Chapter Two: State of the Khanate

The group rode through Riverside Drive and to Nick's left, houses had been torn asunder for whatever spare building materials they could provide, the process had left plenty of empty lots that had been tilled into crop fields, with tribesmen dutifully attending the rows of corn and razor grain hoping for a good harvest and some Bighorner and Brahmin milled about their pastures in peace. The street was clear of debris and vehicles, all having been stacked along the row of houses to his right; an ugly jumbled mass of foundation, metal and wood that led to a driveway that was blocked with a powered gate. With the driveway entrance as the center point, the 'Wall' was the first line of defense for the camp.

Hiding within these defensive houses, Nick knew khans laid in wait, armed to the teeth. Though it had been months since the last raider attack, the wall in its entirety remained guarded, each house acting as a makeshift bunker and live-in shelter so that they were always manned. It was considered a boring post and he smiled, remembering times he'd heard older boys complain of being assigned it for the week.

A sentry called out, and the gate was revved to life in short order once Naddok was spotted. Following the sound of motorized humming, the heavy metal slab slid and Nick followed as everyone trotted in to ride past a garage just beyond, commissioned into a bunker of its own, with more Khan-guards playing cards as they waited out their shift. Circling around, Nick came face to face with the only 'home' he'd ever known. Dubbed East Camp - or the Barge to most - the backyard fences of all the houses behind the wall had been ripped down to allow for more living space, what little there was. Multiple tents of different sizes, shapes and colors lined this side of the river bank. There were even a few shanty wigwams and longhouses that had been cobbled together on the sand barge ahead.

Most of the tents were used for the surge in new prospects, a result of heavy recruiting over the last decade. Actually, for as long as he could remember, very few of the faces he could recognize from the year before remained, most choosing after their Rite to move to The Glade, or maybe one of the other encampments. It had been that way the year before, and the year before that. Very few chose to live at the Barge. Other than new recruits, children who were born into the clan weren't technically prospects, but were required to pass the Rite as well when they were considered ready, and he was no different.

Now that he thought about it, Nick used to hear rumblings that there were plans for the Homeland that the NCR had taken from them. Far to the North, or West, or maybe it was Northwest? It was a 'homeland' he's never known, and as the years grew, the talks diminished as less and less recruits concerned themselves with it. Little contact remained between here and the northern tribe. For many, it was a call that would never come.

Connecting East Camp to the sand, all of the previous fencing had been fashioned into a decent enough footbridge for anybody not on horseback to cross the river. And since Nick was, Alban trotted through the water easily, not even reaching the horse's stomach, as did everyone else who lived on the sand barge. The smell of savory gecko and brahmin meat cooking on an open flame drifted in the wind to catch his nose, causing his stomach to groan loudly. 'I haven't eaten since leaving the camp this morning, I've been out there for a while.' So, riding up to his ger - which was really Fergus' - he was about to dismount when his name was called.

It had been Naddok, supposedly the man wasn't finished with him yet, he thought gnashing his teeth lightly.

He whipped the reins to get Alban moving again, falling behind Naddok and Bren's horses to sidle up beside Fergus; He was relieved to see Chance and the others were routed back as well. They followed through the main encampment and arrived at the main ger, the tent where the Elder lived and occasionally loaned for tribe meetings. Although Nick thought he was a little fruity, he was certainly kind-hearted. The Elder would entertain the younglings with stories, but sometimes the Elder on his weaker days would be shut in, or whenever he was experiencing one of his visions. It was for the latter that Naddok would show up.

The subject was iffy, depending on who you talked too. Nick had been skeptical of those, like most, but he couldn't say he didn't enjoy some of the stories, some of them the old man claimed were to happen in lands across the wastes, and other stories of things that had happened in the past. His favorite stories were the ones involving the Vault Dweller and his son, the Chosen One. His interests didn't earn him many friends for obvious reasons, but he didn't care; his status of bastard had done enough damage there already. Fergus had told him that respect for an enemy wasn't an offense, and he took that to heart.

There was a gathering of children, ranging from his age to Bren and Chance's and some a little older, formed up outside the large tent. A few adults keeping them all organized and under control. Naddok dismounted and spoke to one of them, "These were the children playing beyond the camp. The Elder's looked them over. Should I turn 'em loose, Sir?"

"Send them home, I'm sure they're good to go," Naddok replied, and the man ordered his fellows to begin disbanding the children. Before Naddok turned away, the man drew his attention back.

"Chief, Papa Khan's runner has arrived as well. We've brought him here from the Glade."

