Wasteland Tales

Chapter Eight: Aureus Theory

(June 15th, 2269)

(Bullhead)

Her throat constricted tightly as she sat up in a frenzy, sweat glistening off the ray of sun that peeked through her tent flap. She couldn't hear over the sound of her pounding heart, but her eyes scanned the open interior frantically. Amelia trembled ever slightly with each ragged breath, trying her best to reign in her control. 'It was just another night terror,' she repeated to herself. Peeling her fingers from her neck, she was quick to replace them with her trademark bandanna.

Pulling herself out of bed, she washed and dressed quickly, hoping to remove the unease the terrors usually brought. They were nothing new, but the suddenly increased frequency was alarming. The third one within a month. Always the same one.

Splashing water once more over her face, Amelia glanced up to the small fragmented mirror and her mind drifted back to the boy she saw. Those same stormy gray eyes, leering at her, just as hers did now.

He'd gone with the rest of them under Naddok, and all she could gather was that the target was the NCR. She didn't know why, but Naddok hasn't formed a band in near a decade, and it started with that Elder of theirs. And that messenger. Pushing away from the mirror, Amelia threw a blanket over her shoulders and left her tent.

Walking the Glade in the quiet of early morning always helped soothe old wounds, the cool crisp air like a balm across her mind. Some of the adult khans were already awake, some drunk and cheerful gathered about fires from the night, and others were assembling their gear and preparing a plan for a ride, long distant by the size of their packs. Walking through the Trade belt was lonelier, most stalls were closed. The Glades received enough 'regulars' now that caravans would stop in for a few days, and some had permanent set ups. They even started providing escorts, about a year ago through their territory. Where to, she didn't know, but the Northern Tribe would be a good guess.

What had Naddok heard? She had honestly believed maybe the Khan could change; there weren't any major raids, they only hit other raider bands. They made deals to protect the farmers of Bullhead and encouraged trade. Naddok had done well, personal grievances aside.

She was almost at the Circle when she refocused, and the sight gave her a small smile. Some of the warriors trained silently; some of the elder men sparred with the women, allowing them to learn how to fight bigger, stronger targets. No one, not even the tribe-wives, went untrained.

'They're a disciplined people,' she admired. The Khans up North could learn from this tribe. Their passion and determination were very much like her own people. They took to the warring principles of the warrior tribes of old. The Nordic Vikings, the American Natives, and the Mongols in which they found their name; even without her help and training of the youth, the Khans were a force waiting to be unleashed.

Naddok's murderous eyes flashed across her mind again, and she reached for her neck. . .

If Naddok was pulled into fighting the NCR, his people will be destroyed. For years, the NCR had lobbied her people to join them. It was only their anti-raider policy and combat training that staved off any attempt of annexation. The NCR will be the Khans end, and no amount of training or will would change that. . .

Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, she pulled out the letter she'd received a week ago. She couldn't let that happen, not anymore.

(Shady Sands, NCR)

Having spent most of his life in tent towns surrounded by junk walls, it was weird seeing the shift in construction from the flat and twisting suburbs of Bullhead, the shanty towns of the tributaries, to the tall concrete slabs of New Vegas; Shady Sands was its own beast, built up from the remains of an old town that could only expand outwards after its refounding. The town looked rather open, with no real outer walls. There were checkpoints and outer defenses manned by numerous NCR troopers around the clock, protecting the heart of their empire. All around the town were farms and brahmin pens. Brahmin by the thousands it seemed.

That's what he could see through his monocular, as Nick slowly inched back and away from the crest of his hiding place. Coming to a stand, he made a small run back to the rest of his group, right up to Fergus. He saw Martin already there relaying his report.

"Good, Martin," he nodded, then turned his eyes on Nick. "Report."

"Everything's quiet. No outer walls, but there are guard stations. Security looks relaxed, but they have checkpoints to search newcomers."

"Excellent, we should be able to get in and out without a problem. We're going to assume the role of traveling mercs, most of you will camp out here and the rest will accompany me to 'look for work.' Everyone is to stow your patches and keep them out of sight until our business here is finished. Got it?" Fergus asked, glancing around. Fergus named off those going in short order, including Nick himself, but also Michael, Jessup, and Martin. Others were named he didn't know, and the whole ride he felt their eyes on him, two bearing injuries he'd been the cause of. One spelled danger should he misstep, and the other he didn't know yet. It bothered him that neither Chance nor Bren was here, at least one of them could help reign in Martin and Michael long enough to make it through the rite.

