October 28, 2281
Town of Novac
0550 hrs
Alex yawned. He could not understand this lifestyle: wake up, sit, watch the landscape for enemies approaching the town or watch for incoming traffic.
This task was tedious and the most boring job he had ever experienced. He could not comprehend why Boone and Vargas would volunteer for this sentry duty without feeling suffocated with the wait for anything to appear, just sitting, doing nothing. He would be glad to leave this town behind, for a while at least. But Alex suspected he was not done with Novac just yet.
The last ten minutes crept on with such a slow speed he felt as though they would never finish.
The first light of dawn was creeping over the wasteland. In pure darkness, with not even the moon to give light this night, the first rays of sunshine were a beacon to herald the new day.
Eventually, when the PIP–Boy clock had finally squeezed past 0559 hrs into 0600, a knock came at the door. It opened to reveal Vargas, who carried a tin cup of coffee in his hand. The liquid belched steam in the cool dawn air. "Mornin,"Vargas said.
Alex grunted, followed by another yawn. The sniper laughed softly. "I know that feelin', aftera long stakeout for a target or just waiting up here for shift to end. It's boring as hell but I consider a boring night to be a good night: no enemies coming to raid the town. I tell ya before me and Boone, this place was locked tighter than a Vault at night, afraid of bandits and raiders. Few came, but it has happened."
Nodding, too tired to speak, Alex stood. A massive yawn exploded from his throat, and Vargas laughed louder this time. The two men exchanged the chair, and Alex made for the stairs. Down the old wooden steps, through the gift shop and out the second door, he decided to check in on Boone before going to sleep for a few hours, followed by the walk to Boulder City.
He crossed the yard for Boone's door. It was locked and no answer came when he knocked. Moving to the window, he peered inside. Furniture was overturned, and a body lay on the floor, easily identified by the broad shoulders.
Fear settled in his gut, action overtook reason. Stepping back to the door, away from it, Alex raised his right foot. Clad in the tough, calf high, boots of his armor, the ankle was stiff, the leg strong.
He thrust forward, the leg a battering ram striking the door above the lock plate; a thunderous crack, the shattering of wood as loud as a gunshot. Had the foot not worked, a few bullets might have. Shouldering the door aside, he made for Boone.
Rolling the man over, he saw the man was passed out from drink. Boone had consumed a lot of alcohol by the size of the empty bottle clutched in his hand. Except for severe dehydration headache from so much alcohol, Boone was okay. Grabbing the man under the arms and around the chest, Alex hauled him to the bed, where the limp body flopped onto the bare mattress.
Looking around, the room was a mess. What furniture held within the room was demolished; a full cabinet was rested on its front, with several dresses revealed between the split planks. The only table in the room rested upside down, one leg broken. Poker chips and playing cards lay everywhere. The only thing untouched in the room was a shelf which held three framed pictures.
Examining these Alex saw they were photographs: center left showed Boone and several men in uniform, out in the desert, somewhere. In this picture, curiously, Boone held more insignias upon his uniform than did the men around him. He was centered in the photograph as well, his buddies arrayed in a cocky, laid back style of men whose only thought, at the moment, was where the next opportunity to get clean would be.
A second picture showed Boone, in a clean uniform, with a beautiful woman on his arm. They were smiling. Lights shone behind them. Alex surmised the woman was the future Carla Boone.
The third was the most striking. Of Carla and Boone, on a balcony with the sun illuminating the now married couple. Boone looked very handsome in his formal attire. And Carla…well, damn, she was a knockout if Alex had ever seen one (He probably had in the past. Damn missing memories). A healthy figure with generous curves, hair tied back to expose a graceful neck. She was radiant in the sunlight.
Turning away, Alex stepped on one thing he had not noticed. Crouching, he retrieved the pistol Boone had carried the other day. Ejecting the magazine he found it filled with bullets; pulling the slide ejected another.
Resetting the machine, Alex dry–fired the pistol; smooth trigger motion, the hammer fell, and the mechanism clicked. It sounded alright. Sitting cross legged, he took the pistol apart piece by piece, arranging each in an order that was another aspect of his second nature knowledge.
The gun lay, in parts now, before him; all were in fine condition except one. Picking up the firing pin, he examined the piece. A crack split the metal in two, the fragment lost somewhere.
From his observations and some guesswork, Alex could imagine the scene in the darkness of night, where this man sat in his depression, alone to face his demons.
Town of Novac
Home of Craig Boone, Carla Boone (deceased)
0000 hrs
Slow, steady pressure, just another shot… just one more…
Craig pulled the trigger.
'Click' The pistol let off not a roar… but a snap of metal on metal.
His mind, so focused on the simple exercise of firing a weapon, did not register the gun had not gone off. When the light from his bedroom lantern did not fade, Craig pulled the pistol from beneath his jaw. He was breathing, hard.
His blood heated, boiled. Mouth turned down in a grimace and then a snarl. Hands shook; the pistol grip dug into the palm. With a roar, he flung the useless weapon at the wall. It struck and spun off somewhere.
He kicked over the chair, upturned the table, grabbed the chair again and smashed into against the wall.
He gripped the dresser, still full of Carla's dresses and his plain shirts and pants, sending the whole piece to crash and splinter against the floor.
He ripped the sheets from the bed and tore the fabric in half and then tore again into quarters.
Finally, he punched the wall. The fist sunk into the old material. Skin broke; old nails cut into the flesh. Pulling back, the cuts went deeper. Staring at the hand, the palm, knuckles, fingers and wrist were torn, blood ran in rivulets.
He watched the beads of red collect and then drip onto the floor. Staggering over to the broken table Craig searched the floor, looking for the pictures. They lay beyond the destruction, frames and glass undamaged. Picking them up and setting on their shelf, the last five swallows of whiskey sent the man into oblivion.
Standing once more, Alex looked at the man on the bed. Boone slept, snoring into the mattress. Only one thought crossed his mind.
'This place will kill him' with that thought in mind Alex made for the door, sleep forgotten now.
Up the stairs and into his room, he pulled every single item taken from the RepConn facility, from the most menial piece of scrap to the largest weapon. Some of the Nightkin had dropped their weapons on the way out of the facility, depressed at their poor fortune of finding their Stealth Boys.
From the pack, Alex pulled what Boone had called an Incinerator–basically a fireball launcher. He would keep it for himself, the idea of holding that kind of power was… interesting. But the weapon would benefit more from being a profit than as a weapon.
Every gun was arranged in order of size and ammunition type, every small item was paired with duplicates. Satisfied, Alex left the room, locking it. Making for a bungalow across the yard, he knocked, hard.
A haggard Cliff Briscoe answered, wearing a shirt and underpants. The older man stared at Alex, sleep keeping him from recognizing him. Slapping a hand over his eyes, he dragged it down his face. "Hmm, yes, what do you want?" the merchant asked, eyes hazed from the half sleep state
Standing tall, spine straight, shoulders back, "Mr. Briscoe, I have an offer for your town that it cannot refuse. Help me and this deal will ensure Novac is very wealthy."
The want of sleep clouded Briscoe's mind "W–what deal? I don't got… no deal with you."
A firm clap of his hands brought Briscoe back to attention.
"Mr. Briscoe, get your pants on and please follow me." The commanding tone got Briscoe moving. Back in his room, he pulled on a pair of very old jeans. Following the young man out and up the stairs, all Cliff could think of was the warm bed he had left.
