Infant Mortality: a side-quest for Fallout: New Vegas
"Infant Mortality"
A side-quest for Fallout: New Vegas
by Tagenar
"Fallout" and all related names are trademark and/or © Bethesda Softworks, Obsidian Entertainment, Black Isle Studios or Interplay. No violation of copyright is intended. This is presented as fanfiction.
The path ended hours ago, and you've been climbing a gradual, rocky slope ever since. As the morning sun rises to its zenith, you decide to make camp beside a large rock outcropping and rest. You lay your pack down and take out the matches. You cut some wood from a nearby fallen tree and build a fire. You pull out the tongs and the waterproof pouch you keep the raw meat in. You unbuckle it, grab the Gecko meat by the tongs and hold it over the fire.
You learned how to cook their meat out of desperation. Walking the wasteland taught you a great deal about survival. It's a perk that came with the job as delivery boy for the Mojave Express. Any other person would get themselves killed out here. If the Geckos didn't kill you, the temperature extremes would. Fortunately what threatens your life also has the potential to preserve it.
The meat starts to drip. You grab a junk cup and hold it over the fire with a second set of tongs and catch the blood as the heat squeezes it from the meat.
Another trick you learned in the wastes is how to distill blood into drinkable water. It still tastes faintly like blood, but it goes down easier and doesn't make you sick. Being able to derive water from any source is invaluable out here in the desert. You wish you could go back and meet the man who taught you how to do this. Probably saved your life a hundred times by now. Life in this desert was sparse, and what little survived here was spiny and harsh. If it was easy to kill or harvest, it was devoid of nutrition. If it had nutrition, it was either covered in thorns, had claws, or breathed fire on you. Mutated Geckos keep you going.
As you wait for the meat to finish cooking, you wonder if this lead is worth it. The longer you walk, the more the feeling builds that you're heading in the wrong direction. Perhaps you should've gone with your first instinct, that your answers are in Vegas. It's a feeling that started biting your ankles at the start of your journey, as the nagging voice of self-doubt and fear of the unknown that keeps many-a-person from achieving anything in their lives. Now the feeling has a death grip on your neck, having become the voice of resolution that tells you this isn't working and it's honorable to turn back.
The meat is done. You pull it away from the fire and set the cup on the dirt to cool. Holding the meat in both hands, you take a bite and gnaw off a hunk. The meat is dripping with lizard grease. It stains the dirt between your feet. Cooked Gecko meat is tough and coarse, not at all like Brahman. As it fills your body, it also clears your mind. By the time you finish the last bite, you've decided to turn back. You're convince now: answers are in the Mojave, not west.
You hear a scrape from the rocks behind you. You set down your steak and pick up your rifle. In one swift move you're on your feet, gun aimed at the rocks.
"Don't shoot," says a raspy, forced voice.
"Who are you?" you shout.
"I'm not your enemy," chokes the voice.
You aim your gun in the direction of the sound. It's coming from behind the large rock outcropping just a few paces away.
"I need your help," it continues. "Will you help me?"
"Depends. Why would I help you?"
"I can't answer that. All I can do is ask you for it."
"Who are you?"
"I'm a friend in need of help."
"Why are you hiding? What's your name?" you ask.
"My appearance tends to... inspire distrust. I'd rather plead my case first before revealing myself."
You think about that for a moment, staring at the rocks that stand between you and whoever is talking. It occurs to you that you could climb it and have a look yourself, but... Maybe it is better not to antagonize him. Yet.
"All right," you say. "You sound like an intelligent person. Start talking."
"Thank you. I notice your clothes. You work for a delivery service, and I need someone who can make a delivery for me."
"Hate to break it to you, but I haven't been a delivery boy in weeks. I didn't take another job after my last one got me shot through the head. I'm on my own now."
"I am sorry to hear that. And amazed you are still alive. You come from the Mojave, don't you?"
"Yes."
"A scientist lives there, Doctor Henry. I've never met him. I only know him by reputation."
"Henry? As in the former Brotherhood of Steel scientist now working on treating radiation mutations?"
"Actually he's a former Enclave scientist from the west coast. I hear he lives in Jacobstown, in the mountains."
You nod to yourself. You did that intentionally to see if he had a serious request and wasn't just bullshitting you to catch you off guard. He passed the test. "I've met him. Just before I walked out this way."
"You have? Even better than I had hoped for! Would you deliver something to him for me?"
"What do you need me to do, and why should I help you?"
"I need to send him genetic samples."
You lower the gun. Of all things he could've said, that caught you off guard. "Genetic samples?"
"Yes."
"What the hell for?"
"Something is wrong with my family line. Or, more specifically, with me. My children are always... stillborn, or malformed. I need an expert on FEV mutations to tell me why. If anyone can help me, it's him, but I can't make the delivery myself. It would require traveling to Jacobstown with my partner, and we'll be shot on sight."
"You a tribal?"
"No."
"Ghoul?"
"No. Worse."
"What could be worse than that?"
"Ghouls can at least walk into cities without getting shot. I can't even show my body to a traveler without him raising a gun to my head."
"You haven't been in some of the cities I've seen," you say.
"What do you think of my request? Will you help me? I can pay."
"FEV? You and your family were exposed to it? What's wrong with them?"
"If you promise not to shoot, I will take you to my home and show you the rest."
Your weapon is already lowered. You think for a moment. Instinct is telling you there's no danger. This person is very well-spoken and that likely means he doesn't pose a threat. He might even be sincere.
You've heard stories of the Forced Evolution Virus. People exposed to it were never the same. There were rumors of some man who turned into a tree somewhere out east because of that stuff. If this man and his family were exposed to it, he needed help. You were going to turn back for the Mojave anyway. Jacobstown wouldn't be out of your way at all.
You set your weapon on the ground in front of you and stand up straight. "All right. You have my word. I won't shoot. Unless you start shooting me."
"I'm coming out now. Don't be afraid."
Shifting feet moves sand behind the rock. Something large is on the other side. Something imposing. It sounds familiar. You've heard this sound before. You can't quite figure it out consciously, and your instinct tells you to reach for the gun and start shooting. It's a powerful, subconscious habit of survival--one that has kept you alive for years.
You resist, and focus on the rock. The body moving behind it is large. You rule out Super Mutant. This doesn't sound like one of those beasts moving around. No, this is far more animalistic. Your heart races and adrenaline rises.
A grey hand wraps around the edge of the rocks. Its claws are massive. A moment later the foot appears, also grey, with massive claws to match, and crooked as a dog's leg. Slowly, carefully, with slow grace so as not to startle someone, it shifts and slides into view from behind the rock. Its skin is grey, not brown. It stands twice as tall as you and its claws are easily the length of your entire arm.
A Deathclaw.
"My name is Goris," it says.
The voice sounds strained and harsh, and now you can see why. It's not coming from his tongue or lips, but rather from the back of the throat. His words do not quite match his mouth movements.
You gulp.
The Deathclaw folds his hands and holds them at his sides. "Yes, I need your help."
