Return to Sender

by Courier666

Courier Six rose from the grave severely lacking in the memory department. When reunited with her younger brother, the two band together to wreak havoc across the Mojave, change the fate of the Wasteland, and have a hell of a lot of fun along the way. The game will never be the same, but you know what they say - it was rigged from the start.

2. Worry Worry Worry

Worry, worry, worry

Woe is me

"Worry, Worry, Worry" by The Three Suns

The road rolled out in front of Six like a welcome home. She knew as a courier, she had to have walked this route dozens, if not hundreds of times, but nothing in particular sparked in the back of her head. She'd just passed the Powder Ganger camp, just past Jean Sky Dive, but they'd largely ignored her in favor of fighting off the geckos attacking their camp. That suited Six just fine – she'd prefer to get to Primm in one piece, and preferably with as much ammo as possible.

Now alone with her thoughts, she turned to what Trudy and Sunny had told her of the Mojave. These days, the NCR and Legion were ramping up for another fight for Hoover Dam. NCR. Now there's something that tickled in the back of her mind. This time it wasn't a voice, but an image – a memory.

He'd smiled at her through blood-soaked teeth, Six remembered. His handsome face contorted in pain a moment later, pain Med-X hadn't been able to dull. She'd cut through his uniform with an old knife she'd had lying around, and stabbed him with another stimpak. It was working, she could tell, but there was still pain written on his face. When the bullet was out – deftly plucked out with pre-war tweezers and dropped into a nearby bowl – and skin had begun to knit itself back together courtesy of the stimpaks, he'd smiled at her again, and offered a quiet thank you. She'd allowed herself to return his smile, before moving to the next one.

But where and when did that happen? And why? She was a courier, not a doctor…right? If she was just a simple courier, why was she armed like she was? Even Sunny Smiles made do protecting Goodsprings with a varmint rifle, while she was loaded down with a variety of weapons.

Turning her thoughts to the Legion, Six shuddered. Another memory dominated her senses for a moment.

She'd been leaving…Flagstaff? Or was it Two Sun? Whichever one rested along the 40, she'd been leaving. She'd delivered…something, to an older gentleman. Nothing bad just…maybe it was sentimental? Truthfully, she wasn't sure of the details. She'd walked out into the baking sun, and made it maybe 3 miles out of the settlement when she saw them. She'd call it a puddle of blood, but it was bigger – so much bigger. It looked like a river of blood had overflowed its banks and left its mess in the middle of the Mojave sand. Bits of…oh God, was that bone...? stuck out, gleaming white and red. In the center stood two decanus legionnaires. They had their back to her, but turned quickly upon hearing her footsteps. She raised her hands in pacification, offering a simple, "I'm just a courier." The taller of the two responded with a gruff, "Move along, Profligate," and Six all but fled.

She never found out what they'd just killed, or if she did, she didn't remember – and frankly, she was certain she didn't want to know. She was nearly halfway to Primm now, the giant death trap called a roller coaster looming closer in the distance. Mr. New Vegas had been quiet company after she'd fiddled with the Pip-Boy Doc Mitchell had given her, and found she'd had a radio on the damn thing. She'd only been walking for around three hours, but if Johnny Guitar played one more fucking time, she'd probably have to take matters into her own hands and finish what Mr. Checkered Suit started.

She picked off a few more geckos trying to rush her, and quickly made her way to Primm. Her shoulders ached from the rucksack she carried, and her feet were sore from the 6 hour walk with no breaks, but damn was it ever worth it. She snagged a drink from her canteen before she was stopped by an NCR soldier.

"Hey, where the hell do you think you're going?" he asked, genuinely sounding surprised. "Primm is off limits."

"What's going on in Primm?" Six countered. She didn't give a damn, she was going in. She wanted – no, needed – to know more not only about herself, but about her delivery and the men who tried to waste her in the middle of the Wasteland.

"Some convicts from the prison up the road here have taken over the town," he answered. "Everyone inside is either dead or hiding."

Six felt the blood drain from her face. Dead? Dead? What if this Johnson Nash was dead? What would happen then? Would someone else know her? Be able to explain? Or was all of this going to be for naught?

"What's more, there are two tribes of raiders causing trouble in the area as well," the trooper continued. "You'd be safer heading back up to Goodsprings."

Safer. As if that was an option. At this point in the game, "safer" didn't exist. She would've been safer lying in that grave to rot. Or never taking a job as a courier in the first place. Fuck safer.

"Thanks for the warning." She damn near growled through gritted teeth. Her head throbbed. Soldier boy seemed not to notice.

"Be careful," the trooper warned. "You may want to talk to Lieutenant Hayes. He's in a tent down the road. Just stay on the west side of the overpass if you don't want to get shot."

Yeah, fuck that, Six thought as the man walked away. My identity might be in that town, and you can bet your ass I'm gonna find it. You can take that straight to New Vegas and bet on it.

