Chapter Four
1917 hours, August 15, 2284 (local calendar)
Outskirts of New Vegas
State of Nevada, Planet Earth, Sol System
Ryan felt he had been lied to.
During their walk north Camry had spoken at length about Las Vegas, or New Vegas as it was now known, describing it as a vibrant place the likes of which regular wastelanders could scarcely dream of. It had food, water and power in abundance, entertainment of every kind imaginable and a level of luxury on par with pre-war standards, all of which was protected by a stout wall so effective the only wasteland creatures anyone saw were the ones being used onstage in a show.
After hearing all this Ryan was, understandably, expecting big things. But on cresting the final hill standing between him and the city he was taken aback to see nothing of the sort as while yes, the actual city of Las Vegas had survived more or less intact, plus the surrounding places like Henderson, Paradise and Winchester, New Vegas itself only consisted of a tiny sliver centred in and around the old roadway that had once been home to the various casinos that made Vegas famous. It was bright and noticeable from a distance, sure, but some rough calculations by Artoria suggested that maybe only five square kilometres of the old city had actually been resettled.
That didn't include a number of smaller settlements that ringed the city whilst proclaiming their independence from it, the two most notable of which were called Westside and Freeside, but even adding them to the calculations barely pushed the total amount of reclaimed city to ten square kilometres. Ryan kept his disappointment to himself though, especially after seeing the subtle hints of pride on Camry's face when he spoke of the city.
From the sound of things he had been a driving force in helping shape New Vegas and the wider Mojave into what it was today, often being the deciding factor in what were otherwise stalemate situations. All impressive sounding and a good indicator as to what kind of person Camry was, but that still didn't make up for the fact that New Vegas hardly qualified to be called a city. Ryan felt it barely qualified for town, either.
It was just a collection of three casinos lucky enough to be surrounded by a wall.
Resort would be an even better description, Ryan thought as they approached the southern entrance into the Strip, a recent addition to the city following the NCR's annexation of the Mojave as a whole.
As expected it was brightly lit with neon signs proudly welcoming people in, but because this was the wasteland it also had a contingent of armed guards standing watch behind fortified positions. To Ryan's surprise they weren't hired mercenaries or members of a town's self-made guard like he had seen back in Novac, but NCR troopers dressed in their ubiquitous khaki armour and toting service rifles. Then again, the southern entrance to the Strip was only a few hundred metres from the gate leading into Camp McCarren and both places were of vital importance to NCR operations in the area. Why wouldn't they post a squad at the gates?
They probably also used being posted here as a reward for good behaviour, or troopers cycling back from the frontlines, as the only role they seemed to be filling was that of a visible presence to deter any troublemakers. Nobody was carrying out checks of the people passing through the gates beyond the occasional random stop, and neither did they seem to care about people openly carrying weapons upon their person so long as they were kept holstered with nearby signs reinforcing the message.
'Used to cost two-thousand caps to get in here,' Camry said. 'Or about $5,000.'
'Just to get in?' Ryan said.
'Well, you at least had to have that much on you,' Camry said. 'The old management didn't want poor people stepping foot into his domain that weren't part of the hired help at the casinos.'
His eyes glanced to a nearby tower a little further down the Strip, a thin looking thing topped by a disc with four arms poking out from beneath it in what was no doubt an attempt to evoke the imagery of a roulette table. Oddly, it wasn't lit up like the other buildings Ryan could see but Camry didn't offer any explanations. He just kept walking up to the gate.
As they did, two of the troopers standing guard detached from the main group and came over, likely with the intention of subjecting Ryan to a 'random' search. Being seven feet tall and dressed in advanced power armour meant he stood out, and more than a few people on the road had passed comment about him being affiliated with the Brotherhood or Enclave in some way, so there was no way these troopers wouldn't be thinking the same.
But before they could do or say anything Camry pulled out a leather wallet and flipped it open, holding it up to the pair as he said, 'It's okay, he's with me.'
The senior of the two troopers took the wallet and examined it, his eyes widening a moment later.
'Very well, sir,' he said, handing it back.
'Thanks,' Camry said.
He stowed it and resumed walking to the gate with Ryan a few steps behind, ignoring the looks of the troopers whilst saying, 'I didn't realise civilian contractors had so much pull.'
Camry shrugged. 'The ones known by name to field grade officers do. Of course, it also means I get given the more difficult jobs that crop up but hey. Price of success, right?'