Fergus was true to his plan, and as soon as the checkpoints' guards were upon them, he spewed out what sounded like a practiced ploy. Claiming how they'd come from the far eastern coastline - gun hands - and were in need of honest work, 'nothing within their city limits,' he heard Fergus promise. The man was so different now than he'd come to know, always stern though never like Naddok. Now he seemed pleasant, as though bounty hunting wasn't a blood-soaked business. The guardsmen just listened on, like they were just as caught up as he was. Soon enough, Nick watched as Fergus was granted entry, weapons and company included. They handed out simple orange tags, and required they stay visible at all times.

"Sorry for the suspicion, Sir. Been news some of the frontier towns are getting tied up in skirmishes with raiders lately, more so than usual. Maybe check with the captain at the garrison, could be some work there."

"I'll consider it, soldier. Thanks for the tip." So the news had already begun simmering? How long would the Bear sleep before it was disturbed? He doubted a swift response, but would it be weeks? Months? They'd need as much to get this plan off the ground.

The guise worked well, and the group trotted into the town with nary a glance from most; up closer Nick could see the make of the structures, wooden, stone, some others more ramshackle in their repair. One could actually see where the rebuilding stopped and the expansion began in the use of the materials. From cobbled-together homes and businesses of the poor and middle-class streets laden in filth, to the more structurally appealing streets and townhouses of the core; where the Senators, Congressmen, Barons and other dignitaries or rich families lived, he guessed. He didn't know where this 'contact' was supposed to be, but Fergus had to have someplace in mind. 'And by the looks, he found it.'

The man tugged on his reins and brought the group to a halt outside a local bar and saloon, 'The Rancher's Retreat.' Within the expansion, it was a rugged looking establishment with farmers and ranch hands that knew hard work most of their lives. "Don't wander too far, and report back here within the hour. This may take a bit. Cause trouble and I'll disavow you. Subject to their law, understand?" The warning was well received, even among the adults. This was no time for an ego trip. Some had joked the night before how easy it would be to strike at the heart. No one had tried after the New Khans. Fergus wanted it to stay that way.

Most dismounted, tying up their horses to check out the local shops for supplies, or just went into the bar to drink. No trouble meant drinking was assured for some of the men. Nick soon followed, hitching Alban up to one of the saloon railings.

"What kind of merc band uses children?" he heard, from one of the locals, a man standing with his drunken friends, he looked three drinks from toppling over. He remembered how Fergus would get; how Chance, Bren and the others did sometimes. The man spoke again, and the boy lost his smile. "Horses too, kinda rare 'round here, to find fertile mares or stallions. What kind of 'mercs' are ya' kid?"

Before Nick spoke back, the image of the silhouette from the ambush hit him again. The scope was crystal clear and so was the woman- falling dead. Nate and Scar-face weren't enough already?

"A bad kind." A few nights ago, the ambush, it came back to him in a dream. Clearer, so vivid he had awoken in a sweat, but not before he knew it to be a woman.

"What?" the man asked, the answer nothing of what he had expected. Maybe it was an outburst or some tough back talk that he was looking for, but Nick just spoke with that memory still clinging behind his eyes, he looked up at them, but he didn't see them.

"A bad kind. To kill someone knowing you must? A good man is capable of great evil, but knows, and only unleashes it upon great evil. A bad man kills because he can. Because he wants. And because he needs. And he must be killed, by a good man."

"Who told you that?"

"My uncle. Think like them, find them, then kill them."

(Inside with Fergus)

The interior smelled of cattle shit and dirt mixed with heady smoke floating in the room and spilled liquor, all of these local herders must've favored this as their preferred 'watering hole.' Fergus wasn't impressed with any of them, wasn't impressed with this 'civilization.' Sure, most of them could handle a fight, maybe, but this way of life just made you soft. Fergus pinched the bridge of his nose, 'I've got to stop doing that,' he thought. His patience was running thin, and he'd been directed to this table almost ten minutes ago.

"So you're who the old man was talking about?" Fergus glanced up to look a dark-skinned woman dead in the eye. Everything about her was striking, the attention-grabbing, close-shaved haircut was easily stolen by her face, a beautiful looking woman in a gray worn jumper that hugged her form. He kept his eyes off her body, reminding himself she hadn't even broken twenty. "Though it looks like you're not far behind." She smirked.

"Don't you worry, I'll outlive him yet," Fergus said, allowing the woman to take a seat. "Why am I not surprised that the contact is you, Miss Van Graff?"

