Not much to say about this one. Thanks for reading, everybody, hope you're still enjoying it. At this point we're starting to get into the more volatile areas of the Mojave, and with that you'll start to see bits and pieces that will be relevant in the future cropping up, as well as Nightstalkers being more dangerous than you're used to. Because they should be threatening, but the game doesn't really give you reason to fear them.
Right now though, we have the addition of a new original character, and he will be rather important, just like Richard.
Onward hoe!
Tenth Hand – Soft-Play
25th July, 2268
The wind was howling outside, a veritable tempest ripping at the shell of a dwelling. The air was freezing as I huddled in the corner, shivering and weak, clutching Cerberus in terror.
The walls were plywood that over the course of the years had been reinforced with stone, at least in parts. Something had torn a hole in the west side of the house, an explosion or an enraged creature at some point or another, and it had never been fixed.
Now we were borrowing it, taking shelter from the dust storm outside as it surged across the land, obliterating every weak thing caught in its path.
Dad was in front of us, watching the hole. An old pair of biker goggles he'd picked up long ago was over his eyes to protect him from any of the sand, but thankfully the wind was blowing it at a different angle, one that wouldn't blow it inside. Still, that didn't stop some of it from flowing in.
My mother was behind him, in front of me, standing protectively with one hand unconsciously held as if blocking something from reaching me. The other was over her forehead, keeping both her hair and any stray dust from blinding her.
It came again, a snarl outside, directly behind me. Another joined it, further away but carried in by the wind. I was breathing heavier, more panicked. They were everywhere.
"Shhh," my mother quieted, and I swallowed my fear with a small nod. I needed to remain calm. Composed.
As long as they didn't discover the hole we'd be fine. The storm would pass, and so would they, off to search for something else to devour.
But I couldn't shake it. I couldn't stop the fear of what might happen when they found it from appearing in my mind. Those disgusting things.
I'd shot things before, sure. Mole rats and radroaches. Even a bark scorpion once. But these things… they howled and groaned, and then… the way they screeched when they saw someone. They weren't human. Not anymore.
A ghoul roared, broadcasting its hunger from somewhere closer to the breach in our shelter. A dangerous creature moving closer to its access point.
A shiver ran down my spine, and Cerberus, sensing the terror welling up in me again, placed a clumsy paw on my knee, which promptly slid off again. I appreciated the gesture, ruffling the shaggy creature's mane.
If only I hadn't dropped that gun dad had given me, I might have been able to help. Or at least give mum something to use. As it was, I was useless, just a charge that they'd defend with their lives, and that worried me.
One more ghoul added a guttural tone to the chorus of yawns and groans, but this one was so much worse. Dad had told me about them. Ghouls who hadn't had everything in their minds wiped out, who still had some small shred of sanity that pleaded with the rest of their being to die.
"Huuuungerrrrrrrrrr…" it rasped, barely coherent, but with enough consciousness within itself to understand the depths of its murderous and violent needs.
I gasped in terror. And they heard it.
~ Vault 21: Everything's better when you experience it in a Vault! ~
31st October, 2281
Benny!
The snake who wore a Vegas suit adorned with checkers and had stolen away with his delivery!
Finally, a name to put to a smug face!
Novac's daytime sniper had been a man of his word, and had more than just told Six where he was going next; he'd explained what the suave cat from Vegas had been doing ringed by his former brothers and sisters.
Whatever the Platinum Chip was, Benny had wanted it badly. But a man used to living in luxury like that wasn't adept at walking the wastes like a borderline raider was. He'd approached the Khans with promises of money in exchange for guarding him on his way and helping him ambush a courier.
The drifter, after his death, had been chasing them back to Vegas all along, though that had been becoming more and more apparent as time went on anyway. Whatever Benny planned to do upon his return to the City of Sin, he'd stop moving, and that gave Six the chance to move in for his prize.
Perhaps this dash across the Mojave was unnecessary, given that fact. Benny apparently lived in Vegas as more than a simple tourist, and there was no doubt at all that he'd be staying there while he enacted whatever plan it was he had in mind.
