Nevada Highway Patrol Station
About a hundred yards from a square white building, flanked by chain link fencing, Arcadia has a thought. "Why doesn't mom tell me more about her adventures? They sound so exciting when you tell them."
The Eye-bot tells her something along the lines of "she had her reasons".
Arcadia gives a frustrated groan. "That's what mom says too."
The distant rumbling of an approaching motor cuts through the heavy silence of the Mojave as the Courier's daughter makes her way toward the old city of Primm. Out of curiosity, she and her bot break into a jog towards the noise as it stops just in front of the refurbished highway patrol station.
As the truck grinds to a stop out front the building, a threatening cacophony of growls erupts from the clenched fangs of the yellow domed robotic canines fenced off at both sides of the squat brick building. A uniformed NCR soldier kills the motor and hops out of the cab of the rusty canvas-backed truck, giving a sharp whistle to the panting dog in the passenger seat. The caged dogs go silent as the blue-domed animal leaps out of the truck and follows the soldier inside.
"Is that Rex," the young traveler asks the floating orb at her side as she squints at the gray metal parts of the black and dirty brown specimen. "I thought he left with mom?"
ED-E glides up to the left-hand kennel with his young charge close behind. The dogs on both sides turn toward the flying sphere and stare at it in eerie silence. A few of them cock their heads to one side while others wag their tails at the humming bot. After a minute of uncomfortable staring, the battered Eye-bot double beeps in a high, cheery tone while doing a hop-spin maneuver in place.
In concert, the military dogs all sit on their hind legs, lift a single paw in the air, and bark in unison. The sonic blast of over two dozen joyful canines knocks Arcadia off her feet. ED-E is blasted back onto the hard dirt where he lands on his side like a ton of bricks.
The makeshift kennels collapse outward, freeing the pent-up animals. They mob the two travelers, nuzzling, pawing and whining at the girl in the vault suit as she sits up, attempting to will away the light-headed feeling thrumming through her head.
A trio of armed soldiers storm out of the station, rifles drawn. They are flabbergasted by the sight of usually vicious military dogs nuzzling this strange girl with enough gentleness to never knock her over as she gets to her feet.
Upon noticing the aged armored vault suit, the short, middle soldier sighs, rolling his eyes. "Oh god, not another one." The soldier shouts at the woman picking her unconscious Eye-bot up from the ground. "What the hell are you doing?!"
"Um…" The young lady plays keep away with her disable bot and the playful dogs as they try to swipe at the round metal ball cradled in her arms. "Well…"
"Never mind, just don't make any sudden movements," he orders, turning to his right. "Go get the Wrangler before they get bitey." He watches the subordinate hurry back into the station.
The bot in her arms boots back up, floating above his young charge's head to avoid the large, beefy paws of the yellow-brained dogs. He gives her an annoyed beep, flying in circles as she snickers up at him.
The daughter manages to clamp down on the most of her laughter until it finally subsides. "You wanna go, Ed?" She waves at her bot turning back toward the broken road.
"Oh no you don't." The now peeved soldier raises his voice in warning. "I've had enough of you delusional wierdos in your costumes. You picked the wrong day to play Courier, lady."
From the double doors of the building, three sharp barks followed by a loud shout of 'gather up' has the excitable pack rushing toward a stiff, beret-wearing man and the dirty brown dog from before. "Sit, " the man shouts folding his hands behind his back. He watches with a look of satisfaction as they do so in unison.
"Watch her," the soldier orders of the taller one to his left. "If she tries to leave, shoot her." He hustles across the dirt yard toward the dark green beret, snapping a hard salute to him.
"I don't like the looks of this, Ed." The rifle pointing in her direction doesn't bother her as much as the conversation between the green and brown uniform at the other end of the station's front lot. With a nod of the head and a wave of the arm, the daughter is brought to stand before the canine accompanied soldier.
The man's hard expression softens around the edges as he gives her a once over. "It's uncanny." His stance relaxes upon seeing his own companion bark happily and wag its tail at her. "What's your name?"
"Arcadia, Sir."
"Just Arcadia?"
"Arcadia Darrenforth."
The old man chuckles, mumbling something about 'advice' under his breath. "Let her go, Lieutenant, she's harmless."
The blue brained dog at his side barks in agreement.
