"Hello, travelers."

Not that far away from the crossroads of Nipton Road and the road from Primm to the NCR outpost, Akechi and Tomas turned towards a voice coming from behind them.

There was a guy in a leather jacket and goggles, riding what could be best described as a naked mole rat the size of a horse, with a chair tied up to its back with rope. Said chair had a footrest in front of it that the rider was sitting on, holding the reins of his mount. On top of said chair and rider, the beast was burdened with a bunch of packs and boxes, but moved without issue. Since it was able to catch up with the duo marching on foot, he could probably reach speeds higher than four-five kilometers per hour, something both of them noted for the future.

"Need a ride?" the newcomer asked. "I can take you wherever you need to be, for a price."

"No, thank you," Tomas politely declined.

"The fuck is this beast?" Akechi asked, staring at the animal.

"It's a special breed of mole rat, cultivated by my tribe," the rider explained. "They're large and docile enough to be used as pack animals. Faster than a brahmin, too."

"It's a big one," Tomas commented. "Not like the ones I've seen in the Mojave."

"This breed is extinct in the wild," the rider explained. "It was hunted for its plentiful meat and skin, and unlike its smaller brethren, it wasn't willing to defend itself. My tribe raises our own stock, and a few days ago our elder decided that offering services to the people of the Mojave is a good way of sustaining ourselves."

"So, a taxi," Akechi commented. "Do you travel around looking for fares?"

"No. We have selected a few dozen locations across the Mojave, where a transporter like me will wait for customers." He pointed at the spot at the bottom of the sloped road leading towards the Mojave outpost. "I'll set up camp right over there."

"Out of curiosity:" Akechi asked, "how much would you take for a one-way ride from that spot back to Nipton?"

"100 caps. Though I don't know why you'd want to travel there. You must've seen the town was burned to the gro-" Realization flashed on the transporter's face. "Oh, are you the kid that the survivors there mentioned?"

"If I say 'yes', will you shoot me or offer me a discount?"

"We stay out of Mojave struggles, if possible," the transporter replied, kind of. "But since you are trying to help the wounded, I could lower the price, just this once. Fifty caps."

"I'll think about it," Akechi replied. "I'll see how many caps I'll have left after resupplying up there."

"Right, the receiver is done," Raul announced, putting the device on Futaba's desk; it resembled a long, thin wooden box with jury rigged electronics inside, a bunch of thin metal rods poking out of it in all directions, and a bunch of cables with some duct tape wrapped around them for insulation. "Do you want me to build something else for you?"

"Nah, that's all I need," Futaba told him.

"And how do you plan to install it next to the transmitters?"

"Why next to the transmitters?" she replied. "We're on a mountain. If I install the receiver on top of that rusted dish on the roof of this building, we should get enough height for a start."

"Makes sense. And it's ot like we have equipment to climb up the radio towers, at any rate." Raul picked up the receiver "When you said 'I install', you meant 'I tell the old ghoul to install', didn't you?"

"I mean, you'd do it the fastest," Futaba shrugged. "I dumped physical stats and the big guy," she pointed at Neil, "would probably break the dish while trying to climb it."

"That is likely," Neil shrugged, not willing to argue with the facts, then glanced at Raul. "Will you need a boost to reach the roof?"

"That'd be great," Raul didn't snark, glad to get some assistance. "There's stairs in the back leading to the second floor, if I recall. We'll go up and then you'll help me get to the roof."

"Sounds like a plan."

Raul grabbed the receiver from the desk and walked towards the back door, and Neil followed. Futaba grinned, content. After a rocky start, her randomized spawn put her in an area with enough tech and mostly cooperative locals, which meant that soon enough she would have a cell phone tower running and could use her own device to-

She realized something important, and a loanword slipped out of her mouth: "...fakku."

Neil and Raul, about to leave the radio shack, turned to her. "What is it?" Neil asked.

"Maybe nothing," Futaba growled under her breath, pulling out her phone and pressing the button on the side. The screen remained black. "Fakku," she repeated, frustrated.

"Your language didn't loan the f-word to mean 'fine', did it?" Raul snarked, walking back to her. "What went wrong?"

"My phone's dead," she said, tossing it on the desk.

"Like, broken?" Neil asked.

"God, I hope not," she replied. "But the battery's empty. I didn't charge it before things went in the bit bucket." She pulled out a short USB cable from her pocket, half a meter long, and a black charging plug. "Do you guys have a socket here? Japanese chargers work with slightly different parameters, but should be just fine in American power grids."

"And what do you mean by 'American power grids'?" Raul asked, just to avoid preventable failures. "What voltage, what frequency? Alternating or direct current?"

Futaba needed a moment to remember the parameters. "AC, 120 volts, 60 hertz on average. Or if you wanna match my grid, 100 volts and 50 hertz."

"Sounds easy enough." He glanced behind one of the computers, at a generator standing in the corner, powering most of the things in the room. "Give me a few minutes."

"[Akira?]" Makoto muttered under her breath.

"[Yeah?]"

