Fallout: Crusaders of the Brotherhood
Part I: Chapter 4
The rising sun was always a bittersweet welcome in the morning. It was sweet in the sense that the sun was warming up the miserably cold evening air, but bitter in the sense that in just a few hours, the whole desert was about to heat up like an oven.
Veronica's back was stiff from sleeping on her rock hard mattress last night, but at least today she would be able to earn some money that might be able to pay for a nice bed for a night.
Veronica noticed that the Brotherhood presence was a lot higher than usual at the 188. In a matter of fact, it was the highest she had ever seen since they came out of hiding. Normally, there was about one or two patrols stationed at the 188, about eight to ten soldiers. Veronica counted at least twenty, and they weren't all soldiers either. Some were scribes. Scribes rarely left their facilities unless there was some sort of emergency,
Veronica spotted Ramos among the some twenty odd soldiers. She walked up to him.
"Hey Ramos. What's going on with all the Brotherhood? You guys hosting a block party or something?"
Ramos tilted his head in confusion, "A what?"
Veronica shook her head, "It's a pre-war term. Don't worry about. What's up with all the troops stationed here?"
"You know that prisoner I was talking to you about?"
"Yeah,"
"He escaped,"
"Well that's a little rude," retorted Veronica, "Did he not even thank you for inviting him?"
"No, unfortunately not," shrugged Ramos, "I don't think he cared much for our hospitality."
Ramos turned his head to see a Knight wave him over. He looked back at Veronica, "Anyway, Hardin's about ready to tear the Mojave apart, looking for this guy. He claims its because Elder McNamara is in New Vegas and could be at risk, but I think he's just upset that the guy humiliated him."
"McNamara's in New Vegas?" asked Veronica, "Why?"
"Mr. House invited him to the grand reopening of the Lucky 38. Its supposed to happen tomorrow," answered Ramos.
"The Lucky 38 is opening?"
"Yeah its been all over the radio, haven't you been listening?"
"Can't say I have. I didn't think casinos were McNamara's thing,"
"They aren't. Mr. House is calling for a meeting with all major organizations in the Mojave after the celebration,"
The Knight that had waved Ramos over now had her helmet off and was shouting at him to come over. It was Watkins. With a slightly annoyed look on his face, Ramos turned to Watkins and put his hand up, signaling for her to wait.
"Anyway," continued Ramos, "Keep your eyes peeled and tell me if you see anything suspicious, okay?"
"Yes, sir!" retorted Veronica in a mock salute.
"Be careful out there," said Ramos as he put his power helmet on.
Veronica watched Ramos make his way towards Watkins. She couldn't make out what he was saying to her, but it was probably something about insubordination. She always hated conversing with members of the Brotherhood that she liked. It made her feel worse about leaving her old family behind. Though, seeing Watkins again made that sickly feeling a little better.
"All caravan guards for the Follower's shipment line up here!" called out a voice on the other end of the trading post.
Veronica picked up her duffle bag and made her way to the other end of the trading post. She spotted a few people lined up in front of a bald, middle-aged man who must have been the caravan overseer. He was holding a clipboard, calling out names to the bodies lined up in front of him.
Veronica recognized the man. She remembered the bartender refer to him as Ned. He worked with a small trading outfit called Trailblazing Traders. It was subsidized by Mr. House after "an unfortunate accident," caused the Crimson Caravan to withdraw from the region. Ever since the gap in business left by the Crimson Caravan's absence and House's subsidies, The Trailblazing Traders Trading Company (try saying that five times really fast) had become the main method for people to transport supplies.
The overseer called out one of the names on his list as Veronica managed to get in line, "Maria Fortes,"
A pretty looking brunette woman in a pair jeans with a bandolier of 10mm ammo wrapped around a leather jacket stepped forward. Veronica caught herself staring at the woman. Pretty women were hard to come by in this area of the Mojave. Most of the good-looking ones were in New Vegas and they were generally prostitutes.
"Maria, how old are you?" asked Ned. He had a slight southern twang in his accent like most people around the Mojave.
"Twenty-four,"
"Ok, have you done any caravan work before?"
"Yeah, some"
"Where?"
"Mostly in areas near Vegas. I did a few trips from Vegas to Jacobstown and back."