A door opened, and Cliff stood at the threshold. The young Alex held out his arm to stop the man from entering. Blinking, he stared. And then his eyes shot wide open at the array of weapons, ammo, parts, and so much scrap metal that dozens of old machines in town could be repaired, or sell them for a handsome profit to any trader that came through.
Mouth agape, Alex clapped Briscoe on the shoulder. Turning, their eyes met. "Mr. Briscoe, I will give these to you, free of charge, in exchange for selling them at the best available price and giving me half of the profits with a finders' fee up front of five hundred caps" Cliff stared back at the small mountain of goods before him. A grin spread across his face. Gripping in a fierce handshake, the two men agreed.
Cliff organized half a dozen caravan merchants to have a look at the salvage, and Alex was paid his fee, with which he purchased goods from the traders Briscoe organized.
Before the morning meeting of traders, Hugh had doubled his money through trade of yet more salvage from RepConn. Briscoe had a look at the size of the man's money bag – it was full. The remaining profits were stuffed into a satchel he carried.
Cliff shook his head. The man was a natural of the merchant's art and had a silver tongue that had traders who kept their wallets tight, shaking hands with him over large sums of caps, some going higher than two hundred and more.
But he did not keep the profits. Nope, he returned them into the town economy, buying water, dried fruits and meat, ammunition for the arsenal he carried, along with oil from rendered fats of gecko, Brahmin and Bighorner, each in a separate container.
Nine o'clock came around, and the merchants gathered. Cliff stood before the items to negotiate on behalf of the deal with Hugh. The group descended upon the goods as bloatflies to a corpse, calling out prices that escalated in number until, for a clutch of sensor modules, one merchant paid out five hundred caps.
Cliff wondered if that was what the young man had wanted: create a competitive atmosphere to drive up prices on items that would otherwise sell for a few dozen caps. One plasma rifle sold for one thousand, its ammunition sold for fifty apiece. What others might call junk were a treasure to Novac's coffers and Hugh himself. During the whole thing, the young man sat, silent, a small smile on his one point Hugh left the merchants and entered Boone's room–oddly, the door was busted open–and he stayed inside for some time.
Boone still lay on the bare mattress, on his back now. Alex was crushing some medication into a water bottle cap, mixing the powder with water. Once the solution was of… agreeable viscosity between water and powder, he mixed the whole bottle.
Opening Boone's mouth, Alex dribbled small amounts of water down his throat, and the instinctual reflex to swallow did the rest. The bottle was emptied after a number of minutes.
From the door Alex watched Briscoe negotiate, haggle and sell for the highest price the goods he'd taken from RepConn. Talking with those merchants about money, and deal, and trade goods left him feeling sour.
The instinctual need to hold tight to their purses, trying to make money where little could be spared, some merchants had the gall to offer him goods at prices that were ridiculous for the condition of the pieces.
One had tried to sell him a .45 pistol that Alex revealed to be so rusted it would break or explode if fired. The merchant was properly ashamed and sold the other items at lowered prices AFTER Alex had threatened to inform Cliff Briscoe, Mayor of Novac and the primary contact for merchants looking to buy RepConn salvage, of the insulting attempt to sell poor quality items.
A groan was uttered, coming from the bed. Turning, Alex saw Boone stirring between wakefulness and sleep. Rolling onto his back, their eyes met briefly before the sniper covered them again with a groan.
A muttered "shit" followed, and Alex smirked. "That happy to see me, huh?"
Turning onto his side again, Boone ignored the quip. "Why are you in my room," the sniper asked.
Leaning against the busted doorframe Alex related his story of the morning. Though he could not see the man's face, his voice carried with it the image of a scowl.
"I don't want your help, so get the hell out."
Not budging, Alex replied, "You were much more keen on the idea yesterday."
Still turned away, Boone shot back, "that's because you pissed me off, and you stopped my first try. That dig about the First was low, so I went to show you exactly what we were about."Alex chuckled, but without mirth; the sound caused Boone to tense, become angry. It was a better reaction than depression but not by much. It would work for now. "You never answered my question. Were you at Bitter Springs?"
The question was stated in a neutral tone, but Boone tensed considerably. With a slight movement the sniper grabbed something on the ground. He spun around, bringing the useless nine millimeter to bear on the infuriating man only to find a ten millimeter staring at him from across the room.
Alex held the pistol easily, finger on the trigger guard. Boone looked at the pistol and then his own. He threw the piece at the wall, where it clattered onto the floor. The ten was holstered. Sinking back onto the mattress, the Sniper stared down the Courier. "What do you want?"
Alex would have considered the question, but in this situation an answer was needed, not a long explanation. Approaching, he knelt by the barren bed. "I want you to go with me. I have a score to settle with someone in New Vegas, but I want answers first. So I'm going to Boulder City, where ever that is"
Boone sat up, "Why Boulder?"
Nodding outside, Alex replied "Vargas told me some of the guys who were following the one I'm interested in were on their way to Boulder City. If there is a trace, I'll find it."
Boone shook his head. "Boulder's a ruin; nothing but corpses in that place." At the perplexed look on the courier's face, the sniper continued "back in '78, Rangers lead the might of the Legion into Boulder. There the NCR held until a trap was sprung: the whole city was used as an explosive weapon. It worked, but every trooper and Ranger inside was annihilated. It's just a giant grave today"
Alex nodded "well, Vargas told me that's where my guys were off to, so there I will go by myself" He stared the sniper down "or, you could go with me…"
Boone cocked his head to the side, wondering if the guy before him was serious or being facetious. The grim expression and hard eyes suggested the former. He scoffed, "why the hell should I go anywhere with you? I went along yesterday because it was in the interest of the town. Don't get me wrong, the people here lied to me and that pisses me off, but I helped anyway. Beyond that I got no reason to go anywhere, 'specially not with some wasteland wanderer shit who just so happens to have some noble cause stuck up his ass."
Alex remained calm. He thought this was merely bitterness directed outward as Boone had been unable to take his own life, and now was directed onto the surrounding world.
"I hunt slavers and their ilk," Alex said. Boone stared up at him, and nodded. "Yep; I killed a camp of over twenty after Nipton was burned to the ground and then rescued the hostages and brought them to the Mojave Outpost"
Boone stood, squared his shoulders, and sized up Alex anew."Are you Alex Hugh, from Primm?" With a nod of affirmation, Boone let out a puff of air as a laugh. "Christ, I really did find myself a bona fide 'hero' didn't I?" the sniper said derisively.
Alex merely shrugged. "If you think about my offer without being an ass, there are benefits: you get outta this town, you wander the wasteland actually doing something, and if we're lucky run into a lot of slavers for you to vent on. Also, survival is more possible with a larger group, more firepower use against anyone stupid enough to think they could take on such a force… which plenty have tried. All have failed."
The cocky, confidant, and self-assured attitude Hugh practically wore as a coat just pissed off Boone even more. But he was also right. Not a damn thing could be done about the wasteland in Novac, so… why the hell not?
Shrugging, Boone grunted, followed with a nod. Retrieving his travel pack and other essentials, he readied for… whatever it was wasteland wandering heroes did.