You pant for a moment. Survival habit wants you to grab the gun, but the Deathclaw's voice distracts you from the impulse.
"Come with me. I'll take you to my home. I can explain everything on the way. Bring what you like, but keep your weapons out of sight."
"What the hell are you?" you say.
"Walk with me. I'll tell you the rest."
Goris turns around. His crooked hind legs and thick tail only drive home that there is a Deathclaw talking to you.
A Deathclaw...
You don't want to take your eyes off him. You back away, grab your pack and put everything inside. You keep your shotgun tucked between you and your pack and walk up the hill after the grey monster. He doesn't look back to make sure you're following.
***
"It happened about 40 years ago. Vault 13. My clan took shelter there after escaping the Enclave. They performed experiments on Deathclaws with the Forced Evolution Virus. Thought they'd make excellent soldiers, if only they could be taught how to follow orders. Well it turned out the FEV did change us into intelligent beings. Intelligent enough to realize we were slaves, so we broke out, tried to start a new life in an abandoned Vault."
You walk a few paces behind Goris up the steep hill, keeping your eyes on him at all times. You don't feel that comfortable walking with a killing machine, and if you hadn't given your word, you'd have your shotgun at the ready. A shotgun would be useless against a full-grown Deathclaw, but physiological reassurance was all that mattered.
Goris is keeping his hands folded at his sides. As you listen to him, you get the feeling the gesture is meant to put you at ease. It's the equivalent of a man keeping his hands on his head to show he's not going to cause trouble. Of course, if a Deathclaw kept his hands above his head, it wouldn't be so placating. Perhaps he learned this gesture after years of trying to interact with humans.
"I was a scholar. Can you believe that? I did cultural research on human beings and Deathclaws. I tried to compare us to how man developed. Then a tribal showed up looking for something called a GECK. Invited me to tag along, help deliver the GECK back to a place called Arroyo safely. When we got there, the whole tribe had been captured by the Enclave. So I helped my friend defeat them. What a group we were. A few humans, a tribal, a ghoul, a mechanical dog, a Super Mutant and a Deathclaw on a journey to stop the Enclave from destroying the world. Still makes me laugh when I think about it."
You find your voice again for the first time in a good half hour. "I heard stories about a tribal who destroyed an oil rig out west years ago. Same one?"
"Yes, I was there. I helped make it happen. At first I said I was going for cultural research. That was my intent, but let's face it. I'm a Deathclaw. I was built to kill, which made me an asset."
"Yeah. I'll bet."
"Anyway it came at a price. The Enclave found Vault 13 and destroyed my clan while I was away. I was the only survivor. The victory over the Enclave was hollow for me. My friend offered to let me stay in Arroyo, and I did. I continued my cultural research. I even became a teacher, educating the tribals in Arroyo for many years about computers, history and survival."
The slope is getting steeper. Goris has no problem climbing it, but you are gasping for breath and your pack feels a hundred pounds heavier.
"Then one day I realized everything I was doing was for nothing. Eventually I was going to die, and then what? What was to become of me? Stories for the tribe to pass down about the benevolent Deathclaw who lived among them? I couldn't let it happen. I owed it to my clan to my species alive, so I left Arroyo and searched for Xarn. My friend told me he was free and might still be out there. I searched for months, but found no trace of him. That's when I realized the burden of my race's survival lay on me."
Goris unfolds his hands and grasps a vertical ledge. He pulls himself up the cliff, scratching dirt and pebbles down on you. You lean on your knees and pant. Briefly you look back the way you and Goris came. You are far above the land, perched on the edge of a steep cliff. You turn and look up. Above you is a chain of rolling mountains. Not high enough to gather snow, but high enough to convince you you've entered the Sierra Nevada range, and you are off the beaten path. You look at the cliff. You can't climb it. Even if you dropped your bag right here there's no way.
Goris turns around and stretches his hand down to you. Claws thicker than your arm are inches from your face. Your heart races as you look from his claws to Goris, then to the claws again. Finally you wrap your arms around his. Goris lifts you off your feet, up over the ledge and sets you down next to him.
"Thanks..." you say.
Goris backs up a step and hides his arms again. He crouches to be closer to your eye level as he speaks.
"I know you're tired. That's why I chose this cave. It's high enough that nobody will find it. I don't fear the Enclave anymore, but there are still people who may want to kill me."
Goris turns and walks away. You follow close behind, expecting him to continue, but he remains silent. This unsettles you, as Deathclaws are always silent. They're not like dogs or cats. They don't snarl or growl. They don't make any noise, even as they ambush you from behind. Listening to Goris speak helps you forget what he is, and now that he's silent, the impulses to fight and flee rattle your spine.
You follow Goris in silence for a while longer. Then you see the opening of a cave in the side of the mountain. Goris steers both of you towards it.
"Stay close to me," Goris says. "If she sees me bringing you into the cave, she won't attack. Don't go near her unless you're with me, don't look at her unless you're with me, and do not approach the nest."
"Who is she?"
"My partner."
The cave opening is tall enough for him to enter without stooping down. The cave reeks of Deathclaw stink, and again you want to feel the cold comfort of a firearm in your hands. As you descend deeper, the light from the entrance fades. You switch on your Pip-Boy light. It helps, but the place is still spooky.
"You won't need that in a moment. I have a chamber with a lamp and a terminal. It's where I continue my studies."
"In here?"
"I've scavenged a lot of power cells and batteries over the years. I can keep a terminal running. Once in a while I come across a traveler willing to trade protection in exchange for data tapes."
"Uh, no offence, but... How do you use a terminal?"
Goris looks back at you briefly before rounding a corner. If his face weren't so rigid, you'd swear you see him smile. "These hands can do more than kill."
You follow him around the corner, deeper into the cave. The Deathclaw stink only becomes stronger. You've never been in a nest before, but you've heard stories over the years of people who dared to raid a Deathclaw nest, and lived to tell about it. Researchers, prospectors looking for anything valuable, cities trying to exterminate the nest to protect themselves from future attacks--all of them agree it was the stupidest thing they ever did and leaving with their lives was their reward. These stories swirl in your head for a few dozen paces. Then Goris pauses and looks at you over his shoulder.
"I smell your fear."
You pant for a moment. Collect your thoughts. "Habit. I stay as far away from Deathclaws as I can. It's why I'm still alive."
"Calm yourself. If she smells fear on you, she may attack."
"Of course I'm fucking scared! This is a bit of a shock to me! I'm talking to a Deathclaw! He's leading me into his nest because he wants to send a package through the Mojave Express!"
Goris turns around and faces you directly. He closes the distance between you and crouches face to face with you. His hands are still folded up at his side.
"You can wait outside if you want, but there is so much more I can show you in here. Can you keep yourself under control or not?"
You think for a moment, breathing the Deathclaw's air. Being this close to one does not help your nerves.
"Maybe this will help?"
