Veronica
The Sun crept up in the East as the train pulled out of Nellis, giving the morning sky many hues of orange. The muddy red rocks of Sunrise Mountain that flanked the small canyon from both sides of the tracks were bathed in brighter red.
Veronica sat on the roof of an old boxcar that was tailored for hauling heavy munitions which brought up the rear of the train. The light and faintly metallic January winds of Nevada nipped at her unassuming brown robes.
It looked like a scene from some old film about vagabonds traveling across old America on freight trains. Or maybe present day in the richer, more established parts of NCR.
At fifteen miles per hour, the lightly armored train swayed ever so slightly along the aged rails that topped recently repaired trackbed as it rounded the bend. The axles of the old rail cars creaked with every movement.
The train itself, was three cars and a diesel engine that had been retooled to run on a Universal Electric fusion engine. Restoring the electro motive reactor, had been one of her recent projects and a fine days work at that.
A gondola probably intended for moving coils was in the front. Behind the engine, was a water carrier and of course, the boxcar that she was on.
At its head, she could see Jack manning a light machine gun mounted on the front end of the gondola, scanning for any hostile animals dumb enough to follow the sound of the engine that worked behind the rusted gondola.
To her left, the tracks merged with the branch to the Gypsum Quarry. Not a hundred feet from the switch, a small tunnel separated the rest of the line from Deathclaw territory. Though they were safe, she felt her right hand, gloved with her power fist clench, and her left hand resting on the 10 mm pistol at her side as it came up.
As the train passed the switch, it seemed to pick up speed. The tracks took on a slight grade as they went down the hill that shielded the base from the perpetual sunrise of the New Vegas Strip.
There was something about the Mojave sky at daybreak. East of New Vegas, it felt almost as if two suns, one from the West, one from the East, would soon shine down on the desert.
Soon, they were at the bottom of the hill, and rapidly closing distance along to the North Side. By an old road, a band of travelers looked up from their morning campfire and stared in awe at the sight of the train. One of them waved, and was rewarded with the sound of the horn.
A few minutes passed, before the train arrived at the destination. The horn sounded twice in quick succession as the train slowed to a halt.
The place of business was the backside of a boarded up strip mall on the trackside. From where she stood, she could see what kind of businesses where advertised. On the sign that once called out to passing motorists was a liquor store, a money lender, a pawn shop and a legal firm that specialized in personal injury. In other words, it was a typical shopping center for the poor of a town that still held on to opulence.
A handful of traders awaited them, with Cass among them as Veronica had anticipated. She was sitting on the stairs to a back entrance, with a bottle of something in hand. Their eyes met, and Veronica felt a smile cut across her cheek. Their dysfunctional family had been estranged for a long time, or least that's what it felt like.
About two months ago, Cass sold Cassidy Caravans for a pittance before discovering a conspiracy against her former business. A caravan war was fought in shadows, that would have broken the NCR's supply lines if not for the revived fortunes of the Happy Trails company who had the resources to fill the temporary void. A company that ironically Cass was a major shareholder of.
The price of Crimson Caravan stock had fallen off the roof, and she had bought her rights back along with a few shares that made others in the company think twice about retribution.
The Van Graffs were a different affair. The only thing that kept the Van Graffs in Freeside alive, was their family in New Reno, who House probably had no desire to deal with. The families treated the strip and Freeside if they were big enough, as a place where violence was bad for their business. Outside the city however, their fortunes foundered at every turn. Caravans where ambushed, and covert weapons deals went bad. She couldn't prove it, but Paladin Hardin had most likely been in that war if any of the "salvage" his cronies brought in to Hidden Valley was an indication.
Veronica slid down a ladder, and hit the cracked asphalt running. "Cass!" she called.
"Veronica," the ginger put the lid on the hooch, and cracked a smile of her own.
She threw her arms around the caravaneer, and squeezed with affection until a wheeze from Cass told her to stop. "Sorry," Veronica apologized sheepishly. It was easy to forget how strong the suit made her to be.
"Can't believe its been two weeks I now." Cass commented on their last meeting. The faint smell of alcohol reached her nose and told her that Cass had been drinking lightly.
"I'd say closer to three weeks, the new year got a bad start for me."
The expression on her face turned somber. "I'm sorry V. I heard about the Followers."
"How are they?" Veronica thought about Julie Farkas and didn't think she would ever be able to look her in the eye and tell her about the massacre in the train yard.
