Chapter 27: Accidental Saviors
Barabbas sat mounted upon Belua as Drago and Quintas returned from their scouting mission. "Report," he rumbled.
"Legate, we discovered a small encampment of raiders. We believe they are of the 80's tribe," Drago bowed.
Barabbas stroked the chin of his helm. The 80's were a loose confederation of tribal bandits, whom many in the Legion had experience with in the past. In previous years, envoys from smaller groups of the 80's would often offer their services as scouts and raiders for Imperial Dallas. The bulk of their numbers, however, preferred roaming the badlands and eking out their petty existences as only they knew.
That being said, reports from the area indicated that more and more of the 80's had been moving west, possibly to join the ascending Wild Khans and their attacks on the northern NCR. Such actions were of no serious concern for the Legate, more power to them, and yet the thought of an alliance between these and possibly other groups even caused him to pause. What were they getting out of it?
"Do they possess vehicles?" Barabbas asked.
"The group has access to choppers," Quintas spoke up.
"He means motorbikes," Drago corrected.
"They have fuel this far out?" Barabbas asked.
Drago and Quintas shared a look at one another. "…We hadn't considered that fact," Drago admitted.
"Where is Falco?" Barabbas asked as he snapped the reins on Belua.
"With the others, awaiting your orders," Quintas answered.
"Well, with our luggage secured, I believe it best we introduce ourselves," Barabbas said as the other two flanked him.
"They are trespassing in our territory, my legate," Quintas offered. "How would you like to amend the issue?"
"We will talk nicely, like civilized people," Barabbas replied. Drago and Quintas both let out laughs. Barabbas did not.
Kyra sat and struggled against the post. Looking around her at the dumped tents and equipment, she huffed and mumbled to herself. "…With the rest of the luggage," she mumbled, eyes downcast. The one who tied her, she believed it was Damocles, had knotted her wrists together in such a way that denied them any traction or movement.
She was alone, at a basic roadside shelter where people long ago would wait for carriers to ferry them across the Great Blackstone River. It was here where they had set up camp for the night, as usual with Kyra in charge of cooking the meat. Aside from some leering and a suggestion from Hypatia that she'd be more comfortable in her bare skin than in sackcloth, the soldiers had left her be. As of late, Barabbas had only bound her legs together for the night as opposed to being hogtied, allowing her to retain some dignity as she rested on Belua.
Kyra tried to find her footing, thinking that with enough leverage, she could force her way out of the bind, even if she had to dislocate both her wrists to do so. Forcing the soles of her feet onto the ground, she dragged her bonds up the shaft of the post as she began searching for the knots.
As she worked, she saw a few figures approaching from the horizon. She stopped, her eyes trying to adjust for a better look. These people, from what little she could tell, were not dressed like legionaries. Hope beginning to rise, she began to call out to them. "HEEEEEEEELP!"
The riders had fanned out once they had met. As they had approached, the tribals waiting at the bottom responded in kind, dispersing as they grabbed their weapons with a few even mounting their riding machines even as their leader waved them down. The lead tribal, it seemed, was nearly as tall as Barabbas, and wore plate armor scavenged from road signs while strapped together by leather. His handlebar mustache and spiked helmet covered every inch of his face except his chin, nose, and eyes, who watched the Legate with suspicion as the armored warrior approached.
"What business brings you to Legion territory?" Barabbas rumbled as the rest of his cavalry quietly stamped in the back, snorting out vapor while his warriors watched for the slightest movement.
"Our own," the leader answered, brusquely.
"You are trespassing. Do you not have permission from the local consulate to set up your camp here?" Barabbas asked.
"The consulate is not much of a fan of our type. We come and go at our leisure, provided we don't spark up too much of a fuss," the leader tried to deflect.
"Is that something I should take your word for?" Barabbas asked, skeptically.
"I was hoping you'd sympathize," the leader retorted. "The Imperial Legate on the frontier of his empire, with only what I presume to be his immediate bodyguard?" he extolled as his tribemates began shifting uncomfortably.
"…You are looking for a fight?" Barabbas asked.
"…Am I?" the leader replied.
