Salvage Log – December 7th, 2271

I'm finally on the move again, and I have to admit, the area around Vegas wasn't a bad spot to hold up for a bit. There was something nice about a consistent roof over my head, and Sunny was pretty easy on the eyes. The last two days I was there, I was still recovering from the rad poisoning I developed while searching Vault 22, and Sunny had spent most of the days with me, helping me plot out a general path to get to what was once Denver. We most compared what few pre-War maps I have collected over the years to different maps and logs of different traders and caravaners Sunny could convince to share them. She even had popped up to the Crimson Caravan's local camp, and got what they had.

While at their camp, Sunny over heard some caravan guards discussing a possible excursion to the northeast to reach out and possibly set up a branch in the settlement of New Canaan. I don't really know of settlement of any kind in that direction, but I also haven't strayed this far east of the NCR borders, so I'll trust the Crimson Caravan on that; they definitely wouldn't pass the chance for new customers. Sunny spoke with whoever is in charge over there and somehow convinced them to let me travel with them until the either reach New Canaan or get to where it's supposed to be and find that it doesn't exist. Sunny and I studied their route and it looks like this will get me a bit more than halfway before I have to cut east to continue my own search.

Travelling with the caravan will likely slow me down, bramhin being slow enough to move on their own and evening slower in a pack, but I figure the access to their supplies (for a fairly negotiated price, of course) and the protection that comes of their guards may just be worth the slow down, especially since we will be passing through lands that are still under claim of the Legion. I think the caravaners are happy to have Dogmeat with them too; a dog in the wastes is as good a warning system of any aggressive animals or people as you could ask for. All in all, it's worked pretty well so far. Two-Head Ted, my own Brahmin, seems to have fallen into the herd with the caravan's animals pretty well at any rate, and Ralph, the guy in charge, is treating me fair on supply prices so long as I promise to help with the hunting/gathering when we run out of our stocks. I'm not quite sure how the mighty Crimson Caravan Company couldn't supply one of their own expeditions for the month that they expect it to take, but I guess that's why I salvage for a living instead of running a business.

My last evening in Goodsprings was spent gathering what supplies I could. We're lucky to be making this trip in the winter so long as we're in the desert, but if I've read my maps and such right, it won't be long before we start reaching the mountains and the colder climate that comes with them. I just hope the roads that were laid down pre-War still at least cut clear paths through the roughest of the terrain. At our current rate, that should still be about two weeks away, but the worst of it is going to be after I break out on my own, so maybe that will just be a problem I deal with when I get there.

The nights have definitely gotten colder though, even now I'm sitting next to fire I lit a little away from the caravan camp and trying to keep my fur-lined leather jacket pulled as tight and sealed as I can. I really got lucky on this coat; a trader from Nellis came into Goodsprings as I was scrambling to gather what supplies I could. This jacket was one of many things I traded far more of my caps for than I care to admit, but I certainly came away for the better. With the Boomer jacket, I also got a good pair of heavy gloves, plenty of ammo for both my pistol and hunting rifle, some canned food that the Boomers had farmed themselves, a new knife, and a full bottle of pre-War whiskey, which is currently helping me keep the cold out of my fingers. Add that with the spare parts from the general store that I hope to use to bargain a bit, some fruit Trudy, and a fairly well stocked medical kit from Doc Mitchell, and I'm starting this bit of travel pretty well stocked.

I still feel pretty confident about my chances that the one unidentified Vault is the one I'm looking for too. The more I go back over my notes and compare it with what little information I have regarding my destination, it would seem to fit. I know this was supposed to be the biggest Vault ever built and would have to have been dug out of a large mountain. Denver certainly fits that bill from what little I know of the area. I know there's a large mountain range to the east of the NCR's borders somewhere; supposedly that's where the Colorado River that eventually comes down to Hoover Dam starts. A mountain range like that would be perfect for this Vault, especially since I think this Vault was some kind of back up plan for after the War. It's hard to say for sure, since all the mentions of it I've found are heavily edited and marked "TOP SECRET." Granted, this isn't really all that uncommon when the Vaults are involved. Vault-Tec was very careful about what records they kept, which makes some sense when I run across notes about their experiments. If word had gotten out about what they were planning in the Vaults, no one would have ever really thought about going into one and letting those giant doors seal them in.

