III. Morning Light
Philip stood in the center of the tent at attention, waiting for the briefing to begin. Captain Sorensen entered through the flap and strode up to Philip. Philip immediately offered the salute that was required. Captain Sorensen returned the salute and told Philip he could stand at ease, which meant Philip could relax his frame somewhat. The man turned to a table set up near the edge of the tent and studied some papers there. He looked up after a few minutes and spoke.
"So you want to go chasing this signal, huh?"
"Yes sir." Philip had responded.
"We don't know anything about that region of the country. We have no intelligence there at all. There is no way to know what you would be walking into."
"I'm aware of the risks, sir."
"I doubt you are." Captain Sorensen had said. "You are a young officer looking to make a name for yourself and you think this is the way to make it happen. You'll get yourself killed is all."
"With all due respect, sir, I have no intentions of 'making a name for myself.' I simply want to serve the NCR and provide assistance in the cultivation of a new civilization in place of this devastation."
"Idealistic. I'll give you that." Sorensen had muttered.
"Maybe so. Look. I understand if you don't want to risk anyone else, but let me go, please."
"Why would I even risk letting you go? It is s-u-i-c-i-d-e. Do you hear me?"
"Then you leave me no choice. I hereby resign my commission in the New California Republic effectively immediately."
A look of shock had run across Captain Sorensen's face at this. "No look here, son…"
Philip had immediately dropped out of even the semblance of military decorum and was now standing as a regular citizen would, no longer in the military designation, at ease.
"You left me no choice. I am going to go check this signal out. It could be something amazing."
"But it is halfway across the country. We don't know how long the thing has been going or if who sent it is even still there."
"We just picked it up, and we've been monitoring those frequencies for months. I think they just began broadcasting."
"You are going to get yourself killed." Sorensen had said.
When he woke up in the morning his own batteries had failed and the transceiver was no longer operational. He picked up the small device and turned the knob to the off position and set it back inside his open pack nearby. He'd slept sitting up, which did not feel good on his back. I'll feel that all day long, Philip thought. The easy answer was a little shot of Med-X, but Philip knew first-hand how addictive those chems were – he'd seen many a man and woman completely destroy themselves due to a chem addiction, so he only used them in emergencies. Besides, he only had a couple of the hypodermic needles in his trauma pack, and he had no idea if those kind of chems would be available where he was headed, so he felt he needed to conserve his supplies as much as possible. He hadn't seen a traveling merchant or any other kind of merchant since he'd left the Plains Commonwealth. In fact, the old man in the burned out store had been the first sane face he'd seen in weeks.
He'd dealt with Raiders and such, but they were never friendly to talk to. I just can't imagine what makes a man turn so psychotic, he thought. However, he knew the answer to this query before he ever asked it. He'd witnessed it over and over again in the Mojave and the NCR before that. The reality was men didn't turn psychotic like that. Civilization helped them repress the psychotic tendencies that were always there. The promise of civilization was what drew him to the NCR in the first place. As a Ranger he was doing his part in restoring order to the wasteland. As a Ranger, he had helped to bring order to the Mojave wasteland and bring the Hoover Dam under the control of the NCR. He'd fought against Caesar's Legion and the other smaller factions in the Mojave and helped to create something of the old world there. Running water, electricity, agriculture, and a free flow of trade goods from the NCR through to New Vegas in the Mojave; all of these things had been brought back into existence because of the NCR.
But here! As he looked around the small building he'd spent the night in, he wondered if any civilization existed in this part of the world at all. Surely there had to be those, like the NCR, attempting to set up a working government and provide aid to the wasteland. He was convinced that was what the signal was about. Someone was doing something. I can't believe the whole world is as broken as what I see. The NCR has worked in the West. The Brotherhood of Steel is putting the Capital Wasteland back together. There has to be someone doing something in the Southeast. That has to be the reason for the signal and the call for help.
Philip stood up and checked the bandage on his arm. He could see blood seeping through the gauze, but it was in pretty good shape – all things considered. He considered redressing it, but decided if he got what he wanted from this Old Bagger character, he'd just have to do it again. He might as well wait. He put his riot armor back on and his duster as well. He made sure all his supplies were in order and then pulled a tin of beans out of his pack. He opened it carefully and scooped out the contents for a hurried breakfast.
Once he was done, he added the empty can to the debris in the floor and unbarred the door. As he stepped into the morning light he considered the stories he'd heard about the world of artificial lighting. He had never known a world where you didn't rise with the sun, but some told stories of sleeping past sunrise and staying up into the night watching stories on screens. We forgot the patterns of life and called it strength. We allowed ourselves to be lulled into a false sense of security by technological domination.
