Chapter 11: Deja Vu, and other things of the past.
The Courier, after an hour of riding on the dune-runner, was missing the heavy feeling of his Enclave suit on his legs, which after being pelted with dirt and rocks, felt like jelly.
The town that Isabelle took the Courier to was a small frontier-style town, with a hotel that had a sign labelled "Barracks" tacked over the original hotel sign. Directly next to the hotel was a large fenced area with a gate labeled "Feeding Pen." Down the dusty road was a bar, a post office, and nearby were houses each with their own little farms in the back that had things such as banana yucca. Behind the post office was what looked like a corral, full of dune-runners, around 15 of them, all with saddles on them and currently being tended to by what appeared to be an older gentleman who dumped buckets of food into troughs.
"What do these things eat anyways?" asked the Courier.
"Well, dirt, mixed with water and plants," Isabelle said, "they also seem to like the taste of mashed up cazadores." Said Isabelle as she and the Courier got off the dune-runner as it went into the feeding area.
The Courier thought about cazadores for a moment and shivered. "Oh, hate those dang things. Their poison makes you feel like your insides are on fire."
"How would you know, you ever been stung? Most who get stung say its like being shocked on the inside."
"Being shocked feels like burning, which also feels like melting," the Courier said, pulling up the sleeve of the shirt he wore under his duster, revealing a ragged-edged circular scar on his forearm.
Isabelle just stared at it for a few seconds before snapping back into reality. "How did you get that?"
"Well." The Courier began as he sat down on a bench near the feeding area overlooking the dune-runners. "It was, well, almost a year ago, I think. I had heard some rumors about a nice piece of equipment in this big cazador nest back in New Vegas. So, I decided to check it out. Went in armed with a revolver, trench knife, an LMG and a flamethrower. Place was swarming with them, adults and babies, big and small ones. Babies are worse than the adults, they're smaller and less predictable, and inject more poison than they need to." The Courier sighed and took a deep breath, trying to remember all the details he could from that day.
"Anyway, I was about halfway through the nest when my flamethrower ran out fuel. I had killed about oh...15 cazadores on the way down. I started using my revolver because of the cramped quarters. Played it stealthy, kept crouched and shot a couple of them. The noise from the shots alerted the rest of the swarm deeper down though, so I back up into a bottleneck in the tunnels. Took a lot of them out that way, the bodies just piled up. I then made my way to this big open chamber, and I saw what i was looking for. An advanced power helmet that one of my friends called a Remnant helmet. I started walking towards it. I then heard something on the ceiling and looked up. And I saw probably the fifth most terrifying thing in New Vegas, the Legendary Cazador, or so my Pip-Boy called it, the queen of the nest I suppose. And she saw me. She jumped down from the ceiling and started flying, I shot a few more rounds from my assault rifle and crippled one of her wings, she crashed onto the cave floor and i jumped on her head, she tried to throw me off, but I stabbed my trench knife into her head, made it easier to stay on. Then I just unloaded my revolver into her head, that finished her."
Isabelle just stared at the Courier in amazement, but then shook her head. "Wait, that's really fascinating and all, but...that still doesn't explain how you got that scar."
The Courier just smirked at this statement. "Well I went over and picked up the helmet, turned around and walked towards the exit. I then heard a small buzzing towards my right. I turned that way, and there was a baby cazador, flying as fast as it could towards me. I had already holstered my weapons and this thing was fast. Faster than a deathclaw on psycho. I picked up a rock and went to smash its head in. I hit it, but the dang thing flipped and stung me right on my arm. I staggered back out into the sun in the worst pain you could imagine, almost passed out from the short walk to the exit a few times. I then took some buffout, patched myself up, drank my whole bottle of whiskey, and drunkenly stumbled back to the Strip, numb as hell.
Isabelle tried her best not to laugh, but couldn't hold back a snicker. "So, you got stung because you thought you were safe?"
"Yeah, but that's still pretty lucky considering that it could've stung my head, or my stomach, or my windpipe, or my heart," the Courier said, taking off his cowboy hat and scratching his head, "That was back when my Luck was one of the things I was the most thankful for."
