Alaric looked up over the report he was reading to Cass, who had just handed it to him a minute ago. "You're serious? They're serious?" He asked dubiously.
She made a face that seemed to say 'what'cha gonna do?' and nodded. "Seem to be. The NCR is sending a diplomatic mission here. I barely had time to say howdy to the local potentate before I was told to get my caravan back on the road and head home, that they were sending someone here already and I wasn't wanted thank you very much."
"Any idea who they're sending?" He asked, running a hand over his black hair. This was something he didn't need right now. With the Brotherhood situation devolving by the day, the road to Big Mountain still blocked and the army still coming together the last thing he needed was a bunch of NCR diplomats and, likely, spies poking around his territory.
Cass shook her head again. "No clue, just that they're sending somebody up to meet with you and" she adopted the tone of someone reading a quote, "evaluate the local situation."
"In other words, see if we're open to joining willingly, or weak enough to be conquered if we're not willing." He surmised with a heavy sigh, getting himself more coffee. "How long do we have."
"Three days, they're sending their ambassador in via Vertibird."
"Of course they are." He said, steepling his fingers and considering. The Vertibird was obviously a showy move, only big nations like the NCR had things like that, functioning air travel was a clear sign of how powerful and resourceful the NCR was, even if they were just fixing and maintaining something that another group had built. But he could turn this to his advantage…
"Then of course we will welcome them with all due ceremony." He said with a chuckle. "Yes Man, patch me through to Nellis, we have a few preparations to make."
XXXXX
Ambassador Max McKinley was going over his notes again, trying to ignore the dull droning whine of the Vertibird's motors as they flew on towards their destination. He was an older man who's hair was starting to thin in places, but he kept the greying at bay with brown dye to keep it close to the color it was when he was younger. A Boneyard native by birth and upbringing he'd been in the NCR diplomatic core for many a year, brokered relations and annexations with many settlements, negotiated with wandering tribes and native dwellers across the NCR's borders. To put it simply his accomplishments were not unimpressive or without renown, and he knew that this was going to be the most important, and possibly riskiest, mission of his life.
President Kimball had given his instructions directly, made sure to impress upon them how serious a matter this was. The NCR needed Hoover Dam, otherwise they could begin to face serious shortfalls. As the Republic grew, so did its needs, if they were to continue spreading civilization across the wasteland then they would need the resources to fuel that expansion. Electrical power, always something that they had been concerned with, was vital. And that dam could supply their needs beyond any shadow of a doubt, with that in hand they would never have to worry about power, not for at least fifty years. Now the only thing standing between the NCR and a cultural renaissance for the world was a would be warlord squatting in the ruins of New Vegas.
The NCR may have been distracted before, dealing with other problems on other fronts, now the Mojave had their full and undivided attention. They had suffered setbacks before of course, but a defeat like this wasn't something that you just shrugged off and walked away from. No, this was something that you threw your back into and redoubled your efforts to win back, it was this important. The NCR needed Hoover if they were to continue their campaign, but more importantly they needed to look good before their people. Already there was talk about how 'Kimballs Folly' in the Mojave was to blame for all the blood shed and nothing to show for it. The administration needed a win, and if they couldn't get one by the sword they sent the pen, they sent him.
He sighed, clipping his briefcase closed again, shifting in the cramped cabin. Between himself, the pilots, one aide and a few Rangers to act as escorts and guards, there was very little room left in the transport. While fast and well protected, Vertibirds were not the most comfortable. "How long do we have?" He asked the pilot
"Half an hour sir, we're on course for the… what in the?" He leaned in, checking something.
"What is it?" McKinley asked, craning his neck to see into the pilot's compartment.
"That can't possibly… we've got a bogey!" He said, the shock evident in his voice. There was something else in the sky with them, something they didn't put there, this was unprecedented.
"Make that two unknowns closing from 11 o'clock." The pilot reported, "Closing fast, I don't think we can… yes?" He began talking into his radio, evidently hearing someone on his headset. "Yes. We have an NCR ambassador aboard. Yes. Our destination is New Vegas. Divert? I can't… yes. … Yes. Very well." The pilot sighed, shaking his head a bit.
"What's going on?" McKinley demanded, jumping in his seat slightly as he heard the rush of two somethings go screaming by their aircraft.
"Planes sir. The pilot claims to be from the Mojave Air Force, he says they were sent to escort us to Nellis, they will not allow us to land at Vegas itself."