This is actually my biggest fear, that this Vault was one of the experiments. I don't know if Vault-Tec would have spent quite so much money and effort in to one of their crazy experiments, but they did plenty of other things that made no sense. I mean really, what can you hope to learn by putting a single man in a sealed underground bunker with no company except a handful of puppets? Still that wouldn't fit. I have been able to piece together enough information that I am certain they wouldn't have run some crazy experiment here. There was too much at stake. The world best and brightest scientists, politicians, business people all bundled up with the core of the Vault Network and the three largest G.E.C.K.s at their disposal would have been too valuable to waste on some kind of social weirdness just to see what happened. I know that Vault is there, and I'm certain it has everything I'm looking for.

Elliot's Journal – December 7th 2291

So it's been five days since my encounter with the man in the dark corridor. I'm still not sure what it all means. I mean, he let me go and didn't hurt me, but those two security officers, decked out as they were, are still leaving my unnerved. I thought about going to the Deck's Security Office and reporting the incident; I'm sure Justin would be able to tell me what to do, but since I hadn't heard anything more about or seen either the man or the black-clad officers since that day I think it'd be best to just keep my head down and go about my day. So that's what I have been doing.

As always work has kept me busy. After that one, wonderful day off, I've been back in the shop for ten to twelve hours a day for the past few. There was a reactor problem on Deck 89 that has kept us incredibly busy lately. There are so many different reactors that are a part of the system and the movement of power between the floors and sectors is handled by an incredibly complex computer network, so any time there's any fluctuation in the output there's a huge mess of figuring out where the problem lies. This usually involves a lot of back and forth between the local Repair Corps officers, Administration's programmers, and the scientists in charge of actually managing the reactors day-to-day.

This is actually the first time I've been involved in a reactor problem, so it's a little exciting seeing how everything is done. At least the little bit I've actually been involved in. Tyler has been handling most of the work related to it himself and passing the regular work of managing the shop off to me while the reactor takes most of his focus and time. That in and of itself has been a hell of a time. I never quite realized how much of his time was taken up every day with simple things like checking the work of the lesser experienced members of the shop, prioritizing repair requests, and dealing with the bureaucracy of it all. After the second day, I took up Tyler's habit of getting up early and coming into the shop two hours before everyone else to get a jump start on the paperwork. Yesterday, I even showed up before the courier dropped off the day's new requests. Somehow even then stack of repair orders in Tyler's "in progress" stack threatened to tumble over.

Today, I spent most of the day in the lounge on Deck 94. Their jukebox had suddenly stopped playing a couple of nights ago and the order had been sitting on my table/desk since. There's something about sound equipment that I enjoy working on, so I had taken the ticket for myself and then got way too busy to have the time to come down for the time I thought it might take to do the repair. This morning, I just got tired of looking at the repair order form sitting on my table, and after assigning the new orders to worker's checking on the progress of open tickets, I strapped my tool belt on, grabbed my kit, left instructions to intercom me if something big came up, and went down to Deck 94.

The jukebox was in pretty good shape, but required some soldering to repair, which took me some time to complete. By the time I had finished, noon was approaching quickly, and I decided to go ahead and eat my lunch there in the lounge on Deck 94. I had grabbed a sandwich yesterday at my mom's diner and had some left over. That was my lunch today. I ate, some soft music playing from the jukebox, and considered the rest of my day. There was still plenty of work waiting in the shop.

Two security officers came into the lounge carrying their own lunches. As they passed my table one of them saw my toolbox and thanked me for fixing the jukebox saying he had wondered if they were ever going to get someone down here to fix it. I nodded politely and bit back a comment about how busy I've been the past week. I understand where he came from, and had to remind myself that everyone has their own priorities.

They took a table just behind and sat down and started to gossip, as people will do over lunch tables. Hell, if I had been eating with other people I would be gossiping too. Anyway, I was pretty zoned out until I heard one of them mention seeing some Special Tactics officers the other night. "Nah, man, those we're Spec Officers, we would have heard about any operations like that on the deck," the other said.

"I'm telling you, they had the heavy duty weaponry, bigger armor than we wear, dressed all in black. There was something going down; who said they'd tell us what they're up to anyway? We're just here to wrangle up kid's breaking curfew," the first officer said.

"Dude, Spec Tac wears blue on black, not all black. And nothing was happening the other night; I was on shift, and it was quiet all night." They went back and forth like that for a while. I quickly finished my sandwich. All black, heavy weapons and armor? Is it possible those were the same people I saw? I don't even know if the officers were talking about the same night that I was grabbed by the man, but I felt certain the two things were somehow connected. Man I don't even know what's going on with all this. But for some reason I just can't stop being nervous.

