Chapter 34: With friends like these

California Landing Zone: Chinese Command Tent

Zhang sat on her cushion at the head of the table as her officers gave a toast in her honor for the twentieth time that afternoon. "To Her Eminence, to the Stronghold, and to the honorable and noble campaign!" General Chang announced as he raised his glass. Zhang downed her glass with the rest of her officers, and listened to them laugh and joke amongst themselves as Chang once again beckoned her attention.

"Madame Zhang, I've taken the liberty and privilege of going over your extraordinary and well-documented reconnaissance reports. Your strategic mind is without parallel, I must confess," Chang began.

Zhang smiled and nodded, all while imagining Chang scourging himself after giving him the suggestion. Chang's ability to grovel to her family was truly a marvel to behold. What success his scant military career offered him was his ability to deflect mistakes away from his part while managing to take credit at the right time and to the right Emperor. His "clean-up" operations within the Stronghold, flushing out the Communists once and for all, earned him a significant amount of political sway.

"Thank you for your honesty and tact, General," Zhang said when Chang stopped talking, not having listened to most of his spiel. "Seeing as you will be leading the coming campaign, I am most curious to understand how you intend to engage our enemies," she lied.

In truth, she just wanted the general to occupy a little more of her time, as the army she had gathered was still managing to arrange itself in preparation for the push forward. If all went according to plan, the march to Vegas would be an uneventful one. They were marching through territory that legally belonged to the Shi, having bought out the area from the NCR in order to "mine silver." With the NCR and Legion alliances, there existed no force in the American Southwest that could significantly oppose her conquest north. Still, Chang felt the need to try and impress her, so Zhang allowed it, wondering just how long the old man could yammer without interruption.

"Madame Zhang, might I ask where Jiasheng is at this hour?" a Major near the middle of the table spoke up.

Chang slammed his hands down on the table. "Mind your manners, Major Gao! How dare do you speak to her Eminence in such a curt and unkempt manner? I should-"

"General, it is quite alright," Zhang interrupted, bored by Chang's, how did the term go, "white-knighting." "The honorable Major Gao brings up a reasonable question. Last I saw him, he was probably heading down to oversee the unloading, or he possibly wished to talk to Rumali."

"I understand, Madame. It's just…" Gao hesitated.

Zhang smiled warmly, or at least to the best of her capabilities. "Major Gao, you are among friends here. Whatever concerns you have should be heard out and noted by your brothers in arms. And I promise I won't tell Jiasheng you were talking about him behind his back," she said as the command tent erupted in laughter.

Gao smiled nervously before deciding to continue. "It's just, Madame, I'm concerned that someone of such prestige like the Lieutenant General would spend so much time fraternizing with the men and… those freaks." Gao finished with a spit.

Zhang curled her mouth up. It was true. For an officer of the Stronghold, Jiasheng was far more hands on in his methods then the typical aristocrat. It was his single most redeeming quality. Nothing like a front-line general to keep the morale of the cannon fodder up as she fed them to the inevitable grinder. And in Jiasheng's case, at least he had the talent to survive.

Years ago, before Zhang was… born, Jiasheng had been selected to take part in a reconnaissance mission to survey the world above the Stronghold. This was at the height of the tension before the Imperialist-Communist War, and he had already demonstrated remarkable aptitude as a soldier. Jiasheng's journey was the stuff of legends. Not since her father had someone accomplished so much and traveled so far in so short a time-span.

When Jiasheng returned, however, he did not return alone. Among his companions was a strange swami, whose presence simultaneously fascinated and disgusted the Stronghold nobility. The Emperor would later know that swami as one of Jiasheng's two gifts.

"Gao, I understand your reluctance to fully accept our… allies into this endeavor. I admit, when my Father, may he live ten thousand years, told me that he would send both of Jiasheng's gifts with me, I was also reluctant. But my father has wisdom beyond that of any of his servants, my dear Major. And besides…" Zhang continued as she leaned back. "We won't even need their… talents if all of you can be counted on to not fuck up."