He nodded after a moment, taking a few seconds to process all the implications of this feat, before he looked out his window to see one of the twoship of fighters pull up alongside their Vertibird. It was an old US Air Force fighter, refurbished with new unit markings, most prominently a black 'ace of spades' painted on the tail fin. This mission had just got a lot more complicated.
XXXXX
The Vertibird touched down shortly thereafter at Nellis, hovering to a landing on a pad indicated by lit flares while the jets circled high above. McKinley had heard about this place from his predecessor, Ambassador Crocker. Nellis had always been a tough nut to crack, they knew it was strategically important and a major roadblock to their annexation of the region, the weapons stockpiled there could have been a major turning point in the conflict. He corrected himself, they had been a major turning point, the 'Boomer's as they called themselves had been a major element in this Alaric's scheme to betray the NCR and install himself in power. Crocker had been right about the Boomers, he'd just chosen the wrong tool, but then a lot of people in the NCR had trusted this man.
The ramp descended and his bodyguards moved quickly to file out, forming a not quite ceremonial cordon at the bottom of the ramp, their black armor and long duster coats an imposing presence in front of anyone. Of course the flanks of robots waiting for them on the tarmac were not perturbed in the slightest. McKinley eyed them as he descended the ramp, the upgraded Securitrons he'd read about in his dossier. Tough, aggressive, merciless, these were the mechanical soldiers who had driven them out.
"Howdy, and welcome to Nellis." Said the nearest one, making McKinley look in surprise. "Hope that you weren't too shook up about the landing site, the boss is a might touchy about the dam these days." This robot lacked the grim soldier face the others all shared, instead sporting a flickering cowboy on its screen 'face'.
"Thank you, it was no trouble." McKinley said, recovering quickly. Whatever the situation, it never hurt to be polite, that was the first rule he always reminded himself of. "Ambassador McKinley of the New California Republic." He introduced himself. "And you are?"
"Name's Victor." The robot said, making a 'nodding' gesture that rocked its entire boxy torso. "Boss appointed me to be your guide to New Vegas, roll out the welcome wagon as it were. If y'all have any questions to ask I'll do my best to oblige you."
"Very thoughtful of him." McKinley said, wondering about the robot. Were they all capable of being this personable, or was this a unique AI program with more autonomy than the others? In his experience robots were very limited conversationalists and generally very rigid in their ability to respond to anything, but this machine seemed far more warm and flexible than he had been expecting.
He walked down the aisle of robots, his bodyguards falling in behind him, aide shrinking down between the ranks of Rangers for protection as they proceeded. As shows of force went this was a very blatant one, proudly displaying the two great pillars of his power over the region. With the Boomers in the sky and the robots on the ground the Mojave would be a tough nut to crack. And they were loyal, the robots by design, the Boomers by their idolization of Alaric personally, with those two forces at his disposal the man could keep the Mojave region rolled up regardless of what the people living there had to say about it. It was after they passed the final robots that his expectations were shaken, though he hid it perfectly.
The ranks of robots were replaced by human soldiers standing in uniform, rifles at their shoulders. They were as unreadable as the robots, only their eyes visible through protective goggles, everything else was obscured. So, this Alaric had managed to whip up a military of his own? Of course there was no way to know how powerful a force it was, but it certainly gave him something to think about. And then there was the name he heard on the radio, 'Mojave Air Force', that suggested unification. Not 'Vegas Air Force' or 'Boomer Pilots', it seemed to suggest that there was more here than simply one man keeping the area under his thumb by controlling two powerful factions. The bigger shock was waiting near the gates, super mutants in metal plate armor, standing sentry with various large firearms and wicked close combat weapons. Long blade-staffs taller even than themselves, miniguns and rocket launchers. The thing that drew his attention the most though was the icon stenciled on their chestpiece, a black outline of an 'ace of spades', the same icon on the fighter's tail fins, and on the soldier's uniforms.
"They're part of the same group?" He asked with surprise.
"We've got all sorts in the Army these days." Victor said as they passed the mutant vanguard, eyes watching warily from within their heavy, almost medieval helmets.
After the mutant squad there were two rickshaws, comfortable enough looking if a little crude, each one manned by a Securitron to pull it along.
"Hop in, Boss is waiting for y'all down in Vegas and it's best not to dilly dally all day." Victor suggested. With no reason or desire to argue, McKinley and his entourage climbed into the little open topped cars, as their attendant robots pulled them at a brisk pace down the road towards the city in the distance.
