy has not touched her in 49 chapters (except to accidentally knock her down) - while he is out running with Carl and Duke, she is breaking Stockholm in. Hearing descriptions of that night could not possibly be as powerful or interesting as Andy & her together. (May as well describe a night with Nathanial, Walter, or Gob) - unless it ends up being like "Something About Mary," or Gob is right and something drops off mid stream - AND (BTW) If Lucas Simms isn't planning to hop that train, then why did he suddenly remember he had to go into work early? Hmmmm??? :rofl:



Lee Marvin: "I give you the boy, bring back the man" (Paint Your Wagon)


*

No. Where you came in, on the port side of the ship, is the customs docks, mounted on the outside where the jetty is, remember? I nodded, "The harbour entrance is on the starboard side of the ship-"

"Entrance? As in, in the ship itself?"

"Yeah, all the ships have a flood gate of some kind, and the actually harbour with the slips for the boats are internal to the ship."

"This, I gotta see."

"Huh? What.. now? But.." pointing at Greasy's, the casino next to us.

"C'mon, you wanted to show me this tub, then show me. We'll play the tables later."

Danny shrugged, and turned to lead the way, straight into the casino. I wanted to say something but he was ahead of me.

"We'll use the casino to get down. Easier than taking public stairways, and proceeded into the large building. And it was large, looking even larger from the inside. First thing to notice was that the deck had been cut away in the middle, creating a vaulted inner space one floor down and up three stories high. Three floors ?including ours, of galleries that circled completely around the interior area, with a massive chandelier hanging in the middle.

The galleries were packed with slot machines, blackjack-, craps-, card-, roulette- and even bingo tables crammed everywhere, with barely enough room to walk. Hostess girls wearing trays filled with cigars and cigarettes, as well as every other narcotic thinkable for sale, skilfully manoeuvred themselves between gambling machines and patrons, politely peddling their wares. Waiters with assorted complimentary drinks were being constantly dispatched to the different gamblers that were sitting and standing at various tables from a central bar on each floor manned ?or I should say machined, by a freaking robot behind it, pouring perfectly measured shooters and shots. Their were more robots around than just those behind the bar, as I noticed two milspec sentry bots lazily patrolling different floors.

Even though the entire structure was fabricated from shipping container, cut up where necessary and welded into a solid weather proof structure where needed, the owners had gone to great lengths in making the interior as classy as possible. No pink marble or anything, but there was wood panelling and tapestries along all the walls, with either heavily framed landscape paintings or golden light fixtures mounted on them. Thick shag carpeting covered wall to wall, dampning your tread, and not a clock in sight. Yup, it's a casino.

Danny was getting all the attention, might I add. It was hello Mr. Danny sir here, and how do you do Mr. Danny sir there. Every hostess girl we met he knew by name and in return treated him to a peck on the cheek. A waiter came up and handed him a glass of whatever they considered to be his 'usual', and Danny seemed happy with it. I stole a beer off a passing waiters tray, receiving a pissed look in return. I smiled and tipped my long neck to him, taking a sip. Danny looked at the bottle in my hand,

"You didn't have to swipe that, if you want one, just ask." I clasped him on the back,

"It's cool, Danny. I'm just admiring the whole 'mister big' routine you have going on here." And in a more conspiratorial tone, "Does Maria know?" He laughed and nodded that she did.

"Okay, so then you're not cheating on her." Realising that there wouldn't be a woman stupid enough to try it, with Maria knowing where he was, no matter how drunk and friendly Danny might get. Confirming it, he gave me his I-dont-wanna-die-yet expression, and grinned.

"I'm more of a silent partner in the establishment, having made a few substantial financial investments in the place." I stopped, blinking. did he mean as in..

"I own the joint." wow. "Well, for the most part. I wanted to introduce you to some of my business associates. But that can wait." And walked over to a door guarded by a shaved gorilla in a monkey suit. Do these stereotypes ever change.

"G'day, gov." Gosh, it spoke. Already stereotype rulings were being shattered.

"Hello Rupert, how's the day business been?" Rupert? That had to be at least another couple stereotyping rules trashed right there.

"Shore is gov," And then, relentlessly, he continued. "Both buckets of snot on the Gordon an' Botch, Billy bunters droppin' their rock of ages onna Johnny Major. Meanwhile th' brass flute seem to only chew th' fat wit' Woolly Woofters an' Terry Butcher, an' earlier a few Swiss-roles were Al Capooned on oats an' barley, right? So I led them to the Watford gap Betty Gable, an' they pulls out a sizeable monkey o' bugs bunnies from their sky rockets. Later on, couple o' pork an cheese, smellin' of Lillian Gish comes in, real typewriters, flexin their Jacks, straight away gets it on wit' some kitchen sinks, who pebble dashed 'em in the Alberts. Then this do as you likey, jimmy riddles all over the outer space, so eyes grabbed his insects and ants by the crumblin' walls and runabout, when the daft tit pulls out this big ol' lady from Bristol, waving it all 'bout my Chevy chase. Luckily for him a Penny rolls in and took over from Dover rover. Now, lessee, oh yeah, an' sailin' barge gots th' dibbs an dabs. Roll in the hay, How's th' carving knife?"

Danny nodded and asked if all was fine with the large man as he held the elevator door open for us.

"Nah gov, water down the drain, 'cept me four minute miles."

Once the doors were firmly shut and we were going down, I finally spoke,

"Not your stereotypical gorilla in a suit, is he?" Looking at Danny, grinning. Danny was looking straight ahead, avoiding my gaze, "You have no idea what he said, do you?"

"Not a clue, mate."

We exited the elevator below the main casino floor in what had to be the fight arena of the place. Danny confirmed it, "Three nights a week," and looking at me suddenly, "Heey.. you know, you would-"

"not appreciate the offer."

"Yeah, right." The elevator set us off on the top level of the arena, closed until the evening, with another level of spectator seating below before getting to the ground floor where the fight ring was, and standing room. We had to walk over to the other side of the upper level, which was the v.i.p. area, to take a stairs the rest of the way down. Some were cleaning up and getting the arena ready for the nights fighting. next to the exit on the groung floor ?with turnstiles, ticketbooth and everything, Danny led me into a locked area behind the ticketbooth.

Opening up a cupboard he took a twin shoulder holstered rig and two automatics. Checking the clips on the handguns and securing them snug into their allotted place. Looking at me and my lonely .45 that rested on my left hip, Danny grabbed a fairly short barrelled pump shotgun with arm sling, held it up against the length of my jacket, nodded and retrieved some shells for it.

"Here. But keep it tucked away unless called for. Marshals kinda frown on this sort of firepower."

"You're [censored]ting me. On this ship?"

"Well.., handguns are okay. Hell, like you probably meant to say, everyone seems to be wearing one." I nodded, "And shotguns and SMGs are technically frowned upon, but only because whole sale killings tend to make everyone nervous." Drawing me over to the cupboard. In it hung two dozen assorted firearms, mostly handguns, but a few sawed off shotguns, one more long barrelled Remmington pump action and three submachine guns.

Pushing a hidden latch the entire back of the cupboard swivelled outward, revealing another cupboard space behind it.

"Now we're talking proper home defence, Danny, my friend" three carbines, two different assault rifles, numerous grenades, a RPG with six warheads and an M60. Taking the sixty for a second, feeling the familiar weight as I held it. "It this for when customers don't pay the bar tab?" I joked.

"This all represents hardware that is completely off limits to those outside the security forces or ships militia"

"And so why do you have a closet full of world war four?"

"I'm militia."