"[Reportedly there has been a breakout in a nearby prison,]" she said. "[There is a non-zero chance that our travel companions aren't who they claim to be.]"

"[Locals in a settlement I was in confirmed that the courier is a courier,]" Akira reassured her. "[As for the other guy, well… he is a convict, but so far he has been quiet, and my gut feeling says he's harmless.]"

"I guess you're talking about me now," Whitmeyer commented. "You keep glancing at me, trying to be sneaky. I won't start anything, miss," he added, noticing Makoto's somewhat scared expression. "I just want to stay out of trouble and get out of here."

"Right." Since she still hadn't gotten her hands on a holster, he held her gun in her right, pointing it at the ground, and the clipboard with the accession request in her left. She found the former somewhat comforting. "And, uh, what are your plans for the future?" she asked him.

"Go back to California, settle in a small town, find a job," Whitmeyer listed. "Brahmin barons are always looking for farm hands and that's less dangerous and undignified than prison labor."

"Hm." Makoto mulled it over for a moment. "If you pardon my… naivete, perhaps, turning yourself back in is out of the question, isn't it?"

"You're a vault dweller alright," Whitmeyer commented. "I am not testing how much slack the NCR would give a runaway con. I did my time, learned my lessons, and even helped the Republic build some railway before everything went to hell. Isn't that what this whole rigamarole is supposed to be about?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Makoto remarked. "I must ask you to forgive my distrust, sir. I used to have a more black-and-white view of the world. The past few months… kinda dismantled it, but not quite. Maybe I just got it wrong who's black and who's white."

The courier turned towards her. "Don't beat yourself up," he commented. "You're young, you've got time to adjust." He then stared dead ahead, squinting his eyes a bit. "I think I see the radscorpions you mentioned ahead. Big buggers, but far away enough that we can check out that patrol station."

"Are those… bodies, up ahead?" Akira asked, unsure, noticing a row of corpses by the side of the road near the building.

"Yes." Makoto said. "I… They were sprawled around on the road when I came. I wanted to move them out of the way. Maybe bury them or something…"

"That'd take a while," the courier remarked. "I dug a few graves not that long ago, it's such a pain in the neck with this soil. Is there even a shovel nearby?"

"I… don't know," Makoto looked aside. "I poked my head in the building…asked the two guys inside if they had any… and they shot at me."

"Right." The courier unholstered his 10mm handgun. "And where are they now?"

Makoto pointed at a spot near the back corner of the building. "They're… over there. In a pool of blood."

The group approached the building. The arid climate of the Mojave slowed the decomposition enough to make the distinct stench of dead bodies bearable to the chunk of the group unused to dealing with actual dead bodies. Akira felt his lunch coming back up to his throat, Makoto started taking rhythmic breaths to keep herself in check, Whitmeyer realized that he had shared a cell block with one of the victims.

"Did you loot the bodies, Makoto?" the courier asked her.

"Uh…" She was taken aback by his matter-of-fact tone. "Is, uh, stealing from dead people a common thing in this world?"

"It isn't stealing," the courier replied. "If someone attacks you, their stuff is yours by the international law of go fuck yourselves."

"Just check their pockets for loose bullets and stuff," Whitmeyer added. "If they have the same weapons you do, you can grab it for spare parts."

Makoto thought about it for a moment, then marched towards the bodies of the two raiders she had shot. Akira followed her, and watched her try to pry the brass knuckles out of someone's cold dead hands – which was a bit a problem since the fingers stiffened and bloated slightly. Akira found himself at a loss of what to say. And he had to say something, if only to stop the images around him from burrowing into his head. "[Do you- do you want the revolver too?]"

"[If this world will make me debase myself to survive, I might as well debase myself with style.]" Makoto muttered in response, finally getting one knuckle off. "Yippee-ki-yay, melon farmers."

Akira took it as a 'yes' and carefully pried the revolver out of the other guy's hand, keeping the hammer down with his other hand to avoid an accidental discharge, and trying to not think too hard about the hole in his skull letting him peek inside at what was left of his brain. "[How are you holding up?]" he asked, quietly.

"[And you?]"

"[I will manage,]" he retorted, checking the pockets for loose cartridges. "[But I didn't have to take a life in self-defense.]"

"[I'll manage too then,]" she said. The second knuckle finally came off, and she shoved them both in her blouse pocket. "[This changes surprisingly little in the grand scheme of things.]"

Akira didn't like the clinical tone of that sentence. "[Please elaborate,]"

"[I still believe in doing things by the book when possible,]" she explained. "[I will not take another human life unless I, a friend, or another innocent is threatened.]" Makoto glanced at him with a determined expression. "[But if such a situation will arise… I will not hesitate.]"

"[I see.]" Akira averted her gaze. "[Um, based on what little I know about this world, this is a sane approach.]"

Makoto seemed unconvinced. "[Do you judge me for it?]"

"[No, of course not!]" he protested. "[What were you supposed to do, lay down and die? I just…]" He paused, and took a deep breath. "[I just want you to know that I'm in your corner.]"

"Uh, kids…"

The two turned towards Whitmeyer, who was staring at them with concern. "You're all holding on better than I expected, but maybe don't linger too much around dead bodies."