But with a snake like that, there were a number of problems that could arise. Pausing would be giving him time to sit inside his casino gave him time to plan, and time to mount a defence. It gave him time to hear the tale of a courier shot in the head and now walking the Mojave for answers.
No, best not stop now. Walk fast, walk far. Nothing gained he'd say was worth pausing at the thought of losing yet anyway. A few titles and the gratitude of a few communities. Intangible; something that'd keep a memory alive more than a physical form.
Then there was Victor.
A surprise he hadn't expected, but in retrospect he well should have. The robot who hired the couriers as Nash claimed, and after a brief discussion the wheeled tin can even went so far as to claim credit for the assault on the Jackals back before Nipton – an action that very well could have saved Courier Six's life again.
Twice he was in the metal cowboy's pocket, and he'd showed up in Novac beaming the same cowboy's face and talking in an amiable cowpoke tone. Behind it though, Six had heard undertones of all kinds – one moment Victor spoke as though threatening the wanderer about forgetting his mission, the next he rather sheepishly confessed feeling responsible for the young man whose life he'd saved.
Like the wanderer was his pet, with Victor rolling along behind him holding the leash, warning him not to stray too far off the path, stepping in whenever something threatened him.
Courier Six, the bloodhound, stalking the Mojave in his hunt for a snake and the stolen property it held.
He'd left No-Bark to tie the robot up with his accusations and stories and hit the road as fast as possible so that he'd be rid of the wheeled machine quickly. Trudy had confessed a distrust of that thing back in Goodsprings, and now Six was well and truly in agreement.
The road was dusty and quiet much of the way. One day on the road had seen him passing a scrap yard owned seemingly by a simple old lady with an enormous pack of dogs of various breeds who'd smiled happily and waved as he'd strolled on by.
The cheer, despite all the courier's unease and suspicion, had been infectious, and after a while he'd forgiven Mr. New Vegas for playing Johnny Guitar and switched the thick voice of Tabitha and Rhonda the Super Mutants back to his pleasing tones, and happily marched on down the road with his Pip-Boy jukebox singing songs for travel on his arm as loud as he could turn it.
Away to his east he'd heard gunfire as the day had flowed into afternoon, and he'd observed a party of Legion soldiers charging a small contingent of NCR troops, armed with machetes and rifles. The NCR troopers had fought back with automatic weapons, but the Legion were smart. One had used a trooper as a human shield, and the other two hesitated.
At the end of the battle the score was NCR: 1, Legion: 3. The remaining two Legionaries had paused and stared at him as he walked past with his Pip-Boy playing.
He'd crept back with it off and blown both their heads off. Legion: 0, Courier Six: 2.
To the west an enormous tower speared into the sky, scorched road signs calling it 'HELIOS One'. A solar power plant, farming the sun's light for electricity.
Another triumph of Pre-War engineering, the way they converted natural phenomena into a source of power to run things.
It hadn't been enough, in the end, to stop the world killing itself over other resources, though.
He'd slept the night in a roadside service station and slipped out in the morning as ED-E alerted him to the gang of raiders who called it home on their way back from a night's pillage. Polite as always, he'd left his hosts a gracious gift, and when Victor rolled past hours behind him the robot found several mangled corpses blown apart by mines, and another with their head caved in by a trap involving a trip-wire and a loose section of the station's ceiling.
What few raiders remained had been superstitious enough to leave almost immediately.
Come midday the drifter had found himself in the company of another man, one with an impressively large handlebar moustache, who simply dubbed himself the Lonesome Drifter. Another man in search of his past, but this one capable of playing his guitar – a beautiful object he said was a gift from his father – better than firing a gun.
Six had paused there for a time and spoken with the man, both discussing their pasts. The Lonesome Drifter hailed from some place named Montana, and was only two years older than the courier himself. His father, a mysterious man who the Drifter said was a stranger even to those closest to him, had up and left one day without giving his reasons, before the Drifter was even old enough to follow.
In exchange for the tale, Six had recounted his – what little he knew – and the Drifter had offered his sympathies and then asked if the wanderer would mind having a song written about him.
Flattered, Courier Six had accepted, stretched his legs, and decided to return to the road, bidding the musician a goodbye and expressing a sincere desire to meet him again one day when he could hear his song.