The overseer furrowed his brow, "Miss, I don't mean to come off as judgmental and all, but we're gonna be transporting some precious cargo through areas infested with raiders. This ain't no Vegas run through Freeside, fending off a couple of sorry lowlifes armed with pipes and what not. What makes you think you're qualified for this job?"
The woman held up a pair of dog tags, "I used to be an NCR trooper. I did a tour that mostly involved me fighting off a bunch of Fiends from overrunning New Vegas. I think I can handle a few raiders."
The man looked at the dog tags and then down at his clipboard and started scribbling in it, "You got a weapon?"
"Yes sir," said the woman as she held up a 10mm SMG.
"You know how to use it?"
"Of course I do,"
"Well, I hope so. Stand behind me, please," said Ned, gesturing Maria to get behind him.
"Alright, lets see here," said the overseer, looking back at his clipboard, "Kent Robertson?"
A young looking man stepped up in front of the overseer. In fact, he was so young, he didn't look like a man at all; he looked no older than fifteen. Not only did the kid look under aged, he looked under armed as well. He had no firearms; the only thing that he was armed with was a tire iron wedged in his belt, and he had no type of protection, either, just a pair of cargo pants and a torn up sweatshirt.
The caravan organizer didn't even bother questioning the youth, "Alright kid, you're clearly too young for this. Just leave and there wont be a problem."
"Too young? What the fuck are you talking about! I'm old enough; I'm eighteen," talked back the kid in a shrill voice.
Veronica rolled her eyes. There was always some idiot kid who was out for some wasteland adventure and signed on to be a temporary guard for a caravan. If they didn't get rejected by the caravan overseer, then they ended up getting themselves killed on the trail.
"Listen kid, you're not fooling anyone," stated the overseer, "Even if you were old enough, you have no armor and you have no real weapon. You'll just be a liability."
"Screw you old man!" yelled the kid, getting in the man's face, "how about if I make you a liability!"
The caravan overseer wasn't even fazed by the youth's threats. It was actually kind of funny from Veronica's perspective. The kid probably didn't even know what the word "liability," meant.
The overseer let out a sigh, "Mike, get this kid out of here."
A large, muscular looking man in a set of leather armor walked up from the caravan containing the medical supplies. He must have been one of the more permanent guards for the Trailblazing Traders. He approached the teen who, in response, began cower behind his hand.
"Hey! Hey! Hey! W-w-wait!" cried the kid, shrinking underneath the caravan guard, "I-I don't want no trouble–I'll go, okay? I'll go."
The guard held his ground as the kid took off. Ned motioned Mike to get back to guarding the caravan. He then looked back down at the list of names.
"Okay, Veronica Santangelo,"
"Right here," said Veronica as she the walked up to the overseer.
She was getting strange looks as she made her way up to the front of the line. It wasn't every day that you saw someone in a strange set of robes armed with a power fist walking around. The overseer flipped through a few pages on his clipboard and pulled out a letter, "One of them couriers from the Mojave Express saw your name on the list. He told me to give you this."
Ned handed the letter to Veronica as she took a closer look at it. It was in a plain white enveloped with Mr. House's seal on it. He would occasionally send letters or seek out his old companions to see how they were doing. On the occasions when Veronica received a message from him, the information on it was about a few weeks old. It took a while for the Mojave Express to track her down since she often wandered from place to place.
Ned took a closer look at his clipboard and flipped through a few more pages, "It says here that you've traveled with several caravans between the 188 and New Vegas. Is that correct?"
"Yep,"
"Good, we could use someone who's familiar with the route. I notice you got one of them power fists. Can you shoot?"
"Can I punch?"
"I'd prefer it if you didn't."
"And I'd prefer it if you had hair, but yeah, I can shoot."
That last comment earned a few snickers from the people behind her. Ned subconsciously started rubbing his bald head. Despite the derogatory remark from Veronica, the overseer seemed to let it slide. If he picked trail guards based on how nice they were, he probably would have been dead by now.
"Alright" said the caravan overseer as he let out another sigh, "get behind me."