And frankly speaking, Six could not possibly give less of a damn about this "Lieutenant Hayes" soldier boy mentioned. When she found out who she was and where she was going, she'd be back to talk to him. Until then, fuck that, she had other places to be, and hopefully, other people to see.

She quietly snuck into town, trying to avoid the prying eyes of the NCR soldiers stationed across the way, as well as the convicts in the town proper. She pulled the sniper rifle out of her rucksack again, aimed through the scope and…

Missed?

Convict Number One had moved at the very last second. The bullet intended for his skull arced wide and found its home in the Bison Steve Hotel. She cursed as it brought her the attention of not one, but two convicts. One was armed with only a pipe, so he couldn't do much damage at long range, but the other was armed with a pistol, maybe a 9mm or 10mm. Thinking quickly, Six snagged the 10mm in the holster resting on her hip and fired off a shot. Convict Number Two took a bullet to the hip, slowing him down permanently. He howled as he went down, losing his gun in the process.

Convict Number One continued his advance, despite the fact that she had a longer-range weapon than he did. Unless he was gonna throw that pipe, he was woefully under-armed, and essentially bringing a laser pistol to a grenade launcher fight. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't on the receiving end of a second chance, only a bullet to the brain.

Convict Number Two was too busy trying to crawl for the gun he'd dropped on his one-way ticket to the ground to notice the death of his partner in crime, and was similarly surprised to receive another bullet – this one to the chest.

Six grimaced, though not over the bodies now lying in the street. Soldier boy had warned her of trouble ahead, so at least she knew to expect it. She frowned over precious wasted ammo. With a heavy sigh, she re-holstered her 10mm, taking a moment to run her fingers over the grooves carved into the metal with care, and turned her attention to the body, obviously dead, sitting upright next to the Mojave Express building.

She knelt next to him and peeked through the bag he was carrying, and found he was Daniel Wyand, otherwise known as Courier Four. His package to the Strip consisted of a set of fuzzy dice. Six frowned – what kind of freak of nature was asking for these things to be delivered? She looked into the young man's face, hoping for some sort of recognition, and was granted a short-lived memory.

She sat next to the young man on a bar stool, beer in one hand. Someone had said something, she couldn't tell what, but the man – Daniel – had burst into hysterical laughter. She heard another laugh, more feminine, and thought it to be herself.

The memory cut off abruptly, but was more than enough to make her smile sadly. They'd apparently been on good terms, and even if she really didn't remember him, she was saddened by his death. Blank eyes stared into the street, and Six noted what had killed him – a bullet to the brain. How ironic. She reached over and gently shut his eyes, whispered a small prayer, and got to her feet again.

She opened the door to the Mojave Express, hand on her holster, but was greeted with silence and a broken robot. She called out, hoping and praying for an answer, but received nothing. She snooped through the house, terrified of finding bodies and blood, but was once more met with nothing. She wasn't sure whether to be thankful or terrified.

Stepping outside again, she checked her surroundings, hoping that Dumb and Dumber's compatriots hadn't wondered where they'd gone. She found the streets just as empty as before, and now turned her attention to their bodies. Convict Number One had several sticks of dynamite on him that Six pocketed, hoping for a quick resale. She did the same with Convict Number Two, swiping his ammo, gun, and dynamite. Now she turned toward the Vikki and Vance Casino. If survivors or bodies weren't there, she'd check the Bison Steve Hotel.

She grabbed the heavy wooden door in one hand, and was promptly greeted with the barrels of two guns. Both men lowered them at the sight of her.

"Sam?" the younger of the two asked in disbelief. There was a breathy, hopeful quality to his voice. "Sam? Is it really you?"

"Uh…who's Sam?" Six asked earnestly. The young man in front of her was in his early twenties, with hair at near shoulder length tied back with a strip of leather. The hands gripping the hunting shotgun were callused and nicked with clear signs of use. His face, so much like her own, was scrunched as he peered at her. He laughed after a moment.

"Jesus, Sam! Don't kid around like that!" he exclaimed, trying to loop an arm around her shoulders. He had a solid five or six inches on her, so she ducked out from under his arm.

"I'm not joking!" she suddenly shouted. Small conversations taking place in the back of the casino ground to a halt. "Who the hell is Sam!?"

The young man went silent, studying her with an air of concern mixed with annoyance.

"Sam, it's Darren," he said slowly. "Your brother? You don't remember me?"

The memories hit her like a bullet just then.

Fourteen and eleven respectively, mourning the parents they loved together. Sixteen, coming home from the Capital Wasteland disappointed with a pretty but broken 10mm pistol, only to wake to a smug teenage face as he proclaimed that he'd fixed it. Seventeen and watching proudly as he fixed a neighbor's rifle good-as-new, if not better, after he'd been attacked by nightstalkers. Eighteen and holding his shoulders, begging him to be careful as he joined the caravan he'd be guarding all the way to California.

Her head swam as she reached up to press the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing the aching to leave and the memories to stay. She felt a hand grip her shoulder, and looked up at the young m- no, Darren, in front of her.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, real concern in his voice. Six – or was she Sam? – willed away nausea and nodded, then shook her head.

