Chapter 19

Unlikely Alliances

The following day, Vulpes finally began to stir awake, seeing the cracked, dingy ceiling of a Novac motel room above him.

He blinked drearily, many parts of him pulsating as his vision attempted to straighten out, only partly succeeding. His skull throbbing, he slowly turned his head to the side, hearing the faint clatter of dinnerware somewhere nearby.

Boone was seated at his small kitchen table, watching television and eating a plate of Brahmin steak. He turned to grab his glass of water, then paused, meeting eyes with Vulpes and seeing that he was now awake.

"Well… rise and shine," Boone mumbled, taking a swig and glancing at the TV again.

Vulpes narrowed his eyes at the stranger, his focus fixating on the red beret atop his head—a familiar mark of the bear, one he'd seen before. This man belonged to the republic.

Although, strangely, as Vulpes glared into the NCR soldier, his old feelings of instant hatred seemed hesitant to arise now. Every instance in the past, he always looked upon the NCR with nothing but absolute disgust, viewing them as insects, rigid soulless morons whose cause was void and pointless—but now, oddly enough, he only seemed to be staring at another man, a simple human being much like himself.

So very drastic, it was… the change in his perspective, the reluctance to show the same hatred Lupis had in the moments before his death. Vulpes couldn't know who he was without that hate, though now, he might be forced to find out.

Boone stole a glimpse of him, then scooted his chair closer to the bedside, offering him a bottled water. "Here."

Vulpes's eyes shifted between the water and the man's face. Then, he slowly reached out, wincing as his arm burned with pain. Still, he took the water and opened it, sitting upright and taking a long, thirsty swig.

"Damn," Boone said, raising his brows. "Most people wouldn't be able to move an arm that got slashed and stabbed all to hell."

"I'm not most people," Vulpes uttered in a weakened rasp, wiping his mouth.

"Yeah… clearly," Boone mumbled thoughtfully, eyeing Vulpes closely. "Which brings me to my first question… why were the Legion after you?"

Vulpes turned and met his gaze again. "What makes you think there was a specific reason?"

"Because the Legion don't come here—not unless they're pulling a sneaky little stealth mission," Boone grumbled, his tone darkening. "They wouldn't have followed you so far into this territory unless they thought their mission was damn well worth it. So, tell me, and don't lie to me. Why were the Legion after you?"

Vulpes and Boone shared a long, tense stare.

Honestly, Vulpes knew this NCR soldier would likely attack him if he learned the truth—but just as well, he couldn't think of a fitting lie, and beyond that, the idea of lying simply exhausted him. He'd been lying for years now, blending into profligate society and working toward the interests of the Legion… but it all turned out to be for nothing, and now, he had no Legion to work for, no reason to lie any longer.

Perhaps the soldier would kill him—but Vulpes sighed deeply, resolving that he simply didn't care anymore.

"Fine." Vulpes looked away, his expression draining of all its usual passion. "You want the truth? Caesar's Legion is incapable of allowing deserters to roam free or allowing the captured to live long enough to talk. Me running free from their grasp is a major threat to them—because I was the greatest of Caesar's frumentarri, and now I'm a deserter."

Boone glared into him for several tense seconds, his expression hardening.

"You're Legion?" Boone growled moments later.

"Formerly Legion," Vulpes corrected, though he suspected the distinction wouldn't matter to the soldier.

Once more, there was a heated stare-off between the two of them.

Then, Boone slowly arose from his seat, hovering over the bedside in an almost threatening manner, his eyes burning into Vulpes intensely.

Vulpes merely stared at him without a hint of fear in his eyes, sighing and bracing himself for what came next. He closed his eyes and shook his head, turning away again and preparing for the final cut to black.

"Be quick," Vulpes requested. "I'm truly tired of playing this game…"

Boone continued to stare at him as if he'd never seen another human being before. Deep to his core, he despised the Legion more than anything—and despite the hot anger rising up inside him now, he also felt a conflicting sense of pity that seemed entirely out of place. After all, Boone cared nothing for any member of the Legion—and if he could, he'd kill them all in one fell swoop.

But the man before him hardly looked like a Legionary.

In fact, Boone saw it with his own eyes—the Legion attacking him, trying to corner and kill him. That was proof of his statement. This man was no longer Legion—he was a defector, an enemy of the Legion, much like he himself was.

Boone glared into him, feeling torn. He knew for certain he could never trust anyone from the Legion, but a defector? He couldn't know what to think of such a person.