The short Lieutenant strenuously protests. "But Sergeant, the dogs—"
"Were probably happy to see a familiar face." His expression is that of complete nostalgia.
The young lady cocks her head. "Did you know my mother?"
"Not personally. I met the Courier when she came to defend Hoover Dam. I was just a greenhorn private back then, sent in to 'run the Hoover Mile' and cover the advance to Caesar's camp. She and her friends went shooting 'em down left and right, pushing forward with the rest of us."
"Do you happen to know when the Courier was last seen? There's business back on her ranch that needs tending to," she lies.
"I'm not sure. The last time I saw her up close was years ago escorting her to Ambassador Crocker's office with one of these dogs." He gestures toward the still waiting pack of yellow brained animals. "She went in, bold as brass, with a baby in her arms asking the Ambassador to look at a proposal she drafted for 'canine scout units'." He pets the brain dome of his Rex look-alike.
"Wow…" To have that much clout as to demand an audience with the Ambassador of the Republic…It astonishes even her.
"At any rate, you're free to go. Just don't rile up the dogs next time you pass by, they're supposed to be on duty at all times."
"Can do, Sir." She nods, as ED-E impatiently floats toward the lip of the highway.
"Oh, and if you see her, tell her thanks for giving us young bucks a chance to be better soldiers."
The duo leaves as quietly as they arrived, leaving behind the organized scrambling of men and women in uniform filing out of the highway station trying to rebuild the flimsy kennels.
Primm
Farther down the road, Arcadia stops at the edge of a busy underpass. "So this is Primm." To her left, past the squat, square, chipped brick pillars, and dented iron bars is a living, breathing town overflowing with commerce. "I thought mom said it was deserted."
ED-E confirms her suspicions, whirring off toward the right side of the pass where a manned blockade cordons off the broken Pre-War buildings.
The rifle-toting soldier standing guard behind the lopsided barrier asks if the travelers are going into Primm to which they respond in the affirmative. As he moves aside the gate, a mountain of rubble in various shades of sun baked red comes tumbling down behind him.
On the open air second level, the young woman spies a pair of light blue collared shirts running down the stairs. "Powder Gangers!" She draws her rifle, charging around the guard and towards the strangers.
"Stop!" The unfazed soldier yanks down the end of the young woman's weapon to keep her from shooting a pair of scared prisoners throwing their hands in the air. "They're unarmed!"
"It was an accident, I swear," the taller of the two blurts out.
"They're just Republic prisoners, Miss. Now put away your weapon, or I will have to defend the prisoners." She stows her rifle after the stern warning from the soldier. He asks her to be on her way into town before turning to the two men and following them upstairs.
She sighs. "Is this what you meant by 'she had her reasons'?"
ED-E beeps a definite yes.
The daughter mentally kicks herself. "Is that how they make brick adobe," she wonders out loud moving away toward the entrance bridge.
As they make to cross the bridge into Primm, Arcadia spies a familiar sight. "Look, Ed, spotted cement." She points at the half full bucket of grey and black speckled substance, the same consistency as bumpy plaster, next to an NCRCF prisoner on his hands and knees. He diligently fills the cracks and patched holes stopping occasionally to wipe the sweat from his brow.
From his seat on a refurbished bench under the shade of the Pre-War garage, a man in a Stormchaser Hat and patched overalls gives the girl and her Eye-bot a stern eyeballing as she joins the back of the line forming at the entrance to the Mojave Express office. His gloved hands tug the red material tucked into his shirt higher over his nose as he gets up and walks out of town.
The Mojave Express
The travelers join the back of the line, leaning against the rusty mailbox as they wait patiently for it to move up.
As the mingled heat and boredom sets in, the young girl's eyes wander over toward the defunct rollercoaster currently being dismantled. "Hey, Ed, were those the tracks mom said she fought on?"
ED-E tells her about the harrowing gunfight between her mother and a group of territorial raiders keeping the former Sheriff Beagle hostage.
The line moves up as people exit the building. This process repeats until the two travelers are called inside along with the next four people.
"Sending or receiving," the lady soldier asks, her pencil at the ready.
Confused, Arcadia asks the obvious. "What happened to Johnson Nash and his wife? I heard they were still around."