"Maybe we should sit down and talk?" Darren cajoled. Six agreed readily, and sat down heavily at one of the defunct Blackjack tables. Darren pulled up a chair beside her, and silently asked for an explanation. They'd always been good like that – able to communicate with just eyes and gestures. Darren always thought they'd made a great team because they didn't require words.

"Did you…have you listened to Radio New Vegas recently?" Six asked, starting her story. Darren nodded. "Did you hear about that package courier who got shot in the head near Goodsprings?"

Darren went deathly pale. He may not be the most social of people, and his perception of the world may be a little skewed by solitude, but that didn't mean he was stupid. Quite the opposite, he usually cottoned on to things quicker than others.

"You mean to tell me," Darren started, slowly and quietly. "That you were shot in the head? That someone shot you in the head?"

Six may not really remember much about him, but she could tell he was furious. His face was tight around the eyes, and his jaw was set. His shoulders were tensed, and his fists were clenched. She just nodded.

"I don't really remember much," she continued. "A robot dug me outta my grave in Goodsprings. I don't remember much of anything before…it. I get flashes every once in a while, but they're not really coherent. Fuck, I don't even know who I am!"

By now she was near hysterics, and Darren had turned towards her.

"You're Sam," he declared fiercely. "You're my older sister. You're 24, and a courier for the Mojave Express. You freelanced for years before you were picked up by the Express a few years back. You've been running courier work since you were 14 and I was 11, right after our parents kicked the bucket. You did it to take care of us and make sure we were fed and healthy. You didn't make too much at first, but you worked your way up. You also doctored in our little neighborhood. You were shot not too far from home…that's probably why you had your guard down…you were almost home…"

He trailed off, looking troubled. He shook his head before he continued.

"Folks would come to you for anything. Broken bones, cuts, scrapes, babies, you name it. You never charged 'em those steep Wasteland doctor prices. Hell, you'd help 'em for free if you could, 'specially if you knew they were worse off than us. Once, some wounded NCR troops rumbled through on their way back from the Dam. You were pretty insistent they stay a spell so you could fix 'em up. Nobody ever died on your watch, not without a fuckton of effort, at least. You fix people, I fix stuff. That pistol on your hip? Yeah, that was my handiwork."

He looked proud of that, and Sam couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, I got a flash of that. Don't really remember the ordeal, just that you fixed it," she said slowly, savoring the memory. He nodded.

"Yeah," Darren started. "You'd just gotten back from the Capital Wasteland. Said you found it on some dead Talon Company merc you'd stumbled upon. Said it looked like he'd been plugged so full of holes if he drank something, it'd all just leak out again. So, you helped yourself, I guess. 'Not like he'll need it anymore,' you said. It wasn't working, though. Was all jammed up. Took all night with a repair kit to get it back to working condition. That grin on your face was worth it. You started bringing all kinds of shit home just so I could take it apart and see how it worked.

"You started fixing other peoples' things, too," Sam breathed. Darren smiled.

"Like I said, you fixed people, I fixed stuff," he explained. "I run with caravans too, every now and then. Nowadays, if I run with a caravan, it's with Crimson Caravan. I was leaving on a job for Boneyard when you were leaving for the Strip. Figured you'd beat me back no problems – my trip took almost a month and a half, figured yours would take two weeks at the most, and that's if you stayed in Vegas for a minute. You always like visiting the Strip. You usually hit The Tops and Gomorrah, but you like The Tops better. You always flirt with that doorman – what's his name? Swank? – and he gives you some caps to, 'buy yourself something nice.' Gag."

Darren's face was screwed up in disgust, and Sam just laughed.

"But you weren't home when I got there, and I knew you didn't take another job – you always left me a note if you were gonna be gone again before I came back. Wasn't the first time, at least. I came to Primm to hunt down Mr. Nash, see if you'd checked in, but…"

Darren gestured to the room around them.

"It all went to hell, but Mr. Nash said he hadn't seen you – guess I know why now…" Darren pursed his lips. "I'm sorry about your friend…Daniel? Yeah, Daniel. We tried to corral everyone into the Vikki and Vance, but he didn't get in in time…couldn't risk all of us for one person. Food supplies are starting to run low, and we need out, but…"

"Together," Sam said, mind already made up. "I already took care of the two idiots roaming around outside. I need to talk to Johnson about the delivery, get some info…you didn't happen to see an asshole in a checkered suit come through, did you?"

Darren shook his head, and Sam nodded sadly. She'd been hoping for information on the checkered wannabe gunslinger, but honestly, this was better. She had a name – Sam – a younger brother, and a past. She might not remember it yet, but he sure as hell did. She stood from her stool, and meandered up to Johnson Nash, Darren trailing right behind her.

"I don't know what it was brought you to Primm, youngster, but you might want to rethink your plans," Nash said on greeting. "Town's gone to hell."

Youngster. Now there's something she remembered hearing, and often. As far as she could remember, her boss had never called her by name, just youngster.

