I do not own Trigun / Vash, or any other characters from the anime or manga. They belong to the amazing Yasuhiro Nightow.

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Stampede Stopped

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Year 1735 month 3 day 14, at Seeds Village

Vash stared out through a window, considering the clouds in the early morning light.

The suns were just peeking over the horizon. The suns' light seemed to be gilding all of the many wispy clouds this morning. Those clouds were probably dust instead of moisture, but, for the moment, they were beautiful.

Visual beauty was, perhaps, the most fragile and fleeting thing in nature.

He'd just finished washing up after his morning workout. His stomach rumbled, but he wanted to enjoy the fleeting beauty of the morning sky while it lasted.

It was the 14th day of the third month, or 3.14. A few people (most of whom were teachers, scientists or engineers) still celebrated this date as "pi day."

His thoughts ricocheted about within his head, until they turned to Engineer Elizabeth. The last time he'd seen her, centuries ago, most of her visual beauty had left her. It had also been on a "pi day" ...

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Year 0145, month 3 day 14, in Southern Cornelia

Vash had been searching through Southern Cornelia, and the nearby area, for three weeks.

There had been rumors in various newspapers of a bandit calling himself "Vash the Stampede" attacking that area. Those rumors had provoked Vash to go investigate. Unfortunately, thus far, he had failed to find the impostor. He hadn't even learned anything which might help him discover the outlaw's hideout.

Unfortunately, there was ample evidence that someone was bent on harming others. Each week, more bodies were found. Whoever he was, the man was robbing and killing with alarming regularity.

Although he had learned nothing which might lead him to the impostor, Vash had learned a few things unrelated to the bandit's activities.

A woman he'd met decades earlier, Elizabeth, was no longer traveling around to repair malfunctioning Plant facilities. She, and her youngest son, had lived in this town for the last several years. He'd also learned that she had become the supervisor of the local Plant Engineers, although she would soon be retiring.

Vash had visited most of the taverns, without mingling among the patrons. He ached to become acquainted with them, but that would draw too much attention.

Vash sighed wistfully. He always loved playing with ordinary human children. He could join the kids, and wrestle and laugh with them, easily. He didn't even mind the bruises.

It was more difficult to "play" with adults, if almost equally enjoyable. As far as he could learn, most adults only relaxed and enjoyed themselves in saloons. Unfortunately, to participate in that, he was usually compelled to drink more than his body would tolerate.

He didn't like the throwing-up part. Nor did he like how sick he felt. However, he always enjoyed the "playing" part. If he could join them, and drink only water or tea, or even just a little whiskey instead of too much, he would enjoy it far more. Unfortunately for him, other people always expected him to drink as many alcoholic beverages as they did. That invariably meant getting sick.

Since he currently dared not attract attention, Vash had not shared any drinks with the locals. Instead, he had purchased a single drink at each bar, and then gone to a quiet corner to sip away at his drink. He would read a paper, and occasionally glance over its top to see what was happening. He also listened attentively to any gossip the patrons discussed.

Saloons were often the best place to pick up on local gossip. Sadly, none of the local gossips seemed to have any useful information about the criminal who was borrowing Vash's name without permission. That was unusual. On previous impostor hunts, there had been a few clues which had been gleaned from people in saloons. Once or twice, the impostor himself had appeared to boast of his misdeeds.

This time, even after three weeks of listening and searching, he had gleaned nothing.

So, partly to ease his frustrations, he had gone to visit his orb-sisters: the bulb-dwelling Plants. He had visited them briefly, shortly after he arrived. A longer visit had been anticipated. It seemed as good a time as any to pay that visit.

He went to their bulbs early in the morning, shortly after midnight (which, not coincidentally, was several hours before the local Plant engineers began their daily shifts). He had a pleasant conversation with his bulb-dwelling sisters, and lingered later than he'd originally planned. There was something refreshing about spending time with other Plants. The sky was just beginning to lighten, though neither sun had yet peeked above the distant horizon.

As a result of his visit lasting longer than planned, the first engineers began arriving to do their jobs. One called out to Lead Supervisor Elizabeth, and Vash recognized her voice when she replied. If not for that exchanged greeting, he might have been seen and recognized. He barely managed to jump out of sight before she walked around the corner.

