The hiss of her office door opening drew Amata's attention from the paperwork sitting on her desk. Her heart skipped a beat in shock as JJ slowly entered the room. He stopped and stared at her as the door slid shut behind him; looking ill at ease in a Vault jumpsuit. There was a moment of silence as Amata stared at him, utterly stunned, before finding her voice.
"What're you doing here?" she whispered, still in shock. She rose from her chair as she spoke, her hand running over the hard surface of her desk as she rounded it, stopping when she was alongside it.
"I couldn't do it," he began, slowly walking toward her. "I couldn't leave you. I thought I could, but I was wrong. I don't want to be away from you anymore. I just want to come home and have a normal life with you. Away from the Wasteland and the fighting and everything else." It was exactly what Amata had been waiting to hear, what she had longed to hear in Megaton when she saw him. He had stopped right in front of her, well within arm's reach. Looking up into his eyes she stepped forward, putting her arms around his neck. He was close to a foot taller than her, and he leaned down toward her to make the embrace easier.
"I don't want you to leave me again," she whispered in his ear. "Just stay here with me, marry me, have a family with me…" she trailed off, before stepping back. "I have something to tell you."
"What's that?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"I'm pregnant," she replied, the ghost of a smile crossing her face. The news looked to have hit him like a sack of bricks.
"Pregnant?" he repeated, stunned. Before she could respond, a huge smile spread across his face, and he lifted her off the ground in his arms. She joined his laughter, caught off guard by his reaction. Finally, he set her back down. She looked again to his eyes; they were her favorite feature on him. Well…one of them. The excitement of seeing him again, coupled with his reaction to the news, made her want the other. Unabashedly, she began to unzip the front of his suit as he looked down at her, a smile playing across his face. She took it as a question.
"I want you. Right now," Amata said, pulling the top half of the jumper down to his waist. He did nothing to resist, instead removing the t-shirt he wore underneath as Amata untied her boots, kicking them off as he started to peel off the rest of his suit; standing in front of her in only his underwear. She smiled, biting her lip as she looked at him. His hand gently unzipped her own clothes; with him leaning in to kiss her as he did. She helped him remove it, standing before him in the only pair of lingerie she had; a lace bra and thong set. He leaned forward to kiss her again, reaching down the front of her thong as he did. She let out a breathless moan of pleasure, already aroused. Before she could respond in kind he dropped to his knees, kissing her stomach and hips as he slid her thong down. Placing a firm hand on her stomach, he pressed her against the desk, before setting to work pleasing her with his mouth. She let out a moan, losing control of her normally strong sense of her surroundings. Amata's fear of someone walking in was replaced entirely by her desire for the man in front of her. She allowed herself to enjoy his efforts for several more minutes, building to a crescendo before pushing him away. JJ rocked back on his knees and looked at her, amusement playing on his face. She responded by turning around and leaning forward, over the desk, and standing on her toes. She felt his hands running over her hips; the pleasure of him entering her drawing a full-fledged scream of delight…
Amata's eyes opened with a start, adjusting to the darkness of her quarters. Dream. It was just a dream, she thought, a feeling of disappointment overcoming her. She rolled onto her back, becoming aware of herself as she did. The first feeling she was aware of was lust; of a desperate longing for JJ, one that was strictly physical. That was a new sensation for her. Her desires had always been a connection of emotional and physical; strictly physical sex with someone she didn't care about held no appeal to her. She stretched out before running her hand inside the underwear she wore to bed; discovering her arousal in the dream had translated to the real world. Well, I don't want to be distracted all day.
She showered and dressed quickly when she had finished, strapping her Pip-Boy on as she left the room and made her way to the cafeteria. With the lust suppressed, she had become aware of the ravenous hunger that had come to define her morning; ravenous hunger with a healthy mix of nausea thrown in. The morning sickness was still in full effect. She made her way quickly through the empty hallways; she had woken extremely early and the Vault was still quiet. Entering the cafeteria, she was met by the sight of Susie sitting alone, looking extremely tired as a radio played softly. She looked up as her Overseer approached, quickly shutting off the radio as Amata slid in to the seat across from her. Amata, for her part, didn't fail to notice; but decided to not begin interrogating her friend first thing in the morning.
"You're up early," Amata said. Susie grunted as she took a sip of coffee.