After another moment of thought, Boone planted his hand to the wall, leaning over Vulpes closely and giving him an invasive once-over.

"Tell me," he hissed. "What did you do in the Legion?"

Vulpes slowly opened his eyes, meeting Boone's again. "Organized things, mainly."

"Slaves," Boone muttered grimly. "Did you ever organize the collection of slaves?"

Vulpes gave him an odd squint. "Not personally, no. I know some who have, namely from Nipton… but…"

Boone ran a hand down his face, sinking back into his chair and dwelling deeply in his thoughts.

"Say there's a stealth mission into enemy territory," Boone requested. "A covert op to collect a purchased slave. Who would've organized that?"

Vulpes stared at him. "In this town?"

"Yes," Boone confirmed. "In this town."

Vulpes sighed heavily, placing his fingers to his chin and pausing to think.

"Consul Officiorum likely would've established the paperwork before the transfer if it was a predetermined collection," Vulpes murmured. "They're the representatives who manage the ownership of laborers amidst the Legion. And, they have their own scouting team… namely for those types of stealth operations."

"Yeah, okay… do you know anyone who might've been involved in a stealth op in Novac?" Boone inquired. "I need names, here."

"I don't know all their names," Vulpes answered honestly. "I do know the lead counselor. His name is Marcus Scribonius, but he's a high-ranking and well-guarded Legionary. The last time I spoke to him was… oh."

Vulpes blinked, only just remembering his last encounter with the council member, Marcus Scribonius. It was during a slave auction, when he and his fellow Legionaries were standing in a massive crowd as the council members brought out their new slaves one by one, selling them off to the highest bidders among the Legion society. That was the day one of the slaves was assassinated, a young thin woman in the early stages of pregnancy. Nobody ever found out why the slave was shot or who had killed her, but none of the Legionaries ever forgot the bizarre encounter.

"Ah… yes," Vulpes muttered. "The last time I spoke to Marcus was the day a slave was mysteriously killed before our eyes. A woman named… Clara?"

"It was Carla," Boone corrected him, his tone giving an angry fluctuation. "And I'll hunt the Legion and their little council in my own time. I want the son of a bitch who sold her."

Vulpes eyed him. "So you knew her, then…"

"Who sold her to the Legion?" Boone barked insistently, leaning forward and glaring daggers into him. "Nobody in this town looks me in the eye anymore. I know it was one of them—and I know you know which one."

"Calm yourself—I don't have a name for you," Vulpes griped. "I rarely spoke to Marcus. All I know is that he and his council only organized one exchange in this town, and they conducted the sale with a Novac woman. I don't know her name."

Boone suddenly fell silent, thinking of everyone in town and racking his brain. He knew of the doctor woman at the medical tent and the old woman upstairs—but there was only one woman who could've led the Legion directly to Boone's own doorstep. It was the same woman who could've supplied the Legion with a key to their very motel room. Jeannie May Crawford, the owner of the Novac Motel.

Boone leaned back, biting his lip and feeling as if a bombshell had just been dropped upon him. All the sudden, he knew exactly who was responsible for his wife's kidnapping—now, there was only the matter of handling it. Jeannie May Crawford needed to be dealt with.

Vulpes stared tiredly at him. "Do tell me if you intend to kill me. I'd rather not sit here in complete suspense…"

Boone glared at him for several more seconds. Then, at last, he began to simmer down.

"No… no, actually, I have some use for you," Boone disclosed. "If you feel like atoning for some of the shit you probably did. Consider it payback for saving your ass."

Vulpes narrowed his eyes, waiting for him to continue.

"Jeannie May Crawford—she's the only person who could've done what you described," Boone explained. "She sold my wife to the Legion. So… I think she oughta have an accident tonight."

Vulpes said nothing at first, then revealed a faint little half-smile. "I like your aptitude for vengeance, stranger."

"It's not vengeance," Boone said firmly. "That's the Legion's way."

Vulpes perked his brow. "Oh? Then what do you call it?"

Boone took a deep breath, leaned forward, and delivered the solidest answer Vulpes could've expected from him.

"Justice."

The evening after Sandra's grand return, she and her friends decided to hit the town.

Sandra, Arcade, and Niner marched down the strip as if they owned the place—Sandra wearing her tightly-fitted red-and-black dress that Niner had bought for her, a crooked bonnet hat tending over her sunglasses, spiked collar in plain view as she puffed on a cigarette, her silvery 45 tucked underneath her breasts, safe from sight. Niner wore his sleek Nine of Spades outfit, a clack-and-white pinstriped getup and a stylish feathered fedora on his head, Arcade wearing a sleek navy blue suit and a hat to match. And now—as the three of them headed toward the UltraLuxe, Melody, Scar, and ED-E all staying behind in the Lucky 38—Sandra felt excited for a night of fun.