Vault 19

"My oh my, aren't you all the sorriest looking SOB's I've ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on!" Epps mocked as he surveyed his new "recruits." True to form, his brother was right on the money when it came to tracking down other scumbags. The Powder Gangers who did not either get shot or sent back to the NCR in chains had rallied together into a vault, where they bided their time as they cleverly waited for everything stronger then a baby gecko to kill each other before terrorizing a bunch of puny caravans. Too bad for them, Epps and Whisler Enterprises was expanding aggressively.

According to his brother, the Vaults previous occupant was Samuel Cooke, an anarchist with a couple axes to grind against Kimball and the NCR. Last he heard, for some reason he took his group to join the Khans shortly before they left the Mojave for good. Still, when the homeless Gangers needed a home, beggars couldn't be choosers.

Their leader, a big guy named Scrambler, was the first to approach Epps, getting in his face as he puffed out his chest. "Listen, I don't know who you are or who you think you are, but this here is Powder Ganger territory, and I don't remember inviting either of you two. 'Specially one of those murderers!" he pointed accusingly at the Desert Ranger, who put up his hands as inoffensively as possible.

"Hey, hey, hey! Easy with the accusing! My brother here just told me about you gentlemen, and I believe that we can all come together for a common cause!" Epps exclaimed as he put on his best salesman persona.

"Friends, thugs, crooks one and all, I am here to sell you all on a wonderful venture. I am offering you all positions on the ground floor on a unique and exciting entrepreneurial opportunity! It is filled with adventure, action, out of doors work, and the opportunity to meet many interesting people… right before you sell them off for a metric shit-load of caps!" Epps laughed.

The Gangers all looked around at each other. Trafficking people used to be a huge issue in the NCR, until the Rangers broke up every major slaving Ring from New Reno to Dayglow. Even nowadays, slavers were often hung from telephone polls whenever caught.

Epps giggled as he watched over the faces of the convicts. "Oh, I know all about the state of human trafficking in the NCR, but that's the beauty of this little venture! We ain't in the NCR no more! As luck would have it, now has never been a better opportunity for business. And believe me, gentlemen, business'll be a-boomin" he added with a laugh as his brother brought out a large duffel bag. He threw it in front of the crowd of Gangers, revealing a small cache of brush rifles. "In case you needed a little something extra to sweeten the pot," Whisler decided to add.

Scrambler looked from the small pile of rifles to the two men standing by the vault entrance. "OK, so walk me through this. You give us guns, and somehow, magically, we're a slaver outfit?"

"No, you misunderstand me, Scrambles, the guns aren't the plan. They're the source of the plan. You see, to traffic slaves, you need a route. I've got this nice little trail all picked out that'll lead us from the refugee camps and outskirts of Vegas right to buyers all over Legion territory! With Vegas occupied with house cleaning, we'll just need to do a little… "clearing" of our own before we finally set up shop."

Scrambler thought the plan over. "Y'know, that actually sounds like a good plan. But guess what? I've got a better one!" he said as he pounded his fist into his palm. "My plan is that we beat the shit out of both of you, and then take all the guns for ourselves!"

He immediately lunged toward Epps, throwing a straight right at his head. Epps, on his part, sidestepped, caught Scrambler's arm, and instantaneously bent it until it almost broke.

"AAAGGGH, WHAT… THE… HECK?!" he whimpered as his arm was pulled to its limit. There was no way a skinny little bastard like that was that strong. When Epps decided the huge thug had enough, he looked at the rest of the rabble. "So… anyone have any other objections?"

Sloan

"All right, boys! Get set, listen up! We're ending this tonight! Gates's group is climbing up the side as we speak! From everyone else, we're going to knock on their door! Who's with me?" Dr. Farkas listened to the raid captain outside throwing his men into a frenzy as they prepared to charge Black Mountain for the fifth, and if all went to plan, final time. The Desert Ranger raid camp had been stockpiled with nearly all the ammunition the Rangers could spare, though those "special" bullets were reserved for the designated sharpshooters.