Gloria Van Graff, daughter of the Van Graff matriarch, one of several if he remembered right, she'd gotten taller the last he saw her. She ordered a whiskey for the two of them, "Because I can get the things you want- if you want them. And, you and I, were once familiar."
"Then explain to me why I came so far out here," he asked, eyeing the waiter that approached the table.

Setting before them two glasses and filling them, the server departed, "There are only a few ways to get the number of brahmin you need: The Barons, The Salvatores and the good ol' fashioned way.'" Fergus was the first to down his drink, grateful the server hadn't taken the bottle, Gloria just rolled on. "The Salvatores are a Mafia, big player in New Reno. They took over the Jet trade from the previous king-shits, the Mordino's, about thirty years back. Favors from him could net you the cattle."

"And the Barons'?"

"Well, that's also the old-fashioned way, just with an employer. There are corrupt Barons and other VIPs; Ranchers, Senators, there's a demand that'd pay to boost their herd numbers, large enough that if a dozen head disappeared, it wouldn't be noticed."

Fergus sat back in his chair, "What happened to all that fancy tech you wanted to invest in?"

Gloria scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, "I didn't want to be here." She then glared at him, "And that isn't a topic option, either."

Fergus scoffed himself, brushing her arrogance aside for the moment, "Your mother must've had a good reason."

"You'd have to ask her."

That concerned him. Did Tiaret really have some scheme in the works, and was she trying to leverage some more sympathy. . . "Does that involve the Salvatores?"

The look in her eyes said it all.

(Back outside)

That store was lame! Fucking nothing but shotguns, scoped and lever-action rifles, six-shooters and a couple of semi-auto handguns? "Only the troopers have that kind of weaponry access," Nick mocked, glancing down at the little orange tag. The owner looked a little shocked to see him with it. Looking back up the street, he winced his eyes. They already promised to stay tame, but the guards had sent out troopers to keep tabs anyways.

"Three pairs," Nick glanced to his left, and Martin was leaning against a post. Martin seemed to have some trouble seeing out of his right eye, bloodshot and the soft skin around the eye bruised. Nick nodded his head, having found them in the background noise. Martin pushed off the post slowly, "Listen, about the fight. No ill will." His eyes quickly shot to Petty's hands, then back.

He'd been ready to fight, thinking Martin was looking for another round. He was thankful, he still hurt, but it wasn't so bad anymore. Martin didn't look like he was fully healed up neither, but he didn't know just how ballsy the kid was. "Really? Just like that."

"It was a good fight, the kind that could go either way. The bad ones are when you get clobbered, and the fun ones- you do the clobbering." His approach was something he hoped Petty could get behind. "I've seen the looks from Jessup, and that other one, Michael. I just want you to know where we stand."

'Jessup?' Nick didn't think he'd try anything like that, not during a rite. Members were meant to keep the prospects in line. About to respond, he noticed something, a blonde in a long dirty white coat. He looked about his age. What got his attention was the blonde's interest in Alban.

Starting to make his way over, he left Martin behind in confusion. When he got about halfway, the stranger pulled a needle and quickly jammed the point into Alban's neck. He barely startled the equine, but tried to leave with the vial of blood.

"Hey!?" Nick called out, "That's my horse, you douche!"

The boy jolted, panic evident within his bright blue eyes, so he took off with Nick racing behind to keep track. Cutting through a gap in the crowd, the boy entered an alley, and Nick was there soon after. Through the alley, he stayed on his tail, until his culprit took one last turn. The alley opened into a small courtyard, a small signed establishment being the only exit. 'Followers of the Apocalypse,' Nick stopped long enough to read it, then followed the boy through the front door.

Inside, he leaned against the door jam, the boy was bent over at the knee trying to catch his breath, like him.

Suddenly, a man stood from a chair, hidden behind his desk Nick hadn't seen him. It was fluid and precise, and he was pointing a 10mm pistol at him with one hand and read from a file in the other, "I would stay there if I were you, Son." The man was blonde too, and said his 'w's weird. He honestly looked like a typical play-boy evil scientist from one of those comic books Chance would loan him. "Why did your boy here take blood from my horse?" he asked, defiant, yet not willing to actually take a step forward.

"Horses are unfortunately- incredibly- rare; thought to be extinct in many parts of the Wasteland," he said, still reading his file. "And here you are, with horses- potentially fertile horse. Bringing back such a beautiful species would be a Godsend worthy of my dedication and talent." he said sharing a look with his apprentice.

Okay, so first impressions; he was quick with a gun, maybe one of those religious types. Definite comic-book villain, "Bullhead has always had horses."