Veronica stepped behind the aging man and stood next to the brunette named Maria. They both gave each other a courteous nod, acknowledging the other. As she waited for the overseer to finish going through the list of names, Veronica decided to read Mr. House's letter.
Greetings,
If you are receiving this, then you have been invited to Mr. House's Grand Reopening of the Lucky 38 Casino. The Reopening of the Lucky 38 will be catered by the cooks at the Gourmand, and entertainment will be handled by Tommy Torini, manager of the Aces Theater. All drinks will be on the House.
There will be a meeting held among the major factions in the region after the celebration. The following factions and cummunities who are asked to attend the assembly go as followed:
The Boomers
The Brotherhood of Steel
The Chairmen Family
The Followers of the Apocalypse
The Town of Goodsprings
The Village of Jacobstown
The Kings
The Town of Novac
The Omerta Family
The Town of Primm
The Town of Sloan
The Trailblazing Traders Trading Company
The White Glove Society
Each one of these factions is asked send one representative in possession of this invitation. Should one of these factions refuse to send a proper representative to the assembly, they will have no say in the meeting. If you have received this invitation, but are not a representative of the aforementioned towns, organizations, etc. you are welcome to observe so long as you are not disruptive (that goes for all representatives as well).
With each invitation a person is allowed to bring one companion. Whether it be a bodyguard or a date, there is no requirement. Should you wish to arm yourself, we ask that you and your companion (if you chose to bring one) come armed with nothing heavier than a .357 magnum revolver. We would also ask you to arrive in no armor as well (this means no power armor). This is supposed to be a civil occasion, not a chance to settle any unfinished scores. Failure to follow with the weapons and armor regulations will result in a confiscation of such items until said offender exits the casino.
We hope that you come and grace us all with your presence.
Sincerely,
Mr. Benjamin House
Though this was the first day she had heard about the Lucky 38's opening, she wasn't too surprised about the invitation from Mr. House. They both had been through a lot together. She was the second person after Boone to join "the gang," and she knew Ben before he became known as Mr. House and before he even started calling himself Ben.
The caravan overseer continued to call out names from the list on his clipboard, separating the ones who looked like they actually had experience from the ones he felt weren't qualified. It wasn't a foolproof process, but it was better than none. With the exception of the NCR, the post-war world lacked official documentation methods.
For a guy who knew his caravan was undermanned, the overseer was rather picky. Out of a crowd of fifteen people, he only chose two other men. Veronica recognized the two. Both were mercenaries that stopped by at the 188 often. One of them tried hitting on her at the bar once, but after enough shooting down, he finally left her alone.
The overseer called out the last name on his list. It was sort of pointless though, since he was the only guy left standing in front of him.
"Butch DeLoria."
"Right here," said the man named Butch as he was eying one of the Brotherhood soldiers questing people as they went by.
He was wearing a greenish-grey, stained undershirt, a set of brown cargo pants and a pair of military combat boots. His dirty blonde hair was long and uneven in spots. It looked like he had cut it himself with a knife. Though he didn't have one of those crazy survivalist beards, it was apparent that this Butch hadn't shaved in quite some time.
Though there were a few noticeable scars on his face, the thing about him that stood out was his stare. It was one of those stares that said, 'I've seen more now than you ever will in a lifetime.' Veronica remembered Father Elijah had that sort of gaze. His eyes were steel colored, which made that stare all the more cryptic. She recalled reading out of a book somewhere that those metallic colored eyes were dangerous and ruthless. He had a lack of weapons on him, but his presence practically screamed lethal.
Despite the scars, un-kept hair, and the ancient gaze, Veronica noticed that the man was rather young. At a first glance, she would guess he was older than the trail overseer, but after taking a closer look, she noticed that Butch was probably about around her age. His perfectly proportioned face and his lack of wrinkles gave it away. Though his appearance made him look rough and rugged, there was something majestic about him. Though Veronica wasn't exactly in to guys, she couldn't help but look fixedly at him.
Ned's tone gave away the fact the he was tired of reviewing candidates. It was obvious he wanted to get this last guy over with. That's how caravan overseers were; they always wanted to get their trips done as quickly as possible, even if there was no real incentive for arriving early.
"Alright Butch, how old are you," inquired Ned.
"Twenty-five," responded Butch.