The squad of gunners made their way to the encampment. Most began digging through the leftover supplies and rations, paying no heed to the bound woman. One, however, came over and offered his canteen. "You seem exhausted. Are you in trouble?" the man asked.
What does it look like, asshole?! Kyra thought. "Thank you," Kyra said as she took a sip.
The man was lean and ugly, bald with a chain tattoo around his head. The rest of the group was busy ransacking the camp, which Kyra didn't feel like stopping, regardless of her situation.
"I doubt you are in this position by choice," the man said aloud.
"…You would be right," Kyra concurred.
The man pulled out a knife. "Anyone I should be worried about?"
"Not if we hurry," Kyra answered, trying to keep her excitement down.
"We?" the man questioned.
"Hey, Claude!" one of the men called out. He pulled out a gladius from one of the tents. "I think these guys are Legion!"
"Just shut up and cut me free!" Kyra hissed as she struggled against her bonds.
The man named Claude just let out a quick laugh as he began cutting into the rope. "Just your luck, we aren't friends of the Legion."
Kyra felt a weight lift from her shoulders, and she was half surprised she didn't start floating away when her bonds were cut. Getting to her feet, she turned to her rescuer and bowed. "I am forever in your debt," she breathed.
Claude winced. "Very poor choice of words."
Suddenly, Kyra felt an iron vice clamp around her neck. As she gulped, she heard the unmistakable beeping next to her ear. As she glanced up to her "rescuer," she saw the detonator in his hands. "Now, you are going to be good and quiet while we see what's worth what," Claude grinned.
Barabbas and the 80's leader, a man named Ox, sat around the unlit campfire and toasted one another, the raider laughing as he explained his circumstances to this fascinating stranger. It was true, more and more 80's had been going west ever since the Wild Khans had started taking NCR territory. Not to mention that the great vast plains had been ample grounds for ambitious tribes who could cover a lot of area quickly, in addition to the Wild Khans themselves being rather permissive allies for most raiders. Gone were the days of Caesar's subjugations, now Urangal Khan was organizing a party at California's expense. It was a good deal for most, Ox explained. And the toys they offered didn't hurt measures, either.
Ox handed Barabbas a modified fission battery that had previously been on his chopper. With it, the fuel wars the 80's had routinely fought amongst themselves had been a thing of the past. A gift from the north, their rides could drive in perpetuity, limited only by the stamina of the rider themselves. Many had taken this gift and joined the California raids in either gratitude or simply to use the opportunity to ride forever as they saw fit. Ox, however, considered himself more of a pragmatist, waiting to see the result of the California wars and seeing what territories he could take should any of the clans return.
Barabbas respected Ox. He was a powerful warrior who commanded the respect of his men through actions as much as words, without disregarding the power of the latter. As Barabbas glanced at the 80's backing Ox, he realized that many had been wounded in some prior fight against an unknown rival, each man doing their best to hide their conditions. If Barabbas wanted to wipe them from the map, a good charge would have been all he needed, his only primary concern being the chieftain himself.
Falco watched with bemusement as Uriah and Damocles began muttering to one another. Turning away from his superior, he ordered Drago to take his position as he trotted up to the two junior members of the Canis Equities.
"Something on your minds?" the senior centurion asked the two headstrong dog-riders.
"I fail to see why we must treat these squatters and transients as equals," Damocles muttered.
"If you ride under Barabbas, you ride under his policies," Falco explained. "Barabbas is a student of history. He has studied our past and applied his mind to it. In the old days, yes, we'd probably fight them, spilling blood and gaining nothing but territory our enemies could never have held. These are the ideas that broke us twice at Hoover Dam."
"Spare us the lessons," Uriah scoffed. "We lost because we were tricked both times because Caesar was lied to about the value of the city."
"And you know what they say about those fooled twice," Falco replied. "Is there something you wish to call the First Caesar?" Uriah's face began to pale, looking around nervously. Falco could only laugh. "Ignorance and mortality often go hand in hand. The Legion was built on legends and lies if only so we could aspire to create something greater. The First Caesar was a man, little more, as is Caesar Lanius. They represent something greater, even if they were only flesh and blood."