XXXXX
McKinley hadn't been to New Vegas before, having always been busy in the NCR heartland. That and a bad visit to New Reno had soured him on the concept, but the reports his predecessor had left were very thorough on the state of the region. While many things seemed largely the same, he did notice the differences as well. Robots and soldiers on patrol were obvious. But they didn't just keep to the Vegas area itself, but were patrolling the outer ruins and roadways beyond where the NCR troopers had usually gone, they simply hadn't had the manpower to maintain that kind of force projection everywhere. The roads were active, with caravans and traders going about their business, and workers up on the high wire poles up to their elbows in electrical equipment.
"Working on the power grid?" He asked his robotic guide.
"Yep, folks all over the Mojave are fixing things up, stringing power lines up all over the place, getting the towns working together. Sure nice to see folks working together all over the place."
McKinley nodded, looking from the work crews to the soldiers marching. Yes, yes indeed. It seemed this Alaric had succeeded where they hadn't, binding the area together and having the manpower to spare for projects like this. Perhaps using the threat of the NCR or the Legion's return to motivate people to fall in line with him? It galled him that the locals might see his nation as some land hungry empire after everything they had done to try and help these people. How was their new overlord so much better in their eyes? Or was this a forcible dictatorship by the power and control of the robotic army and this new corps of soldiers? That might be more believable but their intelligence reports from informants indicated that the people seemed well disposed towards the new regime, like they hadn't been towards Mr. House or the NCR before. Exactly what he was doing to win them over would be important to learn, if McKinley was expected to start shifting public opinion back towards NCR annexation.
Eventually they completed their circuit through the outer regions of the city and reached the Freeside main gate, the neon sign glittering invitingly overhead as the gate trundled open and they entered at a stately pace. Surprisingly, apart from gate guards, there were no soldiers on patrol here, just a few tough looking men in leather jackets with hairstyles that could possibly be bullet resistant. Apart from the unblinking Securitrons maintaining their watch at the inner gate, there wasn't any sign of militarism here in Freeside itself, no soldiers or watchful robots keeping the population in line.
Again thinking of New Reno as he looked around, McKinley's eye did notice a few differences. No starving waifs in the street or ratty looking hookers walking up to people, the place seemed clean and tidy in a shabby kind of way. Then again, how much of what he was seeing was true, or just a carefully orchestrated play for his benefit? The reports they were getting back west indicated that there hadn't been the violent persecution of NCR civilians they had feared, but was that because of the new regime or in spite of it? There was no way to know, just not enough information to properly analyze the situation.
Finally they entered the strip, with its lights all shining in the early evening and crowds of people enjoying the venues and entertainment offered by the various casinos, but his eyes were drawn to the Lucky 38, towering over the rest of the Strip. Dominating the skyline of the entire Mojave, it was impossible to forget who was in it, and thus what it represented, the seat of power of the new regime. It must be a nice boon for PR, having a visible symbol of the leader that could be seen from almost anywhere in the wastes, like some old world prince who owned everything he could see from his bedroom window.
"Go on in now, boss is waiting for ya. Oh and go ahead and bring your friends too, no need for them to wait outside." Their robotic guide said with folksy charm.
"Very gracious." McKinley said as he dismounted, his guard falling in alongside him as they walked up the steps of the Lucky 38, guarded by a platoon of soldiers that flanked the steps. They went through the empty casino floor and soon were riding the elevator up the tall spire to meet the man who had made the Mojave his own.
They arrived to find that the penthouse floor of the Lucky 38 had been transformed by its new master into a comfortable meeting area, with numerous chairs and couches set about in different places by the windows, a counter where drinks might be served, McKinley had seen this kind of place before. The kind of space where the powerful and the wealthy of society might mix over drinks and get to know each other, discuss plans and ideas in a place where nobody was clearly set up as being the most important. Familiar as it was, it felt strange to be here all but alone with only one stranger and various robots to greet them. But there before them was the man they had come to see, Alaric, warlord of New Vegas.
He was surprisingly young for someone who had done all he had, perhaps in his mid-twenties. He'd heard the stories, interviewed troopers and officers who had met him, heard the stories of a man in a dusty coat with long hair and sun baked skin walking the Mojave, or later when the power armored juggernaut had stormed major Legion encampments and did what a small army might have struggled with. It was difficult to believe that it was the same man who stood before him now. Alaric wore a very sharp black suit and tie, little traceries of silver catching the light as he moved. His hair was perfect, skin unblemished, not like a man who had spent months fighting everything the wasteland had to offer. He might have been from a prewar magazine cover about the rich and fabulous. Nothing he saw said that this man had been shot in the face only to claw his way back to life, or duel with Lanius until both men were nearly dead, or walk out of a Mojave dust storm to slaughter Legion soldiers in broad daylight.