Evening had come, and Six left the road, cutting across the sand and dirt towards the next place the Khans had stopped – Boulder City.
While they were almost certainly returning to Vegas, the courier wanted also to understand his prey better, and with evening approaching an hour or two off the road in the dark was well worth information and a bed.
As he came upon it, the courier saw what was left of the place appearing as hulking giants in the night. Buildings with upstairs, and nearby, walled off, a host of skeletons, jagged mortar and concrete reaching for the stars, but too broken to reach them.
ED-E hummed static beside him, bobbing up and down as he strode into the living half of Boulder City to find a collection of NCR soldiers arguing about something in the ruins.
At first he'd ignored them, and instead concentrated on observing the monument that commemorated the location.
Boulder City was the site of the final blow during the Battle of Hoover Dam four years prior. Pushed back from the Dam itself the rangers of the New California Republic to which Richard Morgan proudly belonged had been rallied by their chief, a man named Hanlon. Alongside an elite sniper unit – the 'first recon' – they'd lured Caesar's greatest warriors into Boulder City and trapped it extensively.
Reckless and confident, Caesar's military general (the Legion title was 'Legate') had fallen straight into the trap. Drunk on victory, he'd rallied some of the Legion's best and charged straight into the town with the intent to bring down the legendary rangers of the West.
Following what could have been a crippling loss, Chief Hanlon and the NCR Rangers sacrificed a city to sever the head of the mighty Bull. It had not been a killing blow to the Legion, or even, somehow, the Legate, who had been seen walking back across the Dam to his leader, but it had won the battle, and Hanlon had been hailed as one of NCR's greatest heroes.
The memorial commemorated the enormous list of identified bodies that followed in the wake of that bloodbath.
A young private exchanged a few words with him, pride radiating from him, and the Courier learned that this younger brother to a fallen hero had come here to finish the job his sibling helped start.
Wishing him luck, Six's attention whipped back to the soldiers talking in front of the gate to the ruined section of the city as a familiar and important word sprang up.
Moving that way, a lieutenant stopped him, and confirmed what he'd heard.
"We've got a situation with some Great Khans right now. The brass at McCarran has ordered me to lock down the ruins until it's been resolved," the man, named Monroe said, looking up from seat near the door to the desecrated section of the area. Static flowed through the ham radio sitting atop it, and it looked like it made the man uneasy.
"You know I'm looking for a few Khans. Maybe this is them. What's happening?" the wanderer asked, ignoring the lieutenant's authority.
The man sighed and scratched his cheek. "One of my patrols was on its way back from Novac when it came under fire from the Great Khans. They radioed for reinforcements, but instead of waiting for us they chased the Khans into the ruins and were caught in a crossfire," the soldier reported in a formal tone. He wasn't used to differentiating between civilian and authority when it came time to explain.
"Sounds like tactical planning at its finest," Courier Six replied sarcastically.
"No deaths, but not all of the squad made it out. They've got two hostages in there."
"Could have been worse," Six observed, and quickly took advantage of the situation. "You need a mediator who isn't tied to either side. Lay down some terms, courier the message over to them; send the same courier back with their answer."
The lieutenant looked at him, his eyes narrowing slightly as he wondered what ulterior motives the drifter might have. "Normally I'd turn you down, given I have no idea who you are," he said flatly. "But considering the hostages are as good as dead when we attack…"
There was a moment where Monroe second-guessed himself and wondered if letting some no-name (literally, though he didn't know that) courier walk into a volatile situation like this, but his willingness to try a new approach to a situation where every other path ended in a massacre won out.
"All right, I'm going to give you a chance to talk to the Great Khans. Their leader is a man named Jessup," he said finally. "If we hear shooting, we're coming in, but it'll probably be too late for you."
"You'd be surprised what a courier like me could do," Six replied with a grin. Monroe sent him through the gate with a 'good luck'.
"ED-E, you wait here by the door. If you hear gunfire, come help me out, but stay out of sight until then, got it, buddy?" he instructed his hovering companion, who beeped in response.