"Excellent," he was surprised, but he couldn't argue with the timing, it was about time they got an update, "I'd imagine he's already inside," he asked, thumbing towards the tent. When the man nodded, "Good, dismissed."

'Wonder what that was all about,' Nick thought as he listened in, dismounting with the rest of the group. A runner from up north? Did that mean they were finally being called? It had been so long. . . Before he could think more about it, Naddok then stepped into the tent, followed by Bren and his gang, himself, then Fergus. Inside, Nick's attention was drawn to the runner first, standing in the middle of the ger while flanked by a few other khans with faces he'd never seen before. They all must've come from the northern tribe, he assumed.

The one in the center saluted an arm across his chest, "Papa Khan sends his regards." The runner stepped forward and clasped his hand tightly in Naddok's in respect. "We have much to discuss."

"Of course, though," he said, waving his hand towards the weary Elder, Nick now noticed the exhausted man at the end of the tent and bundled up as if fighting a fever. Two of the tribewives attended to him with great care. "This. . . may be of some concern to Papa Khan. A vision from the Elder," he soon relayed the story to everyone present, and while Nick faintly heard the story, his attention had been stolen by the Elder, his dim eyes half-open. Nick knew the Elder was blind, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the man could see him. . . or maybe he was just staring through him.

A hand fell on his shoulder and it startled the boy back into the present. Glancing back, Fergus was giving him a strange look, then pointed ahead. Naddok was leading the children closer to the Elder and so he did the same. Each step the feeling grew stronger, 'the hell is wrong with me?' Some blind old man was literally psyching him out, what did that say about him? He'd never been unnerved by him before.

Drawing up to the Elder's bedside, the blind man turned his head just barely. His hand reaching out, expectantly, the entire limb trembling with his troubled lungs.

Nobody was quite sure what to do, but Naddok signaled that all was fine. He and Fergus hadn't been present for the screening, and as for the newcomers, they simply gathered around, interested in witnessing what they'd only heard stories of before. Though Nick noticed something in the eyes of the Runner, looking at the Elder, eyes sharp like the edge of a knife.

He turned away when Chance made the first move, kneeling down at the man's side and gently taking his hand in his own.

The Elder smiled, grasping gently in return, "What is your name, Child?"

"Chance," he replied evenly.

"Chance," the man repeated, as if mulling it over. Despite his eyes being dull, they somehow seemed to sadden, "Yes, you are a kind boy, Chance. A peaceful soul, who's fury is well in control and knows his limits. You will grow to be a fine warrior with your temperament, and never doubt your path." He then let go of Chance's hand, "You will walk your path faithfully, until the end among friends." Chance got up as he felt that must've been all there was. He wasn't going to question it, Nick knew the older boy would just let the Elder do his thing. Whatever the Elder was doing, or playing to be, he honestly didn't know; but it sounded average for the most part. Average. It was something he yearned, and he could breathe easy with a life like that. It pleased him Chance would get that, it was something a good Khan deserved.

Bren was next, introducing himself when they locked hands. "Ah, son of the Chief, a strong warrior in the making and raised a fine young man. Learn well, and if you continue to make your way, you would lead the Khans to rule all of the Bullhead territories. To be a terror across the Mojave for your enemies. Don't take that for a certainty, as all things shift as the paths of men cross. Listen to your heart, and it will see you there, and beyond, taking your People to new heights." A smirk crossed Bren's face with the idea, to which Nick quietly sneered. 'Of course, he would.'

Jessup and McMurphy were next to replace him, uttering their names as each took one outstretched palm, "You two, close is your friendship, brothers in bond. Your loyalties may be tested, but you find solace in your closest friends to see you through the entirety of your lives. Don't shake those bonds, for they give us strength in our darkest hours. Many battles, you'll see through together to your final breaths." Theirs' sounded much like Chance's reading, though more bland, he didn't get much time to think on it.

It was his turn now.

The entire time Nick listened he felt himself becoming nauseous, shaking his head to rid himself of the sickly feeling, he took slow steady breaths to calm himself down. God, this man unnerved him to no end today, like he was being chased down by a Cazador that was about to swarm over him.

The Elder was waiting, and when Nick's hand rested in the other's, the Elder gazed at him for what felt like an eternity, "A hard life lies before you child, and whether you live or die will come to depend on your will alone. Enduring is your strength, adaption is your skillset. Your will shall carry you through your days, should you succeed, but you will learn there is more to it all in time. And at the end of your road, your Will prevailing, shall you find the peace you've longed for in your heart. . . What is your name child," he finished with a waning smile.

"My name's Nick sir," he said, his eyes shifting to the side where he knew Naddok to be standing behind him, not caring what the Chief thought of his small rebellion.