He threw a sardonic grin Ryan's way as they walked through the gate into the Strip proper where they were greeted by a veritable wall of noise and light coming from a thronging crowd hundreds or even thousands strong, backlit by buildings festooned in neon lighting and apparently restored to their pre-war glory. The same could be said of the roadway which was smoother than anything Ryan had seen since arriving and free of the decrepit remains of cars. If anything, the biggest obstacles on them were the numerous hawkers trying to move their wares.
There were no end of them trying to sell off everything from cooked foods and drinks to gaudy souvenirs, whilst others were performing their own little shows in front of a few dozen tourists. Card tricks, illusions and comedy routines were common enough, as were musical acts though the din of the crowd made it difficult to hear them. About the only act that caught Ryan's eye involved a ghoul in a brown leather duster plucking the strings of an acoustic guitar, regaling a crowd of kids with tales of the wastes in ballad form.
His current song was about a vault dweller that had left their underground home with the simple task of averting a calamity that had befallen it, only to somehow wind up saving all of California from a grave threat the singer referred to as the Dark God of Unity, a twisted mess of flesh with the power to corrupt men. A poetic interpretation of whatever had actually happened, no doubt, but it seemed to be keeping the kids enthralled and a few others who broke out into applause when the ghoul finished.
'Any songs of your exploits?' Ryan said to Camry as the latter turned left off the main throughfare, past a workshop of some kind called Michael Angelo's, and onto a smaller side street that was home to numerous blocks sitting behind the casinos.
'If there are, I haven't heard any.'
Once off the main drag things changed dramatically, there being only a handful of people out and about who were, to the last, simply enjoying the encroaching evening air in the little gardens attached to apartment blocks rather than trying their luck at the casinos with entertainment coming from a radio tuned to a music-only station. Some waved to Camry when he walked past them and gave curious stares to Ryan who greeted them with a nod of the head, following his guide into a block aptly named Casa de la Fortuna, or Home of the Lucky/Fortunate according to the Mjolnir armour's translation suite.
The apartment block itself wasn't anything fancy which surprised Ryan a little, who figured someone with as much pull in the NCR as Camry did would have taken up residence in something more upmarket. There were no attendants, no fancy paintings or sculptures, the carpets were devoid of fancy decorative patterns, while the apartments themselves weren't exactly spacious. The main room was maybe five metres wide and fifteen long, a small kitchenette in the corner, with three smaller rooms branching off from it, one of which was probably a bathroom.
'Make yourself at home,' Camry said as they entered, the front door swinging shut behind them. 'There's beer in the fridge if that's more your thing, or some Nuka-Colas and Sunset Sarsaparillas. Oh, and if you see a blue star on any of the caps, don't get too excited. It's not worth it. Trust me.'
Ryan shot him a curious glance when Camry didn't elaborate but said, 'Thanks,' as he reached up and removed his helmet, placing it on a small counter, and plucked Artoria's chip from the back. Her avatar, that of a blonde haired, green eyed girl in her late teens wearing a blue dress covered in various pieces of steel armour, appeared above it a moment later as Ryan set it down next to the helmet. She made a show of adjusting herself then drew a longsword almost as long as she was tall, resting it with the tip of the blade on the 'ground' and her hands on the pommel, as though she were standing watch.
'You have my utmost gratitude for sharing your accommodations with us, Sir Camry,' she said, bowing her head to him.
'No problem,' he said. 'Let me wash up and slip into some clean clothes, then I'll give you two a quick tour around the Strip.'
He pointed to one of the two doors and added, 'You can leave your gear in there, Ryan. The casinos don't look too kindly on people walking in armed unless it's official Strip business. Not that I think you'd need a weapon to cause trouble.'
'I certainly do not,' Ryan said.
Camry gave a distant nod then began the process of stripping off his gear as Ryan went for the refrigerator, opening it up to see a poor selection of things to eat outside of packaged pre-war foods which, even with his enhanced stomach, didn't seem appealing. No doubt Camry was like a lot of other city dwellers who ate out more often than he did in, something further compounded by his regular excursions into the wastes, so having a stock of food at home probably wasn't a big deal. It probably wasn't all that far to a store he could buy fresh produce from anyway.
His drinks selection was more varied as aside from the aforementioned items in the refrigerator there were harder spirits in an open cupboard sitting above it. Whiskey seemed to be the most prominent one but Ryan could see a few bottles of scotch, vodka, absinthe and even wine scattered amongst them, though whiskey reigned supreme. There was even an empty bottle of the stuff sitting on a low table near a pair of couches, a folded piece of paper trapped beneath it.