"Back to the issue at hand," Falco continued. "Barabbas has an admittedly unique idea about outside cultures. About inherent value and whatnot. This Ox character, debased and dissolute as he may be, may be worth treating with respect. If I had to guess, likely because we are both committing the same crime."
"What nonsense is this?" Damocles asked. "What law have we broken?" Uriah added.
"Trespassing," Falco replied, flatly. "We have failed to report to the local consulates since Laredo."
"We are under the command of Barabbas," Uriah countered. "His command supersedes all lesser authorities within our territories!"
"And is Barabbas' authority enough to supersede that of the Senate? Of the Oracle, and that of Caesar himself?" Falco asked. "By going on this journey, Barabbas is forsaking his responsibilities. By joining him, Dallas will see us as forsaking ours. As such…" he leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "Any fight avoided is immeasurable to us."
The material was all dumped at Claude's feet. Weapons, food, Legion money, anything that could be carried and sold off quickly was currently being appraised by a floating machine, scanning each item and replying with a cap value. Once everything was dumped, the rest of the gunners formed a perimeter. Claude himself was writing on a notepad each number recited, ignoring the sobbing next to him.
"…Two hundred… seventy-eight… one hundred ninety-five…" he quietly muttered as Kyra pleaded with him to let her go.
"You don't have to do this," Kyra sobbed on her knees next to the slaver.
"…Seven hundred… Abacus, what is the total amount of the coinage we've found?"
"Twelve thousand, eight hundred and sixty-four caps," the machine recited.
Claude blinked and looked down to Kyra. "Who is your master?"
"Please!" Kyra wailed, pulling at her collar.
"I wouldn't do that," Claude replied, holding up the detonator. "Who owns you?"
"L-Legate Barabbas," Kyra whimpered as her gaze fell to the dirt, shame overwhelming her.
Claude blinked again. This could either be very expensive or very profitable for him. He couldn't afford any mistakes. Grabbing Kyra by the scalp, he pulled her from the ground. As Kyra wailed and sobbed, Claude brought her before Abacus, who let out a blue beam of light and began scanning the slave.
"Concubine of Legatus Barabbas. Health: Good. Aesthetics: Good. Condition: Fair. Value of three thousand seventy-nine caps," the robot replied.
"And should the Legate be unable to repurchase his property, any buyers on hand?" Claude asked as he loosened his grip on Kyra.
"Potential buyers: RMX Central Market."
Claude's eyes widened. "Really? You'll purchase her?"
"Former Legate concubine presents anomalous market situation. Requesting acquisition for further pending evaluation."
Claude gazed down at the whimpering girl. "Guess you'll be free in a sense, after all."
"Please, let me go," Kyra begged.
"Three thousand and seventy-nine caps, girl. That's what you're up against," Claude said as he put away his notebook. "Don't hate me, hate the Market."
Kyra lunged at the detonator. Claude was only just able to pull away, pulling out his pistol and slamming it across Kyra's face. As she went down, Abacus reactivated. "New assessment. Value of three thousand and seventy-one caps."
"…Do you see what you just made me do?" Claude hissed as he straddled Kyra. "I just lost eight caps cause of you."
"Let me go!" Kyra wailed as she tried to fight back.
"You dumb bitch!" Claude snarled, holding out the detonator. "You really think you can bargain?"
"…Do it," Kyra muttered. "Go ahead."
Claude said nothing. His grip on the detonator tightened. Elsewhere, one of his men felt cold steel drag across his neck.
"You were so angry to lose eight caps, what's three thousand and whatever else more?" Kyra began to goad.
"…Lippy twat," Claude hissed. He began fumbling for his belt buckle. "I know what to do with you."
Kyra fought back her panic. "Abacus, right?" she called out to the machine. "What will happen to my value if Claude keeps going?"
"Decrease, condition hampered with each subsequent interaction," the machine replied.
"SHUT UP!" Claude screamed.
"That won't do my value any good," Kyra added.