The Elder chuckled lightly, though it threw him into a soft coughing fit. When the Elder caught his breath, he 'looked' to Naddok, then back to him, "Defiant this one, his will is like fire, but I know your name boy," The man let go of his hand has well, and shifted to peek once again at Naddok, "I have determined Naddok, I think I know whom the vision depicts." Nick stood up and took a seat next to Chance and the rest.

"Are you sure," Naddok stepped forward, sounding a little more eager than he intended too. When Bren received his screening, Naddok had been listening to every word in interest. It sounded like he'd be the boy from the vision. None of the other children were kept back, and Bren's was the closest fit. But then to hear it out of the Elder, if this whole thing was to be true, then he had some preparations that needed to be made. "Absolutely sure?"

"I'm positive, Naddok," the man reassured, "His path is clear, should he follow his heart."

The eyes of the children quirked in confusion, but Naddok cut in before any questions could be raised. "Alright, everyone's dismissed. Elder, we'll talk about this soon, for now you should rest." Everyone did so, the last being Nick and Fergus, as Naddok faced the northern group once more, "My son and his friends located a weapons cache deeper in the territory. I was going to accompany some of my men with a wagon and load up, care to join us? We can talk along the way."

"A stroke of good fortune, eh? Certainly," the Northern nodded.

If it wasn't for Fergus behind him shoving him from the ger, Nick just might have been able to shout off his opinion on what he thought was bullshit. Though due to Fergus' intervention, he had to bite his tongue in the end. All he could really do was go to his tent and try to cool off, ignoring the worried look of Chance as he passed him in his haste.

Today was an absolute shit show.

Stepping to the side, Fergus allowed his brother and his following to pass under the tent flap. He stood there, watching his brother climb back onto his horse with a heavy frown. With everyone gone, Fergus was about to leave and try to smooth things over with the boy.

"Fergus," the man turned, facing towards the Elder tucked in his bedroll across the tent, the man beckoned him closer. 'What could this be', Fergus thought with trepidation. Stepping closer, the khan spoke, his voice gravely serious, "I must speak to you. . . in confidence," he lifted his hand, flicking it in a soft shooing motion. His aides nodded, not that he could see it, but left at his will.

Fergus could only stare in curiosity, and as he distinguished the concern written all over the Elder's wrinkled face, a sinking feeling made itself known, and he began to wonder if he would come to regret this conversation.

(Fergus' Ger, A Couple Hours Later)

Nick was sitting cross-legged in his tent inspecting the 9mm Chance had given him, currently disassembled and laid out on a drag cloth in front of him. Getting to know how his weapon functioned was a skill and discipline instilled in him by Fergus, and while most children were taught, he himself loved it. He sat near the center of the tent by the fire pit, but it was cold and lifeless. Reserved for those colder Mojave nights. To his right was his sleeping cot, his pack placed at the head of his bedding. His rifle hung by its sling on a notch in one of the wooden ribs of the tent close by. Opposite his cot was Fergus', his own kit and belongings scattered around his adobe. Most nights, Nick slept here on his own, though it looked like Fergus would be here tonight.

Back to the task at hand, it helped calm him down, the process of field stripping and cleaning a gun. It just cleared his mind. He liked the smell of the oil, the act of maintaining a weapon was a feeling he enjoyed, putting it back together in a polished manner. Firearms in general, there was just something about them. How a firearm could put anybody on equal footing.

Men against mutants.

Women against men.

Even a child is no longer defenseless with a gun in their hands. This 9mm had saved his life today, his mind delving back to the ghoul clawing at him, the flashes, the ghoul falling away from him. He never once felt that gun snap in his hands. Thinking of it made a shiver run up his spine, he'd never before been so close to death. It didn't occur to him in that instant, only now that he'd time to reflect.
Was it better that the other's came? What would have happened had he been alone?

Reassembling the nine, he picked up the cloth to give it one final wipe down. He sighed to himself, dropping his head into his hands. He'd cleaned his rifle as soon as he got back first, not that it needed it. It'd been cleaned the week before and a few rounds through the barrel wasn't enough to warrant a session. More like it was his distraction from his anger.
Or maybe these other thoughts. . .

Standing up, he needed a new distraction. He walked over to his pack and dropped the pistol down onto the cot. Looking down at his bag he stared at it for a moment before snatching it up and setting it before him as he sat on his cot and checked through his inventory; bags of jerky, water, what little herbal ointment he had. . . he paused, sighting the one thing he grabbed from the tunnel and had yet to really mess with, bulging from another pouch. Nick unfastened the top pocket, easily finding the Pipboy inside and taking it in his hand. It obviously worked, but currently, he had no means of keeping it tight to his forearm. . . unless. . .