What was left of the NCR's ambush was a testament to war – an innocent settlement in utter ruin. Pacing down the short street, Six spotted the first Khan in moments, and threw his hands up in the air in a sign of peace. He didn't need another nine millimetre to the head.
Looking closer, he saw hunting rifles. Worse than nine millimetres by a considerable amount.
Striding slowly, Six approached the intersection and saw the Khans in full force. Two NCR troopers were seated on their knees, hands and legs tied, with their heads down. When they heard footsteps on the asphalt they looked up, and curiosity sparked in their eyes. Neither NCR nor Khan approached.
The Great Khans were struck dumb, and Six knew this was indeed the same contingent. "Blackjack," he muttered, grinning – hell, outright beaming at the men and women who'd ambushed him about three weeks earlier and supposedly blasted his head in.
While they were gazing at him in disbelief the courier who died reached down and flicked his radio back on and laughed out loud when the song was about a kick in the head.
"Point me to Jessup?" he asked the nearest member of his former tribe, who, in disbelief, pointed to a building whose ground floor was still intact, with all four walls, just behind the hostages.
Placing his hand on the doorknob Six breathed in and prepared for a meeting. This could be it. He was already feeling an adrenaline rush.
He pushed the door inwards and stepped into the room beyond, bellowing "BENNY!" at the top of his lungs.
What he got was a ruined convenience store, standing behind the counter of which was the excitable man who'd been digging Six's grave.
His orange mohawk was still as ostentatious as it had been the night he'd helped kill the courier, and his eyes widened once again as he beheld a courier.
"What the hell! You're that courier Benny wasted back in Goodsprings! You're supposed to be dead!" he exclaimed, as if telling it his way would make it happen his way.
Unable to stop himself, Six's response was sardonic: "I got better."
Jessup stayed stunned a few moments more. "And here I thought us Great Khans were tough to kill. So, what happens now?" he finally asked.
Strolling over to the counter, Six leaned across it and looked hard at the Khan. No memories of him, and Jessup clearly had no memories of the courier beyond murdering him. Couldn't count on his attachment to them for special treatment then. Still, they hadn't killed him again the second you walked him. It was a start.
"Where's the Platinum Chip?" Six asked deadpan.
"Don't have it," the Khan deflected quickly. "Benny stole it, right before he stabbed us in the back. He's probably back at the Strip by now, laughing at me."
"Well doesn't that sound convenient? What convinced a suit like him to leave the protection of the Great Khans and run for Vegas all alone?" the courier wondered in a tone that was only a little below threatening.
Jessup noted it, and it wasn't hard to see that he was put out by the idea of facing down a man who'd already risen from the grave. Realistically it had made Courier Six weaker than before, but the distinct lack of death was an anomaly. A chronic case of life that even two bullets couldn't cure.
"He's a snake, that's why," Jessup stated indignantly. "He owed us the rest of the pay for the job, so maybe he didn't wanna pay up."
"Reasonable enough," the courier admitted. "I've talked to a few people, but they only painted part of the picture: who exactly is Benny? He's a high ranking figure in Vegas, but that's as far as I've gotten."
An older looking Khan pushed open a door behind the counter and sighed, before realising who Jessup was talking to and promptly pivoting to walk back out. Jessup ignored him.
"He's one of the Chairmen, big shots who run The Tops casino. One of his guys keeps contact with me, and he passed along the job notice. I should've known that the caps were too good to be true, but there was still no way to pass up the chance…" the Khan lamented, pulling his bandana down to wipe his brow and then readjusting it.
"And the delivery he killed me over?"
"Just a big, fancy poker chip as far as I know. Don't know why anyone would make one out of platinum, though."
The courier sighed. It didn't end at the Khans then. These ones didn't even know he used to be one of them. Then again, he hadn't been a part of their community in years as far as he could tell. Faces fade from memory, if they're ever there to begin with.
"So what about you, then?" Six wondered, glaring at Jessup. "You're the reason Benny managed to do that. All of this."
"Hey, we didn't ask for this either," he defended, glaring back. "I got nothing against couriers and nothing against you. It was a damn fine job, and Benny was the one who wanted you killed for it."