"Better than I figured. You should have seen the service. For a whole hour, you'd think Freeside was as dry as a Mormon."
What service? This was news to her. "Who made it?"
"Well, aside from most of Freeside, Crocker was there if you can believe that. I made it of course, and so did Raul. I saw Arcade with a few his older relatives." Veronica had seen a few of the old timers who treated Arcade as family. They also regarded David as family when he was around.
"David handled most of the funeral arrangements."
"I'm surprised he didn't invite me," Veronica deadpanned.
"Its a good thing he didn't." To her surprise, Cass seemed to share whatever opinion David had. "I'm guessing, you weren't listening to the radio when the NV reporter was on the scene." She thought about the radio and realized that she had been busy for a few days away with a radio only in occasional earshot. Where the Boomers trying to keep her head under a rock?
"I should have been there, to pay my respects." Veronica sniffed as she finished the sentence.
"Do ya even know what a necktie party looks like V?"
"Necktie party?" Veronica wasn't sure where this was heading.
"Angry mob law, they'd have strung you to a streetlight for no other reason than being born underground after that service."
Veronica blanched. "Was it that bad?"
"Yep, it was," the caravaneer nodded. "Put a crowd of angry people with violence dicks out and hard, and see what happens. The only thing that kept them from spilling blood was the lack of people to lash out at once Crocker left for safety."
"Did Hidden Valley, say anything?" She knew David had an unpleasant chat with the elder, but much had been withheld from her and she was tired of it.
Cass shook her head. "Not that I know of, you know'em better than me." A look flashed across her face that suggested she knew more than she let on. Cass was a horrible poker player when she drank. even if she was lightly buzzed.
"I still think those shitheads got what they deserved," Cass continued." If it weren't fer NCR, those highway robbers would be hasslin' every caravan from the Outpost to here."
Before she could react to that statement, Loyal hollered from the cab to open the boxcar and unload the ammo containers.
When Veronica broke off the conversation, and took a moment to study the scene.
By the door, she saw a dark haired, olive skinned trail hand who looked very much like a Gun Runner next to a loaded down brahmin. In the early morning light, she could see lust in the man's eyes and unless she was mistaken, a bulge in his pants. She pretended to ignore it, deciding the man was too thick of head to take a hint.
To her left, she could see Janet completing a deal with another gun runner. By the tanker, a light trailer was brought up to transfer the precious contents.
Veronica stepped up to the heavy boxcar door and undid the locks. The door itself slid open effortlessly (at least for her), and she leaped into the freight car. The ammo containers where moved to the edge with ease, and she got back down to assume the job of a human forklift.
She thought about what Cass said as she moved the crates to ground level one by one. Surprise, the Mojave Brotherhood of Steel had no friends on the outside. Small wonder they had to live in hiding. The NCR as dominionist as they were generally had the sense to leave them alone. That didn't really matter when the Brotherhoods only interactions with outsiders made them glorified raiders in the eye of the NCR.
Veronica took care with the last container which happened to carry a handful of sacks with Ammonium Nitrate labeled in crude black marker.
"You can do your thing now." she cheerfully gestured towards the large ammo containers. The man's eyes were now cautious where they were undressing her a barely a few minutes ago. If the tent in his pants was pitched, it didn't look like it now.
The wiry hand unpacked the boxes from the Brahmin refusing help from the man who had finished his dealings with Janet, and started loading the shipping crates.
It never failed to amaze Veronica just how easy it was to make a man feel insecure.
She turned her attention to the rest of the train. Under the tanker, Jack had just finished fixing a fire hose to its underside. The hose was attached to a tank that stood in the back of the trailer, where the liquid was siphoned into.
Past that, she found Cass conversing with Janet, Cass was entering something in her pipboy that she got out of Vault 11. She then remembered the transmission from David. The coordinates given were at the edge of the Divide. She would have thought nothing of had she not seen a mushroom cloud somewhere across the mountains for Goodsprings and Primm.
Their conversation ended as she walked up with Janet presenting a bottle of whiskey. Veronica took the opening, and decided to ask about the transmission.
"Hey Cass, there's something I'd like to ask you about." She pulled up the message on her pip-boy. Cass studied it and grimaced.
"You too huh?"