I quickly finished my lunch and went back to the shop. Something in my mind had decided a good idea was to just dive into work and try to get through today again. I don't even know why I feel so nervous, but there it is. I mean, surely there's nothing big going on? That man was probably just a thief that had been caught and was trying to get away. But then why did he warn me about the armored men? Something just didn't add up in my mind about things, but it wasn't for me to figure out I guess. I found myself in front of the shop's door and with a deep breath went in, happy to find some more work to focus on for a bit.

Tyler had returned and was sitting at his desk franticly filling out what looked to be a report on the repairs for the reactor. I stopped Marvin and asked, "Did he finally finish the reactor work?" nodding towards Tyler.

"Yeah, I guess so. He just came in, went straight to his desk, and started working on the report," Marvin said. "I guess he wants to get that done as soon as he can." I nodded my agreement and went to the door to Tyler's office. Knocking I poked my head in, "Get it all sorted out?"

Tyler looked up. "Close the door," he said. I did so and sat in the chair across his desk. He slid the report that he had been working over to me. "Look over that real quick would you?"

I did so; reading over the page that described Tyler's method of determining what mechanically may have been causing the problem in the reactor. I finished reading the report and took a second look at it, trying to figure out why it stood out to me as odd. After a third look it finally hit me. "That part doesn't move; nothing near it does," I said. "But the wear you found on the wires sound like friction or contact or something frayed them." Tyler nodded looking at me through his brow, silently urging me to keep talking my through it. "But if nothing near the wires move, they shouldn't be getting frayed. So, this kind of wear shouldn't even be possible, right?"

Tyler nodded again and put his hands down on his desk slowly, deliberately, as if he need the motion to steady himself. "That could only have been done intentionally, by someone or something," he said.

"Maybe one those mutated bugs that get every now and then?" I asked. The thought made sense to me. We've had to repair wires and pipes from them before, and those things love to be near the radiation that comes from reactors.

"No, I don't think so," he said, exhaling a long breath. "The damage was too clean, very precise. If it had been a bug, there'd be more damage around the area, and they probably wouldn't have ignored the wires that are connected to the safety systems."

He was right, of course. Bugs don't really tend to be precise in the damage they do. The silence in the little office grew thick, and for the second time today, I felt my mind getting away from me and anxiety building. I wanted to scream at Tyler that what he was implying was impossible, but instead I asked, "So a person would have had to do it on purpose? Sabotage the reactor?"

The report just sat on the desk. All the possible implications of it seemed to add weight to it. An impossibly heavy piece of paper. That I know of, no one had ever sabotaged or attempted to sabotage a reactor before. I mean there had been accidents, break downs of equipment, all the things that you would expect over two-hundred years of functioning and people being around. But sabotage? And a reactor no less. This is dangerous. Tyler reached out and took the report up in his hand. "When I turn this in, there's going to be a shitstorm, you know?" he said. "I wanted to show it to you to warn you things may get a little weird around here. Security is likely to look hard at the Repair Corps and the reactor groups, not many outside of them would know exactly how to mess with a reactor without it going very wrong."

I nodded. Again he was right, a lot of eyes were about to be on the shops of the Repair Corps. "Also," he said, "you know the protocol here right?" I do, of course. Even though it's rarely been an issue, every Repair Corps officer is trained to consider all possible incidents of sabotage of Vault Equipment as classified by Security.

"Of course," I said, nodding slowly. I won't share this info anywhere other than this journal, which is for my own knowledge anyway. Tyler nodded at me and left his office and the shop, heading towards the deck's Security Office with the report in his hand. I went back to work for the day, checking in with the other workers in the shop and following up on my own paperwork. Throughout the day, there was a tension to the shop, I think. It seems as though I'm the only one who really noticed it. Tyler was gone again for most of the afternoon, in fact the rest of the shop had been long off when he came back. I was working on a radio that someone had brought to the shop for repair, staying well past when I needed to and enjoying the distraction of work rather than returning to my quiet quarters quite yet. Tyler came into the shop, barely regarded me and when to his office, where he stayed for a while before eventually leaving again without paying me any attention at all.