"Ha! Only as of thirty-five years ago," he stated confidently.

"Excuse me?"

"The blood results," the younger blond no longer stayed quiet, from his place in the room, "they suggest spliced DNA. There would need to be more tests."

"Well, how about you ask next time?" This was ridiculous, if he wanted to bring back horses, that was cool with him. "You can't just walk up and stab people's animals! What if you had a dog or something!?"

"Well, I'd still want to make sure my pets' vitals are-"

"Possible," the man stifled his student with a glance, then eyed up the young khan again, "but difficult, considering your Khan affiliations," he said, pulling back the hammer. The click as it locked into place made Nick flinch. "Any last words?"

"Hey, hey, hey, my Uncle isn't unreasonable. If you make it a benefit to him to drag your ass along, he just might listen to you." Come on, he wasn't really going to waste him right here, was he!? In the capital?

"Your 'Uncle' is the leader of your band?" Once the boy nodded, the scientist lowered his gun and uncocked the hammer. Once he stepped around from the counter and set the gun down he reached for Nick's hand. "My name is Dr. Franz Hertz. My apprentice, James Ruby. What shall I call you?"

He reached out slowly to grasp the scientist's hand, "Nick, you can call me that."

The man smiled wide, "Moin Moin," he was very joyous for a man that had a gun ready to kill. This was starting to feel more than it was worth, but he just told the man he'd ask. Right now he was doubting just how well Fergus would take it.

"Please, just make it worth his while."

"No need."

Everyone turned to spot Fergus at the door, khans at his back.

(Later, back at the Saloon)

"So, you're Dr. Franz Hertz?" Gloria asked, brows hunched up in interest, to greet the new arrival Fergus had dragged in. His demeanor had shifted drastically, while the Doctor seemed overly-collected, considering his company.

The man turned to give her his full face and smiled, "Indeed, Miss Van Graff. Is there something you wish to ask?" He asked smoothly, almost enchantingly. Light blue eyes locked on her own. She craned her neck just barely.

"You- you're not what I expected from the rumors I'd heard. I thought you'd be older."

"I get that often, with my reputation. I've managed quite the resume in my short years."

Fergus cut in, "I'd like to hear about this little arrangement. After all, you did technically assault the livestock of another. That's against the law here."

The Doctor's eyes leered back at the man, "Dangerous phrasing for a simple misunderstanding, don't you think?"

Fergus leaned forward to loom over the table, "Depends on the next words out of your mouth, Doc."

"Round of whiskey," Gloria signaled to the server. "Dr. Hertz, what did you do?"

Franz took a moment to analyze her face, and looked much more willing to talk with her. "I sent my apprentice to collect a blood sample from a healthy male and female." The doctor cut his eyes back to Fergus, "Your nephew caught him in the act."

Fergus growled low, "And the purpose was?"

"I have a theory, that these horses were spawned, maybe from a vault, even. But they weren't just 'spawned,' but created. Then, released to survive in the wastes thirty-five years ago." Franz refused the drink once offered by the server and continued, "Whoever is doing this, and the signs are there, I must find him. The details are in the code of your horses' DNA, like a signature. And if your nephew is to be believed, you're a reasonable man."

"You best start talking, then."

Gloria shook her head in disgust, she forgot how pigheaded Fergus could be with those he deemed a threat. He'd always been more the eager warrior than Naddok, but that usually left him to judge quickly. "Yes, this conversation wasn't on my list of priorities, and I'd like to wrap things up per our arrangement," she finished, with a keen glare.

"Certainly, Miss Van Graff," Franz offered a humble bow, "All I need is more time to find leads. That means more tests. If you'll have me, I only ask you allow me five men, myself included. We have a solid knowledge in medical treatment, all of which shall be pro-bono. So, what say you, Fergus?"

Fergus sat back in his seat, hand out on the table churning his glass of whiskey. He stared at the doctor, hard. Unwavering. The doctor's offer was honest, he spoke honest; Franz spoke evenly, confidently, willing to trade barbs with the likes of him. A man like that was more than sure, and in Fergus' book he'd be alright. Straight shooter, and Fergus knew a killer when he saw one. That 10mm wasn't just for show.

He was also one of those Followers of the Apocalypse. It'd been agreed by the Chieftains that their help should be sought after. This was a foot in the door in that regard.

But something about the Doctor, the man, felt wrong.