David
He ate his caravan lunch on a rocky hill that overlooked Riverwood, as well as the road from both sides. Between the village and the road flowed the White River as it was known.
It had been a while since he had enjoyed any form of cheese so he started there. After days of ancient MRE's and fresher food that tasted every bit as nasty, this was a real treat. Two quick bites into the cheese he realized just how rich the food was and slowed down to savor the meal.
The bread was next, and then came the meat. Finally, he gobbled down the carrot, and the apple which was easily the juiciest he'd ever tasted.
The whole meal was washed down with the ale skin. The beer though it tasted funny, was no disappointment. He drank nearly half the skin, before returning it to his pack.
David wasted no time in getting back on the road, which was as far as he could tell, a quiet one. As he walked north, he could feel the meal going to work on his system. By the time the bridge to Riverwood was obscured by winding of the road, he noticed his gait was much faster than it ordinarily would have been. Although his stomach was starting to raise hell, he felt pretty good all things considered.
'Rich food is one hell of a drug', he decided. Hopefully it would adjust after a few more meals.
Maybe it was the air, or the presence of an unpolluted river that ran to the right of the trail. Probably though it was the nutrients in the food.
After surviving the Divide, this place was Heaven. Even if he couldn't go a week without having to kill enough people to populate a small tribe.
The load on his back was lightweight to the point that he almost felt naked in the absence of a seventy pound pack. In feeling naked, he felt vulnerable.
His only protection, was an officer's blade. As a survival tool, it was well made. As a weapon against other people, it worked if he could get close enough in a fight.
Although it would make him a marked man, David sorely missed his pack. In a world where guns seemed to be a complete unknown, he wondered what it would mean for someone like him to have a monopoly on firearms not to mention understanding of a few sciences that so far were undiscovered by the locals.
He missed the Pip-Boy even more. House had once remarked that Vault-Tec wanted a system capable of mapping things that satellites could not cover, like underground vaults. In addition, Yes-Man's predictive analytical models would keep him one step ahead of everyone else. With the gear he came here with, the world was as good as his sandbox.
His sandbox. The thought was seducing. Even in New Vegas, he was never truly safe from his past. He probably would not have been so invested in the ambitions of House if he wasn't dying with enemies on virtually every point of the compass.
That or he could spend the rest of his life in a cave living as a hunter, gatherer and covert vigilante.
David continued down the road for what he perceived as two hours by the position of the sun, enjoying the rays of what felt like a late summer in Idaho's Handle country. For much of the way, he jogged.
Finally, around what was either five or six, he rounded a bend and stopped to survey the scene ahead. Before him was the plains of Whiterun that Ralof had told him about. By the waters of the White, he could see farmsteads, and beyond them, was the dilapidated walls of the city itself. Beyond them, he could see the buildings that were clearly in better shape. At its center, he saw a great building that stood imposing above the rest like the Sierra Madre standing proud over the ruined casino village.
The serpentine road descended steadily towards the plain. He went down the path jogging almost effortlessly. As he neared the next bend, something made him stop.
Three legionaries and a prisoner in rough spun rags, rounded a corner, and were heading up the hill towards Riverwood.
David looked at the prisoner, and shuddered. Only hours ago that man could have been him.
He assumed that they were taking him to Helgen for execution, or even worse, torture. No doubt the soldiers were unaware of the mornings events.
David stopped and planted his feet on the path. For some reason, he felt honor bound to help the haggard prisoner he knew nothing about. At the same time, he wasn't sure that he dared take on the three with nothing but his sword.
"Out of the way citizen, your presence is interfering with Imperial business."
Something about that statement just rubbed him wrong.
"My presence?" David snorted. "I'm not very good at subtle speak, so the mental health geniuses say. If you're here for me, save me your 'true to legion' nonsense and we'll skip to the fight for our scalps."
The uniformed men exchanged looks, and David realized that he'd let on too much. 'well shit,' it was too late back out.
"Never mind, you're coming with us for questioning." The one at the forefront gestured to the one at the rear to flank him. That they knew nothing about him was obvious, but they knew he was hiding something.
"That wouldn't be Helgen would it?" David asked buying time.
"Maybe it is," responded the leader.
"Well, I'm not going back there..."
In a quick fluid motion, he drew his steel and moved in swunging a wide arc with the tip cutting across his face and through his nose. The man's sword had not yet cleared leather courtesy of the element of surprise, and David seized the blade with his left, while the owner's grip on the handle faltered.
