Chapter 20: Tourists

Lana Jameson rolled her eyes at the man standing before her and her friends.

"Seriously?" She said, placing her fists on her hips and cocking her head to the side. To anyone who didn't know her, they might take the gesture for impatience or impetuousness. To her friends gathered around her however, they knew it meant that a shouting match was going to start any moment.

Ranger Jackson met her gaze with his all too typical scowl underneath his handle-bar moustache.

"Yeah, seriously. I dunno what you've heard back east, but things ain't exactly safe here. In case you haven't heard, we're up to our necks in monsters, more raiders than you can shake a stick at, and oh yeah, theres a goddamn war ready to break out any day now. So yeah, I'm being serious when I tell you that I'm not willing to let you ladies, some ass in a leather jacket and their dog go traipsing through the desert all on their lonesome." Lana flashed a smirk and chuckled.

"The Lone Wanderer goes everywhere on her lonesome." Judging by the blank look on the ranger's face she guessed that Three-Dog's radio show didn't make it much farther than the Capitol Wastes.

Probably for the best, she thought before turning her head and giving a shrill whistle.

"Ohhhh boys," She called over her shoulder with a tinge of mirth in her voice. All at once the Ranger heard a stir at the end of checkpoint they had set up on the only intact stretch of highway still running into Nevada. Ranger Jackson had a long and storied career within the NCR armed forces. He'd been decorated several times for heroics, got a purple heart for taking shrapnel in his chest and shot up through the ranks about as quick as any enlisted man could expect to. In short, he'd seen it all. Or so he thought as he saw the figures that come walking slowly up towards the checkpoint. A towering green giant with a gun to match his stature slung on his back, a Mr. Gutsy robot, a ghoul and a shifty raider looking type.

The Ranger saw a few of his men fingering their rifles nervously as they approached and decided to get ahead of the situation before it ended in a blood bath-or worse, more fucking paperwork.

"Stow your goddamned weapons you sonsabitches!" He roared before wheeling on the woman who'd addressed herself as their leader.

"The hell is this?"

"It's exactly what we said it was; just a few good folks from back east wantin' to see the Strip. From what I've heard it's just like it was in the Old World."

"Not exactly." The Ranger said in return, taking a moment to light up a cigarette. With a sigh, he threw up his hands.

"If y'all wanna go runnin' off through the desert then I'm in no position to stop you, but 'I told ya so's' don't do anybody any good if you wind up dead." The Lone Wanderer's eyes softened at that; someone who genuinely gave two shits about a stranger was a rare thing.

"I appreciate the concern, Mr. Ranger, but trust me," She said, patting the bulky ten-millimeter in its holster on her hip, "we can take care of ourselves." The Ranger gave an imperceptible shake of his head but motioned them on through the checkpoint.

"Best a'luck to ya then. Damn tourists." He muttered under his breath once they'd passed the outpost and continued North down the road.

The strange group was happy to be back together; the Super Mutant and Ghoul were enough to put most people on edge and in the trigger happy mood, but the NCR men had handled themselves well enough all things considered.

"That went better than expected." Came the booming voice of the green juggernaut trailing at the rear.

"I think that's the first time nobody tried pulling a gun on you Green Meanie. Things really are different this far out west."

"My name is Fawkes…I chose it for a reason Jericho." The former raider shrugged his shoulders and barked a laugh.

"Think you need to come up with some new lines buddy."

"I will," Fawkes boomed ,"when you do."

"Alright you two, do I need to separate you?" The tall, lithe blond at the head of the pack said playfully over her shoulder.

"It's all in good fun Sarah. Besides, one of these days we'll drag the stick out of Fawkes' ass." They all laughed at that, even the robot, but not Charus. But he seldom spoke, let alone laughed. Not for the first time, Lana considered what the ghoul had been through before she had bought his contract from the son of a bitch who had it before her. She'd lost no sleep when the bodyguard had left immediately after being told it was she who held his contract to make even with his previous 'employer'.

"Damn its hot out here…" Came the voice of the 'ass in a leather coat' trudging alongside them, the sweat running down his forehead washing out the motor oil keeping his pompadour hair aloft.