Alex left the man to his preparation, returning to Cliff. Most of the items were gone now. A metal box stood open with so many different colored caps inside he could not guess the profits. Half of that would be his. Despite his distaste for the mercantilist trade, profit certainly was… appealing.
The armor, again, and the rifle; Boone would never admit it Hugh was right, b spoken admission anyway. This town would be his death more assuredly than leaving, than in fighting Legionaries. He didn't care though. Yesterday, moving, fighting, felt good, old practice and techniques that had gone soft reignited with purpose. The feeling of living once again, he hungered for it, for life.
He'd felt that way when he'd dated Carla, and more so when they married and tried for children. She made him feel alive. And now has come into his life this wasteland wanderer who offers… something other than sitting around, merely existing. What Boone wanted was revenge, the kind where nothing was gained for himself except sweet release in the end
Boone wanted to find anyone under the flag of the Bull, as many as possible before they killed him in return. Go down fighting, that was the idea: find the biggest camp of Legionaries and just shoot until his magazine was dry and all he had was the machete on his belt, a memento from '78, a more fitting reward than the medal and promotion the brass had given him.
Armor cinched, belt pouches full, bandolier full, boots tight, rifle in sling, beret and sunglasses, and travel pack filled. Everything in neat organization… some things never change, such as old habits. Grabbing the pack straps, shouldering it, cinching it snug, Boone made for the door. Out of habit, he closed it, remembering only when the lock did not set that it was destroyed.
Everything he wore was his life now, again. The life with Carla was stowed away in the footlocker under the bed. Boone approached Hugh, who stood by Cliff Briscoe and several merchants, pawing over the loot from RepConn. The pile was smaller now, just some scrap, weapons and ammo left over. One merchant was considering the Incinerator.
Briscoe was haggling, the merchant was arguing. Finally Hugh intervened, poured over the merchants' own wares and took a few items on trade. The merchant finally handed over a fist sized money pouch and proceeded to tie the incendiary weapon onto the pack Brahmin. The last pieces were bought or traded.
Hugh and Briscoe closed the box containing the money, bid farewell to the merchants and made for the gift shop. Boone followed. Inside, the two men were dividing the income.
Hugh turned, nodded, and finished the transactions.
"Mr. Briscoe, I will leave a portion of my share with you, please keep it somewhere safe. I will return to claim it at some future time. Do not tell me where, just hide it." Hugh said, sliding a large share of caps at the merchant.
Briscoe nodded, retrieved a smaller box and stowed the caps, "I'll find a good place for these, I promise". Courier and merchant shook hands to conclude the deal.
Hugh turned for the door and Boone followed. "Before we head out, I need to talk to someone", Boone said.
At the bottom of the stairs, Hugh turned to look at Boone with a questioning expression on his face. But the courier said nothing, merely followed the sniper to another bungalow in the yard. Boone knocked, waited. The door was answered by a black man in shirt and pants but wearing combat boots and a hat worn by NCR Rangers. The man smiled.
"Boone, what do I owe the visit?" the man asked.
Boone held out his hand and shook "I'm leavin' Andy; you remember what we talked about? Well now's the time".
The smile on the former Ranger, Andy, dropped. He opened the door wider, revealing a left leg encased within a metallic splint, supported by a cane.
"So yer' leavin', for where?" Andy asked.
Boone shrugged "don' know. You still keep that old rifle maintained?"
Andy scoffed, turning stiffly into the bungalow. At a large footlocker, the former Ranger tapped a key combination. The lid opened. Within was an old sniper rifle. Whereas the rifle Boone carried was a hunting rifle repurposed, this piece was built for the hunting of men: long barrel, lightweight frame, and powerful scope.
Boone nodded, turning away.
"Hold up'" Andy called. Boone turned back and the former Ranger beckoned the two men closer. The door to the bungalow closed; Andy spoke in low tones "I was on the radio earlier with Charlie: something happened down there. I wouldn't worry about it much but whatever it was sounded as though there was some rough–housin'. Check it out before you skip town permanently – you know how important that post is, Craig."
Craig nodded, turning for the gate once more. Hugh fell into an easy stride beside him. Beyond the gate and onto the train tracks that ran through town, Boone and Hugh went south. Outpost Charlie, the primary NCR presence within a twenty mile radius, was about four miles from town following the tracks. Walking at a fast clip they could arrive in about an hour and a half. The two men remained silent for a time.
"You make plenty on all of that loot you got?" Boone asked.
Hugh nodded a smirk on his face. "An even five thousand on everything, plus items on trade, such as these" Hugh pulled from his pocket a pair of sunglasses, but the lenses were much darker than the pair Boone wore.
As Hugh was affixing the eyewear, ED–E let out a sound similar to the song it played yesterday, but this was merely a single guitar, climbing in sound from a low bass to a high screech. The sound hit a crescendo once the glasses were affixed. Boone shook his head, wondering what this man was about and the situation that would follow in their wake.
Whatever that was, all enemies would fall before his scope.
The sun sat high above the mountains, shadows almost nonexistent within the cut between the tall rock faces. Between this great cleft in the rock, that lead forward and south were the steel tracks of rail, stretching forward until unseen, the metal blistering hot beneath the burning orb of heat. The heat was concentrated and directed inward within the valley, raising the temperature greatly.
The glasses Alex wore helped as the sunlight hammered at his eyes.
Outpost Charlie emerged from the vaporous tendrils of heat rising from the ground.
Upon the car rooftops, Boone could spot no sentry. A bad sign already. Bringing the rifle to bear and eye set to scope, he scanned first the Outpost, then the surrounding area. Alex checked his scanner: no life signs and the range had been set to maximum.
Boone whistled a sharp sound that cut across the stretch between them and the Outpost; it echoed back, until carried away on the small breeze that rustled the surrounding scrub brush. He sighed.
"Well, there is probably an ambush inside, or it is completely abandoned" Boone said; the two men exchanged a look. ED–E beeped in agreement.
Alex checked his ten millimeter and then Lucky, followed by the two rifles, the shotgun on his lower back, ending with the grenade rifle. All loaded.
They approached Outpost Charlie as quietly as possible, moving with bent knees and weapons shouldered.
At the corner to the entrance of the outpost, Alex scanned the courtyard for traps. He saw none and gestured; ED–E moved further in also scanning, sending a video feed to the PIP–Boy. All was clear within.
Entering the courtyard, there lay no evidence of any sort to suggest some foul play. Aside from the fact that the whole base had been occupied no more than a day ago, this outpost was kust another abandoned wasteland structure of man. The barracks was another situation.
Opening the door, the smell of decaying flesh long dead and cooking within an enclosed environment assaulted the nose. The stench brought tears to the eyes of both men and neither moved to go inside immediately.
Taking the bandana from his pocket, Alex tied it securely around his nose. He entered the barracks carefully, seeing two bodies on the floor. Their posture looked posed, and the chest was elevated. Crouching, grabbing one soldier by the boot, he pulled the body.
Hidden was a landmine, the glowing red light fierce in the dim room. Stepping forward, the landmine sounded its proximity alarm. Reaching, Alex pressed the flashing red button which turned green. He placed the explosive upon the nearby desk. Another body, in a doorway, also hid a landmine. But here lay only two rangers, where were the others?
A door stood closed to his right. The front room was the office; two rooms on the side and directly behind the wall were bathrooms; the closed door, he surmised, must be the bunkroom.