Claude clasped his hand over her mouth. "If I have to endure any more lip from you, I'll pull your teeth out and sell them," he seethed as one of his surviving men discovered the intruder as they gutted another sentry, letting out a yell and fired off some shots.
The sound of gunfire captured Falco's attention. Immediately realizing it was coming from the direction of the camp, he snapped the reins of his dog and immediately set out towards the sound.
"Falco?!" Barabbas called out as his second was charging away.
"Uriah, Damocles, on me!" Falco called out.
Barabbas turned to Ox, bowing his head. "Forgive my rudeness, but I must depart."
"No worries, man," Ox held up his cup. "Wish more of you Legion folk were such good company."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Barabbas replied as he mounted Belua. Before charging off, he rounded back to Ox. "Have you seen a small girl with clear, pale eyes?"
Ox shook his head. "Someone I should be on the lookout for?"
"Her safe and unharmed retrieval is something I would reward greatly," Barabbas replied as he snapped the reins of Belua, charging after Falco with the rest of his riders.
One of the gunner's legs gave out after a blast of buckshot destroyed everything below the knee. Grabbing the writhing near-corpse, the intruder used the screaming shield to cover her approach as she pulled out a .45 and traded fire with two of the other guards before they and her cover expired. Dropping the weight, the intruder then turned her attention to the center of the camp, where Claude and Abacus forced their own hostage before her.
"…You, again?" Claude spat, his eyes darkening with hate. "I thought we lost you in Utah."
The silver-haired cowgirl held her .45 towards Claude. Claude pulled up the detonator in one hand and his hostage with the other. "Walk away," Claude growled, menacingly.
"…Central Market," Silverhair growled. "Where is it and how do I get in?"
"You think I'd tell you?" Claude snarled.
"Wasn't talking to you," Silverhair shot back. "Abacus, tell me where you are so I can kill you."
The machine "looked" at her. "…Mission statement: 2286. Assignment, eliminate competing caravan. Buyout: fail. Liquidation dispatched. Elimination of competitor confirmed. Elimination of liquidation squad confirmed, deemed necessary expense. Mission adjustment. One component of competitor remains active."
Silverhair began gritting her teeth. At this point, she still needed either the bad eyebot or the slaver alive, as much as it galled her. Not helping matters was the hostage, but unfortunately for the girl, she wasn't here to save anyone.
"Give me a reason to walk away, Claude," Silverhair growled.
"I will paint the wastes with her brains if you don't," Claude snarled as he tightened his grips on both his lifelines.
"Keep trying," Silverhair shot back as Kyra surrendered all hope.
"…You… you…" Claude began to sweat. The sounds of angry hounds began to draw closer. Claude glanced at the cowgirl and betrayed a small, manic grin. "…Guess today won't be your lucky day, after all. ABACUS, DEACTIVATE TERMINAL!"
The eyebot began to fizzle and die as Claude kicked the hostage towards the cowgirl. It threw off Silverhair's clear shot, allowing Claude to turn around and book it towards the approaching legionaries. Dropping his detonator, Claude pulled out his pistol as the first dog-rider drew closer.
"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!" Claude screamed as he began to fire, the nimbleness of the rider protecting both man and beast from being hit as they grew closer. The centurion pulled out his gladius as he rushed past Claude, and with one swing, Claude's promise came to pass.
Silverhair rushed to the eyebot as it sputtered and sank into the ground. "Nonononononono!" she muttered urgently as she pried open the side of the frame with her knife, throwing the panel aside as she reached in and yanked out the motherboard, electricity stinging her as it fell to the ground. She watched as it smoked on the dirt, trying to keep her breathing steady as she wrapped it in cloth and sank it in her knapsack. Then she turned her attention to Claude, whose head was currently rolling underneath the paw of a giant dog, under which the animal crushed it.
"You… just cost me three years of my life!" Silverhair snarled as she drew out her shotgun. Uriah and Damocles fanned out while Falco wiped his blade.
"The Imperial Legion has no tolerance for thieves," Falco stated. "Judging by your circumstances, you are not with them. I shall do you the courtesy of hearing you out."
"THREE YEARS!" Silverhair roared. "Three years of tracking that sorry excuse of a slaver! Now I'm basically back where I started, thanks to you!"