"Nothing personal. How cliché," the courier sighed dryly.
"Yeah, well that's how it is."
Pushing off the counter and stepping back, Six considered his options. Clearly his road was to take him to Benny in the heart of Vegas. Any hopes he had of catching him before he reached there were well and truly buried now. The uncertain quality was the Khans and whether or not they could be trusted.
The image of the hulking man, Chance, appeared in his mind. A friend amongst them. Alyssa too, with her clothing a size or two too small.
He might as well ask.
"I know some Khans. Chance and Alyssa. Where are they now?" he ventured.
Jessup's eyes widened further. "Chance? How do you know Chance?" he demanded, and Six felt a rush. He was on to something!
He returned to the counter. "I used to be a Great Khan. Left, don't remember why. Chance was a good friend, helped me fit in. Alyssa too," he explained.
One hope winked out. "I don't know any 'Alyssa'. Chance, though, I knew Chance," Jessup said, looking towards the door the other Khan had appeared from.
"I get the feeling I'm about to hear something bad," the courier sighed.
"Yeah. On the way south, we ran into some Fiends… he charged them, hopped up on psycho. Got himself killed," Jessup explained.
Steam was boiling in the kettle as Six double-checked the sentence in his head. "On the way south?" he reiterated. "Tell me you don't mean…?"
Jessup just nodded.
The string of obscenities that followed left every Khan in the vicinity considerably more on edge.
No Alyssa. No Chance.
Fucking great.
"Alright, fine, let's just get the damn negotiations done. After this, consider any debts I had with the Khans square," the courier finally breathed.
"The NCR backs off, we walk out of here, nobody gets hurt," Jessup replied, placing his demands on the table straight away. Clearly he was eager to be done with the mess too.
"Alright. How about this, you give them the hostages, and you've got free passage through NCR territory on your way back to Red Rock Canyon. Sound fair?" he asked.
Jessup thought about it. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but all right, the hostages can go. The NCR had better keep its end of the deal, though," he warned.
"The guy in charge here seems reasonable. Call it my last favour to my old tribe," Courier Six said, turning to walk for the door.
"Here," Jessup called, hefting a small object toward him. Catching it, Six fumbled it a moment and then caught it in the other hand. A lighter, heavily engraved and silver.
"A souvenir for you. It's Benny's lighter. Shove it up his ass when you catch up with him."
Six spared a glance back at Jessup and wondered where his moustached friend from the full moon evening was. Unimportant now, though. "You're not so bad, Jessup. Try not to go killing couriers in the future though. You're downright bad at it," he said with a sarcastic grin, slipping out of the door.
He walked down onto the road and then turned at the intersection, heading back to the gap in the wall, flicking the lighter top as he went. Definitely high up in Vegas then. 'The Chairmen'.
Jessup followed him out after a few moments, and he heard the argument about letting the hostages go. Eventually, though, a woman dressed in an NCR uniform bolted past him at top speed. A glance behind him earned a wave from the man, pacing along at the same speed as the courier.
He stepped back into the side of Boulder City that still retained life, and found himself face to face with Lieutenant Monroe again.
"I'm glad you were able to get my people freed, but there's a new problem. I just got orders to take out the Great Khans, hostages or not," he explained.
The courier shook his head. "No way. They let the hostages go in exchange for safe passage."
Monroe sighed and sat back down, looking at the radio. "My hands are tied. I can't go against orders… can I?"
A spark of rebellion. Clearly orders weren't everything to some in the NCR. "Are you a man of honour, or are you just a tool for enacting orders?" he asked.
"You're right. The Great Khans are free to go," he agreed, saying as much to his soldiers, who moved back.
"An impressive act of mediation," came a third voice, and both Six and the Lieutenant turned to see a man whose most notable feature was his doctor's coat.
On the arm was a tattered cross within a circle. His hair was messy, brown, and over his eyes were a pair of glasses, which he pushed up his narrow nose before letting his hands trail back down to run over each other's fingers.
"Do I know you?" Courier Six asked, a question not normally so earnest.