And Alex was correct, three additional bodies lay in their bunks, throats slit. A trap, made of a tripwire, jury rigged to a grenade and some kind of canister, lay across the threshold. Loosening the taut wire was easy and freed the simple device.
Outside with Boone once more, after taking a gulp of clean, dry desert air, Alex presented the explosives, in addition to some small plastic devices with tape reels inside. "Holotapes" Boone said and then looked at the PIP–Boy. "I've heard these machines can play 'em"
Examining the machine revealed a slit large enough for one tape; a menu showed a 'play' option.
The first tape was merely a journal entry of one ranger, ending with an utterance of surprise from the man speaking. The second tape was a warning.
"We are coming. The Legion cannot be stopped. We have taken one of the women alive" The tape ended, and Boone sighed.
"Alright, I guess we go back, give Andy the" nodding, Alex fell into step with the sniper.
"The Legion… here, so far west." Ranger Andy sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He turned back to his visitors.
Boone sat in a chair while Alex stood, waiting merely to leave."Well, I'll inform M.O. of this, let Jackson take care of it. Thanks for all the trouble fellas'"
Boone stood and shook hands with the former ranger, now Novac's new night sentry. Honestly, the sniper was glad to be rid of the job. Maybe have a regular sleep pattern, dreams permitting. He doubted that very highly.
"Before you go, maybe I can help you out. I don't have money, but I've got skills" Andy looked between the two men.
Boone grunted, with a muttered "I'll pass", and then turning for the bungalow door. Alex accepted.
For ten minutes, Andy showed Alex a takedown maneuver, but without a proper partner to practice with, the full motion and result could not be taught. Boone was 'volunteered', with grumbling.
Standing at a space of five feet, the two men faced each other. Alex took one step back, turned, dropped, and swung his leg around to connect with his opponent. Boone braced for the impact, but he still fell.
With a smirk, Alex held out his hand to the downed sniper. Boone took the hand, was pulled up, and then both shook. Gathering their packs, both men departed from Novac.
Back on the highway 95, north once more. In the far distance, a broken city could be seen, rising from the heat as though it were a watery vision. Checking the PIP–Boy map, Boulder City lay twenty miles north. They would never reach the city before nightfall. Sighing, Alex put one foot before the other.
Another day and his answer could be long gone by the time he reached the ruin that lay ahead. Taking off his hat, Alex ran fingers through his lengthening hair, already tickling the back of his neck, brushing against skin.
The sun lay half covered behind the mountains, red tinged in the waning light of day. Shadows cast long upon the ground, from the remnants of the old world, the standings of the rare plants that thrive in this burning land and two men with one floating machine.
Alex walked ahead, Boone some feet behind him. ED–E floated between the two men. Silence had ruled the entire walk since Novac. The predators of the desert had not attempted an attack upon the three travelers. No persons had come upon them all day. He felt as though, within a finite moment that the world was vacant, with just themselves as the sole inhabitants.
Despite the company, Alex felt… alone. Looking back, he had enjoyed the near constant questions of Amber Li and answering them as well. It had been a welcome distraction from the monotony of travel.
The sun finally set as the companions traveled forward, all that was heard within their small atmosphere of the world was the treading of boots, the whir of the machines' engines… and music, distant, faint, and a single instrument.
Alex stopped, as did Boone and ED–E. They listened – ahead, some yards off, at a fire by an old billboard, sat a familiar person, strumming on a familiar instrument.
Approaching, Alex whistled. The music stopped, the player looked up.
Alex waved. The man stood, setting the guitar down, hand on his hip near the grip of the massive revolver he wore. Closing the distance, the man recognized the tall fellow in leather armor and that old hat.
The Drifter broke out in a smile as wide as the moustache upon his face. Moving from his pistol, he stuck out a welcoming hand. Alex took the gesture and shook hard. "Welcome to my camp, friend. Hell of a place to meet you of all people" said the man
Nodding, Boone was introduced along with ED–E. The sniper and Drifter shook hands, and the machine bobbed up and down, spun in the air above their heads.
Gesturing to the Drifter, Alex said to Boone and ED–E "this man was in the thick of a fight with some outlaws in Goodsprings. Didn't even get hightail outta town but offered his gun in service to help fight".
ED–E let off a long whir, an imitation of a whistle. Boone nodded. The Drifter gestured to sit and the three men rested around the fire with the machine hovering above the billboard acting as sentry.
Taking up the guitar, the Drifter played a tune with a good tempo and then sung with the tempo.
"I killed a man in Dallas / And another in Cheyenne / But when I killed the man in Tombstone / I overplayed my hand…"
The fingers strummed the strings, the voice uttered the words, and the wind carried both across the plains into the growing night.
The sun set, stars bloomed, and a sickle moon sat in the sky. The fire burned hot to make a circle of warmth. Boone sat upon a pair of old tires, Alex in the dirt, the Drifter and his guitar atop an old cinderblock.
The night lengthened, and all that was light was surrounded by darkness. Standing, Alex went to his pack for the tied down bedroll. Laying down the heavy canvas cover and slipping the blankets inside, he removed the armor, pants and hat, folding the clothes and setting them atop the pack.
Slipping beneath the covers, he stared into the starlit sky and listened to the Drifter play his songs. Alex drifted off into sleep.
'Crash' a flash of sparks. 'Clash' the fatigue began to set in. 'Screech' therasp of metal upon metal as two blades crossed. They parted.
He went to one knee, sweat flowing off in rivulets. Looking up, his opponent appeared unfazed. The head shook, disappointed.
The other spoke, hands moving. The face could not be seen, but the smirk could. The smirk angered him, the words enraged. A feral roar, a blind charge, the crash of steel once again, now rapid, frantic.
A single twist, one twitch of the wrist, and the blade flew. He watched the steel but not the fist as it sunk into his gut. Doubled over, blood boiled.
And then came the knee. Pain.
A thrust into his chest, and he was on the ground once more, now on all fours.
He tried to stand, but the other straddled his back, gripped his neck and top of his skull. The hands squeezed, dug into his flesh, drawing blood.
"You will do as I say, or you shall die. Our contract will be void"
Quiet now, he nodded. The other gave him a cloth to wrap his wounded neck. Blade in hand once more, they faced across the distance between.
Moving; anticipating; 'crash' the other smiled, nodded, moved, twisted, the blade came down again and was met easily.
Hugh went to bed, but Craig had no inclination or desire just yet to sleep, and so he kept awake, watching the fire, listening to the Drifters' guitar and singing. He was good.
So he sat, watched and listened, until sheer physical need forced him to lay out his own bedroll and sleep. Craig dreamed that night, of Carla, but… it was different
He sat in a chair, upon a white porch.
A breeze rustled the leaves upon a tree.
He stood, looked down at himself. He wore a white shirt and shorts, muscled calves protruding from the shortened pants legs. Beyond a fence of driftwood was a beach.
Compelled, he placed one foot before the other, walked, passed the fence, up a rise, between two tall dunes with a cleft cut between. Beyond was the ocean.
Still in the cleft, he heard the crash of waves, the cry of gulls, and the smell of salt. He breathed, taking all of it in.
Eyes open, down by the shore, a woman in a white dress – cut at the knees, strapless, loose enough to ruffle in the breeze.
Approaching, he stood behind her, hand raised to descend upon her shoulder. But he could not.