I checked the time on my watch, and decided it was late enough for me to leave too. I was most of the way back to my quarters when I stopped and decided to head down to Deck 87 to visit their lounge. They have one of the few lounge's in our sector that has a permit to create and sell alcohol, and while I don't often make my way down to that lounge, three decks being a long way to go for a drink, I figured I could use a drink tonight.

I was at the bar, waiting for the server to bring me the beer I had ordered when Carlos came up behind me and slapped me hard on the back. He always likes to great me like that. I guess he thinks it's funny to "sneak" up on me. "Hey bro!" he said reaching past me, under the bar and pulling out two bottles of beer, leaving some coins on the counter. He handed one to me. "What's the big ole' Repair Officer Second Class doing in this dive?" He's been rankling me over my promotion ever since I got it. He says he wants to keep me from getting too full of myself, but I think it's really his way of showing me he's proud of me. Carlos, all machismo, all the time.

"It's been a rough day, figured I could use something a little stronger than water before bed." I said, brushing off his comment about my rank. I really am glad to have gotten the promotion, and I'm proud of my work and what I do for the Vault, but I really don't think my rank is anything special, I mean there's one of us on just about every five decks or so. I just happen to be second in command in the biggest repair shop for our sector. That was just luck from knowing Tyler as long as I have I think.

"Well, it's good to have you around," Carlos said, "haven't seen you in a while." He's right, I haven't come to see him in a while, as busy as I've been and then as weird as the past week has been I just haven't had it thought to go to other decks for anything but a repair order. I have missed him though. We got caught up and made small talk. I told him about how busy we've been and some of the more interesting jobs I've been on recently and he paid polite attention, smiling and nodding in all the right spots. He took a seat on the barstool next to me and his eyes came to the same level of mine as I stood. Carlos is still a good head taller than me, and thin. Not really wiry though. He's rather muscular, even if he isn't very big he does have a healthy look. His mouth curled into a smile and he laughed at a small joke I made.

It was his turn to catch me up as we got to our second round of drinks. Things have been well in the hydroponics bays he said. Production is up and while it may take a bit to see the effect, he things that we should see a bit of a surplus in food supplies, at least as far as fruits and vegetables go. He says some of the ranchers he talks to from Deck 122, which is pretty much nothing more than some quarters, a small mess hall, and wide open room where what animals we can keep are raised and handled by the ranchers, say that they're planning for a smaller flock ready for culling, which could lead to a problem with meat supplies. I guess more veggie sandwiches for me. I paid him the same attention he gave me, which wasn't hard. I really do love hanging out with Carlos. He's just so enthusiastic about everything. Hell, he still goes on rants about Grognak from time to time, just as excited as he was when we were kids. I really do wish I could find a copy of the next issue for him, but everyone I have talked to about hasn't seen one, so I'm thinking that a copy just never made it to the Vault.

We talked through the second round of drinks and got another. My head was starting feel a little fuzzy and the laughs came a bit easier. We ended playing some pool for a bit and eventually left the lounge, feeling pretty good about things. I realized how late it was getting and really hadn't intended to still be out, but I had missed Carlos and we eventually made our way back to his quarters. We made more small talk there, sitting close on his couch, listening to the radio and feeling comfortable in the closeness of each other. He leaned down and kissed me, always the one to initiate. I just always feel a little nervous about starting things with him. Nothing like it is with Tori, where I'm not always taking charge, but feel no hesitation in getting things going.

Carlos's kisses tasted of the heady sweetness of the beer we had been drinking and before long, our jumpsuits were in a pile on the floor and we were a tangle of limbs wrapped around one another, our lips meeting, then him kissing my chest, my hand rubbing the small tuft of hair in the middle of his chest, his fingers wrapping gently around me, caressing me to fullness as he took the tip into his mouth with a light touch of his tongue. I clawed at the couch and gripped tightly, my breath coming in short, shallow huffs in a rhythm with his movements. A quiet moan and then, with a couple of soft swallows, Carlos kissed his way up my chest, stepping to tease my nipple with tongue, then up my neck to my lips. In a long deep kiss, a scooted down the couch a little and Carlos slid his body between my legs. There on his couch I took him into me and well, I really had missed Carlos.