"Aaron Holmes, and I don't believe we've really met," the man replied, gesturing towards an immensely stereotypical saloon just down the road that had survived the city centre's destruction. The sign above it identified it as 'Big Horn Saloon', complete with a picture of a Bighorner head. "Care to have a drink, on me?"
The courier's eyebrow rose. "You've just admitted to not knowing me," he pointed out. "I'll expect a little more than that to go on."
Aaron chuckled and nodded, as though conceding a point in a debate. "Fair enough. Would it help you if I told you I work with Rachel?" he added with a sly grin.
His eyes were a cloudy dark blue.
"Nope," Six replied bluntly.
This noticeably threw Holmes off balance, and his sly expression promptly dropped to confusion. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you are a courier, no?" he asked. "I've seen you before when you visit her, unless I've found a look-alike."
The drifter realised quickly that this could be a lead. Jessup had only helped insofar as dealing with Benny, but this could have something to do with what was before that.
"I'm a courier, yes. Sorry, I've been having a little… memory trouble lately. I'll take you up on the offer of a drink," Six said with a nod, turning back to the lieutenant, who had already moved on to coordinate his own people.
The man named Aaron Holmes looked at him quizzically before moving towards the saloon at his side.
They pushed the doors open and strode in to find the place empty. A few tables littered the room, with a bar counter at the back of the establishment unmanned. A bell rang as they stepped in, and the sound of thunderous footsteps could be heard from a door behind the bar.
It creaked open and the bartender appeared, red-faced, muttering something about the time of night.
While it was getting on in the evening, Six checked his Pip-Boy and noted that this should have been good business hours for any place that sold alcohol. Clearly Boulder City wasn't doing excellent right now.
"Bartender, vodka if you've got any," Aaron said, striding across to find a table. Selecting the one he felt was the least dirty, he slid a chair out and sat down. Six followed suit, pulling out another chair and collapsing into it, reminded again how nice it was to get off his feet after a hard day on the road.
ED-E continued to bob along after him, before deciding to take a rest, lowering itself onto the table and then seemingly powering down a number of systems. It still beeped occasionally, so obviously it wasn't completely deactivated.
"What will you have, my friend?" the doctor asked.
"Nuka cola. I'm not a drinker," the courier replied, heaving a happy sigh as his legs rejoiced.
Holmes chuckled. "Ah, another reason you two must get along. I confess, I have some jealousy toward you, courier," he said, and then leaned back in his chair to look over at the bartender. "If you didn't hear that, a nuka cola for my friend."
"I'd be apologetic if I had the slightest clue just what you were talking about," Six said flatly.
"You and Rachel, courier. Do you really need to make me say it?" Aaron asked, looking somewhat embarrassed.
Courier Six sighed. "Alright, let's start from the beginning. I'll explain…"
When the story was over, Aaron Holmes leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, running his finger around the rim over another vodka shot.
"That's quite a story. Amnesia… that must be quite the mood-killer," he said finally. "I wonder if that means my journey here was a waste of time. The Followers send me down here to talk to the Khans about a peaceful solution, Rachel asks me to keep an eye out for 'the Courier', and I get here to find he's already done my job and has no idea why I should be looking for him."
"This is a very strange day, and I have to say it's been a very strange month in general. I've been murdered, I've killed a surprising amount of escaped convicts, I repaired this guy," he tapped ED-E, who beeped happily, "I've seen Nipton a smouldering pile of shit, and just a few days ago I got rid of a band of Super Mutants from an old building's basement so that a cult of ghouls could go into space."
Aaron laughed. "Ghouls in space? Sounds like an interesting adventure," he said, thinking it was a joke.
The courier shook his head and chuckled. It sounded like one. If he hadn't personally watched the rockets burst off into the atmosphere he'd probably have said it was a complete fabrication himself.
Taking another draft of his nuka cola, he eased back into the seat and let out a satisfied sigh. "So, how much do you know about me? Any information is good information," he asked.
Holmes nodded and leaned forward onto the table, crossing his arms. "I'm one of the Followers of the Apocalypse. We're an organisation of scientists and doctors, mostly. People who are trying to help the Wastelands."