"What is our goal here, exactly?" Arcade asked as the three of them sauntered past the Tops.

"To have fun, observe the White Glove Society, and learn everything we can," Sandra replied simply. "I know you hate it, but we're gonna have to get involved in whatever drama they've got going on. And we're gonna have to do that with every faction we come across, too. We gotta get our foot in the door everywhere."

"I'm aware," Arcade sighed, seeming exhausted by the mere thought. "It's for the greater good, gotta remember that…"

"Ah, man, this is the classiest place in town," Niner grinned, trading a high-five with Sandra. "Been wantin' to come here since we got to Vegas. 'Bout damn time."

"Yes, well… remember, we're not here to start bar fights and shoot up," Arcade told him straightly. "Last time I had to pull your ass out of Gomorrah, some fat guy with a neckbeard kicked me in the shin. Not pleasant. Don't put me through that again."

Sandra and Niner erupted with laughter, Arcade rolling his eyes as they approached the grand lightened stairway of the UltraLuxe.

Then—before any of them could pass the water fountain—a securitron rolled in front of them, blocking their path.

Sandra squinted at it, suddenly recognizing the face on its screen. "Yes Man!"

"Yes, man!" Yes Man cackled, giving her a pleasant wave. "Good to finally see you again!"

"You too," Sandra replied with a smile. "We planned to come get you from the Tops after we checked out the UltraLuxe."

"No need, here I am!" Yes Man exclaimed. "Are you ready for me to overtake the Lucky 38's mainframe now—?"

"Shhh!" Arcade and Niner both hissed, urgently waving him down and glancing around warily.

"We can't talk about that out here," Sandra whispered to the bot.

"Oh, oh, yes!" Yes Man said, his volume lowering. "I understand!"

"And the answer is yes," Sandra told him with a nod. "We're ready for you to flicker over to that computer system now, whenever you want."

"Wonderful! But before I do, I have a message for you," Yes Man informed. "An anonymous higher-up from the casinos told me this; the Omertas of Gomorrah are planning a heist of the Lucky 38, and they intend to remove you from power."

Sandra, Arcade, and Niner all gaped at the robot in astonishment, then traded surprised expressions with one another.

"Do you have any more information than that?" Sandra asked.

"Afraid not," Yes Man replied. "But now, you can plan accordingly and watch your step around them! You guys better be careful!"

"Um… yeah, we plan on it," Sandra told him. "Thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome!" Yes Man enthused. "Now, I'm off to the Lucky 38! Meetcha there!"

Instantly, the robot's face went black, and the entire securitron's body gave a mad convulsion, jerking back violently and landing in the water fountain with a bombastic SPLASH.

Sandra and her friends jumped, staring at the empty securitron in awe, and many people in passing were now slowing to a stop, staring at the robot in surprise and whispering frantically to one another. Arcade glanced around cautiously, seeing that many eyes were staring their way now. Niner noticed the same thing, and Sandra gulped, biting her lip and feeling as if hundreds of eyes were burning holes in her.

"Just… just walk," Arcade urged quietly, stepping forward and heading toward the UltraLuxe. "Just walk. Just walk…"

Sandra and Niner followed suit, the three of them distancing themselves from the alarming scene at the water fountain. They all let out a sigh of relief when they reached the inside of the UltraLuxe Casino.

Once they all simmered down, Sandra and Niner met eyes, both of them instantly bursting with laughter at the ridiculousness of the ordeal. Even Arcade spared a few chuckles. Then, after they checked with the greeter and showed that they were carrying no obvious weapons, they all stopped in the center of the casino, exchanging serious glances with one another.

"The Omertas have never been the friendliest family," Arcade muttered. "Even by the standards of Vegas…"

"We're gonna have to do something about 'em," Niner figured, cracking his knuckles. "I'm ready for 'em if you guys are."

"Oh, come on… they're not gonna get the 38 from us," Sandra laughed. "Their plan is wild. It's never gonna work. But, now I guess we know which faction we're gonna kill off first…"

"True… and we have no way of knowing if this mysterious gossip is even true or not," Arcade added. "But even if it's not, the Omertas aren't the types to coincide with a peaceful society. Removing them would be the best course of action."

"That's another problem for another day," Sandra disclosed, smirking and sauntering forward. "Let's go explore—c'mon."

