She had crossed into Utah several days ago, but the new landscape didn't make her move faster. Andy the ex-Courier and now mother of a one-year-old and President of the New Vegas Republic, was taking a vacation. And for her, vacation translated into trekking alone into Utah in search of a legend, one she'd met before, one she'd watched plant an axe into the skull of Caesar. She knew who he was. A part of her knew it when he spoke and his blue eyes made her feel more fear than she'd known in her amnesia-shortened adult life.

He gave her an axe and departed to his home-what used to be her home, as well. And though many people would have been content to leave the past behind and sit on the throne of Vegas, Andy was not. She had questions, she wanted to speak to the Burned Man again about everything. Her world was put together perfectly, for all its flaws and rads and chems and heartaches. But now she had a son, one who would grow up in a cocoon of Vegas, and family was something that haunted her. How could she simply go on knowing that she had another family member only a state away?

Utah was much more of a wilderness than Nevada. The caverns and canyons allowed for a vast amount of wildlife that the flat and hilly Nevada couldn't hide or protect. She slept with one eye open, but it barely did her any good-Andy was attacked by a Nightstalker while sleeping, and had to spend the next morning puking in a creek to get the poison out of her system. Spying an abandoned gas station a few miles down the road, Andy cautiously approached, hoping to raid for some snacks. Or water. Something was better than nothing.

It had been threatening to rain again; most of the trip was light showers, but she saw boot prints around the perimeter of the building. They went inside. Andy holstered the .45 she carried and shrugged the axe over her shoulder, gripping the handle in both hands. She moved closer and nudged the centuries-old metal door with her foot. The door creaked open, and she peered into the dark room, eyes not adjusting quickly enough. Suddenly, a machete whizzed past her head and she barely threw the axe up in time to miss it; the blade dinged off the wooden axe handle and Andy now backed up as someone torpedoed out of the blackness. She didn't move far enough out of the way, and the attacker succeeded in tackling her and having both of them roll ten feet away from the door, getting covered in mud.

Right then, the sky sounded with thunder and the rain broke. In the downpour, Andy struggled to see her attacker, but then it was obvious; a large and wide figure pushed itself up on top of her, pinning her by the arms with his knees, and his fist was drawn back. In the tumble they'd both gotten their faces marred with dirt, but even then he was recognizable.

"Silus?"

He fumbled, lowering the fist and sitting back on his haunches. He was actually speechless for once. But for all the sentiment, Silus was still crushing her chest and arms. She wriggled uncomfortably, and this seemed to snap Silus out of his dumbfoundedness. He leaned forward again and put a black-gloved hand to her throat. Both squinted in the heavy rain, and he growled, "What are you doing here?"

"I think….you know," she gasped, and he let her windpipe go. Rather mysteriously, Silus said begrudgingly, "He said you might eventually come."

Now he stood, shaking water and mud from his shaggy black hair, and Andy very painfully got to her feet again. She rubbed her hip and eyed the ex-Centurion. His once-red and silver armor was replaced with some strange, black armor, a type Andy had never seen in Vegas. It looked new and fit him well. He also wore black boots and gloves, and a black trench that resembled the dusters worn by NCR Rangers. No helmet was on his head, and his black, thick hair was plastered to the sides of his face.
He wrinkled his nose at her calculating stare. "What."

"You're working for the Burned Man," she said incredulously. "Wow. You left the Legion and went to the ex-Legate."

Silus took a rather defensive stance and put up a finger. There were daggers in his eyes. "Don't you dare. I work for Joshua Graham. I went to him after your attack on the Fort. He gave me sanctuary here in exchange for training the tribals how to fight. These are Graham's lands, this is his territory, and if you want to get killed quickly, call him ex-Legate again."

Now she was pissed. Was Silus-SILUS-of all people being self-righteous and sticking up for Joshua Graham? The Malpais Legate, the man responsible for more damage than Caesar himself ever imagined? The man who had killed her mother, tried to kill her? Several times? And Silus, who cared about no one but himself, and was sickened with Caesar, was STICKING UP for his right-hand man?

"You do know who he is, and who I am," she countered dully, putting her wrist on her handgun grip.

"I know who he is, I served under him," Silus snapped, not intimidated by her threat of weapons. He rounded on her, narrowing his icy green eyes. "I know him better than you think. As for you." Now he sniffed. "If you didn't want to see him you wouldn't have come. He gave me orders to escort you if and when you ever did show. So stop acting like the brainless worm you are, or I won't help him or you."

"Why is he expecting me?"

Silus shook his head and turned away, waving a gloved hand at her as though she were a smelly insect. He re-entered the gas station, presumably to forage for more food, and left the courier looking a little defeated, standing in the rain next to a canyon pass on I-80.