"Johnson, can you give some info on this delivery? I lost the package I was supposed to deliver," Sam explained. Nash nodded and asked for the delivery order.

"Oh…so you're talking about one of those…packages," Nash's voice had taken on a strange quality that set Sam on edge. She felt Darren shift behind her as well. "That job had strange written all over it. But we couldn't turn down the caps."

"Strange? What was strange about it?" Sam asked.

"That cowboy robot had us hire six couriers," Nash explained. "Each was carrying something a little different. A pair of dice, a chess piece, that kinda stuff. Last word I had from the office, it looked like payment had been received for the other five jobs. Guess it was just your chip that didn't make it."

The two talked for awhile longer, confirming that Mr. Checkered Suit had in fact come through town with his Great Khan cronies. Deputy Beagle would have more information…but Deputy Beagle was currently the guest of honor at the Bison Steve Hotel…chock full of Powder Gangers.

"Joy," Sam muttered. "Looks like we're going on a rescue mission." At least Nash had been able to confirm that Mr. Checkered Suit had, in fact, come through Primm. They were on the right track. Darren nodded.

"Let's go. It's nighttime now – perfect time for an ambush, right?" Darren said. Sam just groaned. She checked her weapons while Darren checked his own, then traded with him. It felt fluid, like they'd never left off.

"Why did we just do that?" Sam asked. It felt like a vast majority of her memory was still muddled. She did things on instinct or because it was an engrained muscle movement. Darren looked disappointed.

"We've done this since we were kids," he explained, not unkindly. "Whenever we go out, we check our own weapons, then trade to check the other's. That way we know everything's loaded and in working order before we go out."

Sam nodded, trying to remember. Up until now, such explanations would've sparked a memory, but she got nothing. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. In due time, she hoped.

Together, they strolled out the door of the Vikki and Vance. Darren had gotten to know some of the townspeople in the time they'd been stuck in the casino, and they wished the two of them luck. Silently, they crossed to the Bison Steve. Sam crouched on the left side of the door, with Darren on the right. Weapons drawn, they slowly pushed the double doors open.

Standing inside were two convicts in the nearest doorway. Under the cover of night, they were able to take them out quickly, Sam utilizing her 10mm for quick shots. They crept around the counter to find a locked room and a safe. Together, they made quick work of the door, but found they couldn't get the safe opened.

"Oh well," Sam whispered, sticking the bobby pin back in her hair to hold her bangs out of her face. "Guess it's just not meant to be."

Darren nodded, and they continued on down the hall. They came to a large room with four convicts milling about. They drew back toward the door to discuss their options.

"My biggest concern is the guy with the flamer," Sam whispered. Darren nodded his agreement. "I'm going to snipe him. I can't see the weapons on anyone else, though."

"Neither can I. I'm just going to pick off whoever I can with the shotgun. I usually like to get up close and personal, but…I ain't looking to get roasted tonight, on the off-chance you miss."

Sam rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, and Darren couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face. She might not remember it, but that was such a Sam face.

Together, they found themselves at the doorway of the large room again. Sam lined up her shot, and took it. The head of the convict wielding the flamer exploded from his shoulders, and everything blurred from there. Darren took the other three down in rapid succession, and they stood together to check the damage. They reloaded their weapons and looted the bodies of some much-needed supplies before walking down a smaller hallway.

Kneeling on the floor of the kitchen was a man with silver-blonde hair, tied up in the corner.

"I'm assuming you're Deputy Beagle?" Sam asked, stowing her sniper rifle.

"Why, yes I am. It is a pleasure to meet you," Beagle said boisterously. Sam raised a copper eyebrow and turned to Darren. "I'm in a bit of a…perdicament… here. I'd be most appreciative if you'd set me free."

Sam's mouth was a flat line as she looked at Darren, and her eyes spoke a thousand words. Darren fought back a chuckle. His sister's entire face broadcast how unimpressed she was. She might be a skilled fighter, but deep down, Sam was an intellectual, and Beagle had lost her the moment he mangled the word "predicament" so badly.

"I hear you may have some information on some Khans that came through here with a guy in a checkered suit," Sam said slowly and pseudo-patiently.

"My good lady," Beagle began. Sam could feel her IQ dropping, and Darren stifled a snort. "I believe I may have some information that would prove useful."

Beagle did his best to gesture to his bound hands, and Sam took pity on him. Pulling one of her knives from her boots, she cut his bonds. The deputy stood, rubbing his wrists.

"Oh, that's just marvelous!" Beagle exclaimed. "I'll just be making my way outside now. The air's a little close in here!"

With that, Beagle darted away before Sam or Darren had the chance to stop him. She turned to look at her brother.

"Did we really bust in here to rescue a wingnut who can't even say 'predicament' right?" she asked incredulously. Darren didn't bother to stifle his laughter this time as his sister led the way outside after the newly freed deputy. They found him just outside the door.