(Some 50 Miles S. West of New Vegas)

Naddok was looking over maps, all were hand draw and most were barely legible. He was used to deciphering the gibberish by now, not everyone among his people were literate, and some of his best scouts only had the basics. Those Followers only really offered to teach the children, and he didn't have enough time. They were capable without it for the time being, and Papa Khan was seeking to narrow that gap back in Freeside. Naddok had his men set up in an old government building along I-15. The mountains it cut through would make nice natural barriers, and with lookouts, they'd see attackers for miles, and stuck right between California and Nevada, it was as good a staging area as any. The first few raids had been successful and it seemed the Bear wasn't disturbed yet. The longer it took them to respond, the better.

"Chief," Naddok glanced up, and his doorman was before him. "Copperhead is outside, sir."

Naddok expected as much, it was that Copperhead was rather prompt, which was unexpected. "Send him in." he'd sent for the man not long ago.

The khan nodded and left, holding the door for the Chieftain before giving them privacy. "What is it you want?"

Naddok ignored the man's arrogance. "How are you liking the current arrangements?" Despite the man's pigheadedness, Naddok had soon learned the man was an effective, yet harsh leader. He didn't allow failure within his ranks, not even in the slightest. His men feared him for that, but it motivated them into worthy fighters.

Copperhead didn't speak, instead folding his arms over his chest. He stepped closer, "Any and all captured troopers coming to me is well in my favor. Strong and able-bodied; they'll make great slaves back East."

Naddok nodded, taking a seat behind his 'new' desk, he thought with disdain. "These buyers of yours … you believe they could match the NCR?"

"Without us? It would only be a matter of time." Copperhead moved to loom over the desk, "You remembered that from that meeting a week ago, nobody hangs onto a slip like that without interest."

"All I want," Naddok leveled a defensive glare, "is who they are."

Copperhead reeled back in laughter, but stamped it down to curve the man, "No Khan, the question is, do you even want to be involved?" The broad man turned to walk away, "I have lieutenants for a reason, bring your concerns to them."

"I won't ask again."

Copperhead stopped, "The first one is always free," he turned back to Naddok, "and I know you won't ask again. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

"What-"

"I have a small shipment ready to leave for our usual meet. I'll send word through them and get a Frumentarii out here if you really want to know."

"And what is that," Naddok asked, a 'Frumentarii' didn't make any sense, it sounded like gibberish. Copperhead began to pace.

"A person. He happened upon us in the wastes maybe a year back, and was quite pleased in our trade. I know he's a scout of some kind and he had an escort; but ever since, they've always bought our captures. He offered some of these the first time," he said, flipping a small gold coin onto Naddok's desk. It continued to wobble, ringing softly until the seated chieftain swiped his hand across the surface, snatching the piece to inspect it. "The man was well traveled, and paid his offer in caps. Told me to hang onto them, to think of him when we wanted to sell, the more the better. Said it's an 'aureus.'"

Naddok observed the face side of the coin, hosting the profile of a man and the words 'Aeternit Imperi' arching across the top around the profiles head. Turning the coin over in his hand, Naddok froze. Copperhead didn't notice.

The flip side bore the image of a bull, and another inscription 'Pax Per Bellvm' in similar fashion as the last. He couldn't understand the language, but dragging his eyes across the letters again gave him some pause.

"I will meet this man. How soon can he be here?" he folded his hands together, eyeing the man as he rounded back, still pacing.

"I couldn't say. My men have reported he hasn't shown his face since our first encounter, but the men that do show are organized in outfits slightly less appealing to look at than all that leather." Naddok just stared back at the grinning man, obviously looking for a reaction to amuse him. Maybe he was getting antsy for another raid?

"Best guess?"

"Probably a few months, at most. And a meet place would have to be agreed upon, but that can be handled after we get in contact."

"I understand. Well, we both have a lot of work in the meantime, I'm sure," Naddok said, flashing his eyes at the door.

Copperhead got the message, and left with a scoff, "Yeah, yeah."

Naddok waited until he was sure Copperhead was gone, before he unfolded his hands to look at the reverse side of the gold coin again. This couldn't be a coincidence. He remembered the Elder's word clearly, 'The Bear above retreats, stung by a Bull from the eastern lands.' This coin, it has to be them.

There's no way this was a coincidence.

Naddok called for his doorman, "Yes sir?"

"Prepare a rider, the fastest we have available. Have him report to me in half an hour, I will have a message ready for him." The khan saluted, arm across his chest, and set out to relay his chieftain's order.

He needed to send word to Fergus. This wasn't something his brother should be in the dark on by the time he came back.