"Welcome to New Vegas." Said the impeccably dressed overlord, walking over as if he was just welcoming dinner guests to his house. "I hope my security was not too overzealous on your way in, I greatly appreciate your coming to meet with me."
McKinley shook the man's hand as they reached each other, grip firm but neither engaging in some adolescent hand crushing display. "Ambassador McKinley, and I know who you are." He said as they released. "The journey in was quite congenial, my protectors were worried that we would have to walk from Hoover all the way here. Though our alternate landing site was a cause for some alarm."
Alaric grinned a little, as if hearing about the neighborhood troublemaker. "Ah, the Boomers. You'll have to forgive them, it's not often they get the chance to fly against an actual bogey, they tend to get a bit excited. I'm glad we could offer you a ride here in style, but I know from experience that you would have been perfectly safe with these watching over you." He turned from the ambassador for a few moments, greeting the Rangers in turn, shaking their hands and asking their names.
"Yes, we are all lucky to have them watching over us, they have made the whole of the west coast a much better place." McKinley cut in, wondering what purpose this little display had for the man he was talking to. Was it genuine hospitality or some kind of ploy?
"I am sure they have done an admiral job of keeping the peace for the NCR." Alaric said, shaking hands with the last one and holding the man's gaze for a moment through his helmet lenses, before turning and slipping a hand in his pocket, seeming quite casual about this whole affair. Although to be honest McKinley found it a nice little change from the pomp and pageantry that some of his assignment subjected him to.
"I'm sure that recent developments have set people like them on edge, as much as anything can." He said, motioning for McKinley to accompany him over to a wooden table by a window overlooking the Mojave. "Please gentlemen, make yourselves at home." He said to the bodyguards before sitting down opposite of McKinley. "I would like to begin by saying that I have no hostile intentions against the NCR or its citizens, I have had a report drawn up about the number of your people still living in the Mojave, I assure you they have been given the full protection of the law."
"That is very reassuring to hear." McKinley lied, setting his briefcase up on the table. "There are many concerned people back west, I am sure that this will allay some fears, but there are still a number of other concerns. With the Legion only repulsed and not utterly defeated, it seems to many that the situation on the border has only destabilized further. It was tricky enough getting this mission put together, a lot of people don't even want to recognize your authority." Perhaps by calling his position into question, McKinley could get the man to reveal his own concerns about how he was seen, or where the cracks in his power base might lie.
"Oh really?" Alaric said with a slightly curious tone, but also seeming dismissive. "Do they think I'm just another warlord or something? Some fool declaring himself ruler of all in his vision." He looked pointedly out the window. "Though in this world there are few kinds of authority other than the self-declared. If you want proof I can bring you out the original treaties signed by the communities across the Mojave recognizing my legal authority here. I'm not some self-anointed despot, Jacobstown, Primm, Goodsprings, Novac, and everyone else. They all signed up willingly and on clearly agreed upon terms."
Well that was a surprise, McKinley would have to reevaluate his opinion of the man he spoke to. Not many people in the wider wasteland would gain control over a powerful army of robots and then negotiate their way to power. "I should like to study those, but later. In any case I'm sure that the people back home would be interested to see documentation of it. If we are to deal fairly with each other then it would be needed to know the kind of society we are encountering."
Alaric smiled again, it really wasn't a very reassuring expression. "Of course, of course, though I must make this statement clear now ambassador, unambiguous and blunt. The Mojave is not interested in being annexed by anyone. We are a sovereign and independent state, and have no intention of ever assimilating into the New California Republic. In fact you'll find that's a stipulation in the treaties that founded our society."
Of course they would be, McKinley thought to himself. "The NCR shed a lot of blood protecting the Mojave from the Legion. If it weren't for us this whole territory would be occupied by a horde of raping slave traders." He pointed out. "And we are the largest, most resource rich nation in the known world. Peace through unification is a noble goal is it not? We could accomplish far more if we worked together than if we were set as antagonists."
Alaric continued showing that infuriatingly polite smile. "Of course, I wouldn't want to see our nations as enemies, we can achieve a lot more as allies. But that is the only cooperation we will accept, as respected allies, not ignorant locals ready to be annexed and taxed. The NCR came here for strategic resources, I don't buy into that idealistic jargon about spreading civilization, you wanted electrical power from Hoover Dam. Well you can still have that, provided certain conditions are met. But the people of the Mojave have banded together against the NCR, not for it. If they are to be taxed then they'll see that money spent right here, not going to some big shot politician back west." He held up a hand at the last moment. "Just public sentiment, not my express opinion but that's what the people are saying."