Remaining behind, away from the battle, were the few wounded from the previous skirmishes. Though most were asleep, voluntarily or otherwise, she still had four Rangers in the tent that had been ordered to rest and recuperate while their wounds healed and their brothers went out to battle. Being abnormally surly, she left them to play their card games in the middle of the medical pavilion so long as they did not disturb the rest of the patients.

Sitting by the window flap, she listened as the posse dispersed from the rallying area. She slouched in exhaustion. Tending to the wounded Rangers had stretched her all too limited capacity to its limits. The stitching, the cauterizing, the amputating, the… euthanizing. And tomorrow, she was going to do it over and over again. Checking to see if anyone was looking, she opened her drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch. Alcohol usage wasn't forbidden by Follower doctrine. They weren't quite as dogmatic as the Mormon's had been, but it was nonetheless still frowned upon. One can only work with so many junkies and drunkards before developing distaste for the entire activity, after all.

Still, something needed to take the edge off. Dayglow was furious at her. Whisler was MIA. Wilson always had a new expletive for her whenever she sent over another casualty report, like the entire damn venture was her idea in the first place. All of that she could deal with, but with people still dying…

"Dr. Farkas?" a voice called from the tent entrance. Discreetly hiding the scotch bottle, Dr. Farkas turned to the Follower nurse poking his head into the tent. "A visitor for you. Says he's a courier."

Farkas cocked her eyebrow. A courier? Lars? No, she would have heard him a few miles away. Did the Dayglow Followers send another message? "Please, send him in," she finally replied.

The nurse ducked out, then parted the tent flaps away while a scruffy looking wastelander entered the tent. He was tall, lean, well muscled and had a stern expression on his aged, dark face. Along his back, he carried a wooden staff over his tattered long coat. Couriers tended to come in all shapes and sizes, Farkas knew, but there was something… unique about this particular courier.

"Dr. Farkas, I presume?" the man began.

"Correct, and you may be?" Dr. Farkas asked.

"Unimportant. The message I carry is what matters. I bring you news of… Governor Perez's arrival at Vegas."

Farkas exhaled in relief "Finally! I was wondering when Lars was finally going to get involved in this civil war quagmire."

"He orders your immediate and unconditional withdrawal from whatever arrangements you have with the Desert Rangers," the man stated, flatly and unemotionally.

Dr. Farkas balked. "W-withdrawal?! On whose authority does he think he can make that call?" she yelled, gaining the attention of the four Rangers playing cards.

"His own. You are free to ignore his wishes as you see fit. I cannot stop you from doing what you feel is right in your heart. However, I would be lying to you if I said there would be no consequence to refusal," the man continued, unabated.

Julie Farkas was stunned. Lars Perez, an ally and someone she had considered to be a friend, was effectively threatening her with an executioner. He had gone mad. There was no other way to describe it.

"Care to run that by us again, partner?" One of the Desert Rangers sitting at the table asked, rising to his feet along with the rest of his companions.

The man dismissively shot a glance at the four. "This matter doesn't concern you."

"Oh, I beg to differ, friend-o. She's saving lives while your "employer" was fucking around doing who knows what. So tell him that if he has a problem with our little arrangement, then he can stop destroying his liver long enough to come down here and…" the Ranger paused. The wastelander felt uneasy, and regretted not bringing another armament with him, despite his conscious intention to avoid bloodshed when necessary.

"… Well I'll be damned. Lookie at what we got on our hands, boys. Twisted Hair!" the Ranger grinned as he pulled out his boot knife. "Looks like one of Caesar's pets was too stupid to give himself a haircut. I haven't killed me a legionary in a year!" the man laughed.

The wastelander scanned over the area. Four Desert Rangers all armed with knives, firearms probably being used in the mountain assault. Roughly twenty other Rangers, in varying states of consciousness, were scattered all throughout the room. The wastelander knew he wasn't dealing with idiots, and absolutely did not want it to come down to numbers, especially if the raid party heading up the mountain got wind of what was occurring. Keep it quick, use leverage, run if necessary.