"So are you," she replied snarkily. If Amata didn't know Susie better she would have been taken aback. Instead, a wry smile crossed her face as she looked across the table to Susie, whose eyes were twinkling with sarcasm. "Why are you already up?" Susie continued, taking a bite of food.
"I had some weird dreams," Amata replied as she made her way to the food dispenser. Susie waited for the machine to finish whirring and Amata to begin returning to her seat before speaking.
"What were the dreams?" she asked. They had discussed the odd dreams Amata had been having since becoming pregnant before.
"JJ fucking me over the desk in my office," Amata replied in a flat voice; finding amusement as Susie's eyes went wide and she choked on her food. Susie's coughing turning into wild giggling, tears forming in her eyes as she looked at Amata. They may have been best friends, but Amata never spoke that frankly about her relationship with JJ.
"Seriously?" she asked, slightly aghast. It was Amata's turn to smile devilishly at her friend's discomfort.
"Yeah," came Amata's reply, before finally switching topics. "What was up with the radio when I came in?" A look crossed Susie's face; one that made it clear that she had been hoping to avoid the topic altogether.
"Just Three-Dog. He came on earlier; not one of his prerecorded broadcasts. It was live, and he was pissed. Apparently some of JJ's friends paid him a visit last night and told him to stop talking about him leaving; sounded like they kind of kicked his ass. So he's on the warpath now. Didn't think you'd want to hear that," Susie replied. Amata frowned in response.
"Did he say who it was specifically?" she asked. Amata still had questions about JJ's life outside the Vault; and he had been rather evasive about parts of it when she brought it up.
"Yeah. Mercenary named Reilly and her crew. She runs an outfit called Reilly's Rangers. Three-Dog started calling them Thompson's Rangers to mock her. Said they're putting their loyalty to one man ahead of the truth," Susie said. She opted to leave out the part where Three-Dog had gone on, at length, about the sexual relationship Reilly and JJ had engaged in; preferring to spare her friend's feelings. Susie didn't judge JJ for what he had done outside of the Vault, she had understood that he must have been crushed after Amata ejected him and sought comfort in whatever way he could. She was afraid Amata wouldn't understand that, though; and she refused to be the catalyst for two people she cared about deeply falling apart.
"People up there sure do like him, don't they?" Amata asked. Susie smirked in response.
"Some places. If you go up north into DC, the areas with more of a Brotherhood presence, like Rivet City? They don't care for him as much. But the outlying settlements that the Brotherhood doesn't bother with? They practically worship the ground JJ walked on," Susie replied.
"Seems like a recipe for disaster," Amata said, thinking as she ate. "Like people are taking sides. Didn't he and the Brotherhood used to work together?"
"Yeah, they did. More like he worked for them, really. Everything started going downhill after he got injured." That piqued Amata's curiosity. He had never said anything about how he had been injured.
"What happened? Was that when his knee went bad?" Amata replied. Susie shrugged in reply.
"No idea. He never told me or anyone else that I know of how he was injured." They sat in silence as they finished their breakfasts, the Vault beginning to awaken as they did. The two women walked from the cafeteria, a wave of nausea hitting Amata as they did. She clutched at her stomach and doubled over, taking a deep breath to try to calm herself. Susie leant forward in concern, placing a hand on her back as her friend waited for the nausea to pass. Amata realized, suddenly, that she was actually going to throw up. She hurriedly began making her way to the women's room, leaving Susie looking on in sympathy at her friend's discomfort. She thought she might actually be looking forward to the morning sickness passing as much as Amata was.
The sun of the Interior Desert beat down mercilessly on the weary caravan as it came to a stop. They had traveled all night, as fast as they could, in an effort to put Indianapolis behind them. The city now lay behind them, and in the safety of the barren desert they drew to their first break of the day. John's knee had been so badly aggravated by the action the night before that he had been forced to sit in the back of the wagon, with the merchandise, as they moved. Gale had rode shotgun, not speaking a word through the entirety of their flight from the city, with Smith and Fawkes on foot, eyes peeled for any more potential threats. None had materialized, and as the sun had risen their pace had slowed; Bonzo not wanting to drive the Brahmin to exhaustion. The place they had chosen to stop and rest was nondescript; it was the ruins of what would have been a gas station before the war. Smith wordlessly came to the back of the wagon as Bonzo brought the Brahmin to a halt and offered his hand to John, who gratefully accepted the help down. He had taken a double dose of Med-X, which had effectively numbed both the physical pain of his knee and the blinding anger he felt that he had been so careless and nearly been killed. The fact that he was still nearly unable to support his weight on his left leg, however, made it clear that his existing injury was not causing the pain; it had been somehow exacerbated in the commotion of the chaos.