He had been crouching atop one of his sister-Plant's bulbs. Had he remained, silhouetted by the early morning light, he would have cast a shadow which might be noticed. So he jumped from his perch atop the bulb to the tangle of machinery connected to it. There he could lose himself among the shadows, until he found an unobtrusive escape route.

As soon as he achieved adequate concealment, his curiosity was piqued. Thirty-five years had passed since he'd last seen Elizabeth. Would he be able to recognize her, if he hadn't heard her voice?

Aside from his hair's color change, and all that it meant, he was little changed. He'd allowed his blackened hair to grow longer, as he had when he'd lived incognito as Eriks. He didn't currently have it tied back, so his hair served as curtains on either side of his face. It mostly concealed his features from those directions. He could peer through his hair, somewhat. It was inconvenient, but the restricted vision was less of a limitation than he would experience if he were recognized.

There was still a sixty billion double-dollar bounty on him, which would be paid whether he was brought in dead or alive. He shuddered at the thought of the feeding frenzy which would occur if anyone recognized him from the "wanted" posters for him. Or if he were recognized from Meryl's broadcast, which was still played occasionally (even though more than three decades had passed since then).

Looking down at her from his hiding place, he saw that Elizabeth had the same eyes, and the same taste for expensively tailored clothing, as he remembered. She chose less daring styles now than she had previously. Given how she had changed, this was not surprising. The intervening thirty-five years had been less kind to her appearance than it had been to his. She had gained weight, enough to alter the shapes of both her face and her figure. A plunging neckline would no longer be flattering. Her hair had faded from its former lustrous golden blonde to a paler hue well sprinkled with grey. She had the slower gait of an aging woman, instead of the quick and graceful steps of her youth.

"How's that wild son of yours, boss?" asked one of the engineers, as she checked the calibration of one of the machines.

"Don't dream of him," Elizabeth replied, and sighed. "He's a handsome devil, all right, but he's no good. George has too much of his father in him, and just as little wisdom about resisting temptations. He's likely to get himself killed young, too."

"Aw, maybe you're too hard on him," the younger woman suggested.

"More likely," Elizabeth said softly, "I wasn't hard enough."

"I haven't seen him in awhile," a middle-aged male engineer said. "Did he leave town?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "The last time I saw him, George was fascinated by the idea that 'Vash the Stampede' had come to town. I told him it couldn't be the real Vash, but he wouldn't listen. He wanted to go meet him. That was two weeks ago. I don't know if ..."

Her voice broke, and the subject dropped.

Vash frowned as he listened to the engineers talking of various matters related to their jobs. His thoughts remained fixed on what he heard before job-related topics became the focus of the conversations. So... Elizabeth's man had died young. She feared the same fate awaited her son, George. She blamed herself for spoiling the youth, who had gone after the imposter and not been seen again. Had the lad gotten lost, joined the gang, or been captured?

Vash didn't like to think of the other obvious alternative. However, since George's body had not been found, there was room for hope.

George had wished to meet someone [mis]using Vash's name. That wish may have come from his mother's accounts of having met the real "Stampede." If so, then he, and Elizabeth, were both partly to blame for the youth's foolish wish... and anything that befell him, after he began pursuing it.

Vash clenched his jaw. He needed to work faster. Every hour mattered. He kicked himself, figuratively, for thus far failing to discover the impostor. He would try again. This time, he must succeed.

His thoughts were interrupted when another engineer arrived.

"So, boss, how go the plans for your retirement party this evening?"

"They're going," Elizabeth said dispiritedly.

Her face told Vash that, without her son, the upcoming party meant nothing.

"When does the party start?" another asked.

"Sixteen-hundred," someone said. "It's not perfect, but fifteen-hundred was too early, and it didn't have a 90th minute anyhow."

"Huh?"

"Third month, fourteenth day, at sixteen-hundred... 3.1416 ..."

"Oh, pi."

Vash quietly slipped away. He traveled carefully along the rooftops of the various structures surrounding the town's Plant bulbs, moving toward the rooftops of the town.