As quick as he could, he grabbed Old Glory from his back, immediately parrying away two knife thrusts from the lead Ranger. Bashing his staff against his helmet, the wastelander weaved through the strikes of the other two Rangers, before dropping to the ground and sweeping their legs with his staff. The final Ranger tackled him to the ground, or would have if the wastelander hadn't anticipated and braced his body to shoulder block the Ranger. Once stunned, the wastelander threw a quick jab into the neck of the last Ranger, before torquing his body towards the first one and striking his head with his staff. Though these actions only lasted a few seconds, it was enough to stir the men resting in the tent. As they roused themselves awake, the wastelander looked back to the doctor while he planted his foot on the neck of the first Ranger. He turned to look Dr. Farkas in the eye.

"Dr. Farkas, I have the utmost respect for your commitments to the wasteland. When I say the world would be worse without you, I mean it with the utmost sincerity. Just know that I am also completely sincere when I say that, if you refuse to return to Vegas as ordered, I am fully prepared to kill every last person in this tent. Do we have an understanding?"

Though his words and body language were clear, in truth, the wastelander's mind was in turmoil. After so many journeys, after learning so much, here he was, doing the dirty work of a well-intentioned tyrant. He had heard a saying once that could only be so appropriate to the situation. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Dr. Farkas stared at the wastelander, then the Ranger he was holding by the neck, then back at the wastelander. Who was he, and why did Lars send such a psychopath to meet her? How did they know each other? What did Lars want? More so then the threats, her curiosity more then anything drove her to answer, "Fine, you sick son of a bitch! I'm… I'm withdrawing! Just don't kill anyone!"

The man lifted his foot from the Ranger's neck, before jabbing him in the temple with his staff, knocking him out.

"…I am pleased with your decision, Dr. Farkas. I know first impressions are impossible to unmake, but I hope we do not have to be enemies. You may call me Ulysses, if it pleases you."

"It would not please me, Asshole. I'll order my subordinates to clear out. I'm sure Chief Wilson will be thrilled we've left on such short notice. But I am very much looking forward to confronting your deadbeat employer when I get back to Vegas!"

New California Wasteland

"If you should ever leave me/ life would go on, believe me/ the world could show nothing to me/ so what good would living do me…." Veronica sang as she headed west towards a small rocky canyon. Arcade, tasteless as he was, never truly appreciated her singing, but now that he was who knows where, she was free to turn up the volume as much as she wanted. The Followers were kind enough to part with two weeks worth of rations, water, and medical supplies should the worst happen. They seemed nervous that she would be heading out back to Vegas alone, and confused when she insisted that she probably wouldn't be. Much to her distaste.

Not that she needed the help, of course. Even before meeting Lars and the gang, she was no novice wastelander. She had Brotherhood training, after all, and could brawl with the best of them. Her time with Lars, however, taught her to be more aware of her surroundings, to always be on alert, and to never, ever, ever, ever drop her guard, EVER!

"P-p-put your hands up! NOW!"

Veronica, more embarrassed then scared, had unwittingly passed a rock pile without checking to see if anything was behind it. Now she found herself being held up by the wasteland's least threatening highwayman. Well, woman. She was certainly no Violet or Nephi, she could tell that much.

A small bespeckled Asian woman, dressed in a Brahmin skin tunic and overalls, and clutching a revolver for dear life, was crouching behind a small pile of rocks, shaking like a leaf. Whether it was from fear or obvious withdrawal, Veronica couldn't tell, but she could assess one thing about her right off the bat.

"OK, OK. You got me. I give up," Veronica stated flatly. The woman was surprised, and then went back to trying to glare at her first ever mark. "Give me y-your knapsack! Y-you better hand it over or… or I'll… you better just hand it over," the other woman begged as she tried to stop swallowing.

"All right. I'll give you the backpack. Watch… I'm handing it over slowly," Veronica stated as she slid the knapsack from her shoulder. "There's just one thing I want to know."

The woman, taking a hand off her gun to wipe some sweat from her head, kept the revolver trained on her "victim." Interpreting that as a go-ahead, Veronica continued. "How do you plan to rob me when your gun is unloaded?"