"No… no, I think I'll just stay here," Arcade said, taking a seat at the counter. "We don't need to party our hearts out just to observe the place."

"Now, see… that's where you're wrong, Doc," Niner snickered. "Partyin' is exactly how we get all inter-tangled-like."

Arcade stared at him. "What word do you think you just used?"

"Dude, come on," Niner urged, tugging his sleeve. "You never wanna have fun."

"We're not here to have fun," Arcade griped, yanking his arm back. "We're here to gather intel. Are we not?" He looked to Sandra for support.

Sandra glanced between them and shrugged. "I think we can do both."

"Damn right, we can!" Niner exclaimed, smacking Arcade's arm. "Come on!"

"Look—if you two wanna run off and act like idiots all night, be my guest," Arcade stated, turning away on his stool. "I'm gonna stay right here and play my usual role as the only sober voice of reason."

Sandra and Niner stared at him glumly. They swapped glimpses, then wandered off by themselves, leaving Arcade alone at the counter.

Arcade stared after them for a moment, then sighed and ordered a drink. The bartender nodded and shuffled off, and then, Arcade turned, spotting an old rancher sitting beside him, his care-worn face spotted with sweat and riddled with concern. He was repeatedly wiping his face with a rag, sighing and shaking his head down at the countertop.

"Ah… excuse me," Arcade started, grasping the rancher's attention. "I don't mean to pry, but… are you all right? You don't look well."

"That's 'cuz I ain't well," the man—Heck Gunderson—replied with a scoff. "I'm gonna tan my boy's hide for puttin' me through this…"

"Your son?" Arcade guessed.

Heck nodded. "Boy went missin' in here. I got folks all over the place lookin' for him, but they ain't seen hide nor hair of my boy… nobody has."

"Your son… your son went missing here?" Arcade uttered. "Just now?"

"About three hours ago… just up and vanished," Heck sighed hoarsely. "Got my Brahmin guards lookin' all over alongside the White Glove folks, but it ain't doin' no good. I just came here to organize a beef deal, like always… now this…"

Arcade gave him a sympathetic stare. "Well, I don't… I'm not an expert or anything, but my friends and I might be able to help you look."

"I'd appreciate it, stranger," Heck replied with a grateful smile.

Arcade gave him a conclusive nod and stood from his stool, forgetting about his drink. He set off to find his friends, though searching for them in this enormous casino proved a difficult task.

Sandra and Niner were headed to the dining area, a place privy only to the highest-ranking members of the White Glove Society and those they deemed worthy of reservations. Sandra had no clue how they would be permitted entry—but once they arrived, Niner took care of it. He strolled forward with ease, approached the greeter, and gave the man a formal nod and a tip of his hat.

"Greetings, sir," Niner smiled. "I have a reservation under the name… Major… Tom Young."

The greeter nodded, set his clipboard aside, and led Sandra and Niner across the elegant dining area. He seated the two of them at a table in the far corner. Soon after, a waitress came to take their orders, and after she left, the two of them met eyes.

"Swish," Niner smirked, making a basketball-shooting motion. "Told ya' I had connections up here, babe."

"Who the hell's Major Tom Young?" Sandra asked with a laugh.

"I'unno," Niner shrugged. "Saw his name on the reservations list."

They both sniggered and high-fived. Then, they fell silent, Sandra leaning back and lighting a cigarette, Niner gazing off to the side, mindlessly twirling his dog tags.

"Bloke reminds me of Mike sometimes," Niner murmured softly.

Sandra squinted at him. "What…?"

Niner shook his head and straightened up. "Nah. Nothin'…"

"No, tell me," Sandra insisted.

Niner stared at her, sighing deeply and wearing a strangely serious expression, one that hardly suited him.

"Doctor man… and his whole 'I'm the only responsible person here' thing," Niner grumped. "He reminds me of Mike when he does that."

"Who's Mike?"

"My brother."

"You have a brother?"

"Nah… he's dead, man."

Sandra went quiet, suddenly feeling a deep sense of sympathy. She never knew Niner had a brother, never asked about those dog tags he always wore…

"Tell me," Sandra requested, scooting closer. "Tell me about him."

"Eh…" Niner made a sideways nod. "I dunno. I don't really like talkin' about it. But… eh… I guess it's best to just get it outta the way, yeah?"

"Yeah. Lemme hear it."

Niner took a deep breath and explained the entire story—how he and Mike were born in California, how their NCR father disappeared one day, and how Mike wanted to follow in their father's footsteps, trying to be responsible and become the NCR soldier their father always wanted him to be. Then, Niner paused and sighed, sinking deeper into his chair.