That was all it took for Six's own mind to access what he knew. Yes, the Followers were comprised of people from all walks of life, but they were most notably composed of such scientists and doctors. They, like the Brotherhood, were an organisation dedicated to learning and collecting the knowledge of the Old World, though unlike the technologically zealous Brotherhood, the Followers also consisted of many doctors, and were strong-minded humanitarians. Amongst their organisations they were well known for being helpful figures that cared for junkies attempting to go straight, or the wounded of all creeds. The sort of people who would treat an NCR Ranger only one tent away from treating a Legion Centurion when they'd both injured each other.
They were one of the more intellectual organisations of the world as well: combined, their members had extensive knowledge of all areas of things, such as horticulture, agriculture, advanced physics, several different kinds of medical sciences, and probably one or two rocket scientists made up their number too.
Idealism was commonly seen as their major flaw: they aimed for the absolute best scenario at all times, even when it was an impossibility. In a better world, they'd be a shining example to the Mojave. As it was, preaching peace and love to Legionaries just got a person stabbed, raped, enslaved, crucified, or some mix of all four, not necessarily in a particular order.
"Does that actually have something do with me, or are you just framing the situation?" the courier asked curiously.
Holmes chuckled. "You have a habit of stopping by a specific outpost of ours. I haven't been around that long, but it's clear enough that it's because of one of our members, and not just frequent deliveries," he explained.
"Rachel," Six said, trying to jumpstart his memory.
"She asked me to keep an eye out for you. Your visits aren't well-scheduled, what with all the wandering you do," the Follower replied. "She asked me to tell you she's moved to Freeside. That was quite a while ago, though."
It still meant nothing to him. He could take a few guesses though. "So Rachel and I are… together?" he asked.
Aaron's mouth twitched into some strange kind of smile that contained both pity and a few hints of condescension. "She'd like to think so," he said cryptically. To the pre-Benny Courier Six it probably meant something too. This one was just confused.
"Have I been unfaithful? Disrespectful? Tell me I wasn't an abusive partner," he pressed, leaning over the table.
Now he was laughing. A man with information on his past, and he was laughing. Six could have punched him.
"Nothing so bad," Aaron replied. "I hope," he added, pausing and placing his chin in his hand.
"Which means?" the drifter demanded, getting impatient with the man's ability to keep things just out of reach.
"From what I understand, you're distant. Wandering wastelander, aloof, probably a dark and edgy past. Honestly it all seemed a bit cliché to me. Like you were trying to be the Vault Dweller," he conceded, shrugging.
Disappointing. He already knew his past was a mystery, but he'd advertised it as such recently? What a pain in the ass. "Great. So Rachel's in Freeside. Good thing I'm heading that way," Courier Six concluded.
"Ah yes. Going after the snake from Vegas. You never told me his name," Holmes pointed out.
"Benny, for what it's worth," the wanderer replied. He was glad he did.
Aaron's eyes immediately widened. "Benny!"
Stunned by the reaction, the wanderer simply nodded and leaned back, taking a sip from his bottle of cola.
"Benny, the kingpin of The Tops. Benny, leader of the Chairmen. Benny, one of the most powerful men in New Vegas. That's the man you're hunting?"
"Does he wear a gaudy checkered suit?"
"Mars' blood," Aaron breathed and slumped in his chair. "The very same."
The courier's eyebrow rose. "'Mars' blood'? Really?" he questioned.
Holmes shook his head. "Swearing from the Legion. Usually considered rather offensive. Pretty sure people have been crucified for using it," he explained.
"Where'd you pick it up?"
Holmes took a moment to down another shot of vodka, and the way his face warped told Six it'd be his last one for the evening. "I met a Frumentarius once. Rather impressive man. Strong grasp of history, very cunning. Either way, he'd been sent to check up on the Followers of the Apocalypse. He made his role no secret, and taught me some of the Legion's culture. I must say, it was… interesting," he further elaborated.
"I see," the courier said with a nod. "So you started swearing in Legion tongue after that?"
"When in Rome," Holmes said, followed by a loud laugh. "Or rather, when away from Rome. If I can get away with saying it here, then I might as well make the most of it before the Legion marches across the Dam and forbids it!"
