Scrappers of Gold Canyon

I told Bailey, "No, I haven't."

Unveiling her hood, she began, "I know you got your list, but something big just came up recently. The first assignment we need you to handle on that list is the scrap town of Gold Canyon… They're a small community mostly made up of retired prospectors or scavers. They scavenge robotic plants, junkyards, old army bases down south, and mostly keep to themselves…"

I asked, "Yeah, I saw them in my ledger. Why are a bunch of old prospectors vital to the evacuation?"

Continuing, she said, "The community has many salvaged items in their possession that can help us on our march to our new home. Also, the community has some of the best trackers and desert wanderers in the wastes. Think of the place as a retirement home for the best wasters to come from the desert. This means that they also know the best routes to take as we lead the evacuation without us being ripped to shreds by raiders, preppers, and mutant monsters."

I said, "Seems like a good idea to recruit them then. What's with this, 'Lost Dutchman' thing you mentioned?"

She sat down again and motioned for me to do the same. Taking a seat on the bed across from her, she started, "The old legend says that there was a prospector that moved to Arizona long before the bombs fell who began mining the Superstition Mountains in search of gold… He disappeared months later in the mountains and nobody knows where he went or even where his mine was located. Ever since then, people have gone searching for the mine and nobody has found it; some even died searching for it… Anyway, the community up at Gold Canyon has gone silent, but we recently received a coded message from one of our allies there saying that the Lost Dutchman's Mine has been found and they need an agent up there immediately. In the letter is the message and the location of the town; you are to head out immediately, and make contact with a man by the name of 'Mr. Grevsky.' He is the one who sent the message, and has done some business with us in the past."

I said, "Sounds good, I'll head out there first thing tomorrow morning."

As she got up and headed out the door, she turned back to look at me. "It should take you a couple days to get there when circling south around the ruins, but do try to hurry." She stopped momentarily and said, "Don't think we just forgot about your story in Legion territory. All our agents are busy with their own assignments and we'll know how you complete your objectives. We're putting a lot of trust in you, Drifter."

I looked back at her, "There is nothing you have to worry about."

She said, "I hope so" and headed out.

I slept well that night, and headed out just before dawn into Scottsdale. The guard stopped me by saying that I wasn't up to the new dress code. I told him that I was there to see Chief Ambassador Markus Dinero. When that didn't faze him, I remembered the weird code phrase he had me use to get backstage and tried it. I said, "I need to join my man in the garden" and the sentry lowered his machinegun to let me through.

Scottsdale was just as glamorous as ever, but now there were more Phoenix residents wandering about and taking in the city that they were excluded from only days ago. It was easy to see who was from Phoenix by looking at their dirty old suits, and dirt smudged faces, unlike the clean and proper Scottsdale residents.

I walked past the Bridgeton Towers that Mr. Dinero and the other Scottsdale elite called home when Mr. Kekos approached me with his new face and said, "You have been offered a horse by our mutual friend for easy travel across the wastes."

I wasn't expecting that at all. I just on my way to the Scottsdale/Wasteland east gate and told him I didn't know how to ride one. He led me around to the stables by the eastern gate and gave me a half days' worth of lessons about the basics of riding.

In the end, he let me have the lights grey irradiated animal I was practicing on that happened to be well used to inexperienced riders, and gave me two packs of Dandy Boy Apples. He said that a couple of those per day should keep the pona moving like usual. I guess the irradiated nature of ponas meant they didn't have to eat all that often. When needed; they could eat the dead grass and half burnt bushes around the desert or one of the near 200-year-old packaged apples. When all was done, I rode out that east gate on my new steed, and was told to reenter Scottsdale when I was done with whatever I was doing.

With that, I rode into the ruins of the city going far faster than I ever would have walking. I had to essentially circle around the entire valley because of the three bombs that destroyed Phoenix. It took the rest of that day of near constant riding before I reached the chipping old highway going southeast. However, I was making far better time due to the pona. Upon the crumpled highway surrounded by seas of deserted ruins and sand, I saw old spray-painted signs that guided me towards the scrap town of Gold Canyon. Passing wasteland creatures, I rode on by and passed hollowed out strip malls and houses that were spared the blasts but fallen due to disrepair and looting. The sun was almost completely below the west, and I reached a spot where I could see the town starting to light up beyond a small mountain once called "Silly Mountain." 30 minutes of fast riding went by, the sky was dark, and I could see people going back into their shacks just outside a little junk wall surrounding the small settlement.