The rest of the riders had finally arrived. Barabbas looked down at the seething elder cowgirl as he glanced over the wreckage and corpses. "Where is…" he finally spotted a retreating figure in the distance. He dismounted Belua, slapping her flank as he clicked his tongue, the beast charging after her.
He approached Silverhair and placed his arm against his breastplate. "Ave, are you responsible for the death of these thieves?"
"That one," she pointed to Falco, "killed the one I was after! I needed that one alive!"
Barabbas shot a look at Falco, who could only shrug apologetically. "…What manner of compensation would be fair?" Barabbas asked.
"I spent three years of my life tracking him. You owe me for three years of work!" Silverhair gritted.
"Your business is of little concern to me. However, for saving our supplies, I am willing to part with two hundred denarii.
Silverhair was about to answer when a bloodcurdling shriek in the distance caught her attention. Two minutes later, the young woman was dragged back to her master, even as she kicked and cursed the animal clutching her leg in its jaws. Kyra was dropped at Barabbas's feet, the animal sitting and panting as the Legate looked over Kyra's new collar.
"…I don't believe that look suits you," Barabbas joked.
"DIE IN A FIRE!" Kyra screamed.
"It doesn't appear that they harmed you at lea-"he stopped as he saw the wound on her cheek. For the briefest of moments, Barabbas shared the anger of Silverhair over Falco's actions. "…I see I erred in not posting a guard."
"GO TO HELL!" Kyra snarled as she clawed at the collar, tears streaking down her face.
"Stop moving," Barabbas stated as he pushed her in front of him, looking at the seems of the collar. "There we are," he muttered as he gripped the hinges.
"What is he doing?" Silverhair asked, nervously. Sulla moved to intervene but was waved off by Falco. Barabbas began to pull as Kyra felt herself panic. "Bar… master," she nearly vomited as Barabbas began straining. "Please, I can just…"
The collar snapped as Kyra fell from its grip. She looked up and saw the unlatched collar dangling from Barabbas's hand, him tossing it away as he pulled her to her feet.
"You are welcome," Barabbas stated.
"KILLING ME WOULD BE A MERCY!" Kyra screamed. "If it had taken your hands, it would have been a fair trade," she seethed.
"You know I can beat you for insolence," Barabbas said, dryly. "Falco, have our equipment accounted for, we're heading out." He turned to look at Silverhair. "We will discuss your payment later."
Silverhair watched the defeated Kyra lower her head. She tried to ignore it, wanted to look the other way, just focus on what she needed to do herself. But deep inside her was a spark of who she used to be. She picked up the detonator and strolled up to the near sobbing slave.
"You know," Silverhair began. "If it makes you feel any better, that collar was a dud."
Kyra looked to the cowgirl as she absentmindedly played with the detonator. "What, did you think they'd drag a collar out all this way just to waste it?" Silverhair shrugged. "Not their style."
Kyra didn't respond, merely walking away to stand by the Legate as he barked commands to the rest of his entourage. Silverhair looked at the detonator. "…Can't fool me," she muttered as she pressed the button.
A sudden pop later, the entire camp was looking at the small, smoldering crater left behind by the remnants of the collar. It took all of Silverhair's power not to look at the accusing glare the slave girl was giving her. "…Well," Barabbas finally spoke. "Lucky us, I suppose," he concluded as he patted Kyra on the back, who in turn could not mask her disappointment.
Dinero collapsed onto the ground, the sun bearing down on him. The heat had been punishing him for hours, even more so than usual this day, as it had the last and the one before that. Age, at long last, had caught up with the playboy. He hacked out a strangled breath as Marcy kept tugging on his sleeve.
"…I ca… I can't…" he heaved out, lips parched and bloody.
Marcy tried dragging him, but between his larger weight and her own exhaustion, there was no hope of getting him to any shelter, not that there was any for miles around. She tugged, nonetheless, until his sleeve tore, bowling her back as Dinero curled up into a ball. "…Scottsdale is wonderful. Have I ever told you that…" he muttered to no one.