Ryan shrugged and grabbed a beer, his first in who knew how long, and stepped into the room Camry had indicated he could store his stuff in. The people who might have jobs for him wouldn't be open until tomorrow so Camry had offered to put him up for the night, especially after learning he only had a hundred or so caps to his name. Barely enough for a decent hotel room on the Strip, and he couldn't guarantee the ones in Freeside wouldn't conspire to steal his valuables as he slept.
The offer of hospitality also extended to giving him a tour of the Strip, including a show at one of the casinos, which Ryan thought was going more than a little above and beyond considering they had only met four days ago. They hadn't even come under attack by raiders of wild animals, precluding them from developing any sense of camaraderie instilled in soldiers under fire. All they had really done during the journey to Vegas was make small talk and swap tales of their past adventures.
About the only thing Ryan could say for certain he knew about Camry was that he seemed physically incapable of ignoring people in need, even if he had other, more urgent matters to attend to like hunting down the group responsible for ambushing him. His journey to Vegas should have taken eight days, ten at the most, but because he had seen fit to stop and lend a hand at every outpost or settlement along the way it had taken more than two weeks, during which he suffered no small amount of injuries at the hands of convicts, ghouls, super mutants and giant insects, including a particularly nasty one following a shootout with some raiders at Boulder City.
He was also an avid gun collector it turned out, as on entering the room Camry had indicated to deposit his gear Ryan was faced with a veritable wall of them that ranged from small pistols to heavier things fired from the shoulder. A quick count revealed there were around sixty, maybe seventy different weapons systems in the room, plus a collection of melee implements of both the bladed and bludgeoning variety, plus crates of ammo. Oddly, the same couldn't be said for armour as the only set Ryan saw other than what Camry already had on, and a selection of helmets and full face masks, was the gear issued to rank and file Rangers, albeit with the shoulder emblems removed and the accompanying campaign hat nowhere to be seen.
A gift from the NCR for all his help, perhaps, or taken from one of their fallen for his own nefarious purposes?
Whichever it was, Ryan took a moment to take the sight in before beginning the arduous process of adding his own collection of weapons to the pile, retaining his sidearm and knife, returning to the apartment's main room where he saw Camry had swapped his leather armour for some faded blue jeans and an off-grey T-shirt, a battered leather jacket in one hand. In the other was the folded piece of paper from the table, now unfolded with whatever that was written on it holding Camry's attention.
'That's quite a collection in there,' Ryan said.
'I'm afraid I can't give you a tour of the Strip tonight,' Camry said back, apparently unaware of what had actually been spoken. 'That caravaneer I told you about is in town for a few days whilst her wagon rests up and resupplies, and she wants to meet with me.'
A moment later he blinked and looked up, saying, 'Sorry, what did you say?'
'Nothing important,' Ryan said, shaking his head. 'Don't worry about the tour. I'm not all that interested in gambling, anyway, and I'm not exactly dressed for a night on the town.'
He motioned to his armour which, short of a Brokkr Armour Mechanism, would take the better part of an hour to remove properly and longer still to re-equip, especially as there were no qualified technicians around to lend a hand.
'If you're sure,' Camry said. 'Okay, then. I'll see you back here tomorrow morning, say around nine?'
'Works for me,' Ryan said.
'Great.' Camry pocketed the note and slipped his jacket on. 'Oh, and the apartment's yours tonight but if anything serious crops up I'll be at the Tops.'
Ryan nodded and with that, Camry ducked out of the apartment to leave him with just the ghostly form of Artoria hovering above her data chip for company and the task of somehow occupying himself until morning. The only problem was that the apartment didn't really have much in the way of entertainment beyond a few comic books about some fantasy barbarian called Grognak and a series of volumes concerning the exploits of a trader. Every other book was a how-to manual for various subjects that Ryan was either already well versed in or had no use for.
Even the so-called Wasteland Survival Guide, the only one that piqued his interest, actually held very little information pertaining to its namesake environment that couldn't be found in other survival guides, and what unique information it did contain was intended for longer-term projects that required their own specialised guides to properly accomplish rather than a few quick entries in a book that, to Ryan at least, dipped a little bit too much into the intellectual side of things at times rather than providing more practical solutions to the situations presented. At one point it even gave classification names for several notable wasteland creatures, including some mutated crab thing known as a mirelurk, which was of no literal use in a survival situation.
All that really remained for Ryan to do was to go on a self-guided tour of the Strip himself, maybe even Freeside, so after a quick detour to grab his helmet and Artoria's chip both he set out from the apartment to do exactly that.