John put his hand on Smith's shoulder, the bigger man supporting John's weight as he limped to where Bonzo and Gale had sat on the ground and begun to spread out the food they had. With a groan of pain John sank to the ground, knee stretched out in front of him as he grabbed a bottle of water and began drinking. Silence prevailed as John glanced at Gale with increasing concern. It was obvious that she was dwelling on what had happened the night before, attempting to reconcile her own feelings at having killed someone. It was Smith who spoke, surprising all.
"Stop being so hard on yourself, Gale," he began, his accent lilting musically. Gale looked up in surprise at the unprompted advice, as Smith continued. "You did the right thing. You saved a good man, your friend's, life. You have nothing to feel guilty about."
"It was awful, Smith. There was so much blood, and I didn't even think about doing it…" she trailed off, eyes staring at some point in the distance. John knew the look; and, judging by the expression on Smith's face, he was familiar with it too. She was replaying the events in her head.
"Why did you do it, Gale?" John asked encouragingly. He was calling on his training as a chaplain to, he hoped, make her see that she had done the right thing. She met his gaze as he looked at her.
"Because you're my friend. You're like…I'm the oldest in my family. And I always wished I had a big brother. You're kind of like that to me, John," she replied.
"So you did it out of love? You left the safety of the wagon, came into the darkness to find me because of love?" She blushed slightly at that.
"I guess," she replied, shifting slightly. John pressed his point home.
"You're a Christian, Gale?" She nodded in affirmation. "Do you remember the Gospel of John? 15:13: Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. You did the right thing, Gale. I'm alive because of you. I will always be grateful to you for it," he continued, smiling at her. The corner of her lips twisted up, the first sign of life they had shown all day. He knew then that he had won, his ability to persuade, to make people feel the way he felt, winning out. Smith, from the side, spoke up.
"You know, Gale, you remind me a bit of my daughter," he said. That caught both John and Gale by surprised, as their heads whipped toward the man. He smiled slightly as John spoke.
"You have kids?" he asked, totally shocked. He would not have picked Smith to be a family man. Smith snorted in laughter at the question before replying.
"Kids? I have grandkids, now," he replied, laughing at the looks of shock on John's and Gale's faces.
"How the fuck old are you, Smith?" John asked, finally voicing the question he had been wondering. The man smiled an enigmatic smile at him.
"Guess," he responded. John shrugged in frustration.
"I don't know! 50, maybe?" Smith threw his head back and let loose a peal of honest laughter at that, looking at John's frustrated face through the tears in his eyes. He responded once he had controlled his breathing again.
"50 is a memory for me, kid. I'm 60, turned it this year. I was born in 2221," he responded. That information shocked John. Smith did not look at all like he expected a 60 year old to look. He was big, easily 6'5, and still appeared to be solid muscle. He had moved with the speed of a much younger man in the fighting the night before, and his black hair was only streaked with silver, slicked back on his head and tied into a short braid. Silence passed for a moment as Gale and John absorbed the information, before Smith continued on. "My turn now. How'd you fuck your knee up so bad, kid?" John sighed. He hated the memory, and most of it was faded. But it easily ranked as one of the worst days of his life.
"Vertibird crash," he began, jaw clinching as the memories came rushing back. "Fawkes and Charon and I were in a Vertibird, flying over the DC ruins when a super-mutant with a missile launcher knocked us down. I was knocked out by the impact, when I came to my knee just didn't work anymore." Smith nodded in understanding at that.
"Vertibird, huh? Been a long time since I've seen one of those. Brotherhood flying them out East?" John ignored Smith's admission that he had seen a Vertibird before, more surprised at the man's seeming familiarity with the Brotherhood.
"Yeah. They didn't come East with them, though. They got them after the Enclave was destroyed and they occupied Adams Air Force Base," John responded. Smith nodded before turning back to his food, silence prevailing once more as the group finished their lunch. Smith helped John back to his feet once they were done, supporting him as they made their way back to the cargo area John had been sitting in. Helping him into the wagon, Smith spoke again.