Goris unfolds a hand and slowly places it on your shoulder. The gesture is there, but his hand is too large to be equal, and it ends up wrapping around your back as well. Your heart rate speeds up.
"I've met other travelers over the years," he says. "Sometimes this helps. Nobody is going to hurt you. In fact, back in Vault 13 we took in many humans. We cooperated with them. Lived in peace with them. If only some record of them still existed. That's why I need your help. A little ways up is the nest, and what I need to show you."
You feel his claws shifting around your back, intentionally touching your skin, but never with enough force to cause harm. The longer you breathe the air coming off his voice, the more reassuring that voice seems.
"Actually," you say, "keep talking. It helps me forget where I am."
Goris's hand slides away and folds at his side again. "I can do that." He backsteps away, rises to his full, hunched height and stalks further into the cave. His upper body leaves the dome of light produced by your Pip-Boy. His tail and hind legs are now the only thing you can see.
Goris keeps talking. Smalltalk. You were hoping for more details, but Goris seems to be dodging the issue now. You ask him once more what's going on, but again he says he wishes to show you instead of tell. Right now showing and telling carry equal weight and you don't care.
"So what about you?" Goris asks. "What brings you out here alone?"
"Uh. I wouldn't be walking this way if it wasn't for a mutant in Jacobstown. Marcus, I think was his name. He heard of a man who shot a Mojave Express courier and stole the delivery. He heard it was something that would unlock some secrets in a demolished oil rig far out west."
"Marcus?" Goris says. "Jacobstown... I knew it sounded familiar."
"Hm?"
"Never mind, please continue. So you struck out west following a mere rumor?"
"I wouldn't have trusted a Super Mutant to give me reliable information, but he gave a very accurate description of the man who shot me. It was enough to convince me the mutant might be telling the truth. I figured he couldn't have been too far away by now. I hadn't found any other leads, so I've been walking west for the last three weeks."
"A demolished oil rig out west? If it's the same one I'm thinking of, I'd advise you to turn back. That rig was completely destroyed. No secrets left to uncover there."
"I just came to that conclusion. I was about to turn back and head east again. Something tells me my answers are in Vegas. Not out here."
"That's a long time to chase a rumor."
"I had nothing else to go on. I abandoned the Mojave Express. Figured having a bullet put through my head is a reasonable excuse to terminate my employment. Now I'm a scavenger. Nothing better to do with my life than find answers. What the hell was so valuable about that poker chip? It must be worth a fortune. It better be worth as much as my life."
You feel a lot better now, and you recognize what Goris did. The easiest way to calm a tense situation between strangers is to get the other person to talk about themselves. He's obviously had a lot of experience with this. Makes you wonder why you've never heard any wasteland tales of things like this.
Finally, Goris slows down. By now the Deathclaw smell is suffocating.
"Walk by my side," Goris says.
You catch up to him, walking side by side with his folded hand. The cave is just barely wide enough for both of you. If Goris didn't keep his hands out of the way, there might not be enough room at all. You feel a lot more comfortable being this close to him than before.
At the fork ahead, Goris bears left. On your right you hear the hum of a CRT terminal and the faint glow of an electric lantern. Ahead of you now is more Deathclaw smell, and movement in the darkness. The tunnel opens up into a large chamber.
Broken eggshells litter the floor, and resting among them are a dozen tiny Deathclaws. All dead. Most look like they died in the egg, as they are half- or three-quarters formed.
Heavy breathing comes from the back of the chamber. The light barely catches her, but the adult is unmistakable. She crouches in front of what looks like a clutch of eggs. Unhatched.
She doesn't move, but you can tell she's watching you. Only you. You get the feeling you should turn off the light, but that feels both like a wise precaution and a suicide move at the same time, so you don't move a muscle.
"Look at them," Goris says.
You look at the massive pile of egglings. Twisted, half-formed bodies lying one atop the other, intermingled with broken eggshells and dried yolk. In the light of the Pip-Boy, their faces are sharply twisted and contorted into horrible moans of agony, though you know this is your imagination imprinting human emotion onto animal faces. The remains of at least a dozen eggs are in here. You can't see the cave floor through the eggling debris.
"This is... horrible," you whisper.
"I know," says Goris.
"And she is not like you."
"This is what I've been doing for nearly forty years. I've been traveling from place to place, seeking out females, trying to have many children as possible. But so far, this is the result."
You scan the pile of eggling waste again. Goris narrates as your Pip-Boy highlights individual pieces.
"That egg actually hatched. It's one of the only eggs I fathered that did. What came out... She had no arms and two tails. She lived less than an hour before she bled to death."
Your light travels over a particular, flattened egg.
"That one never hatched. It sat in the cave for far too long. I knew what had happened. The same thing that happens every time. I crushed it in a fit of rage. She nearly killed me that night, but maybe she knew... I like to think she knew."
You sweep the light over something towards the back. Goris tells story after story of grotesque offspring, unhatched eggs he broke. You listen for nearly twenty minutes as he relives them all. If he had tearducts, you have no doubt Goris would cry. Then you stop on an unhatched egg, and the mother behind the dark curtain.
"My latest effort," Goris says. "Forty years ago I hoped to have children that would be like me. Intelligent. Self-aware. Scholars, perhaps. Thinkers. But from the very beginning, clutch after clutch doesn't hatch, and on the rare times one does, the eggling is deformed so badly it dies within a day. Forty years of failure..."
You feel the mother's eyes on you the whole time. Silently watching you. Until now you've never seen a Deathclaw be so still. It makes you wonder what's going through her mind right now.
"Come with me."
Goris backs away. You back away with him, not wanting to let that female out of your sight. At the fork you follow Goris down the right hand tunnel. You feel a lot more comfortable out of her line of sight. Only the tip of Goris's tail is caught in the Pip-Boy's light, and you speedwalk to keep up. The hum of a terminal grows louder.
The tunnel opens up into another chamber, fully lit. A terminal is perched on a high ledge against one wall, which is eye-level for Goris. The rest of the room is full of Old World books, bones, weapons and various other scraps. There are a lot of weapons. Rocket launchers, flame throwers, lasers, guns, rifles. All neatly stacked upright against the walls, evenly spaced. A small space in the corner is free of debris.
"Nice den," you say.
"Thank you," Goris says from a corner. His massive hands are at work. He's holding something, but his bulky body is in the way. After a moment, he turns around and walks toward you, holding an open bag.
He stops in front of you, holding the bag so you can see inside. You lean over and look. A dead Deathclaw eggling lies crumpled and twisted inside. On top of it, an unhatched egg, and a few vials of red liquid. They're labeled with a crude "G" or "P" or "E." You look up at Goris. His face is backlit by the lantern at the far side of the room. Every fold and crack in his thick, scaly hide leaps out at you.
"This is the package," he says. "Take it to Doctor Henry in Jacobstown as fast as you can. I believe he's the only one who can give me answers. If I could, I'd go there myself and ask him, but I hear it's a community of Super Mutants and Nightkin. I used to be able to disguise myself with a robe and sneak into settlements, but I was much smaller back then."