Craig awoke to the smells of food cooking on a fire, but he did not immediately rise.
Alex awoke to the smells of meat upon an open flame. Sitting up, the Drifter had three skewers of meat angled toward the fire; fatty grease dripped into tins hung by wire.
Removing himself from the bedroll, Alex stretched; vertebrae popped, tension released from his neck. He walked about one dozen feet away from camp and began his routine.
Muscles extended, tendons stretched. Thirty minutes and he was sweating as the sun beat down upon the land. Routine finished he attended to cleaning and dressing. Another ten minutes and Alex was re–armored.
Kneeling at the fire side, the Drifter handed over one skewer and a cured animal stomach filled with water and pulverized cactus pears. The sweet concoction paired well with the flavor of the meat. Eventually, Boone rose to eat and dress as well.
The three men ate their meal, drank, ED–E played music and the sun crept slowly higher into the sky. When the PIP–Boy said 0700, Alex and Boone departed the Drifter's camp for the ruin of Boulder City, just another eight miles.
The tread of boots upon old asphalt remained the only sound of the trio. Even ED–E remained silent during the journey. The sun rose in the sky, heat vapors waved in the air, and the ruin of the city before them drew closer.
On the outskirts, Boulder City lived up to its namesake: it was a near worthless pile of rubble, given a meager life by the sacrifice of men and a large slab of granite bearing the names of the fallen.
A lone soldier stood at the memorial, hand upon a name, face long cast and eyes distant; the trio passed this private griever, Boone bowing his head in homage. Ahead, Alex could see a ramshackle fence, perhaps a settlement further inside the city itself.
Rounding the corner, however, the trio was stopped by sentries, half a dozen soldiers bearing rifles at the two men and robot. An officer stood behind the sentries, back turned, relaying something over a radio unit. The man's head drooped, and then an affirmation seemed to have been reached. The officer stepped away from the radio.
"Identify yourselves" the man demanded, looking squarely at Boone and Alex and glancing at the floating robot.
"Craig Boone" the sniper responded.
"Alex Hugh" stated the courier.
The officer, a lieutenant, at the utterance of their names looked shocked. Turning to the radio again, the officer dialed a new channel.
He spoke with whoever was on the other end, speaking animatedly and uselessly in front of the radio. The lieutenant nodded, replied a goodbye, and returned."I just spoke with Ranger Jackson at M.O., he says you're trustworthy. There is a situation here; some great Khans have taken a squad hostage. The gang is passed this fence and within the rubble."
Alex listened, merely absorbing the situation. Boone, however, tensed, first at the mention of Khans and growing as the lieutenant relayed the circumstances.
Nodding, Alex divested himself of pack and gun harness, the only remaining weapon was his ten. Boone followed suit, but at the gate into the fence, the courier stopped the sniper.
"From what I have gathered, the Great Khans relationship with the Republic is… frictional" Alex said the last word with a shrug and tilt of his head.
Boone snorted "that's a word; when I was discharged the general policy of the NCR was shoot-on-sight. Someone hasn't given that order here… not yet".
Nodding, Alex gestured at the hunting rifle "give me cover if things go seventy-seven, I want to run away without crossfire".
Agreeing, Boone took his weapon. Passed the gate, the rubble of the city became treacherous. In several places the two men had to squat in order to scale the debris. ED–E merely floated over the ruins.
At one difficult pile the snarky little ball stated the ease of its own passage and wondered why humans used such outdated methods of transportation as legs, noting the time it took for their group to arrive in Boulder City as an example. Alex responded by throwing a small rock at the little smartass, which caused a text of outrage and laughter to appear on the PIP–Boy.
When once the city streets would have been avenues of cars and pedestrians, now the rubble choked the old byways, rendering movement slow and often dangerous. Twice, a piece of debris – rusted rebar the first time, a slab of reinforced concrete the second – gave out beneath his foot and Alex fell. Both times Boone caught him. Two city blocks required thirty minutes to traverse.
A squad of troopers met them within the ruins. The squad leader, a woman sergeant, informed Alex and Boone of the present situation "The Khans are held up in that building down the street, the one mostly intact. A few are outside, but I've seen more patrolling".
Alex examined the area: rubble strewn as the rest of the city but this area was traversable enough. The building indicated was a two–story: shop downstairs, office or home upstairs. A blown out structure sat to the left, and through the window frames were people dressed in various leather outfits.
"I'll take up position on this side of the street" Boone said, walking off to an unknown location.
Alex moved forward, arms up. ED–E stayed close, hovering above and to the side of him. Across the last block he could see the gang members visibly grew more tense at his approach. One person raised their weapon but another swatted the barrel down, gave terse orders to the group, and walked out to meet him, mouth agape.
This gang member, a woman, looked terrified. As she saw his face the color drained from her own. Her legs shook and, almost imperceptibly, shook her head. Her mouth moved without sound. Standing before the woman, a girl really, sound flowed from her lips finally
"You're dead" she said.
A suspicion, laced with a previously unknown anger, rushed in his veins. Removing the new sunglasses, Alex fixed his eyes upon this girl before him. She seemed rooted to the spot and could not move for fear.
"Were you at the cemetery?" Alex asked. She nodded, throat working, breath coming in wheezy gasps, eyes growing wet.
"Did you dig the grave?" He asked. The girl shook her head, her front teeth gnawed the lower lip, body tense.
"Did you pull the trigger?" The final question broke the girl. Tears ran down her face, a grimace of sorrow and fear. She crossed her arms over her exposed chest, covering her breasts and unconsciously wrapping herself in a vain attempt at protection from the specter before her. Alex leaned forward, to whisper into the girl's ear. "Then you are not my enemy"
Sidestepping the girl, Alex approached the two–story building. The thought of merely walking in did not sound wise, and so his knuckles wrapped on the old door. A few seconds and the door opened. Beyond the threshold stood another gang member, leather outfit with an additional green bandanna wrapped around his forehead. This man's reaction was much the a match to the girl.
"You're dead"
McMurphy is dead. Now it's just him. Jessup ran a hand over his face, smelling dead man's shit all around him.
The dead man lay on a mattress, a syringe in his arm. McMurphy had not stopped talking about how wrong it was to let that bastard Benny shoot that Courier, didn't stop talking about what he said in his last moments. Both men had nightmares about it: the guy would speak, the bullet cracked, and darkness would engulf the world.
And then they awoke, sweating, terrified of what they could not say. It just seemed a shadow followed them all the way here, from Goodsprings all the way to this pit of what used to be a city.
The fear finally got to McMurphy, and the man overdosed during the night, but it was not an easy way out. Nope, he vomited, choked on the bile and died. The only way Jessup found out was the smell after the man had shit himself in death.
Now it seemed Jessup was next. First Chance, next McMurphy and now him as the NCR waited outside of this old store. Only the hostages kept himself and his brothers and sisters alive for now. That small group some idiot had sent in…just a bunch of kids, not even old enough for the Khans initiation and a damn sight greener as well. A girl had nearly cried when he said they were not to be harmed.
All this was supposed to go so easily: get to Boulder, meet with a group laying low, and then escort that asshole Chairmen Benny back to Vegas. But the slippery bastard had snuck out in the night, and then the NCR came down around their ears.
All for a damn, shiny poker chip.