Grabbing the burlap from around his discarded jacket, he wrapped the cloth around his left forearm, grabbing the Pipboy after. With a bit of patience, and a few curses, he managed to get the clasp to lock around his wrist, the burlap underneath holding the device snug. Swinging his arm to test his work, he looked it over again, quite satisfied. But it wasn't really comfortable and that wouldn't do. The burlap would get his arm sweaty, and the material was rough, and would probably irritate him before long. It also looked a little bulky on him, but he figured after a few years maybe he'd grow into it. If he didn't trade it sooner.

He flipped his way through the menus, eventually finding the holotape he found on the dead scavenger, still inserted within the personal computer. Selecting the place holder in the menu, it brought up all the saved data within. It looked like the man had downloaded some of the entries from the terminal. His own entries were included, the last entry was many years ago, long before the Khans. It was dated for 2078.

Looking at the entries from the terminal, it belonged to Mr. Constance, one of a few Chinese operatives meant to lead strikes with their families during the Great War. He was suspecting the authorities were on to him and was soon proven correct went the police raided his house and while the men made their stand, the families locked themselves in with the Auxiliary power, a mini nuclear reactor which explained how the geckos and ghouls came to be. He was about to wipe the tape when a file caught his eye.

"What do you have there," Fergus said, startling Nick who hadn't noticed him enter, the man pointed at the attachment around his arm, "You find that in the tunnel?"

Nick stood up and began scratching the back of his neck nervously, "Yeah, I picked it up before we got chased out."

"That slide action too," he commented, eyes roving over to where he saw it lying on the cot, "don't think I didn't see it." He could still see a bit of the tension the boy suppressed. The disregard for his claim in the discovery today wouldn't be forgotten, another addition to the list of betrayals that marked his short life. And some were partly his fault. Instead, he'd guide the boy to familiar ground. Neutral topics.

Nick smiled at the mention of the small pistol, "Chance gave that to me, early present, he'd said." Nick picked up the gun, handing it off to Fergus when he came to a stop in front of his cot. "It's sturdy, compact. I don't like that there's no safety on it, though the trigger has a heavy pull. He gave me two eight-round mags."

Fergus looked down the sights with one-hand, the handle small and sleek, but still comfortable in his large grip. Fully loaded the gun held no sway, light as a feather. It would be a good fit for the boy, Fergus knew. He'd have to thank Chance at some point as well. "I like it; fits well in the hand and it's solid, as you said. Good fit for you. I'd keep both of those if I were you." The boy was handed back his weapon, and as the child looked at it, Fergus could hear the boy sigh, "Listen, about today," he tried, placing his hand on Nick's shoulder, an attempt to be comforting. He didn't have children of his own, so this wasn't something he'd ever done.

Actually, his father wasn't exactly that way either. It seemed to run in the family.

Nick chose that moment to turn from Fergus in order to replace his pistol, "There's nothing really to talk about." It was also his way of avoiding the conversation, he'd had this monologue with himself far too many times, and the sooner he could convince himself of his own words the better. He'd told himself nothing was going to change, so he should just stop giving a shit too. Nick was going to end this topic here, dropping down fully onto his cot, "It's over and done with. . . complaining about it now would be pointless. So please, don't."

Hands setting on his hips, Fergus could only shake his head. Walking over to his own cot, Fergus fumbled through some odds and ends until he found his eating utensils. Walking over to the entrance to make his leave, he stopped just short, thinking. Turning back to the kid, "Hey."

"Yeah," he asked, giving Fergus his attention, but not quite turning over.

"I have to take stock of the armaments when the wagon returns," Fergus held back his smile, noticing he had peaked the young boy's interest when the child perked up. "We'll fill our stomachs, and then you can help me." He turned halfway, "If you want, it'd be a shame to handle all those guns by myself." He couldn't hold his smile back any longer and had to turn away from the child. Mention a firearm or work on a firearm, and the boy had the focus of a precision laser rifle. It was his weakness. He stepped out, the seed planted.

Rolling over Nick stared at the closed flap a moment longer, a smile twitching at the edge of his lips. He had some people. They weren't many, but he wouldn't trade them for a Fat Man and a lifetime supply of mini-nukes. He just had to stick it out a little longer, then maybe he could stay with one of the other encampments, or maybe the northern tribe. They always needed more bodies.

His lips broke into an all-out smile, "Thanks," he whispered to himself, before he took to his feet and left the tent, grabbing his own eating utensils along the way. The Pipboy blipped. The screen coming to life faintly to catch his attention. "What the, I should've taken this off. . ."