You carefully take the bag from Goris. It's heavy, but nothing you can't handle.
"So what do you think?" Goris says. "Will you help me? I won't lie to you. Carrying that corpse and egg will probably draw predators and scavengers to you. They smell a dead Deathclaw, they'll jump on the chance for a free meal."
You look into the pack one more time. Then up at Goris. You've come this far...
"What are you hoping for?" you ask. "A whole community of... smart Deathclaws?"
"My species is dying. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have the survival of your entire race resting on your shoulders?"
You shake your head.
"It is the most unbearable burden you can imagine. It has consumed my life. Brought me to insanity and back, trying to prevent it but powerless to change it. Only recently did I take a step back and realize something else is wrong.
"There are blood vials in there. The ones labeled with a G are mine. P is for her, my partner. E is for the egglings. I also included a few semen samples. Everything the doctor needs to figure out what's wrong with me, and how I can keep my species from dying off."
"And... payment?"
Goris straightens up. "Look around you. I've collected a lot of weapons and artifacts over the years. Look through them and take anything you need."
You look. His collection is beyond impressive. "Sure. Thanks."
"If you deliver the package to Doctor Henry and bring his reply back to me, I will pay you for that trip as well."
"How?"
"You'll see. I know I've given you a lot to take in."
He looks back and glances at the terminal on the ledge.
"It is past 22 hours," he says, turning to you. "You may rest here until morning if you wish. My partner won't come in here. She prefers to guard the nest, and that I stay out."
You pause. You think for a moment. "Yeah, this is a lot to take in. It's hard enough just getting used to the idea that a Deathclaw is speaking to me. Not ripping me apart."
"That's one reason I want my species to survive."
"All right. I was on my way to the Mojave anyway. I'll take this with me."
"Thank you."
"And I'll be glad to sleep here. Be nice not to sleep with one eye open, looking for Geckos."
Goris turns and walks to the far wall of the den. He adjusts a knob on the lantern. It dims and then winks out, leaving you encased in the glow of your Pip-Boy once again. Just beyond the light, you make out Goris curling up and closing his eyes. The cave is silent. You feel oddly safe in this room, though the thought of a massive Deathclaw mother in the next chamber does gnaw at your stomach. This fear seems much quieter with her in her cave, and you in this cave.
In the company of Goris, you feel a strange ease now. You switch off your light. The cave is completely black. The stink of Deathclaw is all around you, and the sound of Goris's breathing becomes white noise. You take off your pack and use it as a pillow. You keep the Deathclaw bag to one side so you don't forget. You're not sure if it's possible to sleep in this atmosphere, but it's the safest place in the wasteland to rest.
***
You wake up in the middle of the night. Your heart is pounding in your ears and out of habit you reach for your gun, slip it from your pack and roll to your knees, aiming it at the darkness before you remember where you are. You kneel on the cave floor for a moment, panting, unsure what you were about to do.
You slowly reach for your Pip-Boy and flick on the light. The dim glow illuminates a small dome around you. The cave walls are lighter shadows hovering on top of pitch black emptiness.
Very slowly, you turn to one side. The light catches the outline of a Deathclaw asleep on the other side of the chamber, facing away from you. Other than him, you are alone in the chamber. Your heart starts to calm down, but the Deathclaw smell keeps you on edge. As your memory rises to your conscious mind, you look around the room at the walls, with weapons neatly stacked against them. At the floors, miscellaneous junk strewn about. Baseballs, chairs, tables, cups, beakers.
No bones of long-eaten humans.
Your eyes settle on the dim glow of the terminal perched on the ledge. From here you can barely make out the login screen of a Robco terminal. You roll your eyes. Was there any other system in the Old World?
You glance at Goris. The Deathclaw is still asleep. You remember your survival experience, that Deathclaws have poor eyesight but extraordinary hearing and olfactory senses, so how is it possible Goris could even see such a tiny screen?
Then you remember what Goris said, about his line being exposed to FEV. There's no telling what other effects it had on him. Maybe it helped his eyes as well as his dexterity. There's no way to tell, and that's what scares you. That's what woke you up. Goris doesn't behave like a Deathclaw should, which makes him unpredictable and dangerous.
Something about his story doesn't add up. Seems too clean for your tastes. Nobody thinks in such lofty terms of the fate of his species is at stake and such. No, from your experience, everyone has a more practical reason. There has to be something else Goris was after.
You survey the floor. One of the pieces of junk in the room happens to be a ladder. It wouldn't be difficult to climb up to the terminal. You wouldn't try to read it all--of course not, but you could download the database and read it on the way. It was a long way back to Jacobstown. You'd have plenty of time to figure out what this Deathclaw was about.
You switch off your Pip-Boy light. You wait a few minutes for your eyes to get used to the pitch black of the cave. Years of delivering packages has conditioned your eyes to function a little better in total darkness than the average person. You're happy for it now.
When you can distinguish outlines, you stand up and slowly walk across the junk. You grab the ladder from the floor and carry it to the wall with the terminal. You lean the ladder against the wall and test the traction of the floor. It won't slide. Cautiously you climb the rungs, making no noise on the way up.
At the top, the green glow of the terminal screen greets you. You punch in the backdoor commands common to all Robcorp terminals. It's an easy hack. You're through the password prompt in no time. You interface your Pip-Boy with the terminal and initiate the command to download the entire hard drive. It takes an uncomfortably long time--there must be an entire megabyte of data on here, maybe two. All the while Goris breathes like a normal sleeping Deathclaw should.
Yes, you'd read this on the way. You aren't betraying someone's trust, simply checking up on their story. Hopefully that story is in this data, too.
Finally the Pip-Boy beeps finished. You clear the terminal of any activity and log out. You slowly climb the ladder down and replace it where it was on the floor. You stand still for a moment, letting your eyes readjust to the darkness of the cave. Staring at the terminal screen for so long robbed you of your night vision. When it comes back, you walk to your pack, recline on your back and try to will your heart to calm down enough to sleep.
***
You wake when your body tells you there's a Deathclaw walking about the chamber, and sit up immediately. You switch your light on. As soon as you do, Goris turns and faces you. His hands are in front of him, but when he notices you're awake, he folds them at his side.
"It's 0700. I suggest you get started. As promised, take any weapons here you can use. Ammunition is a little harder to come by, but you'll find all I've collected in the cabinet."
Goris walks to the lantern and switches it on. A courtesy for you, no doubt. You switch your light off and slowly stand up.
"I actually wish you could stay longer," Goris says from the far side of the cave. "I haven't had a visitor in years. Without someone with whom to share my research, it means very little. But it will mean even less if I die and my entire species dies with me. Please hurry. The sooner you speak to the scientist, the better."
"I have one last question."
"Yes?" Goris now turns around and faces you from across the chamber.
"This is pretty far-fetched stuff. How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"A Deathclaw talking to you and letting you spend the night in his cave isn't enough?"