Once he was out in the daylight again he returned to the road where he'd fought the dog the previous day and resumed his trek across to the southern road the old man had told him about. It didn't take long to reach it. Standing at the intersection of the roads he could clearly see the storage yard where the old man had told him Old Bagger ran his business.
It was a structure of three buildings full of doors. A large fence ran around the entire complex – or as much of it as Philip could see – and had been reinforced by bits of sheet metal and even old vehicle frames. Looking to the left, he could see the remnants of a car lot – a location where the old world had once sold vehicles to ready consumers. The front of the trading station had a sign that looked like it had been pieced together from other, less appropriate signs. It read "Depot Supply – Buy Here, Pay Here." The word Depot was in large block-like red letters, while the word Supply was in a scripted blue type against a white background. The phrase, "buy here, pay here" was made of several individual letters in a slotted black frame.
There was a small opening near the road, but no guard standing there. Philip imagined there was someone standing watch behind the fence, though he couldn't see them. I'd have someone there anyway, he thought. Well, there's no use in waiting, Philip thought. He stepped forward into the street and approached the metal-clad fence.
While he was still several feet from the gate a ragged voice rang out from behind the fence.
"That's far enough, sonny."
"I've come to trade." Philip called out.
"That so?" The voice responded.
"Yes."
"You have caps, I s'ppose." The voice called through the fence.
"I do." Philip said rather curtly.
"Good! There's a box by the gate, place all your weapons in the box."
Philip considered this for a moment. It was not uncommon for this kind of request to be made. He knew several places in New Vegas that had required this kind of action. It seemed he wasn't going to get anywhere unless he complied. Besides, he thought, it's not like I have ammunition for my gun anyway.
"I just have this one gun. I'm putting it in." Philip called as he set his .38 revolver in the box.
He heard a scraping sound as a large metal rod was drawn from inside the fence and the gate began to swing open. Once it was mostly open, Philip took a cautious step towards the gate.
"Hold y'er horses." The man inside said. "Want to have a look at ya first."
Philip stood still while a man who looked to be in his sixties stepped from inside the fence with a shotgun in his hands, aimed at Philip. The man looked him up and down and then spoke.
"Take yer mask off. Don't trust a man I can't see his face. And open up yer coat. Want to make sure ya ain't hidin' more guns in there."
Philip slowly – so as not to alarm the man – opened the sides of his duster wide so the man – who he presumed to be Old Bagger – could see that there were no hidden guns. He then gently undid the clasps and removed his face mask and helmet. Philip blinked as the daylight hit his eyes but stood firm and waited for the old man to finish his inspection. This, too, was pretty standard. Philip had to admit it had to be a hard lot for traders to stay safe. People often walked in with their own guns and without the benefit of an organized government or court of authority, a man could shoot another over asking too much for a shot of Jet.
"That'll do." The old man said. "What you lookin' for?"
"I need some ammunition, if you have it, and some medicine. Had a run in with a dog on the road" Philip said gesturing back the way he came. "Want to make sure it doesn't get infected."
"Dog, huh?" The old man said, off-handedly. "You might get more than infection from dogs, son."
"What do you mean?" Philip inquired.
"Don't know where you're from, but dogs around here get the foaming mouth sometimes. Give it to people they bit too." The old man said. "Where are you from anyways? Don't see clothing like this around here."
"I've come from back west…out of the Plains Commonwealth." Philip said. He didn't feel like it would be good to completely disclose his origins.
"I see." The old man said, not entirely convinced. "Seen some folks from that way before. They didn't wear this stuff." He fingered the fringe of Philip's duster as he said this.
"Last real settlement I was in was Norman, outside of OK City." Philip offered. I've been on the road a long time, headed east. Got business there." He said trying to get the man back on track.
Philip wasn't really enjoying the way the man was looking at his gear. He was beginning to suspect that the man was more interested in his riot gear and duster than the caps he had in his pack for trading. This was confirmed a moment later when the old man spoke.
"I don't know that I've got anything you'd want, but I can see you've got something that would be mighty beneficial to me."
"Look, I just need some medicine and ammunition." Philip said, getting exasperated. "If you have anything, I have caps to purchase. If not…I'll be on my way."
"Why sure I have stuff. But I think this here gear is worth more than your caps right now. Folks 'round here would love to have fancy gear like this."
"My gear is not for sale!" Philip stated adamantly.
"Oh, who said anything about buying it?" The old man said.
Philip was unable to process this intelligibly. At almost the exact moment the man said "buying," as if on cue, two men with rifles came from around one of the buildings.