He saw the file he had opened before Fergus had startled him. And the more he read, the more his eyes widened, "There's no frigging way. . ."

(The Next Morning)

(June 6th, 2268)

Close to the southern end of the Barge, Nick sat leaning back on his arms with his legs straight out in front. Before him was the Colorado River. Moments before he would ride on to the larger northern encampment at the Hancock Glade, Fergus had awoken him early just to tell him not to leave the Barge today.

Not. To leave. The Barge. Which, of course, meant no hunting, scavenging or exploring Bullhead. The stuff Nick would usually fill his day with. Maybe the old man was a little bent about him not showing up for his offer?

His mind drifted to last night, and what he'd seen on the Pipboy. He'd wanted to see if it was true. . . but, that was Fergus' way of telling him he's sorry, he guessed. And he'd ignored it to think over the info he'd learned.

So far though, he was just biding his time now. He was already bored, and there wasn't much he could think of to do and he wasn't keen on asking the tribewives for chores. He knew none of the hunting parties would take him.

Coming to a stand, he began meandering up the bank, watching the water as it flowed evenly down it's course. Looking further up the Colorado River, wide as it was, Nick casually watched the opposite bank, looking into the land of Nevada. He wasn't really looking for anything. His whole life he'd never seen anything across the river.

Fergus had told him this morning to stay within the limits of the Barge. Nick smiled, kicking a small stone into the calm river flow of the Colorado.

Like he'd do that. Unless Fergus came looking for him, he could always sneak back in like he'd never left. He thought about finding Chance, but that means he'd probably end up with Bren and the other two, and he honestly didn't want to deal with them, not after yesterday. He knew it was over and done with, but it still sucked to have credit stolen from you.

"Hey, Outcast!"

The call brought the boy to a halt mid-step. Sure enough, a group of six Khans his age were jogging up to him from the encampment, laughing and shoving each other along the way. Seeing the one who called out to him, his skin crawled in anger. While the guys he was with last night were a nuisance at best, this kid loved to start fights for no reason. With himself being the target, with his status and all.

The boy was roughly his height and size, with light brown shaggy hair and a roundish face. His nose had been bent from a past fight and his brown eyes were dull, which Nick attributed as a sign of his intelligence. His state of dress was standard with a brown tee, faded blue pants and sneakers and a Great Khan Vest without the top rocker, same as the other kids' vests.

"Michael, I ain't in the mood." Nick scoffed, turning his attention back to the riverside to continue his walk.

"Don't have time for your good pals?" Michael asked with devious smirk, now keeping pace with him, "We all know you'd have been gone the moment the sun rose if you had something better to be doing, Outcast."

"Yeah, Petty, we heard Fergus has you on house arrest," one of Michael's friends tossed in.

"Makes sense though, after how he botched yesterday, huh?" Another jabbed, sharing a chuckle with the group.

Nick came to a stop for a second time, and his shoulders tightened, "You like talking about things you know nothing about?"

"Not what the word around camp is, Outcast."

"Oh yeah, and how many of those pissants were there. Can ya' answer that?" Nick barked, turning to face the boy and the two squared off. He could feel his face flush with anger, ready and waiting for his moment.

Michael smiled as he crossed his arms over his chest, coming to stand off to the side of the two. As he glanced between them, his smile grew a little wider, "Well, well fellas. Looks like we may have a bout after all. Baines?"

Baines, a curly-headed boy with black hair, was the one Nick was squaring off with, "Yeah, I'm game, if this little bitch is."

Nick gritted his teeth. . . and he looked between everyone surrounding him, then Micheal who was awaiting his answer. They wanted to bait him, he knew that plain and simple. Did he really want to take the bait again? He could just walk away, he didn't need to do this. . .

"Ya' know what," Nick said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "I don't need this,' he sneered, so he turned and started walking away.

Baines and Michael shared a look, and once Michael nodded, Baines started jogging up to his target. "You ain't friggin' leaving that easy, Bastard," he said, grabbing Nick by the cloth of his jacket.

Nick spun around on his heel and clocked Baines in the mouth. As the boy hit the sand on his back holding his mouth, he unscrewed his eyes just in time to catch sight of boot tread before his lights went out.

(Meanwhile)

"So what are you thinking," Chance asked, keeping his stride even with his best friend.

Bren glanced at him, then straightened his gaze, "Just some things on my mind."

Chance smiled, "Ya' know, usually when someone asks what's on your mind, the friendly thing to do is give some kind of hint," he said, pushing Bren softly to the side.