After we had finished, we sat on his couch, enjoying the feeling of our naked bodies wrapped around one another. The silent moments of having just had one another surrounded us deeply. These are always some of my favorite moment, but as always they must pass. I dressed and went back to my own quarters thinking about Carlos and Tori and how one of those relationships would eventually have to end, how despite what Carlos and I have not being forbidden per say, it certainly being discouraged. Any coupling that won't lead to children will draw discouragement at best, violence at worst. Especially with the son a well-respected doctor being involved. We do keep our time together secret, no one knows, and I know it would hurt Tori to find out about it, but I just don't think she can know, I couldn't out Carlos like that. But then, is this really fair to Tori either? More confusion for my life. I made it back to my quarters, and still a little heady from the beer and the sex climbed into my bed.

Salvage Log – December 8th 2291

Another day and yet more walking, at least most of it. I tend to stay near the back of the caravan when we're actually moving; it's easier to keep track of Ted from there. Not that I'm worried any of my travel companions will try to grab some of my gear or goods, I just am still not sure how well Ted's going to do in a herd. He's been known to take off at the sight of a molerat, who knows how he'll react if one of the caravan bramhin get spooked. I also don't really know what I would do if he do lose it; I'm hardly a rustler, but it makes me feel slightly better to stay in the rear. Maybe I'm just not used to travelling with others myself, and this position lets me keep a pretty good eye on most of the people in the caravan, everyone except the two guards bringing up the rear. The company put a good deal into this expedition it seems. In addition to Ralph there are five other traders, two loaded down bramhin for each trader, and eight well-armed guards. The guards all seem to know what they're doing, and while they're no Rangers, they are quick and professional when setting up and breaking down camp and are able to take good positions around the caravan as a whole. They had already impressed me, but they solidified that about midmorning today what an small explosion popped off about 50 yards to the right of the craravan. The guards were at attention just as fast as I was, rifles pulled off our shoulders and eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble as the traders came up to get the bramhin to cover.

We had been walking along an old road heading straight north, and just a few to the east of us was a ridgeline that would make for great cover. I was scanning these ridges and moving toward Ted to help herd him with the rest of the cattle when I caught sight of them. Ten people, too far away to clearly make out details through their rag-tag makeshift bits of armor heading in our direction. They were all crouched and moving towards us as if they hoped the explosion on our other side drew all of our attention. I whistled and yelled at the guards, pointing at the raiders and firing off a shot in their general direction to help get the point across. The raiders responded by rising, most of the rushed forward in a full sprint while two stayed back and started fire off shots, seeming at random in the general direction of us.

Their shots largely were off target, mostly going wide, but I instinctively dove for the ditch on the side of the road for cover. I rolled over to my stomach, and, looking to my left and right, saw most of the guards hunker into shooting positions and start returning fire. One with a particularly large gun lined up and sounded off three shots faster than most people I've ever seen shoot. Two of the running raiders dropped to the ground and a third staggered, but kept regained his footing and kept coming. I fired off a round into his leg and he lurched forward and flipped end over end a few times, sliding into a cloud of dust. I barely saw that as I shoved my body to my right as one of the raiders launched herself the last few yards to me. Her spear, or jaggedly cut metal pipe anyway dug into the dirt where I had been.

I kicked my leg out and landed a solid kick to her face, cracking her nose with a sickening crunch. She barely recoiled and dove at me again. The butt of my rifle slammed into the side of her head, opening a cut next to her eye. I don't think she even felt it, but her weight was thrown off, and as she staggered, I pulled the pistol from my hip holster, brought to bear, and fired a round into her temple. A nine millimeter round may not be very big, but only a couple of feet away it does a lot of damage. The blood sprayed me pretty well and her body collapsed alongside me. A deep breath and I pulled myself out of the ditch and straightened up to see another raider rushing at me. I set my feet to dodge his attack, but needn't have bothered. With a growl, Dogmeat flew into the raider, forcing him to the ground. The raider struggled under the weight of the large dog as Dogmeat snapped at the raider's face. One bite landed around the man's neck and wish a snarl and a quick twist of his neck Dogmeat pulled the raider's throat straight from his neck.

I stood up and took a quick look to take in my surroundings, two of the guards were jogging over to me, and the others were checking the bodies of the raiders. All told we made it out with no losses and no injuries that I could see, and the raiders were all dead or dying. The guards made it to me, and one of them, an older, balding man named Locke asked "You ok?"

"Yeah," I said. "Just some raiders. Nothing worse than I've dealt with before." I picked my rifle up and gave it a quick once over for any damage before strapping it back over my shoulder.