"We need to get your ass back in shape, kid. You're too young to be this busted up," he said, smiling. John snorted in laughter.
"I think I have an excuse, with the shit I've done," he responded. Smith gave him a look of disapproval.
"That's not an excuse, kid. You're not the only one of your kind running around," he replied, walking forward as the wagon began rolling. John looked over to him as they moved.
"What does that mean? My kind?" he asked, not sure if he should be offended or not.
"There was another person like you once. Out west. They called him the Chosen One. Bit more badass sounding than the Lone Wanderer, if you ask me," he responded, his tone only slightly mocking. John rose to the bait.
"That's nice. He ever talk an Enclave AI into self-destructing an entire base?" Smith laughed at his question.
"No, he just nuked the fucker, if memory serves," he responded. The response surprised John as Smith looked over, finding both Gale and the Wanderer looking at him in rapt attention. "Told you you're not the only one of your kind, kid."
Emily walked alongside Achilles through the crowds around the main train station that served Shady Sands, making their way to the platform he needed to be on. The weeks that he had been in town had passed more quickly than Emily would have liked, and the time had finally arrived for him to return to the Mojave. He had said that there was important business he had to take care of around New Vegas; for her part, Emily wanted to keep Achilles as far away from the war zone as possible. The train he would be riding, bound for the Hub, was beginning to board, the conductor checking tickets as people climbed onto the refurbished passenger car. Achilles came to a halt several feet away from the train and turned to face Emily. She was doing her best to not let the sadness she felt be obvious, and not succeeding particularly well. He smiled at her, one that he hoped conveyed that he had no plan on abandoning her, before opening his arms to her. Without a word she walked into them and tightly wrapped her own arms around his waist, resting her head on his upper chest. Achilles tilted his head down and kissed her forehead, before speaking quietly in her ear.
"A month. Two, at most, and then I should be back. Ok?"
"Yeah," she replied, her voice staying strong. "Just try not to get crucified down there, alright?" He chuckled lightly at her request.
"I won't. I've done this run a hundred times before, Em. Don't worry about me," he said.
"Right. Don't worry. You may not have noticed, but I kind of like you, jackass," she responded as they broke apart, smiling at him. He smiled back at her, a smile that dripped charisma and confidence. The conductor sounding the all-aboard drew his attention, making him realize he had no more time for goodbyes.
"Alright, babe. I'll see you soon," he said, leaning forward and kissing her, a kiss full of passion and intensity. They broke apart and, with one last smile at her, he nodded and turned to the train. The conductor had just punched his ticket when Emily spoke.
"Hey, Achilles," she began; him swiveling around to face her. "I love you," she continued, smiling at him. He smiled again; that same, confident smile.
"I know," he replied. And with one last nod he pulled himself up and into the train, and out of her sight.
I know. I know? Who the fuck says I know when someone tells you that they love you, idiot? Achilles ranted to himself in Latin as the train rolled steadily south, Shady Sands rapidly fading from sight. You should have told her you loved her as well, fool. It's true, whether you like it or not.
Is now truly the time to be dwelling on a dissolute woman? The Mojave is ready to explode. The hour of Caesar's triumph rapidly approaches, and you dwell on this. Fool. You are a frumentarius of Caesar's Legion. Act like it. His lecture to himself refocused his mind on what he was, what his mission was. He needed to be back in the Mojave. His extended stay in the NCR had softened him; dulled his wits and his senses. He needed the thrill of combat, the feeling of armor on his body and a machete in his hand; with nothing to concern him except the best way to defeat his foe. The NCR intelligence services, to their credit, had realized the crucifixion that had occurred on his last trip to the Mojave, the one he and his men had carried out, was linked to other attacks in other parts of the NCR and its borders. They had realized that there was one man responsible, one Legionary behind them all. The newspapers in the NCR were calling him the Night Lord now. He liked the name, personally. That his enemies feared him enough to give him his own appellation let him know he was doing his job right. And perhaps Vulpes Inculta, or even Caesar himself, would notice. His face was still unknown to them; as opposed to the instantly recognizable appearance of Vulpes, an image which appeared on many propaganda posters along the front lines. Julius, his immediate subordinate, had been responsible for relaying Achilles' deeds and triumphs back to Arizona. It was Julius he was to rendezvous with, along the Long 15 on the way north to New Vegas. Once there Achilles assumed he would begin his standard modus operandi in the Mojave: innocent deliveryman by day; scouting the Mojave, listening for any intelligence that could be valuable. By night, sabotaging NCR lines, ambushing isolated NCR patrols; doing everything in his power to wreak a general sort of havoc on the NCR forces in the Mojave and demoralize their troops, many of whom had forgotten what they were even doing in the Mojave. The same could not be said for his Legion brothers. No legionary questioned, even for a moment, that their cause in the Mojave was just and that they would inevitably win out over the profligates. The thought reassured him as he shifted in his seat, leaning back before reaching into his small travelling bag and pulling a book from it. He couldn't put a feeling on what it was, but he felt uncomfortable going back into the Mojave. Something, some voice in the back of his head, told him he would never see Emily again. Mars protects you. With his favor you shall conquer all and return. Stop worrying, he thought, as he began reading; hoping the distraction would see him through to the Hub.