Sighing, Bren's head sank briefly before he answered, "Honestly, it's about Petty. . . I mean, we went looking for him because we wanted him in the know, ya know" he asked, eyebrow cocked as he checked to see Chance's reaction, but the teen remained neutral, "Anyway, I wasn't expecting for yesterday to go the way it did. I'm all for razzing the little shit, but...,"

"I hear you, bro," Chance replied, scratching at his nape, when he realized that Bren had stopped a few paces behind him. He saw Bren staring to the outskirts of the near the riverside. Chance followed his line of sight to a group of younger boys ganging up on a solitary child, which churned his stomach. "Is that. . ." Once he recognized who the lone child was, Bren was already marching off in their direction. "Ah shit."

Bren had quickly closed the distance when the group had managed to pin Nick, all of which liberally delivering kicks to any part of his unprotected huddled form. One of the boys turned and saw Bren advancing, already too close for him to do anything and Bren felt great satisfaction as the boy began to shrink in fear. Bren sucker-punched the boy out of his way, grabbing another by the collar of his shirt and practically throwing him aside.

"Shit, it's Bren!" It was then that the others noticed his presence, and before any more damage could be done they tried to scatter, but not before one more felt the anger of the Chieftain's son.

Bren breathed a little heavy as he watched the few left able to stand flee back into camp, then looked down at the pitiful form of Petty. Bending down, he hoisted the boy up, "Get off of me," he growled, shaking himself from Bren's hold.

"The hell happened, Petty?" Bren asked, expectantly.

The boy wiped some blood that leaked from a busted lip with his sleeve,"What do you think, they jumped me. That shithead Michael," he cursed between spitting blood. Then a body hit the ground in front of them.

It was Michael, forced to his knees in front of the pair, when the voice of a third spoke behind him, "Caught the little punk before he could get too far," Chance threatened, and with a cautious glance back, he could tell he was in for a world of hurt if he tried to flee again.

Bren dropped into a squat and locked eyes with Michael, but didn't say anything at first. He just laced his fingers together and kept staring back into the eyes of the culprit who assaulted his younger clansman. Once the boy began to fidget beneath his steady gaze, Bren spoke up and the boy flinched a little, "I never took you for a coward Michael, so how 'bout you explain yourself?"

Michael just dug his grave deeper, "Why the fuck do you care? He's a bastard anyways, so what if we-" Bren blinked when a boot collided with the side of Michael's head, putting him to sleep face down in the sand. Bren looked up to Nick, his face anything but amused.

Nick righted his stance, and when he noticed the stare he was getting from Bren, a thought hit him, "What? You were actually listening?" He scoffed, "You might want to be fed bullshit, but I was done hearing him," he quickly began rummaging through the three unconscious boys' pockets, pulling bottle caps and counting them out in his hands, "And quite frankly, I feel like I deserve repayment." The bottle caps totaled twenty-seven in all. It wasn't much, but it was more than what he had previously, which was zilch.

Pushing himself up from his squat, Bren huffed at the young boy's brashness, but wasn't going to say anything to stop him. These boys should be lucky all they're losing is bottle caps and some of their ego. "I need to talk to you."

"What if I don't feel like talking," Nick replied snidely.

"I need help with something," Bren continued, unfazed.

Rounding back around, "The fuck did I say?!" Bren just crossed his arms and suddenly the boy realized who he was talking too, and so he reigned himself in.

Seeing this, Bren pressed "You want off the Barge?"

"Fergus gave me strict orders-"

"Like you really were gonna listen?" Chance snorted. He was now on the receiving end of the boys glare. "Seriously, you won't get hung up for this."

"Father gave me permission to take who I want, and that means you."

"Yeah? And to do what?"

"Our tributaries. I'm running errands out to them; checking supplies, harvest quotas, listening to concerns and handling hold-outs. Standard shit, but mostly easy work. It all gets reported back to the Chief at the end of the day."

"Then handle it with someone else," Nick responded, turning away.

This time, Bren wasn't having it. He grabbed the back of the boy's neck, and Nick was quick to react.

He just wasn't that quick. Bren lifted the boy off his feet and planted him in the sand and held him there by the throat. "Now listen to me, you whiny brat. We didn't mean for that shit yesterday, but if you want any sort of a better life, you need to start earning it." Nick struggled under his grip, and so Bren tightened his hold, "Right now, you live day-to-day on your own merit and your own hunts, and that may be good enough for the dregs of our clan, but I won't accept it out of you. You need to start turning that name you hate into something others respect, and that's going to start here, got it?" Bren released the boy and backed up quickly. Getting back to his feet as he cleared his throat, Nick rubbed at the flesh gingerly. His eyes met Bren's. "So what's it going to be?"