"Now you stop right there, Deputy!" Sam shouted. "Either you give me the information I need, or I'll just have to shoot you down where you stand!"

Darren watched as his sister went off. She'd always had a bit of a hair-trigger temper, and clearly being shot in the head hadn't cured that. He was more than happy to let her handle the social side of things, preferring to keep to his machines more than people, but he couldn't help but step in on this instance. His sister's face was red to her neck, and it was clear she was fighting mad.

"Sam…he can't give us the information we need if he's dead," Darren muttered. Sam instead fixed the deputy with a scathing glare.

"My brother is right, so you've got until the count of ten to start answering my questions. After that…" Sam trailed off ominously. Truly, she was fairly short of stature compared to most other people, but she was an atomic blast waiting to happen when she was well and truly pissed, and became rather intimidating when she reached that level of furiousness. The deputy looked ready to faint on the spot.

"Ah…well…yes, my memory is much clearer now that I am free of my bondage…" Beagle began haltingly. Sam continued to stare him down. "I was sku—er, performing recon, gathering information on some of the Powder Gangers, when some Great Khans arrived with your friend in the suit. They were talking about some delivery they took from a courier. I assume that was you. They said they'd be heading through Nipton to Novac to meet a contact there."

Sam's teeth were gritted, jaw set, seething, but not at the deputy any longer. Nipton? Novac? The names were meaningless to her now. All it meant was Mr. Checkered Suit was still at least one step ahead. Darren put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Looks like it's Novac for us," he said seriously. Sam blinked.

"You're coming with?" Sam asked, surprised. Darren rolled his eyes.

"Last time I let you go off by yourself, you got yourself shot in the head!" he exclaimed. "So yes, I'm coming with!"

"Now wait just a second!" Deputy Beagle cried. The siblings turned back to him.

"There's still no law in Primm! What're we to do the next time ruffians menace us and hold us hostage?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. Her tone screamed, you idiot! "You're the sheriff now!"

Beagle declined, stating he was only a deputy, and truthfully, Darren was thankful. That pompous windbag would probably sooner wet himself than shoot someone.

"We'll bring law and order back to Primm," Darren piped up. Sam sighed, but knew it was the right thing to do. The town wouldn't survive without someone protecting it, and Mr. Checkered Suit could wait…or get swallowed by the Mojave, for all she cared. Though truthfully, she'd rather sort him out herself.

After Deputy Beagle's explanation of what would make a "good" sheriff and ideas on where to look, Sam and Darren headed back to the Vikki and Vance together. They sat at the same table they did prior, and began to hash out their options.

"I don't like the sound of this Meyers fella," Sam declared. "Why would we put a prisoner in charge of law and order? Plus, he's locked up at NCRCF, and me and the Powder Gangers ain't exactly on good terms at this point."

"Why's that?" Darren asked. "I mean…I don't expect anyone to be on good terms with convicts, but what makes you say that?" Sam grinned.

"There was a…situation, back when I was in Goodsprings. They pretty much wanted to raze the town to the ground, and I helped rally the town. I didn't think they'd take the leader – Joe Cobb – and his band of dumbass's bullshit lying down, but it took some of 'em some convincing. We didn't leave any survivors, but I know word's gotten back to 'em by now," Sam explained, gesturing at her Pip-Boy. Frank Sinatra crooned softly out of its speakers. "They helped me. I wasn't just gonna forget it and leave 'em high and dry."

Darren blinked. His sister. A gunfight. Right after waking up after being shot in the head. What the hell? He shook his head, then grabbed for the Pip-Boy.

"This is cool," he breathed as he looked it over. "Where'd ya get it? Thought this usually came with Vaulties."

"Doc Mitchell was from a Vault," Sam said, nodding. "He passed it off to me when I left. It's got a map, which is something I really, really need now."

Darren frowned. His sister knew the Mojave up, down, and sideways, but now required a map to get around. He wondered just how scrambled her egg was.

"So, no to Meyers," Darren said slowly. "I wonder if we could hook Primm Slim up to be sheriff."

Sam looked to the cowboy robot wandering the casino floor. Truthfully, she was getting damned sick of cowboy robots at this point.

"I'm sure you could," Sam started. "But should you? I mean, he's a robot. Just logic. No human emotion, no leniency, nothing. Just subroutines and all that shit you know more about than me. Besides, who's gonna back him up if the Powder Gangers or someone comes to play? Beagle? I think he'd probably piss himself. I think NCR is the way to go."

Darren rolled the idea around in his head. True, Primm Slim wouldn't be the greatest choice, but…when the pickings were slim…he snorted at his pun. The NCR would have the manpower to repel any attacks from the Powder Gangers or worse, but if that was the case…

"Why haven't they helped yet?" Darren asked. "I mean, they're right across the road! How hard is it to gather a few men, and charge in here? We did it, and there's only two of us!"

"Ahhhh, but dear brother!" Sam exclaimed. "We're two of the greatest gunslingers alive! We don't need no NCR backup!"

The siblings dissolved into giggles while the people of Primm looked on. Sobering up, Sam explained.

