Renegade

White Mesa Chronicles

Renegade

Kimia Wood

Dedication

To the only God, our Father, be glory, majesty, power, and authority – now and forevermore.

To every man who accepts the challenge of fatherhood – thank you.

Special thanks to Ben Smith, faithful beta reader, and my amazing family.

Copyright © Kimia Wood 2018

Cover image of Chicago skyline courtesy of Tyler Sichelski via Wikimedia Commons. No endorsement implied.

Title font used is Optiko (and variants), courtesy of JerakDurzan.

Table of Contents

1. Square Peg, Round Hole

2. A Long Shot

3. Trouble

4. Enter the Dragon

5. The Powers That Be

6. Breaking Stuff to Look Tough

7. Walk in the Woods

8. Baby Makes…Math Hard

9. En Passent

10. The Eye In the Sky

11. Love Forces Its Way

12. Corporate Ladder

13. Make Me An Offer

14. Before a Fall

15. HQ Helper

16. Cat and Mouse

17. Mom?

18. Grey

19. This Is the Way the World Ends

20. How to Make Friends…

21. …And Influence People

22. Punch Time

23. Shut Up and Get Behind Me…Sir

24. The Dark Below

25. Armory

26. Rock Anthem for Saving the World

About the Author

1 Square Peg, Round Hole

Ricco ground his teeth to keep himself quiet. The ring of heads-of-household stared at him like so many inquisitors, while Mr. Peter Grimthorpe droned on and on.

Most of what he was saying didn't have anything to do with Ricco's request. Grimthorpe wasn't chairman of the White Mesa Patriarch Council — why couldn't Mr. Hunts say anything? Ricco had thought Mr. Hunts a nice guy, when he was head of the security council. The least he could do now was stand up for a loyal militiaman.

It didn't look like Mr. Grimthorpe would need a breath anytime soon, so Ricco cleared his throat. Sir. Sir, I don't see what that has to do with –

Young man, may I remind you – Mr. Grimthorpe began.

Look, sir, I'm twenty-one and I don't need my parents to take care of me, Ricco said. I'm grown up, I've been around, I can handle myself.

Your father does not share that view, snapped Grimthorpe.

Ricco opened his mouth, and sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. He could tell them all what he thought of his father's opinions, but he couldn't afford to burn bridges right now.

Just let me try it out. If I set up on my own, and can't handle it, there'll be time enough then to –

Not to derail this discussion, interrupted his Uncle Admin. But where would you live?

I'll get a house – or something – somewhere – Ricco began.

Wouldn't it be prudent to consider this before you take the step of cutting ties with your family? demanded Captain Dempster (Ricco's former team commander – before he'd been booted from the entire militia through no fault of his own).

He won't let me talk to anyone, cried Ricco. Things had gotten very much out of hand. Couldn't they see he was stuck between two rocks?

There are very few, shall we say, vacant residences within White Mesa, said Mr. Hunts, with a cough.

Well, there must be someplace –

Oh, please, I hope you don't intend to propose expanding the border, yelped Mr. Grimthorpe.

I'd be better off – Ricco bit down on his tongue. Maybe he would be better off outside the fence, out in the waste, but it wouldn't help his case to say so.

These stupid, old men who didn't have anything better to do than sit in their safe, comfortable houses and meddle in his life.

I – I can handle myself on my own, Ricco said, struggling to keep his voice respectful. I don't care where I go – I'd live in a stable, if I have to. I just want the chance to –

Let us bear in mind, put in Mr. Hunts. That success in the militia scavenge teams does not translate to coordinating success in a homemaking environment.

Why don't you try me and see?!

Mr. McConnell cleared his throat. Mr. McConnell almost never spoke in council meetings – but he always backed up General Thaxton. And for some reason that Ricco couldn't understand, the general wasn't here today.

I'd like to direct your attentions to Genesis 2, he began. Where it's written, 'A man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife.' We all try to do our best by our children, but we must always be looking forward to the day they are grown up and leave to set up their own households and found their own families.

I don't remember a wife being mentioned in this case, said Captain Dempster. Has Ricco proposed to anyone?

Ricco clenched his hands behind his back, sure he was flushing. Had Mr. McConnell noticed that Ricco's visits to the McConnell farm seemed more focused around Rebecca than Ben? Ben McConnell had been his teammate and friend for years…but Rebecca was – Sheesh, she was the only girl he'd ever met who wanted a motorcycle…and would be able to service it herself if she got it. What could you say to that?

Ricco's dad – Reuben Dobson, the man who'd adopted him when he married his mother – was sitting forward in his chair, adjusting the front of his collar with one hand. If he has proposed to anyone, he's done it without my knowledge or consent.

What a way to hang his own kid out to dry. Ricco swallowed hard against the pressure building in his chest.

Unless a young lady is involved, I hardly think your comment applies to the situation, Paul – said Mr. Grimthorpe.

For pity's sake, answered Mr. McConnell. We're not going to pretend that nobody can move out or be responsible for their own affairs unless they marry!

Please remember – !