Nick took a moment, his eyes dropping contact as he thought it over. . . was this really all he wanted out of life? Even if he left, his name could follow him to the other camps, wouldn't it? Unless he went north, but was that what he wanted? To run?

It wasn't really a choice. Bren stood in front of him waiting patiently with his arms crossed again.

"Fine," he conceded, standing straight and straightening out his ruffled clothes. Chance perked up and Bren allowed a small smirk to appear. "I'll do it."

"That's what we wanted to hear," Chance said, sharing a glance with Bren as he stepped in front of him to face the young boy. He honestly didn't expect this to work. Not only had Bren asked the boy, but Nick agreed to tag along. Both surprised him. Regardless, he agreed with Bren. Today was the first step to the rest of this boy's life, and it was time to turn things around. And he had just the idea. First things first, however. "Meet us at the gate in a half-hour, these farms aren't all spread out, but it's still a hike out past the Marina Line. We'll have the Horse-Master ready Alban."

Nick nodded, and left without another word, a lot on his mind now, no doubt.

"What's your plan here," Chance asked, when he was sure the boy was far enough away.

"My father's planning a raid. I overheard him talking it over briefly with the Northerner, but they didn't go into detail. I want to get Petty in on it. And the road-captains will overlook him if he keeps up this attitude."

"Hm" Chance sounded, understanding what he was getting at. "Then, I guess I'm gonna drop some rumors, too."

"Rumors?"

"Yeah, 'rumors' about what really happened yesterday. Every bit helps."

(The Glade, Three Hours Later)

Naddok was sitting inside his tent; a rather spacious abode crafted of a fine collection of Bighorner leather. It was fitting for his position as Chief, he thought. The leather was great against the elements, like heavy wind and sand storms or the rare instances of rain, it also offered an excellent break from the blazing sun of the Mojave. Numerous trinkets, spoils and a few weapons were decorated around him, all of which he acquired through trade, exploration or conquest. More precisely, he was at his desk. An old-world bureau that was almost mint, if it weren't for a few watermarks stained into the wood. He'd personally hauled from the old Mayor's building outside of the village proper.

He had a guest, but honestly his mind was adrift and he was only half-listening. He was more concerned about what the man before him could be pulling his tribe into, and something else. . .

Across from him was the Northerner, London, that Papa Khan had sent for them, pacing as he probed and prodded him on the conditions and affairs of the tribe. "So, it's been what, five, six years since your last face to face with a runner?"

"Give or take," and the questions were bordering on tiresome.

"And since then, you've established several farms, outpost camps," he glanced down at the report Naddok had handed to him prior, "and even caravans pass through here to buy and sell goods. Impressive, I'll admit, but rather tame."

Naddok's fist tightened, but kept his mouth shut.

"These farmers produce for you Corn, Razor Grain, Xander Root, Carrots, Potato, and even Mutfruit, not including your own grows. They tend to Bighorner, Brahmin, hmm, and Radchickens. All excess you can't store or eat, you sell. Your hunting and scavenging parties supply most of your meat and trading needs." Not once had the man actually looked at him, and the few times he'd managed to catch his eyes prior to their first encounter, it was like the man was staring through him. Naddok felt despite the two of them being there, he might as well have been alone. It was weird, this void he felt.

A part of him was put off by it. To many, it would seem disrespectful, arrogant or snide. The kind of look a man in fortune has when he was looking on a beggar.

Another part of him knew that look, 'I'll be keeping an eye on you,' he thought, and to rid himself of the unease, he stood and spoke. "How about instead of the scrutiny, we get down to why you're really here."

London had something of a snide grin on his face. Though, Naddok would only 'play' for so long, and he was beginning to sense he was standing in the middle of a minefield. So, he got to relaying his message from Papa Khan, "The Khan is ready to get his men on the warpath. Between us and your men, he believes we can put up a real fight against the NCR, no longer just raids to probe their frontier," he stopped in front of Naddok's desk, "How much manpower do you think could ride? Your horses would be invaluable, the NCR would never expect these animals!"

Naddok wrung his hands at the desk, "Who's to say? Who's to say that any of their Rangers haven't known already? NCR has sent rangers east for years to scope out their new real estate."

"That's a big assumption, Chief," London remarked, snide smile back again. Naddok couldn't help but see it as fake. "Regardless, my question stands."

Teeth gnashed as he gave it a thought, "Depends. Things like need and notice are important."

"One week," he said smoothly, "and we'll need everyone you can spare. Expect it to be a long term trip, so supplies and munitions will be crucial."