"Well Butch, we've got a hell'uva long walk ahead of us so I'd save the complaining for at least another day or two." Sarah snapped; she didn't much care for the brash machismo the former Vault Dweller displayed. But she was willing to tolerate him because Lana was willing to tolerate him. That meant a lot coming from a Brotherhood of Steel officer, that and the fact that she hadn't shot him yet for calling her 'Sugar-Tits' the first time they'd met.

But that was the condition; the Brotherhood couldn't afford to spare any men for her mission, important as it was, so Lana had agreed to supply herself and her people…provided they made a stop on the way to the Lost Hills. Lana Jameson put a lot of stock in her word and when a friend cashed in a favor, especially a friend she owed as much as she did to Sarah, she stuck to it. But she owed some friends a whole lot more.

"Bah, suck it up you lily liver, pain is just weakness leaving the body! Besides, a soldier without his boots on the ground is no soldier at all!" Came the mechanical bravado from the floating robot bringing up the rear. Absently, the Lone Wanderer wondered if it would ever figure out that they weren't soldiers, and that the U.S. Army was nothing more than dust and echoes now. Probably not.

Then again, were they really so different from the soldiers it was so fond of describing? Boots on the ground, rough an' ready fighters on the front lines? Closing her eyes for a moment, Lana tried to remember a time where she hadn't been fighting. Against Butch and his friends, against Raiders, the Enclave, Slavers, monsters, against her father… She pushed the thoughts away; she couldn't bring herself to think of him, not yet. What it had all come down to there, in that chamber…the purifier. His work. His tomb. It was meant to be hers too. She was going to finish what he had started…and then she'd see him again. That was the last thought to go through her mind as she had punched in the code, the numbers she'd heard her whole life. Even as the immense radiation washed over her and she could feel it tearing at her body on a molecular level, his voice still boomed in her head.

Revelations 21:6. I am Alpha, and Omega, the Beginning….and the End. She had to laugh at that, bitter as it tasted. In the end, that's what he was to her. Everything that had happened since she had fled the Vault into the blinding sun of the Capitol Wasteland…it all started with him. Had it really been so crazy to think that it might end there too? Finishing his work, his vision? But life was full of cruel irony.

For a moment, Lana was afraid the tears that had welled up suddenly would spill loose, but when she felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder she took strength in it and grasped it in return. The smiling face and twinkling blue eyes of Sarah pushed it all away, made it manageable again. The Lone Wanderer as she was called knew for fact that were it not for the beautiful Brotherhood of Steel officer standing at her side now, she would not be half the woman she was today. For one, she'd probably be dead. For another, she might've still been a virgin.

Suddenly though, Lana tore her eyes away from Sarah's and down onto a trail beaten into the dust…heading east. She waved the others to follow her off the cracked and torn asphalt and into the desert. They exchanged confused glances, but no one said anything; they had long since learned to trust their leader, whatever she may ask of them. The robot and the Ghoul followed because they knew nothing else, Fawkes followed because she had freed him from captivity and given him a chance to become something greater than what he was born to, Jericho followed because he was bored and it beat drinking himself to death somewhere, Butch followed because despite the macho tough guy act she had helped him when he needed it most and he never forgot a favor, and Sarah…Sarah followed out of love and faith. But despite their reasons, they followed her, and would do so gladly to their last breath. Lana loved them all for that. Some more than others, true, but love all the same.

Somewhere distant, Jackson Derricks trudged on through the desert doing his best to ignore the burning thirst in his throat and the cramping in his arms from being lashed together above his head, strung along with the rest of his fellow prisoners. Futilely, he strained against the raw-hide cords that bound him, probing for even the slightest bit of slack. There wasn't, but even if there had been, what could he do? He was half starved and with each step he felt more of his dwindling strength ebb away. He could barely plant one foot in front of the other, let alone fight his way free but the act of minor rebellion kept him grounded, kept him looking for a way to turn the tables. He didn't know what the Legion had in store for him when they got to wherever they were headed, but the Courier was willing to bet that it wasn't good.