And if we get young people seeking marriage just to be free of their parents, how does that mesh with wanting parents to approve of and be on good terms with their children-in-law?

Mr. McConnell was on fire today. Why was Gen. Thaxton missing all this?

Paul McConnell! Please bear in mind –

I move to let this whole thing rest until the next meeting, called the head of the Jones clan, rising.

But that's next month, Ricco shot back.

Seems to me we're having a little bit of trouble all agreeing on this, Mr. Jones went on. I'd like to keep the whole thing as friendly and Christian as possible, so if we all just went home and did a little more thinkin' on it…

Besides, the frost has set in, said Captain Dempster. It wouldn't be a good time to move and set up a house anyway.

Especially in a barn. Uncle Admin trying to be ‘helpful.’

I second the motion, finished the captain.

All in favor? sighed Mr. Hunts.

But – !

You do not have a vote, young Dobson, said Mr. Grimthorpe's married son.

That's not my fault, Ricco hissed to himself.

A mumbling rippled around the square of assembled heads-of-household.

But – said Ricco.

We shall consider your petition at greater length, when we've all had time to ponder it further, said Mr. Hunts. Now –

If I may raise the issue of militia members' compensation, began Mr. Grimthorpe.

Oh, must we go into that again? exploded Colonel Milligan.

The head of the militia teams had kept quiet during Ricco's ordeal. Ricco – valued team member, one of the highest range scores in the group, and highly experienced agent for White Mesa – was on trial for his life, and the colonel hadn't said one word!

Come on; this stuff doesn't concern us, muttered Mr. Dobson, as he took Ricco's arm and led him toward the door.

All right, it wasn't exactly Ricco's life at risk. But ever since Ricco and his team's (unsanctioned) rescue mission in the city, Mr. Dobson had been laying down the law: Ricco was removed from the militia, all the farm chores suddenly fell on Ricco's shoulders, he'd been stopped twice from going to visit McConnell, even his best buddy Davis wasn't allowed to hang out except on Sundays… Basically, Ricco's whole life had been turned upside down.

…And I hope you've taken away some things to think about, to help you see how ridiculous this whole issue is, Mr. Dobson was saying.

Ricco drew a breath, and let it out. You don't really need my help around the place; I know that.

Now, his adoptive father began again.

Here it came: another hour-long lecture. Ricco could give these speeches as well as Dobson could, now — he'd heard enough of them.

Look, he said, pivoting around and crossing his arms as Mr. Dobson pulled on his coat. We – We're just stepping on each other all the time. Getting me out of the house will clear space for you – and – and you won't have to worry –

Ricco Marshal Dobson, sighed his father, handing him his jacket.

Ricco had heard a lot of his middle name the past few months. Perhaps more than in his whole previous life combined.

You have to understand, Dobson went on, That being your own master is a tremendous responsibility, and you must be mature enough –

I am mature!

You still interrupt like a –

And I do understand!

Ricco Mar–

You just won't give me a chance!

And you won't give me a chance to finish my sentences, snapped Mr. Dobson. Now, come along, your mother's expecting us. The barn could do with a thorough cleaning –

"We've cleaned it three times in the past week. And don't you think a responsible adult man should pay more attention to the business of the patriarch council –"

I trust your Great-Uncle Peter to know more about everything than we could understand, answered Dobson, shuffling him out the door and around the corner toward the garage where their wagon waited. And a responsible man doesn't meddle in things that aren't his business.

Then why is everybody is White Mesa so doggone interested in my business?

Mr. Dobson frowned. Mind your language, young man. I hope young McConnell hasn't been teaching you any city-er words.

Ricco grunted through his teeth. Oh, if I was going to learn city-er words, he muttered to himself. It would've been from the mugger I creamed in the New Republic.

"That's enough of that talk, gasped Mr. Dobson. Into the wagon with you. I'll drive."

Ricco slumped into his seat, his chest tight, his forehead burning. He couldn't even make Dobson mad enough to kick him out. Dobson wouldn't react like that – he'd just tighten the screws even further.

Ricco swallowed. He hadn't cried since that time when he was ten and dropped the plow-share on his foot so that it swelled up twice its normal size. When he'd fallen out of the tree at eleven didn't really count.

He wasn't a little kid. He was all grown up, and didn't deserve to be treated like this.

How had everything gone so wrong?

* * * *

2 A Long Shot

I just don't get it, Ricco said. He straightened from the gas-fueled generator and sighed. In the McConnells' garage, he could forget his frustrating and humiliating afternoon at the Patriarch Council. Or, the next best thing, talk it out of his system.

Ben McConnell shrugged, leaning against the generator housing. I mean, they're right about the weather thing. The ground's pretty hard right now. But, yeah, if you moved to a shack on the periphery, it'd give you and your dad both some space. He's probably just as fed up with it as you are.

Not with it, answered Ricco, giving the machine a final tweak and shutting the access panel. "Fed up with me."

The third man there – Mr. Pollock – ran a calloused hand through his greying hair. I'm sorry, but this whole situation's hard to imagine. For me.