"Well, it's just... I know nothing about you."
"You have my database. You'll read my kind's entire story in there."
You say nothing.
"I know you downloaded it last night," Goris continues. "Of course you would. I encourage you to read all of it. My research is in there, as well as a detailed journal. The story of my clan is in there somewhere, as well as the tribal I told you about. Then I encourage you to ask Marcus about me. He'll have many stories of those days that will corroborate what I've told you."
You stare. "You know Marcus?"
"Ask him. We had a lot in common, being abominations shot on sight. He'll give you the details."
"I will. Why didn't you just give me the database from the beginning?"
"I don't just give my work to anyone, only to those who won't misinterpret it. You took the initiative to learn more about me instead of mindlessly doing what you were told. From my experience, that shows you are better than the average human. You're not just a mindless grunt scraping a life out of the refuse. You want to know more. You may actually understand what my research means to the world. Maybe even deserve the complete database when you return."
You're speechless for several seconds. "I thought I was being sneaky."
"You heard my breathing, you saw my posture and thought I was asleep. Humans are prone to this, I've discovered."
"Huh?"
"I was being facetious," Goris says. "Apologies. I lack the ability to give off any outward signs of it. I meant that in the Vault, I observed humans and Deathclaws side by side. I noticed humans misinterpret their senses a lot. They'll hear and see things and come to the wrong conclusion. One woman swore her bed was infested with fleas. She kept insisting she felt them crawling on her at night, and all through the day. But there were no fleas, she was just paranoid. Her senses told her something, and she came to the wrong conclusion.
"The Deathclaws in my clan, however, knew exactly what their senses were telling them, and could articulate it in speech as well. The ones with high enough intelligence, that is. Some of the less intelligent members of my species were prone to those same lapses in understanding. The conclusion I drew was the brightest human was equal in intelligence to the dimmest Deathclaw."
"Uh..." You blink. "Was that meant to be funny, too?"
"Great breakthroughs in research are always funny. It's how one knows when one has discovered something profound."
You don't know what to say.
"Safe journey. Please say hello to Marcus for me."
You nod. "I'll come back as soon as I can."
***
August 6, 2238
This is my first personal entry. My name is Goris. I'm a Deathclaw. To whomever finds this, I urge you to believe what I'm about to tell you. It may be the only record of what has happened. Typing at terminals is cumbersome and difficult for me, so I will be brief...
Goris's journal was easy to find. He must have made sure of that. Early entries recount the history of the Vault 13 Deathclaws and their extermination. He memorializes each one of them with a detailed biography. Dar, Valdis, Kerith... Many names, each has a story to tell. You can tell from the Robco timestamps that portions were amended at later dates, filling in gaps as Goris remembered them. He speaks very highly of Gruthar, the Deathclaw who led them out of Enclave imprisonment.
After Goris finishes recalling the events of the past, he shifts focus to the problems of the present. He's taken up shelter in an abandoned house, remaining here only to use the terminal to record this information. He's just left Arroyo after several years living with the tribals.
September 1, 2238
For my entire life up until now, I have savored the indulgence of intellectual pursuits. Cultural research mostly. The development of the human race fascinates me. Looking at where mankind was and where it is now, it's astounding to ponder the chain of events that led to its current state. On what path was my kind walking? It was my hope that my research would lead to decisions and community rules to avoid such mistakes made by mankind, but now that I am the last of my race, all of that seems trivial.
I left Arroyo because I realized I have another purpose. I am obligated to pass on my genes to new generations. In time, these genes could raise Deathclaws out of their animalistic ways. Now is not the time for purely intellectual pursuits. Ironic. All the intelligence the FEV gave us does not suspend the need for the most basic task of all. Reproduction.
Journal entries are separated by gaps of many months. According to the terminal codes, each entry was written at a different terminal. Goris did not take one with him, only a disc. He wrote whenever he came to an active consol on his travels. The next entry isn't until December.
I set out on a long path to find more of my kind. I came to a clan and fought my way inside. It wasn't difficult to challenge the alpha for supremacy. I'd forgotten what it was like to use my claws to draw blood.
Thinking back on it, I'm surprised by how little fear I actually felt. I knew I could take him because I had something he didn't. I studied Deathclaws in great detail. He was predictable. His attacks were easy to guess, and taking him down was no problem at all. The females were mine.
I'm still with them. I lead us to an pre-war town and found this terminal still in operation in one of the buildings. They're asleep. My females and the submissive males.
I didn't think I had it in me. I never once saw myself as an alpha. I never once considered I may want to have eggs. Under Gruthar, I had no such desire. Now it's incredibly rewarding to be in this position. Every egg in the clan, all thirty-nine of them, is mine. Mine. Amazing.
July 30, 2239
Something is wrong. Two clutches spread out over six months. Not a single egg hatched.
August 9, 2239
Something is very wrong. Another clutch of eggs. Six females bore them. Only a single egg hatched, and that eggling was so misshapen it couldn't walk. The other members of the clan rejected the hatchling immediately. Even the mother wanted nothing to do with it. I was the only one who tried to help it survive. I knew it was hopeless. It was born without eyes and only one arm, but I had to make it work. This was the only success I'd had in a year! The only egg of mine to survive! It had to survive and I was going to make it live. But it only lasted a day. My effort to help it only prolonged its suffering. I feel horrible calling the hatchling an it, but that is the literal truth. It smelled like neither male nor female. I suspect it was born without reproductive organs as well. This lack of scent was what probably drove the others away from it. I have never felt so defeated.
January 12, 2240
I've found another terminal in an abandoned military complex. Amazing how these terminals are still operating after two centuries. I'll say this for Robco. Their goal of engineering equipment to survive a nuclear war was justified. Without it I wouldn't be able to keep a record of this.
I must have fathered a hundred eggs over this last year, and not a single one survived. In fact, only one egg hatched.
In my grief and disappointment I let my guard down, and a submissive male took the opportunity to oust me from the clan. Thus, overnight I've gone from alpha male to outcast. I gained a lot of information on Deathclaws, but ultimately failed to pass on my genes.
You break from the journal and glance at the research section. Sure enough, there are field reports on Deathclaws. It is mostly behavioral observations, and it's curiously short. You suspect some of it is missing, and a few notes confirm this. The information here is merely an implication that the information exists, but wasn't contained on that terminal.
By now you've been heading in the direction of Jacobstown for over a week. Goris wasn't kidding when he said carrying this carcass would draw attention. You've seen more Geckos, wolves and Nightstalkers in the last week than you've seen in the last year. Now you're glad you took Goris up on his offer for the weapons. The flamethrower alone is worth its weight in caps. What it can't take down, the laser rifle can. You don't have much experience with energy weapons, but you can see why they earn such high praise.
The journey is long and lonely, but you're used to it. You haven't seen a single human being since you left the Mojave. Goris, oddly enough, was the closest you've come to meeting a person in that time.