"You did good out here," the other guard said. He is younger, red hair, I think his name is Christopher. "I mean, taking down two on your own like that." He glanced down to the dead man a few feet behind me and went a bit pale.

"Well, not alone really," I said, kneeling to pet Dogmeat and check his mouth. If I don't clean the flesh out of his teeth fast after a kill like that his breath will be rancid for days. I pet him with on hand as I rinsed his snout off with some water from my canteen. "the mutt's pretty useful in a place like that," I said looking back up to Christopher, who had gotten some of his complexion back.

"Either way," Locke said, "good to know you can carry your own." Another guard came up to him and passed him an empty pill bottle. "Buffout," Locke said with a shrug. "Must have been junkies hoping for a score." He turned the bottle upside down to demonstrate his point.

"Explains why that one just shrugged off a boot to the face," I said nodding at the woman I had left in the ditch.

Locke raised a brow. "You did that with a boot?" he asked eying the exit wound. "Heck of a kick."

I shrugged off the comment and went to check on Two-Head Ted as the guards searched the bodies of the raiders for loot. It still doesn't sit well with me how quickly people are will to simply take from the dead like that, but waste not want not I understand. I think so long as I'm travelling with this caravan, I'll just let them handle that. Locke came up to me shortly and handed me a rifle similar to my own. He explained that I helped fend them off, only right I got something for it. The rifle is in terrible shape, but I put it with my gear that Ted carried for me. I can probably take something of value off of it at some point. Locke set about getting the caravan back together and not thirty minutes after the explosion that set off the attack, we were back on our way.

We continued to follow the road north, and despite the encounter with the raiders, spirits seemed high in the caravan. The traders seemed pretty relaxed and confident in their safety, and the guards carried themselves a little lighter too, though they did adjust one extra person to the right of the caravan to protect the side facing the ridge. I guess every felt a little more invincible after the attack since no one got hurt. Hell, I was the only one the raiders even got into arms reach of apparently. I was back in my general spot, near the brahmin and keeping pace but dragging my feet a bit more. I never really cared for dealing with raiders like that. Granted it was the first time I've had to kill someone to protect myself like that, but it really never gets easier for me, which is why I generally just try to avoid the situation, but this caravan is going to make that a little harder. There's a lot of good chance for food, weapons, ammo, and various other goods from hitting it, and we have a long way to go to reach New Canaan. Tonight I'm wondering if maybe I made a mistake agreeing to travel with them. It's hard to knock Locke and his crew, though. They're armed and armored and ready for most things short of a full on tribal raiding party or the full Legion. Hopefully we won't run into any of those.

The sun was getting low in the west when Locke broke from his position in the front of the caravan and came back to speak with Ralph. There was some pointing along the horizon and a general nodding of heads among the other traders as I walked up. "What's up?" I asked.

Locke pointed out to the north. "Looks like a few buildings up the road about two miles. We're thinking about making for that and setting up camp there if we can."

"Any of you know what's there?" I asked.

One of the traders, Simon an older man still healthy but definitely past his best days, piped up. "Old pre-War golf course. I've come up to it a few times when I was more about prospecting. I don't think that anyone has set up there, too far to get power from Hoover, so most just keep heading for the Strip. Been a while since I've been up this way though."

"Well there you have it," I said. "Sounds like a solid place to camp up."

"I was thinking the same thing," Ralph said. "We'll make for that and set up for the night." He put an edge to his voice on this, like he really wanted to make sure it was his decision to camp at the golf course.

"Sure," Locke said, "let's get moving along then." He turned and went back to his point at the head of the caravan. Ralph gave the back of his a hard look. Great, a dick measuring contest between a self-important merchant and overly armed grizzled veteran of the trails. This will be a fun trip. Either way, we kept moving along and came to the golf course just before the sun dipped below the horizon. As we approached the building's entrance, the door opened and a man with the definitive wide brimmed hat and shiny armor of an NCR Ranger stepped out into the dying orange of the sunset. "Ho there, this is an NCR camp and you all may want to move along," he said.

Ralph moved to the front of the group and went to speak with the Ranger. He showed his caravan papers from the Crimson Caravan Company and explained that we were just looking for a place to make camp. I didn't listen too closely to the exchange and went to check on Two-Head Ted, making sure the harness holding all of my gear bags and pouches wasn't rubbing him too much. Everything seemed to be ok, because the Ranger led us around the building to a place where we could pin up the brahmin for the night. He waved at a few of the other Rangers as he moved through their camp. The camp was one of the bigger Ranger Stations I've seen before. They spread out behind what was once a fairly modest club house. This place certainly has nothing on Camp Golf, an NCR base just outside of the Strip.