Ricco rubbed his hands on a cloth and stood up. Mr. Pollock had been a city contact for White Mesa for years, even helping them from inside the New Republic. But since they'd extracted McConnell from the New Republic, and the scavenge teams had pulled back – closer to home – Pollock had decided to join his daughter here. At the McConnells', to be specific.

Hey, said McConnell. It's the first time Ricco's seen you since you got here, Mr. P. Tell him all about your trip in.

Well, if you won't be bored, smiled Mr. Pollock.

They trooped back into the kitchen, where Mrs. McConnell was baking more cookies. Mrs. McConnell was constantly baking something (and, no offense, but she looked it).

Well, leaving in winter wasn't my first choice, but I was tired of the… Mr. Pollock paused. Politics? Is that the word? I could pay my fee to the captain in charge of my street – the fee for my store, you see – I understood that. It was just like paying a gang for protection. But then this other Security captain wanted a fee, too. That's funny – he broke off with a chuckle. He looks a lot like you, Ricco. Why, now I come to think of it, he could be your –

Father? said Ricco.

Well, I suppose. Anyway – they're both Security. They should be the same team. But they each want to promote themselves…Politics. Well, I made my plan, gathered my supplies, and slipped the fence by going through the sewers. Almost no one thinks about them – the Greenparty say they're haunted, you know…

Mr. Pollock went on about his journey through the sewers.

Ricco munched a cookie and replayed words in his mind. He looks like you…could be your father. When he was little, his mother would talk about it from time to time – his birth father. The horrible man in the city who only cared about himself, that she'd run away from – toward the rumors of the Truckers…the journey that had brought her to White Mesa, and Mr. Dobson.

Don't push your friends. That's how they do it in the city; not here.

Shut your mouth. Gangsters yell mean things, but not us. Not Christians. Not White Mesa.

Mr. Pollock paused for a drink of milk. His daughter, Lucy, had joined them and stood behind his chair, arms around her father's neck.

Wait a minute, said McConnell. The lake road is Warrior turf – or it was a few months ago. How'd you pass on the surface?

Old Man Pollock smiled. The Warriors have vowed a blood-feud with the Bigshots, and headed west. So far, it seems, no one's moved in. Those blocks are like a dead zone.

That Security captain, said Ricco. Does he really look like me?

Hmm? Oh. Mr. Pollock cocked his head. Well, yes. The more I think about it, the more it strikes me.

McConnell chuckled. Whew. I forgot; you might have family out there, huh?

Ricco swallowed and nodded.

Mr. Pollock raised one eyebrow, saying nothing.

So your parents…You mean… Lucy Pollock began.

Ricco gave a single nod. You forgot, McConnell. My grandparents haven't, I don't think. Mr. Dobson hadn't. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the issue.

Hey, said McConnell, holding the cookie plate toward Ricco. I don't think it matters. Not to the people who count, anyway. Sheesh, Tommy's worried about genetic load – whatever that is. No reason we can't marry city-ers, as long as they're Christians.

Exactly, said Mr. Pollock.

Lucy turned red. Yeah. Wouldn't be any problem with Lucy and Thaxton marrying. But Ricco?

I guess, said Ricco. I've been here long enough, you'd think I'd be White Mesa by now.

I couldn't tell the difference, said Mr. Pollock.

McConnell drew a breath, watching the cookie in his own hand for a moment. I know you're worried about this conflict in your family. It's gotta be hard on all of you. I don't know what to tell you; my dad and I learned to speak the same language, so…

Ricco shook his head. I get it.

Mr. Pollock squeezed Lucy's hand and stood up. It's been good seeing you again, but perhaps I should turn in for the night. This soft life is turning me into a weak old man, and I get tired more easily.

That's Mom's cooking, said Ben. I guess it is getting kinda late.

Ricco looked at the kitchen clock. Isn't Rebecca usually back from – he began, and realized Mrs. McConnell was standing right there.

Should be back any minute, honey, she said, smiling, as she folded a towel into a drawer. Paul's driving them to and from choir tonight, so I'm not worried.

Ricco started to wipe his hands on his shirt, and grabbed a cloth napkin from the table instead. Mrs. McConnell was watching, after all.

Mr. Pollock and Lucy left, heading down the hall toward the den where Mr. Pollock was bunking for now. Lucy shared a room with Elizabeth, upstairs.

Eight-year-old Miriam waltzed in on tip-toes and gave everybody night-time kisses. Even Ricco.

He was giving the wrong impression. Dobson would never let him get married. Even if he would, he couldn't take a wife to a shack without plumbing –

So. Marrying city-ers, said Ben through a mouthful. Your dad can't be too opposed to it, since he did it himself.

If I could just be in the militia again. Ricco ran a hand through his hair. I need to be working with the team again. Then I could handle the days of lectures and chores better.

I can't imagine there's that much that needs to happen at your place. You've been pretty busy, keeping it up.

Ricco sighed. One of the horses has a sore foot. I'll check 'im again tonight when I go home. He just wants me to be a farmer, and I'm not a farmer! He thinks if I dig enough ditches and milk enough cows I'll turn into Grandpa Grimthorpe!

McConnell laughed. "Well, hang in there. The