"Look, the taxes will be shit, but it's the price you pay for safety. They'll be able to shut down the Powder Gangers or Legion or God only knows what else, and won't shake in their boots every time someone new comes to town. Here's the plan if it sounds good to you," Sam explained. "We'll bed down here for the night. According to the Pip-Boy, it's almost 2 AM, and I'm one tired bitch. Tomorrow, we'll stroll across the road and meet with the guy in charge over there…I think they said his name was Lieutenant Hayes? Whatever. We'll chat with him and get the lowdown on why they haven't helped Primm as is. If we don't get a satisfactory answer, we'll start investigating this Meyers guy. I don't like it, but he'd probably do a spot better than the bot over there. Sound good?"

Darren nodded. It sounded like a solid plan to him. He led Sam over to the corner he'd laid his bedroll in and helped her make up hers before they both slept.

When they woke the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky, and Sam grumbled.

"I wanted to get an early start," Sam muttered as she packed up her bedroll. "But I guess we were both whipped, huh?"

Darren nodded his agreeance, and the two set out across the road. After being stopped by the guard and a quick question and answer session, they were pointed in the direction of Lieutenant Hayes's tent.

"Lieutenant Hayes?" Sam asked as they walked in. A brunette man wearing NCR armor and beret stood to greet them.

"Yes, I'm Lieutenant Hayes of the New California Republic Army, 5th Battalion, 1st Company. What's your business?"

"Primm's in dire need of some real law," Darren explained over his sister's shoulder. Sam nodded.

"We know Primm is a great strategic point, and we aren't blind to the needs of the town, but we're barely holding our own against the Powder Gangers," Hayes explained. "We don't have the guns, or the personnel needed to carry out our mission, much less take on defending this town as well." Sam's brow furrowed.

"What do you need to take over protecting this town? The last thing you need is Powder Gangers or Legion running it over," Sam said. Hayes sighed.

"What we need, more than anything, is bodies," Hayes replied. "If we had just one more squad, we could easily install a sheriff and still handle our primary objective of protecting the interstate south of here. If you'd like to see NCR include protection of Primm in its duties, then you'll have to get some more troops up here. Knight, at Mojave Outpost, may be able to help."

Sam turned to Darren. It was worth a shot, her face said. She checked her Pip-Boy, and saw Mojave Outpost would be around a 6 or 7 hour walk.

"Thank you for your time, Lieutenant," Sam said cordially. "I think we'll be heading out to the Outpost now. Have a good day."

"Sir, Ma'am," Hayes nodded to them, and they exited the tent.

"So…Mojave Outpost?" Sam asked quietly. "If we leave now, we'll make it there by nightfall. Hopefully, we'll be able to bed down there, and leave tomorrow morning with another squad of troops."

Darren nodded. It was worth a go compared to a convict or a robot. Together, the two headed out of town to the south.

After around two hours of walking, the duo decided to stop for a water break near what appeared to be an abandoned building. The Pip-Boy called it the Nevada Highway Patrol Station, and it looked like a great place to get out of the blazing sun, if only for a little while.

"I have got one bad feeling," Sam muttered as she got closer. Suddenly, she grabbed Darren's arm.

"Pssssst!" she whispered harshly. "See that?"

Darren did not, and voiced as much. Sam knelt and dug in her pack for the binoculars she knew she had. She passed them to Darren wordlessly. He stared toward the station when he saw movement. There were several vaguely humanoid shapes near the station.

"It's ghouls and people…raiders?" Sam whispered as she set up her sniper rifle. "I'm gonna see how it plays out, then take out the victor. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Darren replied, continuing to watch through the binoculars. They were Jackals, if he had to guess. They tended to hang out in this area, though they'd been keeping a lower profile thanks to the convicts. He saw two shapes fall, with several others pinning it to the ground. The doors burst open as two other Jackals entered the melee.

"Looks like the ghouls won the first one," Sam relayed. Darren nodded as his sister lined up her shot. In rapid succession, ghouls fell to the ground from gun blasts that didn't belong to Lights Out, Sam's rifle. He wondered briefly if she remembered naming it.

"I'm calling it Lights Out," Sam declared. She was newly seventeen, and had just returned from a freelance delivery to the Commonwealth. She'd come home, sniper rifle in hand, regaling Darren with tales of what the Commonwealth was like. She'd met an odd character, she said.

"He was kinda weird," Sam explained. Darren bobbed his head, enraptured by his sister's stories. "He was bald and wore sunglasses. Like. All the time. Anyhow, he gave this to me. I was up near the Fusion building – Mass Fusion, I think? – and I didn't realize it'd been taken over by Gunners. Led me outta there back to Diamond City. Asked me what kinda weapon I like to use, and I told 'im I like to stay distanced. He called me a good kid and handed me this! I tried to give it back, but he wouldn't take no for an answer! Weirdo, but…at least he was a nice weirdo? Think we can put a silencer on it?"