"The New Californians seem to be doing everything they can to hold them off," the drifter pointed out.
Aaron shook his head. "No, they're doing everything they want to hold them off," he clarified. "Of what I've seen, the NCR has a tendency towards the wills and desires of the individual. Very few care for the ideals of their flag enough to actually strive towards them as a collective."
"Compared to the Legion, the NCR are shining knights," the courier stated. "They're rough around the edges, but on my way up here I passed through a town that had been completely sacked. The inhabitants had been crucified and burned alive. The luckiest man in town had gone crazy. You wanna tell me they're better than the NCR?"
Aaron chuckled darkly, and shook his head. "Nipton was a hell-hole already… but you're right. No town deserves that kind of fate."
Courier Six finished his bottle, slipping the cap into one of his duster's many pockets.
For a few moments both sat quietly, not noticing the passage of time. Aaron's eyes shifted over to ED-E, still sitting on the table quietly.
"That floating eye of yours is a little odd, isn't it?" he commented.
"ED-E?" Six thought. "I suppose. Found it damaged in Primm. Didn't take a lot of fixing up, and the little thing's been following me ever since."
"I can't say I'm fond of it," Aaron concluded. "Something like that probably records things. It could be transmitting everything you do to someone for any number of reasons."
A string of beeps flowed from ED-E in rapid succession, and Six was sure the little machine was rather indignantly denying the accusation.
"It's a chance I'll take," the courier replied. "This little bot's been a big help already. He's a big flying backpack with a laser gun."
Aaron looked at him with amusement. "It's a 'he' now, is it?" he wondered.
Six looked down at the metal orb on the table, and reached out to pat it affectionately. "ED-E isn't really a girl's name, now is it?" he said.
ED-E let out another string of beeps and fell silent again.
Shaking his head, the Follower of the Apocalypse replied, "I don't trust robots. As far as I'm concerned they're just another symptom of the Old World and what it led to."
"Well we'll see. Somehow I don't think ED-E's going to go activating anything like the Old World did, now are you?" the courier chuckled.
ED-E let another series of beeps flow forth, quieter this time.
"Well, I think it's time I turn in for the evening. I'd accompany you in the morning, courier, but I'm on my way further southeast come morning's light. Aside from the situation with the Great Khans, I'm providing a little bit of extra support to Camp Forlorn Hope," Aaron said finally.
"You're going alone?" the drifter wondered.
Aaron chuckled, climbing out of his seat and taking his vodka bottle with him, placing it on the counter for the bartender, who had already fallen asleep, to hold onto. "The Followers accept knowledge of all kinds. Mine happens to be in weapons technology," he said proudly. "The smooth operation of a firearm is important, but I've found a lot of knowledge both by cracking things open and by simple reading."
He reached into his coat and produced a curious handgun. Seemingly quite ordinary, it followed the shape of a traditional pistol, and was not altogether dissimilar from that gun Six himself used, but it was differentiated by a small pair of copper tubes on either side running half the length of the barrel, with a small green bar set into the metallic grey of the rest of the weapon underneath it.
The courier drew his own weapon for contrast, and in the back of his mind it was also instinct telling him that weapons drawn always drew more from their holsters.
"No need to worry, courier, I'm just showing off," Aaron chuckled. "A glock 86 plasma pistol. It will be plenty enough to keep me alive on the road."
The wanderer couldn't dispute the logic in that. He'd stayed alive with little more than a handgun or two so far. "Thank you, Aaron Holmes," he said. "For giving me a shred of my past."
Aaron chuckled and shook his head. "Now, now, courier, no need to thank me. Talk is cheap, and in this case the information is free. I fear, though, that you may not be altogether happy with what you find at the end of this road of yours," he said, another cryptic hint at what awaited him.
"Explain," the courier pushed.
"I hope you find Benny, and Rachel. I hope you won't judge her too harshly when you do," Holmes said, pushing through the door and into the night, leaving Six once again alone with ED-E, pondering his past.
~Soft-Play: To intentionally go easy on a player or group of players despite this bias affecting how the game plays out. Looked down upon in most establishments, and can result in penalties to the involved parties.