A knock came at the door. Jessup looked from where he sat. Standing up he crossed the space to the door, glancing back at the other man in the room, who held rifle at ready for whoever came in.
The door opened wide… to reveal a ghost.
His heart stopped for one beat and then rapidly sped up. Breathing became laborious as he stared into the eyes of a man who was buried in a cemetery almost fifty miles away as the crow flies.
"You're dead" was all he could manage, the situation just could not be real: a man shot through the skull, standing on the doorstep, healthy as a pack Brahmin. It just could not be.
"I got better" was all the man said. He rushed forward, barreling into Jessup to crash onto the floor. "Drop the rifle or you will be dead before you shoot" said the Courier seemingly risen from death.
Jessup now noticed the old ten in his hand. The Courier did not look at the other man, keeping eyes on him alone, but the pistol held true and never once did he look to verify the location of his aimed target. The sound of a rifle being placed on a surface acknowledged the threat.
The Courier stared at Jessup, eyes holding an ambivalence that could be either death or survival. "Where… is… Benny?" asked the specter which had haunted his and McMurphy's dreams.
Jessup jumped to respond "New Vegas, on the Strip. Th-the Tops I think, he's dressed as a Chairmen, so…" He remained on the floor, watching the Courier with pistol raised and eyes on him. The man nodded, holstering his weapon.
He moved for the door as if to leave but did not open it. Turning back, the Courier addressed the two Khans.
"There is a unit of NCR soldiers beyond the gate, if you release the hostages as a show of good faith I will speak to their commanding officer on your behalf, so all of you may leave this place alive"
Carefully, Jessup got to his feet, staring at the man. Unless his ears deceived him, this Courier was offering safety and escape to one who shared responsibility in the events of the theft and botched murder.
Unable to speak, Jessup nodded. The Courier opened the door and exited, the two Khans following. Around to the next building, a dozen Khans sat or stood around the captured troopers.
"Cut these kids free" ordered Jessup. The majority of Khans looked to him and then at the Courier who stood next to him. No one moved.
"Do it, damn it and we can all go home" Jessup said. One Khan stood and untied the NCR troopers, each standing gingerly.
The Courier stepped forward, stood before the troopers, stiff back and stern expression.
"Soldiers! Single file back to the gate. Move out!"
Terror, relief and without direction of what to do, the young soldiers responded to the voice of authority, gaining comfort and confidence in following direction from someone who held an aire of leadership. The troops filed out, following the Courier. Jessup and the Khans waited for one minute and then followed the backs of the retreating NCR soldiers.
Passed the gate the recovered NCR soldiers seemed to catch a second breath, double–timing as they followed a sergeant directed to take the unit to the barracks. Alex and Boone stood with Lieutenant Monroe.
"A damn fine thing you've done here, I'm glad you resolved this without bloodshed" but the relief did not show in his eyes.
Alex turned to the officer "and yet there is something about this situation left unresolved"
Monroe nodded, about to speak, when Boone cut in.
"He's been ordered to kill the Khans, down to the last. Higher officers, who have standing orders from Redding, decided if the troopers got out or not, the Khans were not to be negotiated with under any circumstances".
Alex looked to the lieutenant, now an edge held within his voice and gaze "is that correct, Lieutenant?"
The man, beneath the uniform, fidgeted on his feet "I have my orders".
Alex scoffed "lieutenant, if you carry out those orders you will perpetuate a cycle of aggression. Your superiors are not here and are able to make such decisions when they don't look into scared faces. You have the chance to make a moral judgment: kill and continue violence or walk away from it. Besides it was I who made this agreement and I will fight to honor it".
Alex stepped closer to the Lieutenant, staring the man down "I am skilled and can shoot enough of your men to make this the optimal solution, or I will fight my way out with the Khans on following and give them cover as they run. The choice is yours lieutenant".
Stepping away, Alex crossed his arms. Boone was tense, standing away from him. Monroe glowered and then his shoulders sank.
"Alright, they are free to go; I'll report the Khans slipped out some other way if anyone asks". Alex nodded and watched the Lieutenant depart.
The Khans came out from behind the fence, most began to move east. The one with the bandanna stopped by Alex. "Here" said the Khan, handing Alex a lighter, gold plated. "This belonged to that slick snake Benny". Saying no more the man walked off, only to stop when he saw Boone.
His Khans' face hardened, teeth bared. He turned to Alex "You realize you travel with a murderer" and then spat on Boone's boot.
The sniper did not react. When the Khans left, he merely wiped the toe on a piece of debris.
The three companions departed the fenced off area of Boulder City, heading towards the outskirts of still–standing buildings. Originally intending to move on, Alex spotted perhaps the one thing that could brighten the day. Nudging Boone, indicating with a nod at the bar, and the sniper nodded. Crossing the street, the trio entered the small establishment.
Tables sat with chairs resting on top, the bar was dim from the grime filtering light through the windows and the oil lamp sputtered on the bar top. A radio played the tunes which Alex had come to associate with the wasteland: slow, slightly mournful of long lost loves, and twangy. The barkeep seemed to emphasize the mood of this place, the bar and city both: a lonely man, bored, with little to occupy himself except for the rag that cleaned a held glass with slow motions.
The barkeep set down his glass as the two men approached, not taking time to eye the strange third companion.
"What'll ya' have, friends? I got beer, whiskey, and water".
"Beer" said Boone, taking a seat at the bar.
Alex followed suit, "same" he said.
Reaching underneath the bar the man brought out two frosty bottles. Boone was about to pay for his when the man waved away his caps.
"No sir, NCR drinks free here; you on the other hand…" the barkeep eyed Alex.
"He's my spotter, and my duck" Boone said. The barkeep snorted a laugh with a small smile, and set to business of the establishment in a back room
"You're 'duck' huh?" Alex asked.
Boone took a swig of beer before responding "means a decoy, something to draw out enemy positions so a sniper can pick off hostiles."
"Uh huh" Alex said, taking a pull from his own bottle. The two sat quietly for a time; ED–E descended atop a table to wait. Slow tunes played on the radio. A ceiling fan rotated slowly. For about ten minutes did the silence continue before Boone spoke.
"That was a hell of a thing you did, talking out those Khans and then Monroe" Boone snorted his usual laughter without twitch of lips. Another couple of minutes passed before he spoke again.
"Didn't think much of you when we met, just another waster and then you just helped, for no reason apparently." Boone turned to look at Alex "what's your endgame, Alex Hugh?"
Alex stared at Boone; Boone stared at Alex, neither wanting to break eye contact as though they held a contest of scrutiny, to see which would turn first. A shrug broke the moment and each stared back at their bottles.
"I don't know, actually; I'm just chasing after the last thing I remember" in his periphery vision he saw Boone glance at him. Nodding, Alex continued "before the twentieth of this month I don't remember a thing of my life; it's gone, erased… by a bullet". Removing the hat revealed the scar. Boone looked hard at the mark.
"I don't know what I was before… a family, a home to return to. I am a wanderer in all but name itself, and I don't even know if that is real either."
Boone remained silent, drank the decreasing beer, and sat. Alex drank as well, just beginning to feel the numbing, fluid sensation that comes with alcohol as it interacts with brain chemistry.
"After… then, Carla was the best thing in my life. I lived again because of her" Boone murmured into the quiet bar.