You have Goris's journal and database to pass the time. You can only read it when you settle down for a night's rest, and it's worth the wait. His account of his life is difficult to follow. He describes very little, but somehow his choice of words combined with the weight of the events he relates have incredible impact on the imagination.
Entire years go by without a single entry. The year 2242 is summed up in a single sentence.
I failed again.
As the years go by, Goris descends into anger and depression. He tries again and again to have eggs, but each time ends in the same result. He dismisses the setbacks as a problem with the ferals due to radiation exposure. He keeps traveling to find new clans of Deathclaws. He never has trouble inserting himself as alpha. The females are always his, but the eggs are always duds.
September 2, 2243
It keeps going wrong! The ferals are messing everything up! I'm trying to help them! What I have can change their entire species! I can take them from mindless beasts to scholars if only the eggs would hatch! If only I could find a clan that can handle it!
They keep dying! They keep failing me!
November 19, 2244
They're dead. This time I killed them. Worthless creatures, all of them. My DNA dies within them. Their fault. No use for them.
Goris goes on like this for years, blaming the Deathclaws. It's not until more recent entries that he finally comes back to himself. He returns to his scholarly mindset and analyzes the situation from a more objective point of view. After so many failed attempts, he finally comes to realize there has only been one common denominator through it all. Himself.
He begins to wonder if the FEV made him sterile. He knows this is not true; Gruthar conceived many eggs. At the beginning of the year 2261 he writes:
Our vault was destroyed before any of them had the chance to hatch. Were we all sterile? Would those eggs have hatched at all? Was our entire species doomed from the beginning?
I am an albino. I've always known this. Could I have the bad luck to suffer a secondary mutation that made only me sterile? Would this have happened had I tried to bear young in Vault 13?
This is a possibility I had not considered, and it's taken me this long to come to terms with it. It may very well be that my life's work is a wasted effort. My species' legacy shall be a tragedy in the most classical sense. It would be poetic if I weren't living it.
Goris calms down from now on. He enters fewer clans, instead observes them. Looks for evidence of innate intelligence in other Deathclaw populations. He begins to single out certain females to try instead, and over the next few years has eggs exclusively with them. Same result. The journal now becomes longwinded lamentations. Years and years of it.
February 4, 2265
Deathclaws attack humans on sight. I can't determine why they have this instantaneous reaction. Most animals simply ignore them, and I myself have no desire to attack, so what makes the Deathclaws so aggressive?
I deduced the most intelligent Deathclaws may be the least aggressive ones, and have spent years singling out those females. My hope was my DNA may be more compatible with them, but this theory is not holding up. Failure after failure.
We lived in peace with humans once. We can do so again. What would the wasteland be like if Deathclaws were helpful instead of monsters? It would benefit everyone. I've heard travelers say the only thing standing in the way of mankind rebuilding is the wilderness that constantly keeps it oppressed. Deathclaws are the most dangerous animals out there. What if they started helping instead of killing on sight? The world would change! It's what my clan hoped to achieve. Not just a society for itself, but a society that could bring the world out of this nuclear Dark Age. Given enough time, I believe it would have been possible, and I wanted to guide its development. I enjoyed believing I was alive for the beginning of a new era. Now it's gone. The clan is dead. So are my eggs. The world will languish at the mercy of nature because of the Enclave. Because of my failure.
On and on it goes. You are nearly finished reading the entire journal when you spy the wooden buildings of Jacobstown ahead. From talking Deathclaws to peaceful Super Mutants. Life is never dull.
It's cold up here. Much colder than you're used to. You're eager to get inside and you run for the large guesthouse. Super Mutants and Nightkin walk the grounds. They notice you, but do not otherwise acknowledge you. You're tempted to chew out Marcus for giving you that false lead, but decide against it. Marcus merely repeated what he heard. It was your decision to pursue it. Besides, if you hadn't followed his advice, you wouldn't have met Goris. You like to think there's purpose behind coincidence, but experience has taught you otherwise.
You open the double doors and enter the hotel. It's a classic wooden structure. Elegant in a rugged kind of way. Two massive staircases on either side of the lobby desk leading up to the rooms on the upper floor. Off to the right is where Doctor Henry set up his lab.
You stroll in and stand at the door. Doctor Henry is sitting at his terminal.
"Welcome back," says the doctor without turning to look at you. "Did you find what you were looking for out west?"
"No," you say, "something even more incredible."
"Do tell."
"You said you were in the Enclave, correct?"
"That's right. Once upon a time."
"Can you tell me anything about the intelligent Deathclaw project?"
Doctor Henry looks up from his terminal and turns around in his chair. He meets your eyes.
"Got a couple hours?" you say, taking off your pack.
***
"That's quite a story," Doctor Henry had said. He wasn't directly involved in that project, but he heard a lot about it. The commander was pissed off when they escaped, and ordered their immediate extermination.
You asked him why, and the good doctor replied it was to ensure they would not return and strike against the Enclave. For all they knew, those creatures would try to ally themselves with the Enclave's enemies. They knew a great deal about the base and Enclave operations, which made them a security risk.
"And one of them is still alive?"
After listening to your story, he becomes much more interested. Though he's busy with his research on the Nightkin's condition, he is willing to take a look. He missed his opportunity to be part of the Deathclaw project once, so now is his chance to look for himself at the Enclave's handiwork.
"But the research will take time," he told you.
No problem. You're willing to wait. You take up residence in the hotel. There are plenty of empty beds and it's nice to sleep with a roof over your head again. Keeping company with the Nightkin and Super Mutants isn't nearly as nerve-racking as sleeping in the same cave with a couple Deathclaws.
It's now the first week since you arrived. You've been talking with Marcus about Goris and the tribal. Now he is much more interested in telling you all about the tribal. At night, you busy yourself with more of Goris's journal and research. His last entry is nine months ago.
_Made contact with a caravan last night. I didn't reveal myself. I only presented what I had to trade. That earned their trust. We had a dialogue from then on. I conversed with them from behind a boulder, threatening to revoke the trade if they broke the agreement and came around to look at me. They had come from the Mojave. I asked them what the land was like out east. _
Terrible, from what they tell me. There are multiple groups of people fighting for control of Hoover Dam. War was brewing, and all it would take is a spark to set it off. I've decided not to travel any farther east. What's the point? A Deathclaw is a Deathclaw, and the results will be the same no matter who I breed with. My new partner, an orphan female, has laid a clutch. I don't look forward to seeing the results.
I have wasted my years clinging to false hope that if I keep trying, eventually I will succeed. I should have realized long ago that repeating the same experiment over and over will yield the same results, but I was hoping something would change. Now I accept this problem is beyond my knowledge.
I related all of this to the people in the caravan, cryptic about who I am and revealing few details. But I did mention I am a product of the FEV. One of them mentioned a scientist living out east who had extensive knowledge of FEV mutations. He offered to tell me more in exchange for another power cell.
This Doctor Henry in Jacobstown sounds exactly like the kind of person I need to consult. Former Enclave though. I would normally never consider asking him for help. For all I know he ordered the extermination of my clan. I am, however, desperate. I'll try anything. Even asking my enemy for help.