The next man rushed him with his weapon drawn. David parried the swing with the sword in his right and took a step back. His opponent had not seen the other sword and didn't have the time to parry a thrust to his wrist.
The Legionnaire dropped his sword clutching a severed artery, which gave David enough time to dodge the attack of the third who came at him with a wicked chop.
The failed attack left him wide open, and David tripped him over his own momentum. The man tumbled to ground and tried to face him, but never had the chance.
David slid both swords through the gap, between his torso armor and his leather helmet. With all his strength, he rammed them through flesh, tissue, and bone, killing him instantly.
David looked around for the rest of his enemies, but it was over as fast as it had began. The first one was down, and second one just sat there trying to stop the bleeding. The prisoner had taken his sword, and despite his bindings had no trouble slitting his throat while ignoring his pleas for mercy.
The prisoner was aware of his stare, and took only a moment to clean the blade on the hem of the uniform, as he writhed his last couple minutes of life in agony.
"Thank you for your help stranger, I could use some help with my bindings."
David walked over to him, and cut the bindings.
"So how did you end up in a bind?"
"I spied for the Stormcloaks. You can see I was not a very good one." The blonde man with the haggard beard chuckled. "And you?"
"Just someone with a bone to pick with the Legion."
"Bone to pick?" the man looked at him uncomprehending.
"Figure of speech where I come," David explained. "Means we've got problems."
"Oh, I see."
"I'll be heading for Windhelm now, I'll probably do better as a soldier than a spy." The bearded Stormcloak let on his plans. "You should come too if hate the Legion that much."
"Maybe later," replied David. "I got business in Whiterun to take care of."
The man nodded and then began going through the pockets of the dead soldiers in search of loot.
David for his part hurried down the hill. Once the scene was maybe half a mile behind him, he took a swig of the ale, and then another. Damn it, he needed a drink, a real drink right now. He continued his trek to Whiterun as he sang wearily.
I rode out of Kansas City going south to Mexico
I was running, dodging danger, left the girl loved so
Far behind lay Kansas City and the past that I had earned
Twenty killings from my six gun marked the lessons I had learned
Many times I sold my fast gun for a place to lay my head
'Till the nights began to haunt my by the men I left dead
Couldn't stand it any longer with this life that I'd begun
So I said goodbye to Jeannie and became a running gun
He broke off as he neared the bottom of the hill, where the lush forest, gave way to Tundra plains. The road intersected with a stone bridge ahead and another to that was one right turn away.
Between them was a road sign, with six different names carved into the wood and pointing in different directions. At the top Whiterun was a left turn as well as a place named Solitude. A right turn promised to lead him to Windhelm, the Stormcloak's capital or to Riften that he'd mention of, among other places.
David took the road to his left, which would take him to the city gates. Farms and what was advertised as a Meadery hugged the road. Mead as he recalled, was a drink that was popular in the Dakotas. In more recent times it had gained widespread acceptance with the Northern Dominions.
The ingredients for mead as far as he knew happened to be plentiful in that motley blend of free towns, nepotist kingdoms and various enclaves of crazy that stretched between Saddle City in the far North of the Alberta plains to the edge of the Tundra in the South.
Past a few farms, he rounded a bend in the road where he caught sight of a group of warriors attacking some strange creature that looked like on a small farm next to the road.
He got closer, and leaned against a stone fence pausing to watch. The closest thing it resembled was a super mutant. He had never seen a mutie so light skinned or with hair though, so it was still a distant comparison at best.
A few fighters with various melee weapons tried to hem the thing in, carefully measuring their attacks at its legs while avoiding the log that it brandished as a club, and kept swinging at them.
Even as he watched, he heard a loud battle cry from behind the giant and caught sight of an almost scantily clad woman skirting its reach in hopes of hamstringing it from behind.
Her moves were elegant and catlike, her long and fiery red hair swayed hypnotically. The giant tried to hit her, when she stepped in range to feint an attack, but it might as well have tried hacking the wings from a bloatfly on jet.
She dodged a hit from the club, and weaved in for a blow with her sword which she held with both hands. He didn't know how, but the mutie managed to avoid the blow. The woman's blade sliced into thin air missing the target and barely had enough time to dive out of the path of the giant's club. She hit the ground with a roll, and came up running.
