Sorry, wrong number.
They all recognised the face, except for Cassidy. Well the lack of face, covered by a steel helmet with thick tubes curving backwards over the top like demon horns and opaque yellow lenses where eyes should be.
"...ENCLAVE here. Why isn't your video feed working?" the heavily filtered voice asked. It was by some stroke of luck the communication operator couldn't see who he was talking to.
Vic gestured to the others, silently urging someone to day something. Sativa remained quietly rooted to the spot with a look on her face the old trader recognised. It was not a look she often had, which worried him in no small amount.
Thinking quickly, Cassidy stepped up to the mic. "Uh, it's working just fine. I can see you."
"Who the hell is this?"
"Uh, this is..." He made some random static noises, "...caau, rit, sss, pu- ...ear me. Over."
"Try the gain," the operator suggested, sounding like someone who had to put up the technologically-impaired all damn day.
Vic shrugged at Cassidy, mouthing, just keep talking.
"There, that should do it. Any better?"
"That didn't make a damn bit of difference. I'm still not gettin' a damn thing. Who are you?"
"Well, that's not unusual, is it?" Cassidy asked, dodging the question like the stinger of a Radscorpion. "Nothing works right anymore."
"Huh, ain't it the truth," the operator commiserated, warning, "Just don't let anyone who's got the President's ear hear that. You'll be making cattle-runs to New Reno 'til the end of time, pal."
Cassidy failed his witty retort check. "...the President?"
"Yeah, you know how unhappy he gets when people complain. He takes it personal, like it's a loyalty thing. Maybe that just goes with being the President of the United States... Or what's left of 'em."
"...The President of the United States?" He was kind of stuck on this.
"The President of the United-fucking-States-of-America," the operator repeated. "Who'd you think I was talking about?" He spluttered, "Who the fu - Who is - What - I should kick your fucking ass, who is this?"
This conversation wasn't going anywhere good. And if these ENCLAVE guys were able to track the source of the call somehow, it would only keep going south. "Uh, I better be going... Lots of work to do here... Goodbye!" Cassidy made frantic cut-the-damn-thing-off motions with his hand at Vic, who hurriedly killed the connection.
The aging bartender ran his palms back over his bald head as the screen shrank to black, muttering, "Holy shit. The President... the fuckin' President of the... what the hell's going on? And what's this Enclave shit about?"
"I'm not really sure," Vic replied. "But that helmet looked awfully familiar. Right, Sulik? Hey Boss, what do you - Boss?"
Sativa was no longer in the room.
It took them ten minutes to catch up with her, and another hour for her to come anywhere close to calm.
"...ENCLAVE here. Why isn't your video feed working?" the heavily filtered voice asked. It was by some stroke of luck the communication operator couldn't see who he was talking to.
Vic gestured to the others, silently urging someone to day something. Sativa remained quietly rooted to the spot with a look on her face the old trader recognised. It was not a look she often had, which worried him in no small amount.
Thinking quickly, Cassidy stepped up to the mic. "Uh, it's working just fine. I can see you."
"Who the hell is this?"
"Uh, this is..." He made some random static noises, "...caau, rit, sss, pu- ...ear me. Over."
"Try the gain," the operator suggested, sounding like someone who had to put up the technologically-impaired all damn day.
Vic shrugged at Cassidy, mouthing, just keep talking.
"There, that should do it. Any better?"
"That didn't make a damn bit of difference. I'm still not gettin' a damn thing. Who are you?"
"Well, that's not unusual, is it?" Cassidy asked, dodging the question like the stinger of a Radscorpion. "Nothing works right anymore."
"Huh, ain't it the truth," the operator commiserated, warning, "Just don't let anyone who's got the President's ear hear that. You'll be making cattle-runs to New Reno 'til the end of time, pal."
Cassidy failed his witty retort check. "...the President?"
"Yeah, you know how unhappy he gets when people complain. He takes it personal, like it's a loyalty thing. Maybe that just goes with being the President of the United States... Or what's left of 'em."
"...The President of the United States?" He was kind of stuck on this.
"The President of the United-fucking-States-of-America," the operator repeated. "Who'd you think I was talking about?" He spluttered, "Who the fu - Who is - What - I should kick your fucking ass, who is this?"
This conversation wasn't going anywhere good. And if these ENCLAVE guys were able to track the source of the call somehow, it would only keep going south. "Uh, I better be going... Lots of work to do here... Goodbye!" Cassidy made frantic cut-the-damn-thing-off motions with his hand at Vic, who hurriedly killed the connection.
The aging bartender ran his palms back over his bald head as the screen shrank to black, muttering, "Holy shit. The President... the fuckin' President of the... what the hell's going on? And what's this Enclave shit about?"
"I'm not really sure," Vic replied. "But that helmet looked awfully familiar. Right, Sulik? Hey Boss, what do you - Boss?"
Sativa was no longer in the room.
It took them ten minutes to catch up with her, and another hour for her to come anywhere close to calm.