The rest of the database you downloaded contains some details about his research. Much of it was written on a Vault terminal and copied to disc. Goris kept meticulous observations of the humans living in the Vault, as well as many of the people he met on his travels with the tribal.
The conclusions he comes to are insightful. At first you resist, but then you come to realize exactly what these research observations actually are. They are a portrait of mankind from the perspective of a nonhuman. It is something that has never been done before, but just as the observations become interesting, they stop. They make you hungry to read the entire thing. At first you were not sure if you were ever going to return to that cave, but now you know for certain that you will, if for no other reason than to read the rest of Goris's work.
By the time you read the entire download, two more weeks have gone by. You stop to check in on Doctor Henry periodically, but he refuses to speak about the subject very much until he has reached a final conclusion.
You speak to Marcus more about Goris and the tribal while you wait. Everything Marcus tells you matches what Goris said, and what he recorded in his journal. Marcus really did know the Deathclaw, back when he was small enough to cover himself with a robe and walk straight into cities. He jokes they used to pass him off as a deformed man who preferred to hide his appearance rather than face ridicule.
"We walked into New Reno that way," Marcus laughs. "Goris gambled at a few tables in that robe. Our friend did the hands-on stuff with the dealers, but Goris called all the shots. Made quite a bit of money, too. I remember he was thrilled to get out and see the world. Often he'd just crouch in a corner and watch people. At the casinos, in the streets. He enjoyed observing them..."
He tells story after story of their journey to the Enclave oil rig, and what happened after its destruction. The tribal offered Marcus to stay in Arroyo, too, but Marcus didn't feel comfortable around so many humans. He returned to Broken Hills until the ore was gone and forced him to abandon it and search for new prospects. He always wondered what happened to that Deathclaw, and is thrilled to know Goris is still out there. He wishes he could make the trip out to see him, but Marcus fears if he leaves, all hell will break loose between the Super Mutants here in Jacobstown.
By the time Marcus relates all his stories, another week has gone by. Doctor Henry summons you. You walk to his lab. As soon as you enter, he closes the door behind you and sits down at a table. You sit across from him.
"I completed the analysis of the samples you brought me," he says. "Everything from dissecting the Deathclaw corpse, chemical analysis of the egg, comparison of the blood samples. I cross-referenced everything to the semen samples as well. I've triple confirmed my original hypothesis based on the story you told. The Enclave did more than merely tweak the Deathclaw genome. They created an entirely new species."
You blink. "So... Goris is technically not a Deathclaw?"
"That's right. His genetic code is just different enough to prevent interbreeding with the wild population. It explains the stillbirths--for lack of a better word--and the deformities. I suspect this was an intentional measure by the Enclave to keep the FEV Deathclaws from doing what Goris tried to do."
"Oh God..."
"Is something the matter? You look devastated."
"I've been reading his database. Marcus actually knew him, and I've been talking with him a lot about what happened. Goris has led an incredible life. His research into human culture is unlike anything I've heard. This is quite a blow. Was there a possibility his clan would have been able to reproduce?"
"It's difficult to be sure, but I'd say it's very likely. Had the Enclave not destroyed that nest, we may very well have to deal with yet another faction vying for control of land. Legion to the east, Deathclaws to the west. Hard to imagine things could be worse. Ironic that the Enclave made the right decision."
"The right decision? Doctor, they murdered an entire species! All because they were a security risk!"
"Like I said, I wasn't directly involved in it, but I did know a lot of people who were. It wasn't just security. The Enclave was afraid the Deathclaws would breed, growing into a real threat not just to the Enclave, but everyone."
"I don't think they would have been a threat. They were a thinking people. They lived in peace with many humans in Vault 13. It was their goal to cooperate with them for many years to come."
"That's very idealistic, but nobody would have trusted them. First sign of hostility, they would adopt a position of aggression, and before you know it they're the new Legion."
You don't want to press the issue. You change the subject. "Is it possible for Goris to reproduce at all?"
"There is a chance," says the doctor. "If he had the right knowledge and equipment, he could take a feral Deathclaw embryo, resequence its DNA to add a few specific strands, and that would create a new member of his species. He would have to do this over and over until a varied enough population existed to reproduce naturally. Even then there'd be no guarantee his race would survive naturally. It might only survive by these artificial means."
"How?"
"I can't say."
"Why not?"
"If he had the knowledge, he would succeed, and I will not help a new race of Deathclaws overrun the land. One species of them is bad enough. If I give this one an edge, it would force mankind into extinction. The Enclave was right to destroy them."
"That's ridiculous! They won't exterminate the human race! Talk to Marcus! Read his database for yourself! Goris isn't bent on world conquest. He only wants his race to live on."
"What if a Super Mutant asked you to mass produce a serum that would change any human being into a Super Mutant? Say he told you he had peaceful intentions, that he wanted his species to reproduce freely because he was afraid it would die off and he would only use it on those willing to make the change. You'd laugh in his face. Marcus is a nice person, but you know what Super Mutants are like, and the last thing the world needs is for Super Mutants to reproduce. This isn't much different."
Doctor Henry slides the chair back and stands up.
"What should I tell Goris?" you say, still sitting. "That the Enclave still wants his species dead? That the only man in the world who can help him won't because he's afraid he'll use the research to build an army in a hundred years? That's not who he is, or what his clan wanted to be!"
"They're Deathclaws. You tell me what they're going to do when they realize they're superior to us. Are they more likely to cooperate with us out of the kindness of their hearts, or are they more likely to realize it's easier to push us to the fringe because we can't stop them?"
"They haven't even had a chance."
"And I won't take that chance."
Doctor Henry walks to the door and opens it. He walks back to his workstation and types away. You sit at the table and think about it.
***
The lock on Doctor Henry's lab door is easy enough to pick. You wonder why he bothers locking it. If a Super Mutant really wanted to get in here, a door isn't going to stop him. Perhaps it's more psychological security than anything. A few turns of the lock, and you're in. You close the door behind you and walk as quietly as you can to the terminal.
This terminal is much more difficult to hack than Goris's. Perhaps it means Doctor Henry really does not want people looking at what's on here. Still, you've hacked enough of these things in your life. You're sure you can breach it.
It takes ten minutes, but you find the password. You're tempted to download the entire thing, but that would likely take too long. You search for his records of the Deathclaw research. It's not difficult to find, as it's the only section that's labeled and separated from everything else.
You navigate the menus and come to his research notes. It's a chronological list of everything he learns, from the day he told you about Goris, through the dissection of the corpse, the egg, the comparisons of the blood samples. He's isolated the genes which make Goris a unique species apart from Deathclaws. These are the DNA sequences that make Goris more than a mere Deathclaw, and they are the sequences that he must pass on if a race of intelligent Deathclaws is to live. Doctor Henry outlines a basic process to make this work. It's way beyond you, but maybe Goris will understand it and figure out a way to pull it off.