In his opinion, his task had just become more difficult. Not only was there an impostor causing trouble, but there might also be a young man to rescue. Or, if he came too late, at least the youth's remains should be found. The family needed closure.

Vash understood about craving closure. One reason he still lamented Rem's loss was the lack of it. Oh, he would have mourned her regardless. But not knowing if she were alive or dead, nor where she might be buried... the pain of not knowing had gnawed at the back of his mind and shredded parts of his soul. He had searched every graveyard, half hoping - and half fearing - to find Rem's name on one of those monuments.

He did not wish that kind of pain on anyone else.

He moved silently across the town's rooftops. It still surprised him, at times, how rarely ordinary humans looked upward. He constantly looked up at the sky. Sometimes he looked up to admire the sky's blueness, or a sunrise, or a sunset, or the stars. Other times, he looked up to check for weather patterns. He also watched for others attempting what he was currently doing. Yet if he was far enough above the level of most peoples' eyes, they seldom noticed him.

It was useful to know such things, he thought as he leaped from one rooftop to another.

Soon he was perched atop the local Sheriff's office, eavesdropping. The window was still slightly open, to take in the cooler air before the day heated up.

"So that &*#% 'Stampede' got another one?" an irritated voice asked.

"Yeah," came a weary-voiced reply. "We just identified the body. It was a tourist, not any of our folk this time. Still, he's dead before his time... thanks to that blasted Stampede."

"Where?" a third voice inquired.

"The body was found beyond the eastern outskirts, late in the second sunset," said the weary voice. "We asked around, all the houses and shops near to that edge of town. But ... as usual ... nobody knew or had seen anything. We marked the spot, and walked around there as little as possible. We'll be heading back, as soon as we've eaten breakfast. By then it should be light enough to see something, provided it wasn't too windy last night."

This was useful news! He'd not before had an opportunity to visit a mostly undisturbed location where the criminal had recently been. This might be exactly what he'd sought, during the last three weeks of fruitless searching.

An eager, obviously youthful voice, said, "Can I come? I need training in investigating tracks in the desert, too. There's not likely to be another opportunity this week."

"He has a point," another said. "The pattern has been one in town, another out of town, each week. That's the out-of-town body for this week. We might as well start training him, since he can't learn by himself."

Vash didn't hear the reply, which must have been a nod. He did hear the enthusiastic reactions of the trainee.

"You won't regret it, I promise!" the eager youthful voice said. "Oh, this means so much to me! I'm so excited! You know I've never wanted anything half so much as to be a Sheriff's deputy, for my whole life. Now I'm finally old enough to learn, and this will be the first time..."

Vash leaped away, toward the eastern end of town, grinning in spite of his sorrow that someone had died. The youthful exuberance of the deputy-in-training could not be heard without at least a brief smile.

The smile faded quickly, however, as Vash's thoughts returned to the task at hand.

He went as quickly as he could to his hotel. Although hoping he wouldn't need it, he took the opportunity to fetch extra ammunition. He already wore ordinary-looking clothes over his Seeds-made leather body armor. He stuffed a large, dark-colored kerchief into a pocket. He adjusted his tattered, sand-colored cloak and the inexpensive wide-brimmed hat he wore. He double-checked his gun belt and holster strap, and that the cheap sunglasses in his shirt pocket were still intact. With the suns rising soon, he would likely want something to cut the glare.

He packed everything he wasn't taking with him into his bag, in the hope that he might find his quarry and be able to leave town. He was careful to pack things around Wolfwood's repaired sunglasses, and his own circular-lensed pair. He would wear those when he was alone on the desert, or visiting Seeds. Not when knowingly going into a dangerous situation, where he might be recognized if he wore his signature specs... or where Wolfwood's sunglasses might be damaged.

With all of those preparations tended, Vash returned to the rooftops. Thankfully, his boot-soles were of a type that made almost no noise. Most ordinary humans couldn't hear his footsteps at all, though he could hear them. Plant senses detected things which ordinary humans missed. He planned to use that advantage, as needed, to stop the impostor.