Alex nodded and raised his bottle "to that which is lost" the Sniper and Courier clacked glasses and downed the last of their beers.
'On the road again… someone should write a song about that, if anyone hasn't already" Alex snorted. But the trio was indeed back on the road, westward bound on the ninety–five, approaching a small outpost where this highway and the ninety–three intersected. A trading post as Boone mentioned.
The late afternoon sun slanted westward, falling steadily behind the great mountains that way. The sky was painted a deep orange, hues of red and pink giving way to increasing purple in the east. ED–E, seemingly happy with the beer–to–beer the two men had shared in Boulder was playing the last episodes of "The Shadow" that was on Radio New Vegas.
These last episodes had kept a measure of boredom from the group that had been present but not noticed until the little robot had begun playing the radio. Their strides were longer, when once they were languorous, the pace more sure and a feeling of wellbeing was present. Boulder was more than just getting part of an answer to further questions.
Though Alex would say he and Boone weren't friends, not yet, they were companionable, if silent. A tension, present ever since finding the sniper passed out drunk and his room destroyed, was relieved to an extent.
The sun touched the horizon of mountain peaks as the sight of a rise came into view. Boone pointed.
"That's the 188 Trading Post up there, which acts as a crossroads for all going or coming from Vegas and the Strip to outlying areas of the Mojave and vice versa".
Nodding, Alex fixed his hat. Though it did not actually need fixing, he'd discovered himself creating a habit of touching, tugging and pulling on the piece on several occasions. It was not a nervous tick, nor a gesture of contemplation, but… an unexplainable habit of unconscious motivation.
He put these thoughts aside as the trio approached the trading outpost. Up the rise of the overpass extending across the highway ninety–three they came to a small kitchen. The owners were a father and daughter partnership, he running the kitchen as clockwork and she handling sales and trades.
Alex and Boone ordered a couple of steaks and drinks, moving to a table to have their meal. The place was quiet with very little traffic at present: a couple of Brahmin caravans, some travelers but nothing… odd.
Save for a girl, a woman wearing… a robe of some material with a deep hood to cover her face. She sat at a table one row over and two tables back.
Boone, who sat facing in her direction, made a verbal notice. "Eyes on us: woman, robes, deep hood, been watching us since we arrived"
Alex, who sat away from the woman, nodded and cut another piece of meat "two ideas come to mind: one, she's the same who watched me at the M.O., or she's a traveler as we are and finds us curious. I'm for the latter, as the one at the M.O. wore leather armor, was slightly taller and muscular".
Boone nodded. The sunglasses remained on his face and so he watched the woman. Alex gestured and ED–E settled on the table with camera watching the woman.
Steaks finished, Alex wiped his hands on his bandanna. Nodding, he said "should we make introductions or continue a game of watch me – watch you?".
Boone snorted again "I hate cloak–and–dagger, much prefer the direct approach".
They rose from the table, Alex moving awkwardly as his long legs came out from the low bench. ED–E floated once more with a slight utterance of annoyance, claiming it was quite comfortable where it was.
Packs in hand they strolled to the table where the woman waited, watching. Setting down their heavy bags opposite of the table, Alex and Boone turned to the woman.
With a tip of his hat, Alex addressed her with his typical "ma'am". The woman pushed her hood back to reveal her face. It was young at first look but her body language and the way she looked at them suggested experience in the wasteland and a maturity of years hidden by the smooth olive skin.
"Hi, nice evening isn't it. I love this time of day, when the sun casts the world in such colors, it's a lot better than where I'm from" she turned in her seat to look at the colors of the setting sun, breathing in the warm air just beginning to tinge with the cool of night.
"The desert holds many faces, many names, many places / an untamed land / man tries in vain to hold with a tenuous grasp / amidst the sand and rock / between places of concrete / there lives only death for the unwary / and yet prosperity for those who know her / who feel the land in their blood". Alex said, gaze on the distant fire as the sun finally set beyond the mountains.
He blinked, pulled out from his reverie, and turned back to the woman. She was looking at him, smiling, an open expression of…interest. Alex smiled back, and gestured at the bench "may we sit? Our journey has been long and many roads have been taken".
She smiled wider at him "you may, oh weaver of words; rest your weary limbs, be welcome and in good company".
His smile turned into a grin. As Alex and Boone moved to sit, the sniper whispered in his ear "where did that come from?" to which the only response was a shrug.
Sitting, watching the change of colors in the sky, the woman was the first to move. "I know you came over here because you saw me watching, can't pull a fast one on me buster" she said, with a grin of the cat that swallowed the canary.
Alex laughed a grin on his face "so it seems I cannot win with words, so I must discard the trappings of civilized man and speak as a blunt savage". The woman was smiling even larger now, almost showing teeth.
"Why were you watching us ma'am?" Alex said, smiling but serious.
The woman looked back at the sky, now turning to the color of dark ink.
"I find myself curious as to why a man in leather armor is equipped with a RobCo PIP–Boy Model three–thousand D–Series, and is traveling with an Enclave Eyebot combat model B–2 first generation. One rare item I could believe on luck of the draw, but not two." She turned fully toward him, eyes alight with interest.
"Who are you, oh traveler?" she asked, face breaking into a full, teeth revealing smile now.
He extended his hand out towards the woman "Alex Hugh, Courier" she shook the proffered hand but did not offer her own name
"Craig Boone" the sniper said with a relaxed two fingered salute as a way of hello.
ED–E whirred and text appeared on the PIP–Boy screen, which Alex showed to the woman, who laughed. It was a sweet sound, full and alive, making her eyes close and her lips to part. Whoever this woman was she was not a wastelander.
"So why the curiosity, there are plenty of travelers come through this place?" Alex asked, and she nodded.
"Yes, many do come through here but none notice me. And those that do notice are men who see the first sight of a woman their brains stop thinking and their heads start working. And I have a general policy of no more than five hundred square feet of breathing space between myself and the entire male gender of humanity".
She eyed to the men now "so you keep this bubble of personal space and we'll have no issues"
Alex nodded, further perplexed as to this young woman. "So we are merely the first to notice your eyes upon us, and we obviously have a very interesting collection. And so that drew your attention?"
The woman nodded, "that and you don't seem to have lecherous ideas, and you greeted me as an equal – a courtesy of which many other men have not. So, yes, you are interesting in different ways than the others who have passed through in recent days.
The woman turned to Boone then "and you are so quiet, merely watching, observing. Why is that?"
Boone shrugged "I'm a sniper, being quiet is what we do."
The woman nodded, eyes on Boone a little longer before returning to Alex. "A reason I was interested in you was because… you seemed capable, know how to survive in the desert and I am interested in teaming up with such a person or group."
Alex raised an eyebrow, the enigma of this woman continuing. "We are capable that is the truth, but why would you want to join us miss…?" The question was both about her interest and her identity, but she waved an index finger slowly back and forth.
"Uh, uh, uh, you don't get to know my name just yet Mister Hugh, Courier man. But to answer your real question: I want to see more of… well the world really, but we are restricted to mostly the wasteland, aren't we?"
Alex shrugged "that restriction doesn't concern me as my business is in Vegas" This revelation seemed please the woman, as she clapped her hands together and a big smile lit her face.
"I have wanted to go to Vegas… for so long I can't tell you" she positively exuded excitement over the prospect of a visit. Alex watched her, and another query rose in his mind.