"Dōshi- gah, I mean, why?" Akira asked. "Will they, like, attract dangerous wildlife or something?"

"Maybe?" he shrugged. "But I'mmore worried about your heads. This ain't healthy for a young mind."

"Where did the other guy go?" Makoto asked.

"Inside the building," Whitmeyer pointed to his left.

Akira and Makoto walked up to the front door of the patrol station – wide open, and with a bullet hole in it. They peeked inside, and saw a decrepit office space, with a bunch of desks, some filing cabinets by two of the walls with some of the drawers missing in each, a coffee machine and some mugs on the table by the third wall, and a doorway leading into the other part of the building. The smell of dead bodies was stronger inside the building than outside of it, and they didn't want to dwell on the reasons for that.

"Courier?" Akira called.

"Don't come in!" he shouted, coming back to the room. "There's a dead prospector in the cells, and he had to be here longer than the stiffs outside were." He glanced at Makoto. "Also, there's no shovels, Makoto. We'll just have to leave the dead guys be." He raised his left to display something to her. "On a happier note, I found a holster and a belt, so you don't have to carry that pistol in your hand anymore."

"You wouldn't happen to have found two, would you?" Akira said, displaying the revolver to him. "She, uh, found another weapon she wants to keep."

The courier glanced back into the corridor he just came out. "Sec." He trotted back into the other end of the building. The group heard him grunt something for a moment and then he came back with another holster in his hands. "Right, it's a bit stained, but it's still in good shape." He put everything down on one of the desks and gestured at Makoto to pick it up.

"Did you find anything else?" Whitmeyer asked.

"A few caps, a few bullets, another 10 mil pistol. An expired stimpak, which is like a healing powder but faster," the courier remarked, glancing at Akira and Makoto for that last part. "There's also a book on guns, you might get something out of it," he added, pointing at a copy of Guns and Bullets on one of the desks. "I hoped for a rifle, so we can take the bloody scorpions from a distance, but there were none."

"I have a rifle, don't I?" Akira pointed at the varmint rifle holstered on his back.

"It's a bolt action," the courier reminded him. "I will do a bit of damage, but it fires slowly. And the bastards don't really have a weak spot and won't drop from one bullet, so we need more volume of fire – like a semi-auto pistol. But pistols aren't accurate past stinging range."

Gears started turning in Makoto's head. "I've got an idea." She turned around and left the building. "Follow me."

The guys did as told. Makoto marched past the destroyed patrol cars and turned a corner on the other side of the building, the one without dead bodies in the way, then went past some tree, slightly taller than her, with an off-white trunk, pale green leaves, and a bunch of pods hanging from its branches.

"That's honey mesquite, by the way," the courier said, grabbing said pods. "It grows around the area, and it's good for a snack or for cooking."

"Noted," Makoto turned another corner and pointed at a ramshackle scaffolding in the back of the building – nothing more than a sheet of metal supported by a few upright planks, bits of metal and hope. "I spotted this… last time I was here," she explained, taking a few unsure steps up the scaffolding, then onto the roof. "If we all get up here, someone could take potshots at the scorpions with Akira's rifle. If we can take them down from far ahead, great, if not, then everyone else can finish them off with the pistols with little danger to us."

The courier considered it for a moment, then carefully got up on the scaffolding as well, unsure if it could handle someone heavier than a teenage girl. Having confirmed that it could, he walked up to the edge of the roof and glanced into the distance, watching the radscorpions skitter to and fro on the road ahead. "This might work," he commented. "Great idea, kiddo."

Makoto dared to smile. "Thank you, sir."

"Akira, Whitmeyer, get up here," the courier ordered. "I'm gonna borrow the rifle and you can have my 10 mils for now."

"Uh, master?" Morgana asked. "How long until Akira goes to sleep so we can reach him?"

"A few hours, at the very least," Igor replied.

"I'm bored," he proclaimed. "Can I do something to pass the time?"

"I have a library with a few books," Lavenza suggested. "Though for some reason, they are mostly written by Western authors. One's named after a dice game, apparently."

"Yeah, no dice," Morgana said, not interested. "Anything else?"

"Hm…" Lavenza thought for a moment. "Perhaps I could play on the pianola, and you could sing along?"

Morgana considered it for a moment before smiling at her. "You know, Lady Lavenza, this doesn't sound half bad. And cats are famous for their lovely singing voices."

"Very well then." Lavenza walked up to the pianola and pressed a hidden button to stop the automatic operation. She then sat down on the bench in front of it and flipped the sheet music in front of her until spotting a title that caught her eye. "This one looks appropriate."

Morgana jumped on the bench next to her. Lavenza played a few first notes of the song to give the cat an idea of what to expect, then glanced at him. "Are you ready?"

"Ready," he announced, looking at the lyrics below the notes.

"I will count you down. Three, two, one"

She started playing again, and Morgana sang along:

"Well, I don't know where they come from but they sure do come…"

Big boi mole rats from Transporters, the same mod that added the Big MT teleportation doodads.