The caravan pulled in to Kansas City in the early afternoon. The relief John felt was almost indescribable. He was running low on Med-X, and had run out of alcohol shortly after the ambush in Indianapolis, two weeks prior. The ruins of the city spread out in front of them, the caravan yards packed with merchants, traders, whores, slaves, and those there to take part in the many wares for sale. He was immediately disgusted at the sight, particularly that of the slaves being auctioned off. He had always been opposed to slavery; albeit not opposed enough to not have sold people into slavery himself. All for a greater good, he reminded himself. And the access it had given him to Paradise Falls had proven useful when the time came to destroy the place, when he and Fawkes and Charon purged the Wasteland. The only good thing ever to come out of Paradise Falls, in his mind, was the woman who became the fourth member of his team during those war years, after he had managed to subdue her and reverse some of the brainwashing that had been done to her. The caravan came to a halt in the yard of the Crimson Caravan company, the largest lot there was. John slowly eased himself off the bench at the front, being helped down by Smith and Gale. He had regained his ability to walk, albeit slowly and with some difficulty; but not enough to keep up a prolonged pace with the wagon. Gale had opted to start walking and doing more to guard the caravan, after the experience in Indianapolis. John and Smith had watched with something that felt like pride as the young woman; the shy girl they had picked up in Coalseam who had never set foot in the Wastes, had begun to transform before their eyes. She began doing the exercises that Smith made John do every morning before they hit the road, her muscles growing more defined as she built her strength. In the evenings, or on longer breaks, she began to ask Smith and John to teach her more advanced shooting; and now she had grown skilled enough to be trusted to carry John's Chinese assault rifle. He had his plasma rifle handy, and he and Smith both agreed that she was not quite ready to learn about energy weapons. Smith's familiarity with the plasma rifle, though, was another oddity about the man that John couldn't bring himself to ignore. He suppressed his curiosity, just taking the little bits of information that Smith would occasionally let out in conversation.
Fawkes and Bonzo had begun unloading the caravan while Smith and Gale helped John to the ground; and with him not needing more assistance they set about helping the other two unload as John watched, hating how impotent his knee made him feel. The four pairs of hands made quick work of the cargo in back, the man who ran the Kansas City office of Crimson Caravans coming out to tally it all. Bonzo handed over the contracts that all four of the original party had signed, back in the Capital Wasteland; the ones that guaranteed their rates, in addition to a percentage of the cut from the sale of the merchandise. The office manager, with a keen eye to detail, immediately noticed that there was one person without a contract present.
"If there's no contract, I'm not paying her anything," he said, gesturing at Gale. Bonzo rolled his eyes as Smith scowled from the side, standing next to Gale.
"No shit," Bonzo began, frustrated. "She's a stray we picked up in Coalseam. She knew she wouldn't be getting paid when we set out." The man nodded his approval at that.
"Good. Let me just see how much merchandise we have here and I'll figure out what you're all due to get paid," he replied, setting about his task in silence as the wary caravaneers looked on. It took approximately 15 minutes, the man having retired inside his office after counting up the merchandise; before reappearing with multiple bags of caps.
"Here we go. Bonzo, you're due 2,000 caps for safe delivery plus value of the merchandise. Smith, 2,000 caps as well. Fawkes and Thompson; 1,500 apiece. You all have a good day," he said as he handed the caps to each man, before quickly returning to his office. John looked down at the bag in his hand, before looking over at Gale, shifting uncomfortably at being left out.