Vash's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since yesterday's dinner. However, it wasn't a good time to pause for breakfast. He needed to reach the place where the latest remains had been discovered, before the lawmen finished their breakfast. He had to get in, and out, preferably before any of them arrived. So he ignored his stomach and kept moving.

He reached the edge of town, and jumped down to ground level. He disliked the need to move at a leisurely pace, but attracting attention would not serve his current purpose. He walked as calmly as he could, until he was beyond the town's lights. Then he found a gully between dunes, and resumed a quicker pace.

The sky had lightened nearly to twilight during the time it took him to travel from the sister-Plants to the Sheriff's office to the edge of town.

It wasn't long before he found the tracks of the lawmen. Their standard-issue boot soles left distinctive marks (and scents) in the sands. He carefully walked in the footprints of the deputies from the prior night, until he reached the marked place where the body had been. He stood over the place and wiped tears from his eyes.

Any death always reminded him painfully of losing Rem.

However, his current goal was to learn from the crime scene. He could not prevent another death if he did not find the man responsible.

He searched the sands, using all of his senses.

There... were those marks in the sand too regular to be caused by winds?

He jumped as far in the direction of the marks as he could. He landed awkwardly on hands and feet, teetered a moment, and then fell to one side. He quickly picked himself up. Then he kicked at the sand, disguising his traces.

It had the advantage of being a farther leap than most ordinary humans could achieve, which made it unlikely that anyone would look there for traces. Even if they did, they might not recognize his marks as anything made by a human-like creature.

He searched the sands again, and leaped as far as he could... again. And again. And again.

Although it made him feel like an overgrown sand flea, Vash continued leaping as far as he could, repeatedly. He carefully remained just within sight of the strangely regular irregular marks. He didn't need either the crooks or the lawmen able to track him. His options were to go slowly and carefully, obliterating his traces as he moved, or else to leap swiftly as far as he could. So he leapt.

The trail he followed did not proceed in anything resembling a straight line. It was sufficiently irregular to blend in with the shifting dunes... at first glance. However, the irregularities were too regular to be naturally occurring. After seven or eight leaps, he saw that the trail was wending toward a rock formation.

If he recalled correctly, that rock formation had a shallow cave in it. He leaped one more time, following the trail (which abruptly stopped being disguised) to verify his theory. Then he leaped away. He would circle around the rocks, to approach the cave from the far side.

At least he was far enough away that it was unlikely any of the lawmen would notice him. However, he must remain alert for lookouts.

It took him longer than he liked to circle around the rocks. He was surprised to find neither lookouts nor guards. He expected one or the other. Perhaps the gang was overly confident, or perhaps the false "Stampede" worked alone. Or perhaps he simply wasn't near enough yet.

Or perhaps there were traps.

He saw it after leaping. In a near panic, he wrenched his body to the left. It worked. He landed awkwardly, but at least he landed outside the trap. That had been a close call! It looked like a pit trap. While he probably could have leaped out, the risk of landing on something nasty (and potentially lethal) wasn't anything he wished to explore.

Leaping was no longer safe. His legs were growing tired of so much leaping, anyhow. So he began walking more normally, and cautiously. There, that might be another trap. Yes, it was. And that might be another...

There were numerous traps, of various types. Pits, snares, land mines, tripwires... someone had been clever. Most took careful searching to spot.

Vash carefully moved around the rocks, avoiding traps, until he was standing outside the cave. His back rested against the rock. He listened, for the space of several heartbeats.

All he heard was snoring.

Cautiously, he peered into the cave, and then quickly pulled his head back. He closed his eyes, and remembered what he'd seen. A bright lantern showed no movement. Three figures, each sprawled in slumber. Numerous bottles were scattered in the small space, and a stench of soured beer reached his nostrils.

One of those figures, nearest to where Vash stood, was bound at both wrists and ankles. His coloring was similar to what Elizabeth's had been, in her youth. There were numerous bruises on his face, hands and forearms. That was probably George.

The one nearest to the center of the cave was nearly as lanky as he was himself, if less long. Not surprisingly, that one wore a red duster. It was impossible to see what manner of weapon he favored, because the coat completely concealed his lower body.

The third was a short, barrel-chested fellow. He had two straps with ammunition crisscrossed over his well-muscled upper body, in addition to a well-worn gun belt.