Upon reaching the entrance, I saw a few mercenaries approach, and they said, "Town's closed. Go back where you from."

I yelled up at a tower while several armed men trained their guns on me, "I'm here to see a Mr. Grevsky!"

Almost on que, an old man with a long grey beard and old prospector clothes pushed open the little barbed wire gate and said, "Follow me, boy."

I trotted my pona alongside him and he stayed quiet while I observed the town. There was a lot of junk scattered about and half put together robots from old Protectrons to military Sentrybots. I even saw what looked like a restored old Chryslus Highwayman outside another shack. The man who I assumed was Mr. Grevsky had me dismount from my pona by the junk patched church in the center of town. I threw the reigns over a hitching post and followed the old timer to his shack just across the way. Inside, it was a musty little building that had robotics scrap all around and lots of hiking and mining gear. I just happened to notice a little black box thing in the corner of the shack above the door with a faint red light blinking on it. The man pulled out a chair from the table in the center and told me to sit. I did as he suggested and sat down at the table across from him. There, he began;

"You hear the old legend from the big timer boys saying; go beat some of them boys in red by those men calling the ground their home?"

Confused, I asked, "Uuuh… You are Mr. Grevsky, right?"

He said in a raspy old voice, "Yeeesir, folks call me Grev and this be the best ol town out here with the crows bringin in the goods and leavin ol by gones be by gones. But aint much more of-a post with the ruckus and the sinnin. Undergrounders true to thems words and scrappers been waitin on a fine preacher man."

Still confused, I said honestly, "I'm not really sure what you're talking about."

Without pause to consider, the old man rasped on in his gibberish, "Yep, them ol foothills be amongst the ghost in that ol scrap heap makin every who what heard and no stone unturned. Devils hear quite a bit and folk cant chip a hand given all that temptation."

I suddenly realized that he was speaking in his own bizarre code, but I still couldn't quite understand what he was getting at. Trying to clue the guy in on the fact I realized his game, I said, "Uuuh, them boys calling the ground home had me drop on by to make sure Ol Grev was still kickin the dirt or kickin up daisies. Make sure scraptown give us a hand when them boys in red give the ol bird a howdyado."

He gave a light slap on his knee and nodded in acknowledgement saying, "Goodie goo mister. Scrapheap haunted by the ol ghost of the west and that ol pick swinger keeping every who what in the clouds aint makin no kinda sense. Got the lil nighttime boxcar trinket makin a wee-woo given aint no bad juju in the desert and keepin us chicks in the eggs despite Mama Bird's injured wing."

I realized that the "lil nighttime boxcar trinket" might be the little black box in the corner of his shack... Maybe?

It suddenly occurred to me that the town was being monitored, so I said, "Looks like the spirits of the old west are haunting the Scrapheap? Maybe stoppin the good gettins with the bird folk in the canyon way?"

He nodded contemplatively and said, "Sounds like a could be. You can hit the hay here and we'll lift that Ol Pache curse on the Warrior's cuckoo nest when the black turn good. Keep me from hittin the bottle would ya? Sames as keepin the reaper ways away from Ol Grev. Go head and shut an eye or two and don't let a thought creep outta that gullet."

Just like that, Grev stood up, rolled out a sleeping bag for me, and laid down in his bed. I laid down my pack and took off my gear. I tried to piece together what he was telling me while I fell asleep. It seemed like he was saying that the town was being monitored by something, and that there was something in the "foothills" or the "warrior's cuckoo nest" that was doing it. When he said that we were going to "lift that Ol Pache curse" it felt like we were going to confront whatever was monitoring the town in the morning. I felt a lot of it was just gibberish, but I figured key words about "boys in red" referred to the Legion early on. Also, the references to "birds" were in regard to the Resistance or people of Phoenix. I still didn't understand if he was going to assist in the evacuation, but when talking about the "nighttime boxcar" he followed by referring to him and presumably the town, as "chicks" stuck in eggs? Then some sense clicked, and I figured that whoever was monitoring the town needed to stop before him and the town could aid with, "Mama Bird's injured wing." I could've had the whole situation wrong, but my orders were to enlist their help. So, whatever this rambling old timer needed doing was what I was going to do.