A collective sigh of relief escaped the prisoners as the guard holding their lines signaled for a stop. Jack nearly collapsed backwards into the sand, not waiting for his bindings to be undone, gladly ignoring the pain it caused his fraying wrists in exchange for a few minutes respite. They'd been walking for almost three days now, but with as many prisoners as there were, the pace was a crawl and to make up for it the Legionnaires drove them on through the hottest parts of the day, stopping only for several minute water breaks and for a few hours each night before hauling the prisoners to their feet once more.

Jack gulped eagerly at the meager water ration supplied to him, savoring the taste despite its heat and the flecks of sand within. Afterwards they choked down whatever dried foodstuffs the Legionnaires threw at them, but Jack couldn't help but feel his lip turn up at what they tossed at him this time. The whole situation was beginning to wear on him and he didn't think he could stand for much more. If they killed him…so be it, but he would rather die on his feet than spend the rest of his years a slave. As he contemplated this though, he felt…something. It was something indescribable, almost like the feeling of being watched but somehow different. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising and a sudden restlessness. There was a…tension forming in all his muscles, energy begging to be released. It was like something, someone was urging him forward.

For better or worse, he decided that right then was time to act. As the Legionnaire walked the line, binding the prisoners once more to the stake, the Courier's hands probed behind him for a loose stone and closed around one about the size of his fist. Although he still felt unsteady, he had the confidence that only a man who no longer cared if he lived or died could as he rose in line. When the Legionnaire got to him and held out the raw hide cords, the Courier's hand came whizzing up with a speed and strength that surprised even him. But Vulpes' man was quicker and caught him about the wrist while at the same time freeing the machete at his hip. Even as

Jack brought his unrestricted fist into the man's midsection, but he knew it was over. All that was left was to get in his last few licks before the lights went out. But when the Legionnaire brought his blade over his head, all hell broke loose. There came a cry like thunder from just over a hill and suddenly the air was filled with laser fire and the stench of seared flesh. The split-second hesitation was enough for Jack to re-take the initiative with a headbutt, connecting with the Legionnaire's nose and sending the man toppling backwards. The majority of his fellow prisoners rose up around him as well, taking advantage of the melee some went running off through the desert, back east towards Nipton, but most remained to fight their captors.

The Courier snatched the machete from the fallen Legion man and in one swift motion separated the bastard's head from his shoulders before tearing off in pursuit of the others still fighting around him; all feelings of pain or weakness were gone, replaced by elation and the high that only bloodshed could make him feel. It made him sick to his stomach, just how much pleasure it gave him to take a blade in hand and wreak havoc upon these men, wicked though they may have been. The feeling was sickly sweet as he brought the crudely fashioned weapon singing upward beneath the guard of another, punching through the ribs with practiced ease before tearing free to pursue his next prey.

A roar from the left brought the Courier's head around just in time to see Vulpes bearing down on him. Sparks flew as the Courier deflected a savage blow aimed at his head before dropping back into a crouch. He was feeling the adrenaline rush begin to wear off and the weariness from the days on the trail catching up with him. He missed a step, felt the blade open up a gash along his arm and then he was on the defensive. It was all he could do to keep Vulpes from taking his head off and before long, Jack felt fire racing along his arms and hot, sticky blood flowing freely from the wounds; he was losing this fight.

He side stepped a swipe, narrowly ducked the follow up and decided if he didn't take a shot now, he probably wouldn't get another chance. With a shout the Courier stomped down on as hard as he could on Vulpes' toes-and was rewarded with a howl of pain….and nothing else as the Legionnaire pushed his attack uninhibited. Jack started losing ground; it became all he could do to keep his weapon between Vulpe's machete and his throat. Vulpes bore down on him relentlessly, the machete in his hand a blur of lethal motion only narrowly kept at bay by his own weapon. But the Legionnaire missed a step, his toe caught on a stone as he charged for yet another blow and Courier stepped inside the other man's guard, catching him full in the face with an elbow before bringing his machete whistling down. The air sang as the blade completed ran its path, burying itself deep within Vulpes' throat. As his captor sank to his knees, the sudden electricity that had seized Jack seemed to vanish immediately, and he found he could barely stand. His wounds screamed in protest as his knees buckled and dropped him into the Mojave sand. A glance around showed that the Legionnaires had stood their ground…and paid their lives for it.