"Hey, Gale. Catch," he said, tossing the bag to her. She instinctively caught it, looking down at it before returning her eyes back to him in confusion. "They're yours. Least I can do for saving my life. You earned them," he explained, smiling at her. A smile crossed her face too, pleased at the thanks.
"These should come in handy in New Vegas," she replied, feeling the heft of the bag. Bonzo looked back at the assembled group, all waiting to come up with some sort of plan.
"Why don't we go to city center and get hotel rooms and something to eat. Later tonight we can begin talking about what route we should take to New Vegas," he said, receiving nods in response. Satisfied by the replies, he turned around and began leading his way towards the broken skyscrapers that formed the Kansas City skyline, the group trailing behind him, matching John's much slowed pace.
"God, I need a fuckin' drink," he muttered as they made their way through the dusty marketplace, the crush of people doing nothing to cool it. The auctioning block that the slaves were on passed to his right; John feeling almost physically dirty being near it. He recognized immediately the collars all the slaves wore, ones that ensured they would never run should they want to keep their heads. Smith laughed at John's admission, looking over at him.
"You're not the only one, Wanderer. That trip was too damn long," he replied as they wound their way through the streets of the largest city in the Interior Desert.
The hotel in Kansas City was not nearly as nice as the one in Coalseam, but it met their purposes. He had at least been able to get hot water to clean himself, and his face was once again clean shaven. He realized, looking in the mirror, that his skin had darkened even more from the sun of the Interior Desert; in the Capital Wasteland he had just stayed inside when the sun was at its worst for the past two and a half years or so. He also realized, not unhappily, that his body was beginning to resemble what it was when he was the Lone Wanderer, a result of the muscular conditioning that Smith was making him endure. The man's taunts as they worked out in the morning were endless, constant reminders that he, a 23 year old, was being outperformed by a 60 year old grandfather. To Smith, nothing was sacred: the legend of the Lone Wanderer, his relationship with Amata, Sarah, all were valid targets for his mockery while they exercised. It worked, though, and John was beginning to feel strong again. To save money, mostly Gale's, John had opted to get a large enough room for the both of them to stay in; their bedrooms separate parts of a much larger suite. Stepping from the shower, dressed in fresh clothes, he found Gale lounging on the couch in their common room, freshly cleaned herself. The tan she had acquired over the trip from Coalseam to K.C. had done nothing to diminish her beauty, and the muscle she had developed only made her look more mature. John realized, unexpectedly, that she reminded him in some ways of Amata. Her skin would never be the same as Amata's olive tones, but the firmness of Gale's body now rivaled Amata's; something John had always found unspeakably attractive about her. Gesturing to Gale to get up, they made their way back down to the lobby of the hotel, finding the rest of their party waiting for them. Bonzo nodded in greeting before leading the way out the door, Smith and Fawkes staying behind to walk with John and Gale.
"What's up?" John asked, gesturing at Bonzo's back. He couldn't shake the feeling that the man was upset about something.
"Eh, just bad news from home. Got some updates from other traders about the Mojave, things are going downhill for the NCR there," Smith replied. That surprised John.
"NCR's actually losing? I didn't think Bonzo would give a shit, one way or the other," he replied. Smith grunted before replying.
"You'd think, but he's from the NCR; he grew up in the Boneyard and served in the NCR Army when he was younger. He might seem like a shameless profiteer, but I think underneath it we may have an honest to God patriot on our hands," Smith replied, saying the last part loud enough for Bonzo to hear. The trader replied with a middle finger, extended over his shoulder so they could see it. The entire group burst out laughing at that. Their arrival in Kansas City, and the cooling of the city as the evening approached, had put them all in better spirits.
"What about you, Smith? You a secret patriot too?" John asked. Smith snickered derisively at that.
"Not quite. There's really only a couple things I particularly care about, kid. My family, mostly. They're number one. After that…I guess I still care about my hometown, even though I haven't seen the place in years now," he replied.
"Where is that, Smith?" Gale asked, curiously looking at him.
"It's a small town. You wouldn't have heard of it," he replied evasively. John spoke up, taking Gale's side.
"You know, that's not particularly fair, Smith. You know basically everything about me and Gale, and we don't know shit about you. I think we've known each other long enough that you can tell us where you're from, at least," he said. Smith sighed in frustration before replying.
"Arroyo. I'm from a little village called Arroyo. Haven't been back to it in years, though. I told you I live in New Reno now," he replied.
