Chapter 3: Goodsprings

"Do you mind if I ask what you will do now? You seem to be a Courier, so will you just head back to Primm, get back into the business?" Doc Mitchell asked as he escorted me to the front door.

"Yeah, I guess so" I lied in response. "Not much I could do"

"Hum" he let out as a mysterious and questioning hum. "Well, since you gotta start again you might as well have these." He reached into a shelf just before the door. From it he pulled a pistol, a Colt M1911A1, chambered for .45 ACP. It was a regular sized pistol, made of a silver-colored metal, while the grip was mostly covered in a soft and checkered brown wood. While not anything special, it was a pretty world war classic. It didn't look like it had seen much action though. Doc Mitchell gave me one magazine. He then laid another 2 magazines on the shelf. It was then that I realized I had nowhere to place the pistol and its mags, because I was still wearing the silk shirt and boxers I woke up in.

I made my way to the bathroom, and in a minute or two I was back in my old clothes. Leather boots, thick jeans, an ammo belt across the hip and shoulder (good for carrying all types of ammo), a white cotton shirt, covered by a leather jacket (with plenty of pockets for more storage) and over all that, a leather duster. Around my neck I had a red handkerchief I could use a mask to protect my face against the sun or sandstorms. It might seem like overkill, but the Mojave Desert is windier than you think, so the cotton shirt allows for enough ventilation, while the rest made up for a decent light armor. Nothing that would stop bullets of course, but it was enough to keep me safe from the harsh conditions of the wastes.

Doc Mitchell threw me a impressed look "Now we get you a hat and you'll be looking like one them cowboy fellas from them old western flicks" He pointed out.

"You ain't the first to say that doc." I mentioned, looking at myself in a mirror. I was far from the prettiest motherfucker in the wastes, but at least I had some style. "I actually lost my hat a while ago, taken by a damn sand storm."

"I'm sure you'll find a replacement soon enough." He assured me, handing me my bag again.

I was about to put the it away when I felt a small object inside. I pulled it out, quickly realizing what it was. "My necklace…" A steel chain hanged a .44 magnum bullet with black tip, and it had the letters 'C.T.' engraved on it's side. I took a long nostalgic look at it before hanging it on my neck and dropping it under my shirt.

I then placed the pistol on a holster hanging from my right hip and the extra mags in ammo holster, also on the hip belt, opposite to the gun. I was about to say my last thanks and goodbyes, when Doc Mitchell reached once again towards the shelf.

"I've been meaning to give you something else". He pulled another machine, but this time it wasn't flat like the Reflectron. At a first glance it looked like a large brownish pipe, but as he brought it closer, I recognized a screen, buttons, what looked like a geiger counter and some other tech shenanigans I didn't know about. The most interesting thing though, was the seal on the opposite side. It looked like you could open it to wrap the whole thing on something, like a rail or… an arm.

"Whoa, what is this?" I asked, trying to figure out what the machine was.

He smirked before answering. "This here is Pip-Boy. They gave one to everyone in them Vaults I grew up in. It's not of much use to me now, but I think it can come in pretty hand out there. Here, lemme show you how to put it on."

He opened the large wristband and placed it around me left arm. Once he connected the seal around my arm, the Pip-Boy beeped and fastened up tightly, a little too much actually. I also felt a slight sting, right under the screen. "Ouch. I think something bit me."

"Oh don't you worry, that's just the Pip-Bot doing it's magic. Don't worry if it feels tight, it should loosen up in a second." He explained to me.

And loosen up it did! Once I didn't feel like my bones were getting crushed, I messed around with the buttons and a little wheel I could use to scroll through the options. From a minute of exploring, I was amazed by all this thing could do. It monitored my body and how healthy I was, from keeping track to injuries to warning me if I needed food or water. Like the Vigor Tester, it leveled what it seemed to call S.P.E.C.I.A.L. attributes. Each attribute was in par with what the Vigor Tester scored me, and just like before, Luck was going crazy, with the numbers rapidly changing. There was also some yellow bar, opposite to my 'health bar' (which apparently measured how hurt I was), labeled AP. I had no idea what it meant, and decided to figure it out some other time.

Somehow, the Pip-Boy also kept track of my equipment, showing me the clothes I was wearing, the pistol and it's ammo, the switchblade in my bag and even the note in my pocket. Another thing that would in handy was the map, and I finally got an idea of where Goodsprings was. I could also do more basic things like write notes, check the time, set an alarm and some more. There was also a radio tab, but I decided to mess with that later.

"You might not want me to pay for the medical treatment, but I'll just feel bad for accepting all this for free, doc. You gotta let me repay you, somehow." I wasn't just being polite, I couldn't live with myself if took someone's belongings for free. That's what thieves and raiders do, and I wanted to be as far as I could from that.

"Relax son," He told me, resting on hand on my shoulder. "I've lived a long life trying my best to survive out here in the wastes, and I know how much these things I've given you will be of help. Matter of fact, I wish I had met someone like me when I was your age." Before letting go, he gave me one last and reassuring smile.