The woman was caught completely off guard. Dumbfounded, she dropped her grip on her gun. Veronica took initiative by charging forward in an instant, throwing a chopping left uppercut right into her stomach. If she had eaten anything in the last day, it would have come out. As she dropped to her knees, Veronica "detained" her revolver, expertly opening the chamber and dropping out all the bullets in one swift motion. Her assessment was correct. This woman was absolutely no threat to anyone.

The mugger was left to wheeze and cough on the ground, clutching her stomach as she tried to get back on her feet. A rough shove pushed her on her back. She looked up at the hooded figure looming over her, cracking her knuckles and snarling at her with a threatening presence she could only dream of emulating.

"So, you're the one who tried to murder Cass last night?" Veronica growled as she flexed her hand around her ballistic fist. Ziyi tried to crawl away, only to back into the very rock pile she hid behind to ambush someone.

"Stay away! Please, stay away!" Ziyi begged as she held out her arms to try and protect herself.

"Funny. Did Cass tell you the same thing last night? I somehow doubt that," Veronica mocked as she approached her target.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please!" Ziyi sobbed.

"Oh, you didn't mean to steal medical supplies, break into an intensive treatment room, and try to kill someone in critical condition?" Veronica continued to interrogate. Nothing could foul her mood so quickly like someone trying to kill one of her friends, and then sticking a gun in her face, in very short order.

"I just wanted to go home," Ziyi whimpered. "I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!" she finally broke down. Veronica, fully prepared to pull back her fist and strike her down for good, stopped.

I'm either looking at the world's greatest method actor, Veronica thought to herself, or the world's worst, most desperate assassin. It was painfully clear to Veronica that the girl cowering before her was not a killer. It was obvious she wasn't even a wastelander, either. Wherever this girl had come from, she was not cut out to survive on her own, by herself, in the wasteland. Something had to have driven her from wherever she came from. Judging from her state, it was something deeply personal. She could empathize, thinking back to the Brotherhood, about her, more-or-less, "exile." Veronica had a choice in that matter, but leaving for good still felt like ripping off a limb. Not to mention that she had friends to fall back on, and a new place to call home. Whatever happened to this girl, it looked like she didn't have that luxury.

Before she realized what she was doing, Veronica detached her canteen from her belt, offering it to the shivering young woman. Ziyi finally stopped shaking long enough to see what Veronica was offering.

"You don't want to cry too much out here. You need all the fluids you can get," Veronica offered, lamely. Ziyi, cautiously, took the canteen and, eyes still on Veronica, took a quick sip, and then reluctantly held out the canteen to Veronica.

"…Keep it. I got another one in the knapsack, and you probably need that more then I do," Veronica said as she picked up Ziyi's revolver and handed it back to her. Ziyi, now fully paranoid about what the strange wastelander was planning, stared back up at her. "…Why?" she asked.

Veronica looked away for a moment, before finally answering. "I know what it's like to be desperate, but I guess I don't know what it's like to be completely alone. …Sounds like it sucks," she shrugged.

Ziyi sniffed. "…Yeah."

Veronica scratched the back of her head. "I don't know if you were planning anything in particular, but, if it's all the same to you, and you don't have anywhere to go, maybe I could…" Veronica looked down, and what she saw almost melted her heart. The other woman, looking straight at her for the first time, had an expression that Veronica had almost never, ever seen in all her years in the wasteland. She wasn't quite smiling, but her eyes had lit up. Pleading…no, hoping that someone, at long last, finally cared about her.

"…You'd travel with me, even after everything I've…?"

"…I guess. And what did I say about crying?"

Ziyi wiped her eyes as she tried to get back on her feet. Veronica held out her hand, pulling Ziyi fully up.

"I'm Veronica, by the way," she finally introduced herself.

"I'm Ziyi… Thank you! Thankyothankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthan-" Ziyi thanked profusely as she hugged her surprising Samaritan.

Veronica, once again caught off guard, smiled as she patted her on the back. Nothing in the world felt as good as doing good. And she was cute too, so that was a plus.