The diversion was all her friends needed. A dark haired man in heavy armor rushed in with a sword nearly as tall as himself and risked everything to thrust the two hander into its underbelly.
The not super mutant lost control of literally everything as blood and shit poured out of the opening. It dropped the club, and collapsed over some farmers harvest clutching torn bowels.
The man with the large sword began cleaning it, while a woman dressed in tanned hides went to work on the creature. The redhead noticed him and approached the fence.
"All taken care of, no thanks to you." The redhead spoke brusquely.
Good lord above, David rolled his eyes. tribal women were a pain in the ass no matter were he was.
"Wasn't my fight. Besides, you don't look like you need help."
"No it was not," she conceded. "But a true Nord, would relish the opportunity to take on a giant."
"I don't have anything to prove, and for my knowledge of the area I could have interrupted some ritual that would make you very angry."
A nervous laugh came from one of the fighters. It was a sound that was cut off by the sharp glare of the red head in the revealing garb.
"An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough."
"So what kind of problems do a bunch of killers bound in honor solve?" David knew he should not bait them, but he couldn't resist asking. Their reactions spoke volumes about their character. The retort, prompted the pretty one to take a step closer and put a finger on David's chest.
"The kind of problems that plague the honest and law-abiding. Sometimes its a bounty, other times its a monster on the loose. Every now and then we rescue a hostage. We do not commit something so crass as murder for hire, if that's what you're suggesting. We are the Companions. Warriors without equal and if you were not new in these parts, your words would be taken as insult worthy of an answer, but we are done here."
"I see now, makes sense." David eased his body language to show he meant no offense. She turned away and started down the road. He could not help but stare for a moment. Her hourglass figure accentuated a pronounced sway in her hips. Her hair which was colored much like his, swayed in a gentle breeze that was also spreading the stench of death and loosened bowels.
"You have the look of a warrior, you know. You should head over to Jorrvaskr, be a companion." The dark haired one spoke up as if noticing him for the first time.
"Your-vaskur, you say?"
"That's right. If you're looking for work, find Kodlak Whitemane. Nobody can read a man like he can."
"Keep that in mind," David replied. "For now though, I got a favor to return."
David started down the road behind Farkus. He could use some eating money after delivering a message to the "jarl," as the leader of the city was known.
Further down the road, where ruined stonework was covered in moss, another road sign pointed him in the direction of the gates. Along the road, he could see what passed for the outskirts of the fortified city. A motley collection of farmhouses, some earthwork defenses and a few tents dotted the landscape outside the walls.
He also saw a stable and took a moment to ogle the horses before moving on. It had been years since he had ridden a horse. After seeing the jarl, he'd have to see what a horse was worth in these parts.
At the edge of the gate, he got a closer look at the camp. It looked every bit a trade caravaneer's camp. A second look at the camp revealed that something was off. He could have sworn the traders had tails. Looking closer, he realized that they were in fact "cat people."
David stopped staring at the camp, and made a beeline for the inner walls. He'd had enough weirdness for one day. Still better than the lizard people from the Divide, of course.
He passed a drainage that took water outside the city, and ultimately fed into the White River.
'White Run, is that where the name came from,' he wondered. Up the hill, David crossed a drawbridge, which unlike the rest of the walls seemed well maintained.
Finally, he came to a third gate with a massive set of doors. Two guards stood outside.
"Halt," one of them called out in a voice distorted by a silly helmet that words failed him to describe. "The city is closed with the dragons about."
"And what of those who don't have a fortress to hide behind?" What about Riverwood?" David pleaded with the guard. From what it looked like, the hysteria had beat him to Whiterun.
The city was now withdrawn from the outside world in panic, like New Jerusalem from the tales of its exiles and rejects. Hopefully Whiterun would not be overrun with snobby fanatics.
"You from Riverwood?" The guard asked.
"I am, and they call for aid."
The guard looked to his peer for a moment, "Watch the gate will you."
He then turned back to face David.
"Follow me"
The opened the gate wide enough for both of them to slip through. Just like that, he was in Whiterun.
He studied the city for a moment, deciding it was more spread out than he figured a walled city would be. His attention shifted to a guardhouse on his left. The guard pounded the door.
"Ragnar, we have someone from Riverwood. The jarl will want to see them."
AN: Sorry for the wait, hope you enjoy the [slightly] longer chapter. Featured song is "Running Gun" by Marty Robbins.