"Long term" Naddok said, finally stepping from his desk and rounding it to confront the man. "Papa Khan knows I don't like playing games, even if it has been years. So, you tell me what he's really planning." Naddok leveled an even stare into the messenger's seemingly vacant eyes.

"He mentioned something like that. Fine," he then slackened up, more casual. "We want to get the other Vegas Tribes to help us. Papa Khan has managed to arrange a meeting with all their leadership and our numbers are a show of force. We want to try and leverage as much confidence as we can."

"So, I gather that 'long term' means after we've got their support." It was quite the move, he had to admit. The Boot Riders could be negotiated with, he was certain. But the Sawneys and the Slither Kin were another story. Though if it could be done. . . maybe they could poke the bear and win.

"Correct. Now, how many can you spare?"

"A two-hundred riders, we've had a long time to build," Naddok conceded, nodding his head, " but that's all I can guarantee without checking with the other camps."

"Excellent." London bowed, ready to take his leave, "Papa Khan will be most pleased, and we'll expect you in Vegas in just over a week." London turned and walked from the ger, his two Northern guards following him out.

Naddok was about to take his seat back at the desk when his brother made his entrance, "Yes, Fergus?"

"I just saw the Northerners leaving," he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "I take it you've come to a decision."

"Now's as good a time as any," Naddok sighed to himself, then started walking towards Fergus. "Come, time to muster the men."

"Right behind you."

"And, Fergus. . ."

"Yes, Chief."

"I want eyes on that messenger. Your best."

Naddok stepped from his tent out into the biggest of his three established camps, The Glade. It was just a large blank patch of dirt and soil that had been undeveloped once the bombs fell so many years ago. It was here that the first camp was set up by the Great Khans upon their arrival into Bullhead. It wasn't long after their tents were pitched that the Khans set out in establishing a stranglehold on the city. Raider gangs were the first to come to heel, and after they had razed a few of the bigger groups in their own camps and hideouts they came across as a precedent, the rest soon fell in line and joined the Khans. A few remained, small groups no larger than ten or so, but they were smart enough to avoid any Khan held areas and usually were only passing through. None would attack, even if they could; walls had been erected, a staple among every camp down to the outposts. Everyone lived and slept in security.

That safety and precedent helped their numbers swell, and that required food to sustain such a large group of ruffians. Food was one such resource that couldn't always be stolen or taken by force, not enough for over a hundred mouths. So, Naddok made a move, one outside their norm as Khans. He enlisted help.

Let it never be said that they weren't fair to non-members and helpful to outsiders here in Bullhead. Several farms had managed to scrape by a living here, and with their raider troubles gone, most were more than willing to give the Khans food in return for protection. A very symbiotic relationship. Naddok even sent idle prospects on rotation to provide extra hands to tend the crops and stand guard; the farms grew bigger, livestock and hunting gains were traded and soon enough, their food troubles were solved in a matter of five months. Even traders started making regular runs years ago, stopping by the camps with Khan escorts through Bullhead for their efforts.

Naddok had made real settlements, no, towns, out of these camps. It was that kind of leadership that earned him the respect of his tribe as their leader. Even if that meant he received distrust from members of the north. Some of his Northern kin thought they'd gone soft, forgotten their ways. And that man, London, was poking fun at it all. Scrutinizing decisions that made his Khans stronger, not Papa Khan's. They'd soon see how 'soft' his war band was.

But that didn't stop the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind, and not a day went by that Naddok didn't worry, that all of this progress, it'd all be lost. The runner only made it feel that more real.
In ten short minutes, he'd crossed from his Ger to the main gate, his horse at the ready and his entourage waiting. "We leave for Hancock," he called aloud. "Jonas, scour the camp for volunteers and assemble the road-captains for my return. I want a list of names ready by then."
"On your word, Chief."
The gates leading from the Glade opened up to the crossings of the Marina and Lakeside Lines, both long and wide streets that cut through the city. Hancock was the furthest camp to the north, but the easiest to get too, once they hopped onto the Hancock Line. That'd be their first stop. Without further wait, Naddok and his men took their leave to assemble, what he believed, to be the greatest army the NCR would ever face.

AN:

And here it is, the revised 2nd chapter: Somethings remained the same while taking a different direction than the original, where I felt I was rushing things along. I don't want to do that, so our cast will be spending more time in Bullhead for the foreseeable future, so readers can get more of an insight to the tribe and their goings-on in Bullhead. I really like Bullhead as an origin, because it's a lore item that never really was fleshed out other than the few things that are mentioned in-game, and that gives me a lot of freedom. So, I'm excited for how it turns it in the end.

I hope you enjoy it, and please review! (3/9/2020)