They would receive the same had they fled. A voice whispered in the back of his mind. For the thousandth time, Jackson Derricks pondered just who the man he had once been was, how he knew these things. An answer had begun to form…and what it was chilled him to the bone.

"Never could stand slavers." Came a voice from just over a nearby rise. Meekly, the Courier glanced up to see several people descending the knoll towards him and what few of his fellow prisoners had survived the uprising. Lana Jameson approached warily, bulky ten millimeter pistol in hand as she surveyed the scene, followed closely by the rest of her party. She eyed curiously for a moment before extending a hand. The Courier clasped it and found her strength surprising for her size as she hauled him unsteadily to his feet.

"Name's Lana. Don't take this the wrong way Jack, but you look like ten pounds of crap in a five pound bag." Despite himself, the Courier chuckled at that.

"Yeah… wait, how do you know my name?." He spared a glance for her companions, pausing briefly on the green juggernaut grasping a hulking Gatling laser in his massive hands.

"Suffice to say, we've got mutual friends. Friends who think you've got better things to do than slaving." Jack waited for her to continue, but she stood silent.

"Thanks for the rescue." He managed hoarsely.

"Don't mention it." Lana said with a smirk, extending a battered old canteen with the numbers '13' embossed on the side. Jack almost snatched it from her hand and drank greedily until his thirst was slaked before handing it back, gasping.

"Well, don't just stand there. Get your things together and lets get moving; we've got places to be."

"We?" Jack said, still catching his breath, but she had already gone, trudging back up the incline towards her people. After a few moments searching, he found where his things had been stowed with the rest of his fellow prisoners things. His duster and leather chest guard slipped into place easily along with his holsters and various weapons, though with a sigh he saw that the majority of his munitions and provisions were missing, doled out amongst the Legionnaires no doubt, and they were already being picked clean by the other prisoners. A turn of his head showed that there was a discussion going on between Lana and a tall blonde woman within her group. By the way the blonde kept throwing withering glances his way, it wasn't particularly difficult to figure out what they were talking about. But Lana shook her head, and motioned him to follow. Jack was reluctant to throw in with these people he barely knew, but this woman seemed to know him. Knew people who knew him, and now the only thing he had in this world was figuring out who he was, looking for answers. His mysterious benefactor speaking through Victor had been his only lead so far, but now this woman seemed to have some, and since she'd pulled his ass out of the fire he doubted she meant any harm. With a hand on the comforting weight of the Mateba at his hip, Jack set out after them.

The next morning, Corey was rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to find some wood to get the smoldering embers of his fire going again to cook up his breakfast. It was then that Veronica came walking under the overpass with a bundle of sticks in her arms. She smiled as she saw the sheepish grin spread across his face.

"I could've done that."

"I know, but you looked like you were having a nice dream." She said, throwing the small twigs and dried brush into the pit.

"I was." He said, a dreamy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. From above, they heard the voices of the other I-88 regulars floating down.

"Hey Ralphie!"

"What is it?"

"Buncha people headin' this way an they ain't travellin' with a caravan. Get my rifle and the binoculars."

"You're awful jumpy…sonuvabitch, that thing is huge!"

"So what're you waitin' for, get my damn rifle!"

Veronica shared a worried look with Corey; this was nothing new, they were always on edge, waiting for the day the Legion or the Fiends got the nut up to attack the Outpost, but it had to be something serious to get the locals riled up. The Power Fist slung at her hip slipped on easily as she peeked her head over the edge of the highway and gazed down the road. She heard a gasp from beside her and saw that Corey had run up beside her.

"Corey, get back under the overpass, these people could be dangerous!"

"No Veronica, look!"

"What?"

"Its him! He's here Veronica! He's finally here!"