"It'll decrease the range, but yeah, if you wanna. Hafta buy one though…don't think I've got one here…" Darren replied as he rummaged around. With a triumphant grin, Sam pulled out a silencer from her pack. Darren regarded her with a cocked eyebrow.

"Already stopped by Diamond City on my way back! Arturo runs the stand there, Commonwealth Weaponry! I'll have to take you with me sometime!" Sam grinned, ruffling Darren's hair. He squawked indignantly and grabbed both the gun and silencer. Her grin grew wider as he shuffled away.

"You can have your gun back when you learn to leave my hair alone!" He called with irritation over his shoulder.

He was pulled from his reverie by two quick pops. Sam stood, brushing the dust from her armor.

"That takes care'a that!" She declared, disassembling the gun like she'd done thousands of times before. Darren smiled. Peacemaker, the 10mm she toted might be her most handy weapon, but Lights Out would always be her baby.

Together, they scouted out the station, looting the first aid kit and weapon stores the Jackals had created. After a short break, they continued on, standing in front of the Unification statue in only three more hours.

"So," Sam said, awed. "I don't remember the story of this. Tell me?"

"Long story short, the Desert Rangers protected the Mojave before NCR showed it's face," Darren explained. "But they knew they didn't have the numbers to take down anyone big-time, like the Legion. They agreed to be folded into the NCR provided they take over protection of the Mojave. This statue is to commemorate the agreement."

Sam nodded, and continued toward the Outpost itself. It was a small, gated area for how important it apparently was. Nostalgia hit Sam again, like she'd been through here too many times to count. A few caravan hands recognized Darren, and he smiled and waved.

"Where can we find Major Knight?" he asked one.

"Up in the second building! First one's barracks!" the other man replied. Darren gave him a nod of thanks before they meandered up to the door.

"Are you Major Knight?" Sam asked the man at the desk.

"Yes, I am. Caravan, citizen, pilgrim, or…?" Knight asked. Sam's brows furrowed.

"Uh, courier. And I guess caravan guard?" The question was obvious in her voice.

"Just need something for the logbook, keeping tabs on traffic through the Outpost," Knight explained. "Although, mostly just in, not out these days. If you're looking for the commanding officer, he's in back. Although…he's got a lot on his plate, so if you speak to him…keep it short. Also, if you need any gear checked, we can get you up and running again, once you fill out the work orders and sign for the parts, of course."

"Actually, Major, we were looking for you," Sam smiled. Silver-tongued she was not, but a little kindness and respect always went a long way. "I'd like to talk to you about Primm."

Knight looked surprised, "Primm? Hayes' unit is stationed up there, were having problems with some of the NCRCF convicts. What can I help you with?"

"Hayes is undermanned and is requesting some additional support," Sam explained. "The town has no law enforcement, and is currently forced to hide out in the casino in order to avoid the convicts roaming the area."

Knight frowned, troubled, "I'd like to help, but…we can't spare any more units. We have to maintain a minimum headcount at the Outpost. Orders from out West."

Sam thought about how best to move forward. She really, really, did not want to see a convict or a robot in charge of law and order in Primm, and Knight didn't seem particularly firm on the "no help" thing. Maybe if she pressed a little more…

"Having Primm – and the trade route – under NCR control would really help the West," Sam reasoned. "Not to mention keeping it out of Caesar's hands."

Knight nodded, "I see the wisdom in that. I'll radio for a unit to head up to Primm and offer some additional support. They won't be ready until tomorrow, though. You can either head back to Primm and deliver the good news, or stay around here to travel with them. I know which I'd recommend."

"I think we'll follow your advice," Sam grinned. "Is there anything we can do to help around here while we wait?"

It was only late afternoon – plenty of time to earn some caps or supplies for the road, Sam reasoned. Knight looked surprised. Really, he should work on a better poker face.

"Help?" He asked. "Oh…well, you could speak to Ranger Jackson. He might have something for you. He sort of runs things around here, mostly ends up sending reports back West that aren't filled with the best news."

He pointed them down the hall to a small office. A man with a ranger hat and long mustache sat in a chair behind a desk.

"Looks like we got new visitors in the ol' Brahmin pen," Jackson said, studying the two newcomers in front of him. "Not many people coming here in a hurry, only passing through. And if you're passing through, you picked a bad time. Road north has gone to hell, and if I let a caravan through, they won't make it."

"Any way we can help?" Darren asked. He knew how important it was to get the caravans moving again, and if he were stuck here, he'd be a might bit pissed.

"Help? No. Look I app—" Jackson cut off. "You know what? Yes, I could use the help. And you two look like you can handle yourselves. I need to get the caravans moving again, and that means clearing a path north. There's too much crawling the asphalt up the road to allow it. You manage to get it cleared out, I might lose a requisition or two."

Sam nodded. Good enough for her. She'd do it on principle and boredom, truthfully. She looked to her younger brother, who nodded the same.

"We'll be back," she announced, turning to leave.

When they stepped out into the sunlight again, she turned to Darren.