Marcy looked around, not spying any soul close enough to help. She only had one shot. With as much calm as she could muster, she knelt on the ground and closed her eyes, slowing her breathing as she reached out.
As she did, she counted. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. Three. One. Four. One. Two. Four. Four. Four. FOUR!
Blood began trickling down her lips as she continued. FOUR! FOUR! FOUR! FOUR! Four! Four! Four! Four. Four. Four. …four… four…
The stagecoach came lumbering over the wasteland, the driver whipping the brahmin as she tried desperately to get them back on course. "YOU DUMBASS ANIMALS! YIELD! YIELD, GODDAMMIT!" Daphne screamed as she and Tia pulled on the reins.
Gradually, the animals eventually ground to a halt, both brahmin looking disturbed as Daphne caught her breath. "…What's with these bastards?" Daphne exhaled. "Ain't like them to go off on their own like that."
Tia climbed out of the car to tend to them. "Sean, what's the matter? Did Shaun start bullying you again? And you two, Shawn and Shawne, I expect better from you guys!" she exclaimed as she began patting their coats to calm them down.
As Daphne reached into the glovebox to fish out a spare whiskey, she realized that there was someone nearby trying to wave her down. Passing the whiskey for the magnum, she called out for Tia to return to the stagecoach. "I think we walked straight into an ambush. Let's hold up here until the rest of the caravan joins back up," she said.
Tia looked to her mother, and then to the figure on the horizon. "…Ma… that's a girl," she exclaimed.
"Raiders love using bait like that," Daphne pressed. The sentence came from personal experience. The figure collapsed onto the ground.
"Ma, they're dying!" Tia cried.
"Such is the wastes, girl. Leave em be," Daphne gritted.
Tia pouted, bolting off towards them. Daphne let out a growl before exiting the stagecoach and storming after her daughter. That girl would one day be the death of her, she swore.
When they reached the collapsed figure, they realized that she hadn't been alone. The older man, probably her grandfather, looked even closer to death than she did. Still barely conscious, the girl wiped the torrent of blood coming down her nose as she mumbled incoherently, clearly pleading for help.
"What did I tell you about going off on your own?!" Daphne growled as she grabbed her daughter by the collar.
"If they was going to rob us, why do it so far off the beaten path? Are they just waiting for brahmin to wig out?" Tia argued. "These folk ain't in no position to rob us!"
"Not directly," Daphne muttered under her breath. She eyed the two, the girl mumbling and the old man writhing under the sun. "…Can you carry the girl?" she finally relented.
"Oh, thank you, mom!" Tia cheered.
"If I regret this, you'll be punished, I swear," Daphne tried to grumble as she grabbed the geezer's arms and dragged.
In a brief, dreamlike haze, Dinero almost regained consciousness as he felt his backside touch leather. He had missed the feeling. He felt a warm presence stretch across his body as he was strapped in. "Tia, you got her?" a sweet and sonorous voice called out.
"I think she's OK, mom. Just tired," the lighter voice called out as a familiar mumble reached his ears.
See, Dinero thought, nothing to worry about, Marc. I told you this would work out. Marcy couldn't roll her eyes even if she wanted to. Dinero struggled to open his eyes, to look upon the face of his savior. He couldn't quite manage it; his neck didn't have the strength. Still, he managed a peek. Well, at least now I know angels have awesome racks, Dinero thought to himself before he passed out. The stagecoach rejoined the caravan without incident, and by the evening had reached the Res by the Res.
Excerpt from the Judicial Marshal Basic Training Guide and Manual
Res by the Res: The closest thing to a safe zone as we've been able to identify in the Unclaimed Wastes. So far as we've been able to ascertain, the town, such as it is, is based by a reservoir on what had been a reservation, hence the name of the city. In addition to being a watering hole, the city also serves as a commerce hall and rest stop for everyone passing through, be they caravanners or raiders. Being something of a Co-op, the city strictly forbids violence within its borders, even if prohibiting it is not exactly feasible. The general rule appears to be something like "don't start what you can't finish." Think of it as a less safe, less fancy, and more honest New Vegas- Commissioner Floyd Wilson
