Cato Viator stretched out on his cot with a satisfied sigh. The bedding was some of the best Cato has found outside of the Lucky 38, Caesar took care of his officers. The rest of the tent was Spartan in design, a simple armour rack and a small stand for Cato's weapons, though he could have had more luxuries if he wished but Cato like the majority of his fellow officers had simple tastes.
The Courier smiled as his eyes passed over a golden medallion on his harness, his new sign of rank. Caesar and Vulpes had been pleased with his progress in the south, though Lanius had glared. That may have not been enough to secure Cato's ambition but Caesar could hardly deny him when the notorious Salt-Upon-Wounds had prostrated himself at the sight of the warrior who had brought down the Burned Man and his warriors. If it were any other man Salt-Upon-Wounds would have been tempted to lie and claim all the glory for defeating the Sorrows and Dead Horses. But seeing dozens of the Dead Horses' best warriors cut down by a single man was enough to cow even a Warchief. With the achievements piling up Caesar had no choice but to promote his new officer, well that and the chanting of troops after the news had been spread among the Legion by Cato's men – even Caesar could not deny his men. Though in the end Caesar did not bend to Cato's wishes, the Son of Mars would never allow himself to be forced into doing something. Cato was made the Legion's newest Legate rather than creating a new rank, a change which Cato was not all that opposed to, he rather liked the title.
"What happens now then?" Asked a gravely voice from the shadows.
"We continue as planned." Responded Cato, closing his eyes and settling into a comfortable position on the cot. A growl came from the shadows. "Did you make the delivery?" Cato asked.
"Yeah." The growl answered.
"Then we continue as planned." Cato smiled, undoing his sandals.
"What about Boone?" the smile disappeared.
"Let him do his thing. It could prove beneficial in the future." the Primus Pilus informed the shadow. "Set ED-E to following them. I want to know where they are at any moment."
"I'll do it as soon as I get back." The shadow said "What do you want done with the big guy?"
"Get to stir up trouble in the south, I want Boone to look like more of a trouble than he is." The shadow. "Get the others to run interference on the Rangers, I don't NCR having a clue what's happening north of the outpost."
"I'll tell them." Said the shadow. "We'll be working overtime, though. Any of your Legion boys you trust enough to take some of the weight off?"
"Legion respects strength, and I've shown enough to win some to me personally. I'll have Porcino make some discreet inquires and send any he finds up to you."
"Be nice to get some new conversation." The Shadow chuckled, climbing to its feet and slipping out of the tent.
Arcade Israel Gannon, Follower of the Apocalypse, adventurer and now physician to a scumbag slaver king strolled through the halls of the Lucky 38, remembering his more pleasant memories of the place. Drinking, gambling and talking with the Courier's other companions. Boone had been the first to go - killed by a nightkin, then Veronica – kidnapped by NCR rangers for being brotherhood and finally Rose had decided to go back into the caravan business. Or so the Courier claimed as he returned from their final trips with him. Arcade personally was not sure whether it was a good thing his last trip ended in a sale rather than a bullet to the brain.
The Lucky 38 did look cleaner now he had to admit, and the walls had been given a new coat of paint along with several new drapes – who could have guessed that the Legion had interior designers, thought Arcade.
"Slave!" Called a harsh voice, Arcade knew Lucius was the owner without needing to look. "Caesar will see you now." The soldier informed him. Gannon nodded meekly and made his way towards Caesar's personal quarters. Along the way he passed a dozen or so guards, all standing a still as statues. He turned a corner to a sight that made him stop in his tracks.
The Courier stood, leaning against a wall, deep in conversation with the Legate. He looked much the same as Gannon remembered – tall, wide shouldered, strong, arrogant and far too scarred and weathered to be considered handsome in Arcade's opinion. The Legate as always was a faceless beast. And from the tone of their conversation – an angry faceless beast.
"You have stolen a chance at victory from me." He growled at the Courier, who smirked in return.
"I followed orders." The Courier somehow remained casual in front of a man who had killed for less than smiling in the past. "Don't get angry just because Caesar wants to let the other children play with the toys sometime."
"Enough of your cheek." If looks could kill, Arcade could only imagine that the Courier would have on the floor by now. "I will lead the Legion to its next victory." The Legate said, insistently.
"Be my guest." The Courier smirked again and gestured towards the door. "Shall we?" Lanius grunted and stepped past the Primus Pilus. The Courier leaned back on the wall and upon spotting Gannon he developed what the physician could only describe as a shit-eater grin.
"Enjoying our new employment, Arcade?" The Courier asked. Gannon sighed and stepped closer.
"I've had worse." He shrugged. The Courier chuckled. "How's the new rank, Sandy?" The Courier's smile went as quick as it had come
"That name doesn't exists any more. Its Cato Viator now, didn't you hear?" He spoke the same way Arcade had seen him converse with raiders or anyone else he might kill on impulse – Calm and polite, with a steely undertone.