"Arroyo, huh?" John asked, getting a nod in return. "You're right. I've never heard of it." Smith laughed at that.
"Told you, no one really has," he replied. Their arrival at the restaurant Bonzo had selected ended their conversation. They filed inside and were shown to a large, round wooden table in the corner of the room. The waiter handed each of them menus before leaving. John looked at Gale to see her reaction and was not disappointed; her bewilderment mirroring his in Coalseam. Bonzo, Smith, and he all laughed as one, Gale blushing at being the focus of their amusement.
"I don't know what any of this is," she replied, frustrated; prompting another peal of laughter from the group. John looked at the menu; compared to the food in Coalseam it was bound to be a disappointing affair. Mirelurk being on the menu caught his attention, and he involuntarily grimaced at that.
"What's wrong?" Bonzo asked, noticing his face.
"Mirelurk? In the middle of a desert, thousands of bodies from any major bodies of water? That's gotta be awful by now," he replied.
"What's a Mirelurk?" Gale interjected.
"A huge, awful, mutated crab that happens to taste really good," John replied. "I'll buy you some when we get back to the Capital Wasteland, Jenny Stahl makes them pretty well," he continued. He scanned the menu, trying to find something that wouldn't be totally alien to Gale. "Your best bet on here is going to be Brahmin steak, probably," he said, looking over at her.
"Brahmin like what pulls our cart?"
"Yeah," he replied. "Kinda tastes like the steak that comes from cows back in Coalseam," he explained. She nodded in agreement as the waiter returned to take their orders. The group had almost universally decided to order Brahmin, with the exception of Fawkes, who had a predilection for ant meat. As the waiter repaired to the kitchen to place the order, Bonzo pulled out a folded up map and laid it out on the table. John realized, looking at it, that it was a map of the old Interstate Highway System; with additions made to it showing where old roads had fallen into disrepair and bypasses had been added.
"So," he began, looking at the map. "We need to figure out how to get to New Vegas. Normally, I'd suggest I-70 to Denver," he continued, gesturing at the route I-70 took across Kansas and into Colorado, "but from what I hear today, Legion is ranging further and further north. Denver was always a shithole, but with Legion along the way, it's probably a bad idea. Any of their raiding parties comes across Fawkes here, and there's guaranteed to be a fight. So, anybody got any other ideas?" Smith immediately replied.
"Take I-29 up until the Omaha bypass, pick up I-80 and take it through to New Reno. From there we can just loop through the NCR and enter the Mojave from the California side of the border," he said. "Besides, we go through New Reno and you'll have a place to stay for free."
"What's the Omaha bypass like?" John asked, seeing the route marked on the map.
"It's makeshift. Caravans created it carving out a route to avoid the Omaha crater," Bonzo replied.
"Omaha crater?" Gale asked, curious.
"Yeah, Omaha got annihilated in the war. Just a gigantic crater now; you can still find some glass in the sand around there."
"Makes sense," John replied. "Offutt AFB was the headquarters of Strategic Air Command. Figures the Chinese would throw a ton of nukes at it," he continued.
"Why is there glass in the dunes, though?" Gale queried.
"The heat from the bombs. Nuclear weaponry generates enough heat to make sand into glass," John explained.
"I never knew that," Bonzo replied, surprised. Smith interrupted the makeshift science lesson to bring them back to the topic at hand as the food arrived.
"So I-80 it is, then?" he asked, receiving nods from the group. "Ok. Looks like I'll get to see Miria sooner than I expected."
"Who's Miria?" John asked.
"My wife. Told you, I live in New Reno, my whole family does. She'll be surprised, though. I don't usually bring people home with me these days," he explained. John's hunger managed to overwhelm his curiosity about Smith, but as he dug into the Brahmin steak, he couldn't ignore the feeling that there was more to the man than he was letting on.
So that chapter went surprisingly quickly. Just kind of got on a roll. Thanks, everyone, for your feedback so far. Hearing everyone's opinions and insights really keeps the motivation to keep going up, made it way easier to get through this chapter. That and I've got a lot of ideas coming to me these days. I'm looking to update The War Was in Color next (that's the prelude to this story, for those of you who haven't checked it out yet, it's the Wanderer in his prime); but hopefully I can eke out one more update for this one this coming month. Anyway, thoughts and feedback, lay it on me.