"Jesus doc, you're a saint aren't you?" I complimented him with a friendly laugh. One day, I'd give this place a visit and pay Doc Mitchell for all he's given me. That's a promise.

I should have seen that coming. I was deep in a sleep for days, and the last hour of being awake had been spent inside a house with all the windows and curtains shut. No wonder I was completely blinded by the bright sun of the Mojave Wasteland. It took a while for my eyes to adapt and refocus, and I was just glad I wasn't blind.

I was met with the view of the small but charming town. To my left, the main street stretched from one end of town to the other, going up the hill on the western end, and joining the I-15 to the east. In front of me and heading right was a street that branches off the main one and heads south. Two buildings north of the main street caught my attention. The closest had a sign that read 'Goodsprings General Store', and the one next to it was the previously mentioned Prospector Saloon.

"Well, I guess that's a good place to start." I said to myself.

Making my way down the small hill Doc Mitchell's house sat atop, I messed around my Pip-Boy some more. Turns out there's a radio function, where I could listen to some of the few stations on offer. Memories of me listening to Radio New Vegas as I travelled popped up in my head. It was a great station, with it's interesting and charismatic radio host, Mr. New Vegas, and it's roster of classic songs. Personally, I'm a good ol' fan of some country tunes, but I'd never turn down some sweet jazz and blues.

I was almost about to reach down the main street when a distant and strange noise got my attention. It sounded like something being dragged or rolled against the gravel of the road, so I turned to it to identify the cause of the sound. In the distance, a blue shape was headed towards me, coming from a wood and metal shack in the southern part of town. It was taller than a man and it weaved from left to right, walking… no, rolling along the floor. I didn't have feet, instead, it was supported by single large wheel, like a unicycle. From the wheel, a short cylindrical lower body widened up to form its large torso with wide shoulders, almost like the letter T. Two long and thin arms had claw-like hands that swung back and forward as it moved. It was definitely a robot, but of a model I've never seen before. Protectrons, Eye-Bots, Mr. Handy's and a few others are all over the wasteland, but this one is new to me.

When it got close enough, I recognized a screen on the middle of its upper body. On it was a cartoony man wearing a hat and handkerchief, and smoking a lit cigar. A cowboy?

No, it can't be!

"Howdy there, pardner!" Said the machine, with a happy and enthusiastic voice, along with a strong western accent. "Might I say you're lookin' fine as a fiddle."

I just stood there, looking at what was apparently my rescuer. I didn't have anything against robots, but couldn't imagine one capable of saving someone at their own will. "So you're the one who pulled me out of my grave?" I was finally able to ask.

"That I did pardner," He replied. "no need to thank me though, always happy to help a wastelander in trouble."

Well shit, I'll be dammed. Never imagined I'd be saved by a robot of all things, but you don't look a gifted horse in the mouth, do ya? "Many thanks, friend." I told him, genuinely glad, but somewhat suspicious. "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I was wondering if there are some questions you could answer for me."

"Ask away friend."

All the questions I had in mind came to my tongue in a rush. Taking a deep breath, I just went ahead and picked one at random. "How did you happen to find me?"

"I was out for a stroll that night when I heard the commotion up at the old bone orchard." He pointed up at a hill, a little far behind the saloon. Atop the slope was a water tower, and some fences surrounding it. "Saw what looked like a bunch of bad eggs so I laid low." Robots go out for nightly strolls? Sure, I'll swallow that pill for now. He then continued. "Once they'd run off, I dug you up to see if you were still kickin'. Turns out, you were, so I hauled you off to the Doc right quick."

"Well I appreciate that, thanks." I replied. Maybe that's what really happened, but I wanted to hear more about this story. "Did you take a look at who shot me?"

"Can't say I did, sorry pardner, but trying to take a good peak would have been a mighty awful idea." His screen flickered as he spoke. "You see, I ain't a hard fella to miss." He laughed at his own joke, wobbling up and down at each laugh.

"So you have no idea where they might have gone?" I kept on inquiring.

"None at all. But you might wanna have a word with Trudy, at the saloon." His voice peeked. "If they ever passed through town, she'd be the one to know."

Those were all the important questions I wanted to ask, but I was curious about one other thing, so I thought I might as well ask when I had the chance. "Never seen your model before. What kind of robot are you?"

"I'm a Securitron RobCo security model 2060-8." He said proudly. "If you ever see one of my brothers, tell them Victor says howdy."

"Will do." I answered quickly. Not that I was really going to do it, but being polite with the robot seemed like a good idea at the time. "Well, thanks again for the save, and now for the info. See you around Victor"

"Happy Trails!" He wished me before turning on his back and rolling the same way he came. What a strange fella, that guy. I knew for a fact he wouldn't leave my head for the rest of the day, I mean, it can't just be coincidence that he found me, right? Or maybe it was, and I'm just complicating things. Just relax Court, you have a long day ahead of you. It's still nine in the morning, and maybe if I gather enough info to pick a trail on the guy who shot me, I can get moving before the sun sets. Alright, not to the saloon.