Isabelle looked at the scar more intently.
The Courier did as well. He realized for the fifth or sixth time that it had gotten bigger since that day, not healing, it seemed to spread, as though it was a permanent reminder, of what, he couldn't really tell.
"You don't like how lucky you are?" Isabelle asked.
The Courier put his hat back on and sighed, "I used to, gave me a helluva lot of caps back when I was starting out in Vegas, around, shit, I don't know, 30,000 in one week."
Isabelle gasped, and started to say something, but was cut off by the Courier, still in reminiscence.
"Bought a whole bunch of these cybernetic implants, and used a trick I'd learned to get a gun healed up for free and sell it for more than I bought it to get even more, I call it Luck that I didn't get caught. Bought a lot of armor and weapons, enough to keep me set for practically anything come my way."
"What caused you to not like your Luck then?" Isabelle said, annoyed, "It seems like that would make anyone happy."
The Courier laughed, "How old are you? 20? By now you should realise material possessions ain't enough to make people happy for very long. Anyways, I ended up not liking my Luck a little after that. I'd shoot at a raider and cause more damage to him somehow every once in a while, I think that just happens to everybody, but to me, it happened at just the right time, on the enemy that was just powerful enough to rip my head off without batting an eye..." he spoke these last few words with a little frustration, "it made everything too damn easy."
"But a lot of people would love to have that kind of luck with them." said Isabelle.
"I did love my Luck, it's part of the reason I got to where I am today. But sometimes I wonder...is it only my Luck that's keeping me alive?"
Isabelle got back up and patted the Courier's shoulder. "Well, come on, that's enough story telling, let's get you acquainted to the dune-runners."
The Courier got up and followed Isabelle into one of the pens. Isabelle took a power sledge that was near the corner of the pen and hit the ground a few times. Small dune-runners began to pop out of the ground, each about the size of a cyberdog. "You see," stated Isabelle, "they respond to vibrations in the ground. These small ones and the tamed dune-runners will usually only respond to a powerful strike from a sledgehammer or something else from the ground. Once saddled up though, you can control them with your feet just by kicking them. The harder the kick, the harder the turn. Kicking them with both feet at the same time will make them speed up. To slow them down, you just have to hit them with the palm of your hand. Hard hit means hard stop, light hit means slow stop."
"Seems pretty simplistic." Said the Courier as he looked at the small dune-runners as they began tunneling back into the dirt. "When can you start training me? I'd like to use one for transportation and hopefully cut the time on my journey down."
"It'll cost you 2,000 caps."
"I'm guessin' you've done this before."
"We've only sold a dune-runner once."
"Why only once?"
"The dune-runners don't seem to like people that ain't from here, they either spit acid on anyone else that comes close to 'em or they try to throw 'em off."
"What about the one I rode on for an hour?"
"Marco only attacks people I want him to."
"I'll start my training tomorrow," The Courier brought out 2,000 caps and handed them to Isabelle.
Isabelle nodded and pointed down the road. "There's a tavern not too far down, they got some rooms and booze to spare. My aunt runs it. Just try not to cause any trouble."
"Thanks, I'll see you in the morning then." and the Courier walked down the road towards the tavern.
As the Courier walked toward the tavern, he heard a slight rumbling behind him, he turned to see some shifting dirt. It approached him slowly, and then stopped a few feet from him.
The Courier then realised that there was nothing to prevent the dune-runners from just leaving the town, and wondered if the people here were the first to ever treat them kindly.
The Courier stared at the end of the trail of shifted dirt, and then stomped his feet on the ground. Out of the dirt pile came a dune-runner, about the size of Isabelle's.
The Courier, calmly as possible, moved toward the dune-runner, which pulled back slightly, making a hissing sound, possibly acid ready to be launched.
The Courier didn't stop, he began kneeling down, reaching out to touch the front of the dune-runner.
He did, the dune-runner's hissing let off.
"That's right, I ain't gonna hurt ya," the Courier said, patting its head.
The dune-runner sunk into the ground, but didn't move away from the Courier. The Courier moved a few steps, the dune-runner followed. This may be easier than he thought it was going to be.