"They didn't even find most of his body," Niner exhaled. "Mike got sent to this mutant-infested shit hole, and he got blown to pieces. His general gives me his tags, and a pat on the back… like that's supposed to make it all okay."

"Jesus," Sandra frowned. "I'm sorry…"

Niner shook his head, upturned his fresh beer, and downed the entire thing in four massive gulps. "I'm done talkin' man."

The two of them sat in silence for several minutes, Sandra wanting to say something, though nothing came to mind at first.

Then, she thought of Arcade, turning to Niner and offering him a smile.

"It's not really a bad thing that Arcade acts like your brother," Sandra said.

Niner shot her an odd look.

"I know it can be annoying, but… we both kinda rely on it," Sandra continued. "I meant what I said… when I said me and you would run Vegas into the ground without him. I don't think me and you could get anything done without Arcade around."

Niner scoffed out a faint laugh.

"It's kinda like Mike's watching over you through him," Sandra murmured, gazing down and stroking her scarred wrist. "And my dad's doing the same thing…"

Niner stared at her for a moment, then leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at her. "You remember your old man?"

Sandra gulped, pondering on the question as her head began to ache. "Sorta. I can't remember any details, but… the attitude… and the idealist streak… and the doctor's coat… I swear, Arcade is just like my father."

Niner gave a slow nod. "He's just like my brother, too. Tha's weird."

Sandra let out a laugh. "It's good weird…"

The two of them ordered another round of drinks, and once the alcohol began to loosen them up, their conversation returned to its usual flow of nonsensical humor.

All the while—Arcade was growing exhausted, marching around the casino and searching for his friends. He sighed, approaching the nearest counter and soliciting the attention of the man behind it, a man in a tuxedo with a large top hat.

"Excuse me—I'm looking for someone," Arcade said. "Can you help me out?"

The man in the tuxedo—Mortimer—released a long, groaning sigh. "I believe we've already been down this road, sir."

Arcade cocked his head and squinted strangely at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes… and I will tell you the same thing I told the investigator," Mortimer replied with disdain. "We've done everything in our power to locate the missing bride, and there is nothing more to be done. Simple as that."

Arcade stared at him for a moment. "Er… right. Well, while we're on that topic… is there any way I could speak to this investigator?"

Mortimer spared him a skeptical look. "If I might ask… have you found any information that might assist in his investigation?"

Arcade hesitated. In reality, he had no clue what was going on—he only knew one thing for sure. It seemed that people were going missing regularly here in the UltraLuxe, and if that was the case, his friends might be in danger as well as the rancher's son. With all of this possible kidnapping going on, this mystery investigator was the person whom Arcade most needed to see.

"I just need to talk to him," Arcade answered vaguely.

"Very well." Mortimer reached behind the counter, pulled out a card, and handed it over. "This is his room number. He hasn't checked out yet, so he should still be there."

"Thank you," Arcade said with a nod, turning and marching away.

After another long walk around the spacious wings of the casino, Arcade eventually found himself climbing a large set of stairs, entering the hallway containing all the hotel suites. Unlike everywhere else in the casino, this area seemed oddly quiet, with nobody around and no noise stirring whatsoever.

Arcade checked the card, approached the investigator's room, and knocked on the door. There was no response.

"Hello?" Arcade called out, knocking again. "I can't find my friends, and some other people are missing, too. I wanted to talk to you about this missing bride thing… anyone there?"

Still, there was no reply.

Arcade sighed and turned the knob, pushing the door open and peering inside.

Then—his heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach.

In the center of the hotel room, a fresh corpse was strewn across the lush rug, a blood splatter beneath his cracked skull. The investigator lay cold and lifeless on the floor—and before Arcade could react, two arms snapped around him, a hand clasping over his mouth and pressing a wet rag firmly to his nose.

Arcade fought and struggled for a moment—and then, as the chloroform invaded his senses, his arms went limp, his eyes beginning to drift shut as his consciousness abandoned him.

One of the White Gloves caught Arcade as he fell unconscious, another White Glove standing alongside him. From behind them both, Mortimer emerged, staring down at Arcade and twirling his mustache thoughtfully.

"Very good," Mortimer sneered with a nasty smirk. "Now we have a far less problematic replacement. Go to the cooler, store him there, and release Ted Gunderson. Try to convince him that this was all a misunderstanding. If you can't convince him, then… you know what to do."