"For argument's sake, we take you along, what can you offer to the whole? You're smart, obviously, but something practical is more needed than intelligence" The woman's grin did not recede.
"I can make almost anything with the right parts, and I can take just about anything apart without breaking it. I'm really good with computers–my best time was eight seconds through a triple–layered passcode with a program to randomize the pattern every ten seconds. And then, there is this…"
She stood, turned to face the two men, held out her arm, palm up, and then swiftly turned the limb palm down, switching on a mechanism. A clatter of metal, gears and hissing escaped from the sleeve of the robe. From the cuff, her hand was encased in metal, forming over the fist into a steel shell. Alex and Boone just stared, both men surprised.
But the woman was not finished with her demonstration.
Stepping over to a bridge pillar still standing, she drew back her fist and slammed the steel into the head, cracking the old concrete pillar and sending the head flying off a distance of fifty feet before gravity pulled it back. The fractured piece shattered upon the old asphalt road below. A flexion of muscle and the fist retracted.
Sitting once again, she shrugged her shoulder "Pneumatic Power–Arm, utilizing micro systems to amplify physical strength to a maximum output over fifty times the human limit
Alex whistled "okay I'm impressed. And you, Boone?" the sniper nodded his agreement. ED–E gave his ascent, which earned a pat from the woman.
"Just one last thing… this is important" the woman looked somewhat nervous now. "What do you know of the Brotherhood of Steel?" She did not conceal her tension, it was plain upon her face this question was entirely serious for personal reasons.
Alex shrugged, stating he had no knowledge of a group under that name.
Boone, however, did "an organization of technologically advanced isolationists. They gather old world weapons, any useful and still functional technology, and knowledge to be archived, hoarding all of it for their own use. They aren't known for sharing, but the NCR had trading agreements and treaties during its inception years. The cooperation was beneficial to the growth of the Republic. But relations have degenerated into hostilities, at the moment there is no outright war but certainly not peace".
Alex watched the woman as Boone spoke, saw her eyes glaze over, shoulders slump.
"Here in the Mojave the last confirmed presence of the Brotherhood was at Helios One power plant, but that was before I was here. Rumors persist around the wasteland of sightings but most are unsubstantiated."
The woman looked up at the two men, now with a determination that revealed more than she consciously knew.
"And what is your opinion of the Brotherhood?" she asked.
Alex shrugged "I don't know enough about them to form an opinion; thus far they are just another group within the Mojave who exist for their own reasons. It is not my place to judge another".
The woman brightened at his words.
Boone, with his ever present scowl, said "The Brotherhood were allies of the NCR, and now they are at odds with it due to differences of opinion, politics change. The Brotherhood should help with security, use their technologies and help protect, though".
With a happy smirk on her face, the woman stood. "Well if you haven't guessed, I'm Brotherhood as well".
Boone grunted and Alex said "which is why you have that arm and the training to use it".
Standing, Alex and Boone gathered their packs. ED–E rose from the table. The woman retrieved her own pack from under the table and slung it on her shoulders.
"There's a place to bed down on the other side of the overpass. Oh, before we go…" she stuck out her hand "Veronica Santengelo."
The humans shook hands, ED–E uttered a greeting. The group walked to the opposite end of the overpass to a collection of tents and campfires. Choosing an empty tent, fire pit cold, they set down bags for the night. Alex started a fire with the lighter Jessup had given him and careful tending brought a warm blaze to their small corner of the camp area.
They each decided, silently, to forgo the tent, choosing instead to lay their bedrolls out beneath the stars. ED–E, in his series of beeps, asked to play some music for the evening, and Alex agreed. The tunes were a background noise to the cracking and snapping of wood within the fire.
On the bedroll, lying on his stomach, Alex stared at a book. It was the same one Mitchell had been reading when he awoke. During his stay with the Nash's the old novel had fallen from a pocket that had been opened to pack supplies for the trip out of Primm. He surmised the doctor had given it to him, there was a note but… he could not read worth a damn.
Since finding the old edition Alex had struggled to read one word to the next. Progress was measured not in pages or paragraphs but line by line… and barely the first paragraph had been read. It was frustrating rendered unable to read by oneself, having to rely on other persons, who could misread the text, attempt to deceive. And so he tried, every night.
And yet this night turned out to be different. A tread of boots brought his attention away from the page. Veronica stood above him, hands clasped before her, curious.
"What do your read?" she asked with a big smirk upon her face. That expression made dimples in her cheeks, her brown eyes glowed in the firelight.
"Words"he responded, also with a smirk.
Veronica knelt by him, holding out her hand. "May I read the title?" she asked. Closing the book, Alex placed it in her hand. By firelight she read the title. Her eyes widened; a gasp escaped her throat.
"To Kill a Mockingbird" Veronica almost squealed when she read the title. "Oh this is my all–time–forever–in–the–entire–world favorite book. I've read it half a dozen times and I still love this story. Can I borrow it when you're done?"
Alex, who had come to a sitting position now, looked away from her smiling gleeful face, into the fire.
Veronica misread the expression. "I'm sorry, we just met and I'm already asking you for things, and I shouldn't, and…" she was rambling, a habit that occurred when she became nervous.
Alex stopped her by calling her name with a sharp tone. Moving to one side of the bedroll, he invited her to sit.
Her hesitation brought a smirk onto his lips "I'll mind myself, Miss Veronica, but please sit and be comfortable".
Invitation accepted, Veronica took the other end of the bedroll.
Still looking into the fire Alex spoke "I was trying to read, but… since an injury I think I have either lost the ability to read; or I just don't remember how. I think it's the latter, but I am unsure". Turning in the firelight, he showed her the scar.
Veronica gasped, and when Alex looked again, she held her hands to her mouth, the book laid on the roll between them.
"So… you don't remember if you can read or not?" she asked, voice quiet so as not to disturb the peace of the night's quiet.
"I have been able to begin recognizing words and how letters sound, but large sentences I have difficulty with even if they are single syllable words. Large words, even a single one, are… beyond my ability."
That vulnerability rendered him… uncertain, open to manipulation, along with other emotions he could not properly place.
Veronica moved closer, book in hand again.
Settling next to Alex she said "I'm going to help you read again, Alex Hugh, so long as you don't try something fresh with me".
To say he was surprised was an understatement. He was always the one to help people and receive compensation in return, but always after he'd done something. Now, being the recipient of kindness was…different, and yet comforting as well. Unable to properly state his gratitude, Alex smiled, whole and wide. Veronica returned that smile, and it rendered her face beautiful in the firelight.
Turning to the first page, Veronica began to read, Alex leaning over her shoulder, reading along as her finger moved and taking in each letter that formed a single word, adding to his erased vocabulary. It was long, tedious reading, very slow, with him repeating each word after every other word was spoken, and then uttering from memory the last spoken sentence in its entirety.
They sat together until the moon was high and the stars were out in abundance. The firelight had died as they read, and the brightest light in the night was much further north.
Author's Note
This is perhaps the most difficult chapter yet, complicated by finals for a summer course, and a summer cold exacerbated by allergies. But the epic of Alex Hugh continues unabated, I don't know for how long, or how far he will go, or even how long the entirety of this beast will be… and I look forward to the next chapter.
For now, Constant Reader, I bid you farewell.
Vale,
Tutor Veritatis