"The old couple? They haven't worked at the Mojave Express for a few years now. He sold this office to the NCR when we moved in to the town, and retired shortly after."
"Do you happen to know where he retired to? I have previous business with him."
"If it has anything to do with the mail, the Mojave Express is now run by the NCR, which means his business is our business."
A frown tugs at the corners of the young woman's mouth.
"Now then, sending or receiving?" The jagged graphite taps impatiently on the tan parchment ledger.
"Uh, receiving?"
"Registration please." She checks off a box on her paperwork then holds out a gloved hand.
Arcadia brings out the rolled document, handing it over.
The soldier unrolls it and scans over her vital statistics, stopping square on the line "occupation". "You're a courier?"
"Yes," she answers.
"Do you work for this line? Or are you visiting from another territory?"
ED-E quietly beeps an appropriately sounding answer to the young lady, which she parrots to the desk soldier. "Currently seeking employment, I suppose." She shrugs.
"Finally." The soldier rolls up the document, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "Talk to those two back there and they'll give some work." The Republic soldier points at the other two uniforms set up behind an old office desk in the adjoining alcove. "Tell them you're a Courier."
Arcadia does as she's told, taking her rolled document and heading off to the right. The one tending to overstuffed bags crammed together floor to ceiling immediately hushes their conversation, and the one sitting behind the desk picks up a pencil. "Can I help you?"
"I was told to come to you for work. I'm a courier."
"Finally." The seated soldier mutters under his breath, jotting something down on his clipboard. "Can you write?"
"Yes."
"Full name and address," he pushes his clipboard and pencil in her direction as the bag tender hauls out the largest sack of the bunch.
"Excuse me…excuse me…" A tall young man in a black Sheriff's hat and red flannel shirt squeezes his way through the clutter of people at the front desk, a torn piece of paper in his hand. "I'm here for my package."
The desk soldier slams her pencil down on the desk. "Get back in line and wait your turn," the soldier demands, raising her voice slightly.
"All I need is that package sittin' on the floor right behind you!" He jabs his finger at the brown paper box tied with twine. "It's right here on this inventory!" He waves the two grimy halves at her.
"I don't care what that paper says, unless you have a slip for the package, get back in line!"
"I already told you, I lost the slip after a raider attack! I'm with the HTC for god sakes!"
The shouting match is immediately cut short by the desk soldier threatening to call the MPs.
The young man bites his tongue, tipping his hat at the angry uniform. "You have a nice day, ma'am."
"He's kind of cute." The young lady can't help but be enamored by the young man's square jaw and broad shoulders as he pushes back through the line in a huff.
"Here are your slips." The sitting soldier hands her a stack of small, rectangular pieces of tan parchment sealed with the insignia of the two-headed bear. "Fill one out for every package and have the recipient sign it. If they can't, then have them put an 'X' where it says 'signature'. Pay rate is per package delivered using the slip as proof. You have between a week and nine days to finish your deliveries before your mandatory check in. If you do not check in, we'll assume you're dead or don't need the work and you forfeit your pay for the deliveries already made. If you're quick, just come back before your deadline and we'll give you more work plus a small bonus. Got it?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And don't loose those slips, whatever you do, or you don't get paid."
Arcadia hefts the overloaded satchel across her shoulders and heads toward the front desk. She sneaks behind the overwhelmed postmaster and surreptitiously scoops the package into her mailbag as she heads out.
Outside the office, ED-E jabs the girl's upper arm with the end of his laser, scolding her distracted eyes.
"Ow! I was not oogling him!" Arcadia rubs at the sore spot already forming. "I was…admiring his shirt. You don't see a lot of flannel these days."
Arcadia gives her companion the stink eye. "Just because I said he was cute, doesn't mean I'm going to get distracted."
Her companion stabs her again, giving her an earful about keeping her mind on her mission.
"You're worse than father," she mumbles, trying to ignore the throbbing pain from the forming bruise on her upper arm. The young girl hefts the bag from her back, picking through the addressed boxes. "Goodsprings…Cottonwood Cove…New Nipton…" She turns over boxes of wildly different sizes and wrapping methods, finding the smallest of the bunch addressed to the Bison Hotel. "Here's our first delivery, Ed. Let's go."
The two head onward to the Bison-shaped sign standing whole under the blazing Mojave sun.