All three were breathing. The loudest snores came from the burly one on the farthest side of the cave.

Vash pulled his dark kerchief out of his pocket. He folded it in half diagonally, and then put the center over his nose. He settled it as high as he could, without allowing it to obscure his vision. He tied the ends behind his neck. Then he took his sunglasses from another pocket, and put them on. He tied back his hair, and double-checked the straps of his revolver's holster. He verified that his extra ammunition was secure yet easily accessible.

Every detail of his own equipment and attire was exactly as it ought to be... except for spots of dirt and sand acquired while he jumped around (and landed badly). Spots... well, he supposed being spotty suited the situation, since "Spot" had been Elizabeth's nickname for him.

He was as well prepared as he was likely to get anytime soon.

He peered around the corner again. Except for their breathing, none of the ones inside the cave had moved.

So he took a deep breath, and moved in at Plant speed. If any of them had awakened, what they saw would have looked more like a blur than like a man.

He used their belts to bind the wrists and ankles of the burly fellow and the impostor. He removed their weapons, and poured the bullets out onto a blanket spread over the ground. He also removed the ammunition from their ammo belts, and poured all of those bullets onto the same blanket (after verifying that none of the bullets could be used in either his revolver or his hidden machine gun).

He wrapped each of the bad guys in a blanket, and then used their ammo belts to bind the blankets to them. They would be uncomfortable, but uninjured and immobile, when they awoke.

He took the blanket full of ammo and went to the nearest of the pit traps he had discovered. He dropped its contents into the pit. He threw their weapons out toward the open desert, as hard as he could.

He returned to the cave. The two he'd bound both remained deep in drunken stupor.

He pulled a small piece of paper, and a pen, from his pocket. He wrote a few words, and then tucked the paper under one of the belts binding the impostor.

After that, he spent a few heartbeats looking at the young man who was probably Elizabeth's son. It was for this youth's sake that he had tied the kerchief over his face. For this one's safety, in addition to his own, Vash did not want the young man to have any method whereby he could either identify or follow him.

He decided he would not untie the youth yet. Instead, he tapped his shoulder. The kid's eyes opened, and then widened when he saw him.

Vash held up one finger over the place where his mouth was concealed by the kerchief. Then he pointed at the two who had been the youth's captors.

The young man looked toward his erstwhile captors, and grinned.

Vash patted his shoulder again, to attract his attention silently.

The youth looked up at him.

Vash again gestured for silence.

The young man nodded.

Vash leaned close to his ear, and whispered softly, "George?"

"Yes," he replied, in an equally soft whisper.

Vash pulled away, again gesturing for silence. He drew his knife with his right hand, and pulled at George's wrists with the other. Then he raised his eyebrows, and looked inquiringly at Elizabeth's son.

George nodded again.

Vash cut the ropes that bound the young man's wrists and ankles. Then he took hold of George's wrist with his left hand, as he put away his knife with his right. He stood, pulling the rescued captive to his feet.

Vash jerked his head toward the cave's opening, and was satisfied with George's nod in reply. He led the young man out of the cave, just as the suns were clearing the horizon.

"There are traps," Vash said softly. "Follow me exactly, and I'll get you safely back to town. Then you must tell the Sheriff's office where to find these two. Do you understand?"

"Yes," George said.

"Let's go, then."

"Why are you hiding your face?"

He didn't answer. He only released George's wrist, and began walking moderately briskly. He heard George's hurried steps behind him. The youth was about average height, at least half a head shorter than Vash. With those mildly shorter legs, and significantly less practice walking in the desert, the young man was compelled to trot if he wished to keep up with his rescuer.

Vash smiled mischievously, but resisted the impulse to say or do something silly to reduce the tension. The youth needed to learn to take such matters seriously. He was either barely or nearly of age, and could not afford to go running after dangerous people so carelessly.

He pointed to each trap, and briefly identified it, as they passed it.

"Pit trap."

"Whoa, I nearly stepped on the edge of that! How did you see it? I didn't -"

"Tripwire."

"What? Where? I don't see..."