"Wait…crawling the asphalt? Does that mean…bugs?" she asked with a shudder. Darren grinned.

"So, you didn't forget that!" he crowed. "Yeah, you've been terrified of bugs ever since I can remember. And yeah, he probably meant giant ants. They're a nuisance around here. Aim for the antennas. They'll frenzy, attack each other, and we'll sit back and watch. Once they all kill each other, we kill the victor. Good plan?"

"Jackson better make this worth our while," Sam growled through gritted teeth. She couldn't remember why she was so afraid of bugs, but she didn't need to. Darren clapped her shoulder.

"Trust me, it'll be worth our while just to get the caravans moving again. You have no idea how important this is, especially to me. Caravans not being able to move means a lack of goods here and out West. Lack of goods means higher prices. Higher prices means we can't buy jack shit. Not to mention it puts me outta caravan work since they won't need repairs or a guard if they're not moving," Darren explained. Sam nodded and sighed.

"Let's go stomp some bugs, yeah?"

A few hours later, the pair returned from Ivanpah Dry Lake, thoroughly coated in dust. Darren was cackling.

"I haven't heard you scream like a little girl in years!" he cried. "Over a fuckin' ant, oh my god."

Sam glared at him, but struggled to keep the scowl on her face. She really didn't remember much of him yet, but seeing him so amused warmed her heart. Even if it was at her expense. The siblings returned to Jackson for their reward, which consisted of a few lunches for the road and some weaponry.

"If you're not gonna use this," Darren started. Sam cocked her head to the side with raised eyebrows. "I can break it down for parts. Some of it might be useful."

"I'm not gonna use it," Sam shrugged. "I've got all I need already. Let's bed down for the night. We'll rendezvous with the soldiers in the morning and head back to Primm."

Heading back to Primm was an experience. Sam chatted nearly the whole way with one of the soldiers, a ranger named Annette. Darren listened to them drone on for hours, musing on how easily his sister made friends and allies in the Mojave, and the other areas of what used to be America.

"I met this really, really cool dude in the Capital," Sam raved. She was fifteen, and had returned the previous night from her first trip to the Capital Wasteland. "His name's Three Dog, he's the DJ for Galaxy News Radio. He's the one I delivered to, actually. Super cool guy. Really chill. He let me stay at the GNR Plaza and help him record some of the news for the station. My voice! Broadcast! On the radio! He told me I reminded him of someone he used to know, this Lone Wanderer lady. He didn't tell me her name, just called her the Lone Wanderer and the kid from Vault 101. Said her and her dad died getting Project Purity up and running. When I left, he told me to keep fighting the Good Fight, and to come visit my friend Three Dog whenever I wanted to."

Before Darren really knew it, they were back in Primm. He and Sam headed back into Lieutenant Hayes' tent.

"We got extra troop support for Primm!" Sam announced cheerfully. The lieutenant smiled.

"Yes, I just got word of that. Heard there's a squad of rangers standing by. Sergeant McGhee will take over as sheriff and the rangers will be his deputies. This town will be an NCR territory," Lieutenant Hayes smiled at the duo in front of him. "That means aside from protection, the citizens will also need to become registered NCR citizens and pay any appropriate and associated taxes."

"They ain't gonna like that bit," Sam declared. "But hell, it's worth it for the protection."

With that, she thanked the Lieutenant and turned to leave, Darren right behind her. Primm was saved, law and order was restored, she had some of her identity back, and her brother had her six. After delivering the news to the people of Primm, Johnson and Ruby Nash moved back to their home at the Mojave Express, inviting the siblings to a dinner of radscorpion venom casserole. Darren was wary, but Sam was just excited for some home cooking.

"Hey, what's that?" Sam asked as they walked in. She'd meant to ask earlier, but forgot about the heap of robot laying on the counter in the rigamarole of rescuing Beagle and restoring law and order to the town.

"That beat up old thing?" Johnson asked. "What do you wanna know?"

"Where'd it come from?" Sam asked curiously.

"Courier dropped it off a couple months back. I got it working for a little while, but the darn thing pooped out," Nash explained. "I haven't been able to get it up and running again. I was hoping to use it for some courier work, but that ain't gonna happen."

Sam turned to Darren, eyes pleading.

"Can you try to fix it?" she asked. Darren frowned, looking over it.

"I can try," he said slowly. "No guarantees."

He began tinkering with it while Sam went to help Ruby with the casserole. Sam was a sucker for a new recipe, even if she really couldn't cook for shit. He tinkered through dinner, and worked into the night until it hovered up and started beeping.

"Ah-ha!" he shouted. "Sam!"

His sister sat bolt upright from her bedroll in the corner. She rubbed her eyes as the robot flew toward her.

"Huh, guess it's working," Sam said tiredly. "Alright, I'm going back to sleep. We set out for Novac bright and early."

She promptly laid back down and went right back to sleep. Darren envied her ability to drop back to sleep in the blink of an eye. He set up his bedroll in the other corner and fell asleep himself.