The two White Gloves nodded, hoisting Arcade upright and carrying him off with haste.

As night fell upon the wasteland once more, Vulpes Inculta strolled down the street with ease, wearing a new suit jacket and still feeling several pains all over, though it didn't matter. He smirked, adjusted his hat, and approached the house that Boone had instructed him to, reaching out and knocking on the door.

When no answer came, he knocked again.

Moments later, the door opened, and a tired Jeannie May Crawford appeared, rubbing her eyes and adjusting her glasses.

"Everything all right, sir?" Jeannie asked with a yawn. "Awfully late to be dropping in…"

"Jeannie May," Vulpes replied in his usual eerie tone. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm new in town, and I was told that you and Cliff are essentially in charge around here."

"Well… more or less," Jeannie shrugged. "Why?"

"Because, that being the case… you're the one to see when something important needs to be reported," Vulpes deducted. "Am I right?"

"I suppose," Jeannie said, blinking herself fully awake. "What do you need to report?"

"A Legion scouting party," Vulpes informed. "Just beyond the dinosaur, just barely out of the sniper's range of fire. Come and see."

Jeannie's eyes seemed to widen in alarm. She nodded, briskly following Vulpes up the street.

The two of them took a brisk stride toward the edge of town, Vulpes leading her past the dinosaur, glimpsing up at it and brandishing a sly, faint half-smile.

Vulpes continued to lead her onward, he and Jeannie marching across the desert under the night sky—Jeannie glancing around frantically, as if she expected a maniac to leap out from behind the nearest cacti.

At last, Vulpes slowed to a stop, holding up his hand and motioning downward.

Jeannie stopped beside him, following his eyes to the ground and seeing several Legion corpses strewn across the desert sands.

"I d… I don't understand," Jeannie muttered, turning to Vulpes. "They're dead."

Vulpes's eyes sparkled an ominous blue, his wicked smirk seeming to widen. "Yes… they are. Just like you."

Jeannie opened her mouth to reply—but a hellish gunshot rang out from the sky, her head imploding in a morbid crackle of bone and mush, blood splattering across her shoulder as the bullet ripped through her skull, crimson spotting Vulpes's face, though he didn't seem to react, didn't even blink. He merely stared at the woman as she crumbled lifelessly to the ground, still wearing his cold smirk and calmly cupping his hands. After a deep breath, he turned on his heel and marched away without a word.

When he reached the top of the dinosaur, Boone was standing at the edge, still gripping his rifle tightly and inhaling several deep breaths. Vulpes merely stood behind him, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence.

Boone slowly turned, releasing a massive exhalation and finally lowering his rifle. "Well… that's it, then."

Vulpes nodded. "It is indeed."

The two of them paused.

"Well, then." Vulpes cocked his head questioningly at the sniper. "What now?"

Boone stared at him. "No idea. You?"

Vulpes gave him a surveying look. "That depends on if you're planning to enact retribution."

Boone scoffed at him. "Don't use that word with me. If I planned to kill you, then trust me—you'd be dead before she was."

Vulpes gave a slow nod. "Very well. Then, I suppose… I'll be going now."

Boone squinted at him. "Going where? Where does a Legion deserter go?"

"Well… ordinarily, nowhere," Vulpes replied. "They die."

Boone gave him a caustic stare. "You know what I mean."

Vulpes hesitated, glancing past him and eyeing the shining Lucky 38 in the far distance.

"I have a destination in mind," he uttered. "Have you heard of Courier Six?"

Boone nodded. "Yeah… heard about her on the radio. Survived a murder attempt. Why?"

Vulpes revealed another sly smile. "I happen to know her… and she has big plans for the Mojave. Not to mention, a safe refuge from the Legion."

Boone glared at him. "She plan to work against the NCR?"

"I can't say for certain," Vulpes answered honestly. "She seems indifferent regarding the republic. But her goals are positive ones, from what I can tell."

Boone stopped to think, then slid his rifle into its sling and grabbed his bag. "Good enough for me, then."

Vulpes blinked. "You plan to join me there?"

"I don't see why not," Boone grumbled. "Better than staying here. Just don't pull any tricky Legion shit, or I'll put you down."

"I'd like to see you try," Vulpes snarked.

Boone narrowed his eyes. "You talk a lot of shit for someone who's beaten all to hell."

Vulpes returned his squinting stare. "I suspect you'd do the same in such a state, soldier boy."

Boone made a sideways nod, and the two of them departed the dinosaur mouth, marching out of Novac without any glance-backs or goodbyes