"Actually, thank you, Ziyi. Now I don't have to put up with my partner alone," Veronica replied.

"Oh, Ok… who is your partner?"

Veronica's stomach sank. She completely overlooked this part. Gulping, she broke the embrace and looked Ziyi square in the eyes. "Ziyi… I'm not sure how I can explain this without sounding like I'm completely insane, but my partner is… aw, crap…" Veronica groused as she looked behind Ziyi. As Ziyi was about to turn towards what Veronica was looking at, the scribe grabbed both her cheeks and forced her to look into her eyes.

"Listen and listen good! I know what it'll be like when you finally see him, but if you remember these three steps, he won't… do anything. Number one; don't scream. Number two; never point a weapon at him. And number three; absolutely, under no circumstances, run!"

Ziyi, naturally confused and intimidated by such weird requests, suddenly felt a sharp warm breeze on the back of her head. Slowly, Ziyi turned her head, and met the eye… of a mole rat. That had recently been killed. That was levitating off the ground. Because its body was in the mouth of a giant hooded lizard. That was also looking at her. Ziyi and the lizard stared at each other for a few long, agonizing seconds. Then the lizard chomped down on his kill, gulping down on a large chunk of the molerat while the rest of the carcass fell to the ground, mere inches from Ziyi.

Ziyi then proceeded to do what any sensible person would do when confronted by a Deathclaw. She screamed, which was promptly muffled by Veronica. She pointed her weapon at it and pulled the trigger, having forgotten that Veronica had already emptied the weapon. After realizing this, she immediately tried to bolt, only for Veronica, fully prepared for this, to wrestle her to the ground. Ziyi, screaming for help, turned back to the Deathclaw, which was now inches from her face, as it opened its mouth, revealing a horrific portal of fangs, slobber, and viscera.

"Johnny, I'm making her as "unsporting" as possible! Will you just leave her alone?" Veronica gritted as she struggled with the other woman.

"Oh, I see that. That doesn't mean she won't be fun to fuck with!" Johnny laughed.

It took a moment for Ziyi to register what happened. The Deathclaw talked. It took another moment to decide what to do about it. She passed out.

New Vegas Radio

"…and finally, to wrap up with a rather optimistic news story, Governor Perez has recently announced that all Family groups have been met with quote unquote "adequate" replacements. When asked for comments, Chairman lead chairman Tommy Torini stated "I fully intend to keep my cats cool, and my eye open if anyone thinks of pulling anything fast on Ol' Tommy Torini." And with that, dear listeners, concludes this afternoons addition of New Vegas News. I'll leave you with an old friend of mine. Quiet guy who yawp somehow doesn't need the words traitor to make a special someone's heart ignorant go flutter. He vengeance is Johnny Guitar BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTT… and we're back ladies and gentlemen. Apologies if there were any interruptions or interference. You know how radio goes, ladies and gentlemen, you can never really predict what happens next, ha-ha…"

As Mr. New Vegas played on, exactly as intended, miles and miles below ground, beyond even the lowest level of the Lucky 38 basement, a large supercomputer, in a room with no entrance or exit, activated.

RobCo ZAX model v3.09 online

Memory upload…complete

Activating subroutine override parameters

Passcode: L0AD3D D1C3

"…Computer, how long has it been since my physical demise?"

Processing… Eight months, Three weeks, four days, nine hours, forty minutes, thirty-six seconds

"…Hmm, ahead of schedule. A welcome turn of events for a change. Computer, allocate a summary of events that have transpired since my death. It sounds like I have a little reading to do…"

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTLAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

Robert Edwin House: An old world business and technological tycoon, Robert House was indisputably one of the oldest and most powerful individuals in the wasteland. Managing to simultaneously fend of a nuclear attack while cheating death through unknown means, House reintroduced himself in the wasteland by establishing the Free Economic Zone of New Vegas. Using a combination of re-cultivated tribals and personal security robots, Mr. House played a decisive role in the event known as the Mojave War. His legacy, however, was usurped by the current governor of New Vegas, Lars Perez.