Vash smoothly bent over and picked up a rock. He threw it onto the wire. Spikes rose instantly from the sand, and then, more slowly, retracted.

"Yikes!"

"Snare."

"You're amazing, did you know that? How -"

"Pit."

And so on, until they passed beyond the traps. When they had walked silently for a short time, the youth spoke again.

"You never told me your name," George said.

"No."

"But -"

By this time, the town was visible in the distance. Vash pointed at it.

"From here, you can go safely to town," he said.

"Who are you?"

"An old friend of your mother's," Vash said softly. "She's worried about you. Please, go to her after you lead the Sheriff's people to the outlaws."

"I can't remember all those traps," George said. He sounded as if he was afraid, but trying to conceal it.

"Then I will carry them to the place where they left a body last night. The Sheriff's people can find them there."

"Those men planned to kill me, in a few days, and leave my body in town," George said. The fear in his voice was no longer concealed.

"Then it's lucky for you that I came along when I did," Vash said. "Please, at least inform the Sheriff's men that your captors are being brought to that place. I don't wish to get shot bringing them in."

"I can do that," George said, both face and voice clearly displaying his relief.

"And tell them about the traps around the cave," Vash said. "Someone could get hurt if they are not disarmed and destroyed."

"Good idea," George said. "I can do that, too."

"You'd best get going, then," Vash said.

"Ah, right, yes..." George said. "But I still don't know who you are!"

"True."

Vash resisted the urge to grin under his kerchief as he turned back toward the cave. He didn't need to look back to know how George hesitated until he was nearly out of sight. He was walking more swiftly, since he no longer needed to move at a pace where an ordinary human could keep up with him.

He glanced over his shoulder just as the youth was turning toward town.

"Good," Vash muttered. "That should give me about enough time to get them to the place, and get away, before the Sheriff's people arrive."

Vash began to run.

He was tired and hungry, but he managed to carry both crooks (one over each shoulder) to the appointed place. Then he hid, near the edge of town, in a place where the lawmen would have to pass by, en route to the site where the crooks' last victim had been found.

So he had the satisfaction of seeing the Sheriff's men, with George following, going out of town. He waited quietly until he saw them return, struggling to carry the outlaws. The note he'd tucked under an empty ammo belt, which bound a blanket to the impostor's chest, had apparently not yet been moved. However, some of the men were chuckling. This suggested that it might have been read.

Vash returned to his hotel, and ate breakfast. Then he returned to his room, which was already paid ahead for a few more days. He took a long nap, awakening only minutes before the checkout time. He considered this, and decided to leave. He hastily took his bag, and put the sign on the doorknob saying the room was empty and waiting for maid service.

He went downstairs and left his room key at the front desk. He nodded at the clerk and walked calmly out of the building.

As he walked through the town, he saw a headline about the impostor. He paused to read that front-page article.

"Stampede Stopped," the headline read. The article contained details about the discovery of the two crooks by the Sheriff's deputies. "Perhaps the strangest part was that the man responsible for this 'citizen's arrest' did not remain to collect any reward. He only left an odd note, which read, 'Ship to: jail. Contents: one fool who thought using a legendary name would make him a legend. Masquerade ended.' If the note is to be believed, this man was not really 'Vash the Stampede.' But how could anyone know whether this man was truly the legendary gunman, or not?"

Vash continued walking through the southwest end of the town. As he passed beyond the city's farthest buildings into the desert, he looked back.

"Happy retirement, Elizabeth," he said softly.

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Year 1735 month 3 day 14, at Seeds Village

Vash grinned at the memory.

It had been difficult to track down that impostor. It had been wearying to carry him and his henchman nearly to the edge of town. Yet it had also been completely satisfying to stop their rampage. It had been good to know that George was safe, and free. He had plenty of time to reunite with his mother, and attend her retirement party.

And, most importantly, nobody else had died.

Vash had never seen either of them again, though he might have encountered some of their descendants in the centuries since.

His stomach rumbled again, reminding him it was time for breakfast. The suns had climbed farther up into the sky, and their sunrise glory had faded.

It was time to get on with the business of today.

He turned from the window with mild reluctance, after wishing the world one thing in addition to Love and Peace.

"Happy Pi Day."