Behind the club house, a small field of green seems to have flourished in the desert. False turf, the Ranger explained. From what they could tell this golf course had been a bit of a completely artificial oasis in the Pre-War world, and you can still make out where there were once small ponds of water, mostly dilapidated, rotten wood bridges extending over now empty holes in the ground. It must have been nice once, but now it's overwhelmed by green tents, a firing range, and what looks to be a small, cordoned off area for a triage. All in all, the Rangers are pretty well set up. The man leading us around the camp brought us to an empty patch of flat green, explaining to Ralph the club house was off-limits, but we could make camp here without any trouble.

We were all a little disappointed about that, another night with the only warmth being from small camp fires and whatever heat we could keep bundled up can be rough to stare down, but that's what happens when you deal with the NCR military. I really am still impressed that they even let us camp here. Usually when there are this many Rangers in one spot, something big is happening, and you're lucky to get more than a polite, yet firm "go away." I guess the Crimson Caravan Company has a little bit of sway with them though, so we went about making camp. I set up my own tent, built a fire a few feet away, and got about my business for the evening. Even with the caravan, I'm keeping to my evening routine, make camp, take the harness off Ted and check it for wear and tear, feed Dogmeat, feed myself, check my own gear.

I was sitting at a table near my tent, looking over the rifle that Locke had given me from the raiders. The barrel was absolutely useless, no wonder they couldn't hit anything. I started to dismantle the rifle; the trigger mechanism was still in good shape and the stock would be useful. I had cracked mine a little when I smacked the woman with it. I was putting these pieces on my own rifle, the parts fit pretty well, so they'll help get my gun back into shape, when a woman in the Ranger uniform came up to me. "Hey there, got a minute?" she asked. I nodded and she introduced herself as Lt. Colleen McMurphy. Colleen has apparently taken on the task of munitions officer for the camp and wanted to know if I had anything I could trade. "The others sent me over to you," she explained, "they said they had some things they could trade, but were supposed make sure most of it made it to New Canaan. Said you weren't with the company and may be more free to trade." Well, one more benefit of travelling with the caravan, maybe I can turn that mind set into some profit for myself while we're on the road.

"Yeah, I may be able to help you out," I said, setting aside the rifle and tools and going over to the pile of bags and cases that I keep my salvage in. We bartered a bit over some scrap metal, a case of ammunition that was too small a caliber for my own weapons, and a few bits of computer parts she thought she could use to repair some of the Rangers' automated turrets. I got a good bit of caps and some ammo I could use out of it, a decent trade on both sides I think.

While were working out the deal we made the required small talk. "So if you're not with Crimson Caravan, why travel with them?" she asked me eventually.

"We're headed the same direction for quite a ways; it seemed like the best idea. Safety in numbers and all," I told her.

"They're headed for New Canaan, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't even know for sure if it exists. I mean, I've heard of it before, supposed to be a pretty big settlement."

"Yep," she said, "Some scouts have headed that way from the NCR before. Last I had heard it was still there and running. I think you guys should make out pretty good there."

"Well, Crimson Caravan will anyway," I said. "I'm pretty sure I'll break off from this group before they get there." I explained.

"Then where are you headed? I don't think there's anything worth heading to out that direction. Unless you got a mind to join Ceasar's Legion?" She eyed me a little unwarily. I wonder if she thought that was a real possibility.

"No, no," I said. "I hope to stay well clear of them."

"Good plan. But be careful, we've run into them occasionally in the area around here. Mostly to the north and east. Small bands mostly, we've not any trouble with them really, but they're out there," she said.

"Good to know. I'll keep an eye out for them. Is that why you've set up camp here?" I asked.

"Not really," she answered. "We're here setting up a forward camp. Now that things have settled down a bit around the Strip, we're looking to scout a bit more to the north and see what's out there. I think the politicians back home are all annoyed that we couldn't annex the Strip and want to make that up with other territory." We made some more small talk as I went back to repairing my rifle. I kept waiting for her to ask about my own destination, but she never did. She eventually wished me a good night and went back towards the large tent the Rangers were using as a barracks. I finished putting the new stock on my rifle and went to my own tent to put down my log entry for the night.