McKinley was more interested in what he'd said before, the real reason the NCR cared about the Mojave. Vegas was nice of course, a largely intact prewar city full of interesting technology, and taxing the casinos there could bring in serious revenue to the public coffer. But the thing they really cared about was Hoover, and the wealth of electrical power it had to offer. If they could not redraw the map to put it in NCR territory then as a consolation prize he wouldn't leave this place until he'd secured its output for the NCR. They needed that power if they were to expand, or else they would very soon face a bottleneck in their expansion plans.
"What conditions are you referring to? I am authorized to negotiate for the purchasing of the Dam and the surrounding land, on very generous terms I might add."
Alaric waved a hand like he was physically repelling the idea. "Unacceptable, the Dam remains in our hands, I don't care how much you're offering. However if certain prerequisites are met then I am willing to hammer out a deal for the power to be sold to the NCR, any excess power not consumed in the Mojave region can be routed to the NCR heartland. You'll have to provide the infrastructure to deal with that of course."
Well, it had been worth asking about. Alaric was proud, he could tell that much, and he valued that pride. McKinley suspected the man wouldn't sell any territory for any reason, simply on the principle of it, as if in doing so he was in some way surrendering despite how beneficial it was to himself in the long run. "Very well, that is another issue I am authorized to negotiate. What are your demands?"
"Trade, for the most part." Alaric began. "We desire a mutually profitable trading relationship with the territories west of here. Primarily we are interested in the Brahmin drives and are looking to import beef in large quantities."
That was interesting, was the Mojave facing a food shortage in the future? That could indicate a weakness if properly exploited. "Very well, I am sure we can work out the exact numbers when appropriate, as for the power supply, my superiors are very interested in beginning power transmission as quickly as possible."
Alaric held up a hand. "Beef first." He said simply. "Consider it a down payment. When we are convinced that you meant to deal fairly with us, then we can sit down and negotiate proper terms. A lot of people here see the NCR as a hostile outsider, a magnanimous gesture is needed to make people open to the idea of trade in the first place." He kept on talking as McKinley tried to get a word in. "I want that Brahmin ambassador, you won't get one kilowatt of power until I'm eating steak."
Hiding his frustration with the calm given by long experience, McKinley nodded. "We can work out the exact details later, I simply wished to voice the options open to us."
"I did not intend offense." Alaric said with a hint of apology.
Was the food situation really that desperate, that he would risk souring relations at their first meeting in order to get a Brahmin drive sent to their territory? In any case, getting favorable relations with the locals and reasonable prices for that power would be worth it, but perhaps it was time to brandish the stick as well as the carrot.
"There are some elements back home that didn't even want this mission to be launched." He noted.
"Oh?" Was the only reply.
"Yes, as I said there is a sub current in the halls of power that don't believe you're worth negotiating with. Brigade General Moore especially, she said that the next time she came to the Mojave it would be to put your head on a pike. Not that any such action is being seriously considered of course, but it may be difficult to meet your… requests if you press to hard. Not everyone where I come from is as willing to negotiate for things they think they should by rights already own."
There was a slight curling of Alaric's fingers on the right hand, as if forming a fist. "I am familiar with Moore." He said neutrally. "Though I was not aware that she had been promoted. That is an interesting development ambassador, I will be sure to keep it in mind. Now if you will excuse me, I believe we are done here for the moment, Victor can show you to your quarters, and your staff. Oh, and you will be given vouchers for some of the Strip's entertainment, never let it be said that I am a poor host."
Knowing not to push the matter in his host's own home, McKinley nodded and shook the man's hand, again feeling the restrained grip that could probably snap every bone in his hand. "I look forward to the next time we speak, there are many things that must be discussed." He then turned and went to the elevator, riding down with his Ranger escorts.
Back in the penthouse, Alaric watched them go, before he reached into his pocket again and pulled out the scrap of paper the last Ranger had slipped him when they had shaken hands, reading it over now that he was in private.
"Yes, many things indeed." He said to himself.
===Author's Note===
I think I finally got the line break issue sorted out, for some reason the breaks I was using weren't uploading properly, my thanks to everyone who pointed that out.
Ah, politics, isn't it exciting! And a cloak and dagger complication? Wheels within wheels here in New Vegas.
As always, please review and comment, would love to hear what you have to say.