You download his Deathclaw research, log out of the terminal and wipe records of any information that's been copied.
The journey back is long and lonely, but at least you don't have forty pounds of Deathclaw samples weighing you down this time. You also know where you're going, so you arrive in record time.
You stand at the cave entrance, peering into the darkness. You wonder how you're supposed to meet him. Do you just go in? What if Goris isn't there? What if the mother is up and walking around?
You sit at the entrance and wait. You doze off.
Hours later you wake up to claws lightly brushing your chest. You awake with a start. Goris stands before you, backlit by the setting sun.
"I knew you'd return. You have word from the Enclave scientist I hope?"
You sigh.
***
You're leaning against the wall in Goris's den. In the harsh light of the electric lamp on the far wall, Goris stands at his terminal pouring over the data you gave him.
"I think he expected me to steal his research," you say. "I don't know why he didn't post a guard to stop me. Maybe he just didn't want any violence. Or maybe he doesn't think you'll actually be able to pull it off. I was hoping you could tell me."
Goris doesn't answer. You take it as a sign to stop talking and let him look at the computer. You want to ask Goris what happened to his partner. She is nowhere in the cave, and the eggs are abandoned, still unhatched, but not crushed either.
A good hour passes in silence except for Goris tapping around on the terminal. You make use of a few of the spare weapons, using their parts to repair your weapons. Goris doesn't stop you, and you figure you've earned it.
A couple more hours later, Goris steps away from the terminal. He keeps his hands in front of him and slowly stalks to his corner, which is clean of all debris. His bed.
"Is it good?" you ask.
Goris sighs and lies down. "It is not what I expected, but his findings match my experience. He is correct. And now... I don't know what I should do."
You set down your repair work and stand up, facing Goris. Now that he's lying down he's about at your eye level.
"Can I ask you a blunt question?"
"Of course."
"Is Doctor Henry right? If your kind could reproduce, would it push humans to extinction?"
Goris regards you for a moment. His hard face betrays nothing of what is going on behind his eyes.
"Like he said, if Super Mutants could reproduce, it would be hell on earth. There would be swarms of them choking out human settlements. I understand his unease helping my race do the same, intelligent or not. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't possible.
"One thing I noticed in men is brawn and brain tend to be mutually exclusive. Not always, but often. For my clan, however, muscle and intelligence went hand in hand. No matter how you look at it, that made my kind far superior to yours.
"But we still coexisted with men. How long would that have lasted, I'll never know, but I like to think my research would have kept us from going down the path Doctor Henry feared. We were far more concerned with building a society of our own. Can't do that if you're at war with everyone you meet. Peace and cooperation are more beneficial."
"The Great Khans were peaceful once until the NCR pissed them off," you say. "Maybe in a few generations, the ideals would be lost. Your clan would realize they didn't have to be at peace anymore. Destroying your enemies would be easier than cooperating."
"The human race was free to choose that path for itself. My clan deserved the same chance."
"So there's no way to tell?"
"You want me to say you made the right choice?"
"It would be nice."
"Sometimes decisions are neither right nor wrong. They just are. Thank you for delivering that package for me. I've unlocked the rest of my database on the terminal. You may download the entire thing now. There's over four megabytes of data in there."
"I look forward to reading all of it."
"I encourage you to pass it on to everyone who can appreciate it. There's still a real possibility it will be the only thing I leave behind."
"What will you do now?"
"My partner abandoned me weeks ago. I won't stay here. There's no reason to now. I think my only course is to find someone who can help me carry out Doctor Henry's procedure."
"Won't that mean going into cities?"
"I have ways to recruit messengers."
You smile. "There's still hope then."
"It's a slim chance. But... Recently, I accept my kind may be doomed. My research will live on, and I can be content with that."
You nod, grab a ladder and climb up to the terminal. It's unlocked, and the visible data has tripled. You delete Goris's database on your Pip-Boy and download the new one from the terminal.
"I talked to Marcus. He remembers you."
"Does he?" Goris says, rising slightly. "How is he?"
You look down at him from atop the ladder while the Pip-Boy downloads and tell him what Marcus has been up to. Goris fills in some details Marcus left out, and tells a few stories about Marcus that the Super Mutant probably wouldn't want you to hear. They did get along back then, two products of the FEV trying to stay alive. It makes Goris wish he hadn't lost touch with him.
"What about you?" Goris says. "Are you still looking for the man who shot you?"
"Yeah... Though after hearing your story, it seems pretty small. What's a poker chip compared to the death of an entire species?"
"Don't be so sure. You may be right. If that chip was worth your life to someone, it's probably worth a lot more than just money. Something greater could be at stake."
"Or I could be wasting my life..."
"I would want to know what was so important about it, as well."
The download finishes. You step down the ladder and face Goris again.
"Give special attention to the entire section on Deathclaws," Goris says. "I have more information on their culture and behavior than anyone in the wastes. It might be useful in learning how to handle them."
"Practical knowledge at last," you chuckle and look around aimlessly for a moment. "You know I could take you back to Jacobstown. You could see Marcus again. The whole place was talking about you when I left, so I'm sure you won't be shot now."
"I'm tempted. But there's no one in Jacobstown who will help me."
"Maybe someone near New Vegas could. A lot of scientists, old military bases. Might be something there you could use."
"Thank you for the offer. But the problem remains. I'm a Deathclaw. Nobody will want me in their city, even if I have an escort. I've tried it before. It never works. There are too many settlements down there from what I hear. I'll never find peace."
"I'm sure we could work something out. Find a scientist who can help, set you up somewhere. Win people's trust eventually."
"Very idealistic..."
"If your kind is doomed to die, at least a lot of people will remember you. Out there in the wastes, you'll just become a tall tail around a campfire. Join a city, tell your story, you'll have an entire city vouching for you."
Goris thinks about this for a while. "Tell you what," he says, "if I hear things calm down by Hoover dam, I'll drop by. Maybe I'll find you again and take you up on your offer. Until then I think I'll head back west. I know the area. I'm sure I can find someone who will help me. Or I may try to accomplish the procedure myself."
"I'm heading east again," you say. "I promise to keep your research in good hands. Starting with Doctor Henry."
"I think he'll enjoy it." Goris looks around. "Well, whatever you see here is yours now. I will take nothing with me but a disc of everything on the terminal. I will leave it active, in case anyone stumbles upon it someday. Rest here as long as you please."
"Thanks," you say.
Goris lays his head down and closes his eyes. You pick a spot on the ground and lie down. It's been a difficult journey and you're glad it's over. When you wake up, Goris isn't here. You feel a little put off he didn't even say goodbye, but maybe it's for the best. Goodbye implies finality, and nothing is ever that clean.
For now, you have a chamber full of weapons all to yourself, a database to pour over, and a cave that reeks of Deathclaw scent which no man or animal will dare enter. You can already think of several people who would be able to appreciate Goris's story, and his research. You make a note in your Pip-Boy to visit those places and pass on his legacy.