"Do you have any caravan experience?"
"No,"
"Have you done any mercenary work before?"
Butch shot another glace at the Brotherhood soldier who was now walking away. He seemed to lighten up a bit after the soldier left.
"Depends on what you call mercenary work," said Butch, shrugging.
"What are you trying to say son?" asked Ned, accusingly, "you a criminal?"
"No," responded Butch. His voice seemed a little uneasy, "Let's just say that I used to conduct quite a few operation east of here."
The overseer's face seemed to light up after hearing this. It was as if a light bulb had gone off in his head, "Oh I see, you're one of them Ranger fellas who went AWOL and joined up with Mr. House. I owe my life to one of you guys!"
Butch said nothing. There was a long silence as the overseer anticipated him to say something, but he got no response. Butch just merely shrugged his shoulders again.
"Oh I get it, you gotta stay incognito, " went on Ned, as he appeared to have caught some sort of a hint, "you must be on recon or something. Where's your weapon?"
Butch held up a 9mm pistol.
"That's it?" asked the overseer, slightly surprised that a ranger would come only armed with a pistol.
Butch rubbed the back of his neck as he directed his gaze at one of the Brotherhood Patrols, "My other weapons were…confiscated."
The overseer raised his eyebrows, "Ah, I see. Yep, they'll do that to ya."
"And I'd prefer it if I went through the area without drawing too much attention," explained Butch as he gave another uneasy glance towards the Brotherhood.
"Oh I see what you're trying to do now," said the overseer, "I can imagine that there's probably still some bad blood between y'all. Can't say I like them that much either, but they keep the roads safe."
Butch merely nodded in response, "Well regardless," continued the overseer, "welcome aboard, and I know that this probably isn't part of your mission and all, but I'll be willing to pay you for your services."
"Thank you," said Butch. He started to make his way towards the caravan until one of the mercenaries stopped him.
"Ned, you're not seriously going to let this guy on the caravan are you?" asked the mercenary. He seemed a little too agitated about this shady ranger.
"Why not, we could use a ranger to help protect us."
"You gotta be kidding me, Ned. For all you know, the guy's just pretending."
"He ain't," retorted Ned, "He's got that Ranger's stare. I've seen it before."
The mercenary looked back at Butch, "Well a stare's not good enough for me."
The merc tried to sucker punch Butch, but the apparent ranger dodged the blow. From Veronica's standpoint, dodging that punch wasn't anything special. The wind up and release were both slow.
After dodging the punch, Butch grabbed the mercenary's arm and pulled him forward, forcing the merc's diaphragm to hit his knee. The mercenary collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Though Veronica was perfectly capable of performing such a maneuver herself, it was obvious, ranger or not, the guy knew how to fight.
Ned let out a chuckle as the other mercenary went to go help his comrade, "I want to apologize for my friends behavior. He's a bit of a hot head and has a tendency to start fights that he has no business starting," explained the merc as he picked up his friend, "about a couple years ago, some one slipped modified psycho serum into his drink and he hasn't been that same ever since."
Butch didn't say or do anything in response. He eyed the two carefully, studying them.
"I better not have hired a psycho junkie, or there'll be hell to pay if I did," threatened Ned.
"Don't worry," responded the merc, "He's no junkie, he's just not right in the head, that's all, but he'll listen to me."
"He better" said Ned in a threatening tone.
A thought suddenly occurred to Veronica as she put her power fist away and pulled out her pistol. Uneasiness around Brotherhood, confiscated equipment, taking down an angry merc with almost no effort, it all fit but so did the ranger story. Though her more active part of her imagination was telling her one thing, the more reasonable side of her mind was telling her that it was likely just a coincidence. That "prisoner," probably wasn't the first well-trained fighter that the Brotherhood has confiscated equipment from, and a lot of people would feel uneasy around a bunch of zealots in power armor with laser rifles who worshipp technology. Regardless, if Veronica ran off to tell Ramos, the caravan would probably leave without her, and this Butch would be gone anyway.
"Alright everyone!" called out Ned, getting caravan's attention, "I want to get to New Vegas by noon today, no hold ups."
Can't say I'm entirely happy with how this chapter turned out, but maybe its just me, tell me what you guys think.