"I thought what with you selling me into slavery and all I could get a little leeway. Come on, for old times sake, Sandy?" Arcade smiled while the Courier snarled.
"Go see your master." With that the Courier pushed himself off the wall and strode away. Arcade watched him go before going in the opposite direction. The two Praetorians on the door opened it for him, revealing Caesar's personal quarters. It was much the same as his old tent in the fort. A small table for food, another for messages, a large bed and a throne. The Lord of the Legion sat upon the spiked throne, his left foot resting upon his right knee, reading Il Principe, the bastard had raided the Followers' library before turning them loose.
"Arcade, how goes it?" He said, glancing up from his book.
"I'm treated better than the rest of your slaves, I suppose that's something to be thankful for." Muttered Arcade as he rummaged through his physician's bag in the corner of the room. Caesar did not permit him to keep sharp tools in his own quarters.
"Of course you should." Caesar folded the corner of his page and closed the book. "Machiavelli was right." He said with a sigh as he put it down.
"On which count?" Arcade took the bait, Caesar liked an audience
"You can never trust mercenaries." The slaver stood up and ventured across to the food table, where he poured himself a cup of honeyed water.
"The Courier was a mercenary before he joined you." Arcade pointed out, knowing it would irritate Caesar.
"He saw the truth." Caesar said in a tone that clearly put an end to the conversation. He finished his drink as Arcade completed his inspection. The Praetorians had not rummaged through it or removed anything. He then marched over to Caesar and began his check up. It was routine, doing the same thing he always did. The Praetorians did not even seem to watch him like a hawk as they had done the first few times.
"You are in excellent health. Recovering remarkably well." Summarised Gannon as he zipped up the bag. "Will you be needing anything else?"
"Yes." Caesar nodded to Lucius, who disappeared into a rather large closet. Caesar took a seat at the table and gestured Arcade to take the seat opposite. Once they were seated Lucius emerged with a chess board and small box. He laid the board down and Caesar began setting up the pieces. They were sublime, made from expertly carved stone. Caesar noticed Arcade's appreciation.
"They were part of the tribute from a village of artisans called Two Suns." Caesar informed him. "Do you play?"
"On occasion." Answered Gannon as he set up his own pieces.
"Good. I lack the patience to explain all the rules and intricacies to Vulpes, and Lucius lacks the tactical mind for it." Lucius had no protests to the statement.
The game lasted close to an hour, talking of literature and history as they played Caesar finally won by sacrificing his queen to entrap Arcade.
"You are skilled." Caesar noted as Lucius packed the set away. "But lack the ability to win." Arcade was silent. "We shall play again but for now I'm done with you." That was as much a dismissal as he was ever going to get so Arcade excused himself and made his way back his quarters. The halls were mostly empty, save for the guards and a few slaves running errands. One slave, a young man who looked oddly out of place among the elderly, women and weak who usually made up the slave stock seemed to be following him. Once he found an empty corridor with no guards in easy hearing distance, Arcade rounded on the man.
"What do you want?" He demanded. The slave glanced around quickly before shuffling close to him.
"Do you hate Caesar?" The slave asked leaning in close. Arcade was wary, could this be some kind of test.
"Well I don't particularly like the man." The slave grinned at that.
"You can help us then." He said. "Its going to be risky, though."
"Who's us?" Arcade demanded, was this some kind of slave rebellion in the making? The man smiled.
"Captain Dennis Washington, NCR Intelligence Corp, at your service."
Cornelius pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders. He hated guard duty. He hated garrison duty and he hated the fact that while he protected farmers and slaves the other centuries were winning glory in the south. But he would follow orders and protect the dirt pickers, he always followed orders.
"Sand storm is on the way." His fellow watcher, Licinius, nodded to the north. Cornelius looked around.
"It's fast." Cornelius watched it move with alarming speed towards them. "Thin as well, not much intensity to it." Licinius frowned.
"Looks like kick up from a vehicle." He said, squinting. They had seen the occasional 80's car in the distance – the kick up from their cars did not give the raiders the element of surprise and a simple show of force from the Legion garrison had always been enough to send them looking for easier prey outside of Legion territory.
"Too much for that." Cornelius said, climbing to his feet.
"What if there's a lot of them?" Licinius asked.
"There was a raiding party that went by last month must have been twenty cars, even that didn't have as much dust." The two men settled men settled back down, Licinius was still uneasy but Cornelius was his senior so he did not protest.
The 80's came over the rise less than five minutes later in three solid lines of cars and buggies of various qualities and states of repair. Even the smallest could seat two with two others clinging to the sides, standing on makeshift extensions. There was at least one hundred cars, each one carrying a squad of well armed raiders. Cornelius barely had time to regret his decision before a spray of gunfire from a mounted machine gun tore apart his lungs and pierced his hearts. Licinius jumped for the horn and almost managed to bring it to his lips before he to was killed. The 80's continued, not even bothering to avoid the bodies as they made their way across the northern border of the Legion.