As I walked down the streets and up to the establishment, I caught a quick glance of an old man sleeping on a chair on the porch outside. I didn't get a long look, but I could have sworn he had some dynamite strapped to his belt. I dismissed the idea and made my way inside. As soon as I opened the door, I was greeted in a rather strange way than one might expect.

"Woof, woof! Grrrrrrr." The dog that ran up to me barked and growled.

"Whoa, hey, calm down there buddy, if you bite me, I might just bite back." I raised my hands in surrender, but I don't think the dog got the idea, cause it just kept on barking.

"Cheyenne, stay!" A female voice shouted from across the room. I looked up from the dog to see a young girl approach us. "Don't worry, she won't bite unless I tell her to"

"Guess I have nothing to worry about then." The dog turned around and sat down next to the girl.

She had bright brown hair, almost ginger, that was tied into a ponytail. Her body was covered in brown leather clothing from top to bottom, and I could see a rifle hang off her back. "Unless you cause trouble, no need to drop a sweat. Although with the head outside, that sure does seem impossible huh?" She pulled a white piece of fabric and wiped her forehead. She was right, it was indeed incredibly warm outside, but my duster helped protect from the heat. Now I just needed a hat.

She popped up a very wide and warm smile, to the point that it was a little irradiating. I remembered about the girl Doc Mitchell told me about and made the connection "Are you by any chance Sunny Smiles?"

"What gave it away?" she laughed. "Don't answer that."

"I ain't saying anything." I raised her my hand towards her. "I'm Court, nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She said, taking the hand and sharing a nice shake. "Now, I don't believe we've met before."

Oh, we haven't , but Doc Mitchell told me about you. Said you'd be the one to talk too in case I needed a job." I quickly explained to her. "I just happen to looking for anything that can get me supplies for a long trip"

Instead of replying, she took her hands to her hips and chin, and looked me from head to feet. "Yeah, I see you are packing light. You must be that patient Doc was taking care off. That's a mighty scar you got there." Just as she said that, my hand automatically went up and patted the left scar. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it. "You've gotta be one of the luckiest fellas in the wasteland."

My mind shot back to the Vigor Tester and the Pip-Boy, and how they couldn't measure my Luck. "Maybe, who knows. Still, I don't want to rely on luck, so guns, medicine and caps would be nice. I don't have anything to offer, but perhaps I can help you, and then you can help me." A simple exchange of services for goods, one of the oldest forms of trade. When bartered well, it never fails, and lucky for me, I'm at bartering.

"Well that depends, how good are ya' with a rifle?" She asked, crossing her hands and straightening her back.

I think I ended up smiling more than I wanted to. "I'd call myself a good shot."

"We'll see about that." She challenged, smiling back. "I think there's something you could help me with."

While Sunny went to the back of the saloon, I took at seat at a stool over at the counter. Two man sat in a table by the windows behind me, and engaged in a low talk. The radio played "In the Shadow of the Valley", giving the room a calm and melodic mood. Rows of drinks and cups sat at shelves on the opposite side and the wall they hanged from was coated in a mirror, with some broken areas and a little dirty, but mostly intact. Two thought were stuck in my mind: How thirsty all that alcohol laying out in the open made me, and how much I needed a hat. I knew for a fact it would go well with my outfit, matter of fact, I've been using one for my whole life until I lost it. I'm sure I'll miss it even more once I'm out travelling under the burning sun.

I thought back to the drinks, sad that even if I had the caps to buy a one, the bartender was nowhere to be found. Neither was that Trudy Victor mentioned.

A little later Sunny walked back to the main room, holding a rifle and three magazines in her hand. She placed them in the counter in front of me. "Here you go, this should do the trick."

I identified the gun as a Varmint Rifle, a small, 5.56×45 caliber bolt-action rifle. I took it in my hands, resting the wooden stock on my shoulder, and aimed it in no particular direction. It was nothing impressive, it actually left a lot to be desired. The wood was worn out, risking to give me splinters, and the metal looked rusted. Nothing a little love and care couldn't fix, but despite the rifle caliber, I won't be hoping to kill any Deathclaws with it.

"So, what's on today's menu?" I asked. Hopefully no radscorpions were involved, I'd need something bigger to pierce that armor.

"Geckos, nasty vermin are all over our water pumps. Almost clawed poor Andrew to death when he went down to get a bucket." She replied. "I was gonna have to take care of them one way or the other, so it's nice to have the extra help."

"Alright, I'm ready when you are." I said, loading one mag into the rifle and storing the rest. "What's my reward?"

"You get to keep the rifle and the ammo, plus 2 extra mags I can throw in later, sounds good?"

"Sounds just fine to me." I responded, pulling back the bolt and loading a round.