Author's Note: Hello everyone. I hope that everyone is doing well, and that you are enjoying the story thus far. Enjoy the chapter, and reviews are always welcomed.
(15 minutes later)
"Remind me again why we're goin' ta see a boring politician?" Cass asked as she, Mark, and Boone stood outside the compound that served as the embassy for the NCR on the Strip. Cass was to Mark's right, and Boone was on his left. "I have a feeling," Mark said, "that if I ignore this, they're just gonna keep bothering me until I answer them, so I'd just like to get this over with. Besides, I told you I wanted to stop here first, and that you could wait at the 38 for when we came back that way." Cass took a swig out of her flask. "I'm too antsy. I wasn't jus' gonna be sittin' around waitin' fer ya."
The compound that was the NCR embassy was a fenced-in area, with two one-story L-shaped buildings with large, dirty windows. There was an NCR flag flying on a flagpole just inside the only opening in the fence. There was also a plaque just outside the fence, and the ground itself was composed entirely of brick. There were some troopers milling around, giving the three of them cursory glances as they entered. Mark looked at the two buildings, unsure of which building to enter. "Boone, do you know which building the ambassador is supposed to be in?" Boone motioned to the building on their left with his head. "That's the administration building. The other one is the prison," Boone said as they walked towards the building.
They entered what served as the reception area. There was an olive-green rug that had obviously seen better days, white painted walls, and the ceiling had a few chunks of plaster missing. There was a row of metal chairs on either side of the room, and near the back of the room was a wooden C-shaped desk, with a woman sitting at it, typing on a computer. There was a door on either side of the desk in the back two corners, as well as troopers standing on guard near them. They walked up to the desk. The woman, who looked to be in her early forties, had jet black hair pulled into a ponytail, and was wearing a light blue button down shirt and khaki pants. She paid them no attention as they walked up to the desk.
"Um, excuse me?" Mark said. "Can I help you?" the woman asked, continuing to type and ignoring them. "My name is Mark Franklin. I'm here to see the ambassador." "Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked. "Well, no, but-" "Anyone who wishes to meet with the Ambassador needs to make an appointment," the woman said. She continued to type. Cass banged her fist on the desk angrily. That got the woman's attention. "Dammit, woman, would ya stop typin' fer one goddamn minute an' listen ta what tha man is sayin'?" Cass said, the annoyance clearly present in her voice. Mark and Boone both looked at her, as did both guards in the room. The woman looked up from her computer and looked up at Mark. "Fine," the woman said, trying to remain professional, "how may I help you?" Mark spoke, and pulled out the letter as he did. "As I was saying, this notice was delivered to the Lucky 38, asking me to meet with the Ambassador.
The woman looked at the note, and when she saw the word "Courier," her eyes widened. "Oh, my apologies," she said hurriedly as she got up from her desk, "please give me one moment." She went into the doorway in the back left corner of the room. Mark looked at Cass. "Cass, was that really necessary?" "Hey, someone needed ta get her attention. What would ya have done?" "Something that might not have gotten every gun in the place pointed at us." The receptionist came back out through the doorway. "The Ambassador will see you now."
Cass decided to stay in the reception area, and after she promised she wouldn't shoot the receptionist, Mark and Boone followed the receptionist down a hallway. They came to a room at the end of the hall. They entered the room and looked around. There was a red carpet blanketing the floor, two white couches in the middle of the room, a coffee table between them. There was also a bookshelf, and a couple of filing cabinets. At the back of the room was a desk with a terminal on it, a chair in back of it, and two more chairs in front of it. Standing near the desk were two men. Standing behind the desk was a balding black man in his late fifties, wearing a dirty three-piece black suit. In front of the desk was a man who looked close to forty, wearing a beige military uniform, brown boots, a green tie, and an officer's cap. The cap had the two-headed bear on the front of the cap, with four five pointed stars on either side of the bear, and his collar bore the same stars.
When Boone saw the man in the military uniform, he stood at attention and rendered a military salute. The man returned the salute. He brushed past Mark and approached Boone. "What's your name, soldier?" The man asked Boone in a gruff voice. "Craig Boone, sir," Boone replied. They shook hands. "You must be the Courier that I've heard about." He then looked over his shoulder at Mark. "Who's this, your bodyguard?" he asked Boone. Mark took an instant dislike to this man. "Actually, sir, he's the Courier," Boone said, pointing to Mark. The man's face fell a bit, possibly due to the fact that the Courier wasn't an NCR soldier. The black man came out from behind the desk. "Good morning, gentlemen," he said as he shook Mark's and Boone's hands, "I am Ambassador Dennis Crocker of the NCR, and this is Four-Star NCR General Lee Oliver."
He then turned and focused solely on Mark. "May I ask your name?" "Mark Franklin, Mr. Ambassador," Mark said, in as polite a tone as he could muster. "Well, Mr. Franklin, I was only expecting a meeting with you, and not your friend here." Boone stared at him. "Although 1st Recon soldiers are always welcome here," he quickly amended. "Yeah, well," Mark said "with all due respect, Ambassador, you wanted to meet with me, not the other way around. Hell, I wasn't even aware you existed until this morning, so either he stays or I walk right now." Ambassador Crocker looked at General Oliver, who nodded. "Very well," Crocker said, as he walked back around the desk, "please, sit." "I'll stand," Boone said, backing a few feet away as Mark and General Oliver sat down. There was a silence in the room. "Okay," Mark said, "so why am I here, exactly?"
"Well, Mr. Franklin," Crocker said, "you've made quite a name for yourself. Killing the head of the Chairmen, entering the Lucky 38, and there are some rumors going around that you were involved in some activities in Freeside. As you may or not be aware, the NCR is involved in an ongoing conflict with the Legion, and you've got a reputation as a man who can get things done, and we could use a man of your particular skill set to help us with-" "Oh, for the love of god, Crocker," the General interrupted, "enough with the diplomatic bullshit. Listen, son, our soldiers are getting attacked in Freeside, and we need those attacks stopped, one way or another, because we need those soldiers in top shape to gut those Legion bastards." "Well, yes," Crocker said, jumping back in, "we've had reports of NCR soldiers and citizens being attacked by locals, and by some members of this gang that calls themselves the Kings. Now, my local informants tell me that these attacks are instigated by some punk named Pacer, who is second-in-command to the King's leader, a man named the King. Now, we need you to do whatever it takes to get in good with the King, and get him to order Pacer to cease these attacks." Mark was sitting back in the chair, feigning disinterest. "Oh," Mark said, "were you done, or were you gonna keep telling me crap that I already know?" General Oliver got a bit angered. "Are we boring you, son?" "A bit, actually. Now, was there anything else, because I've got other stuff to do today."
"You're damn right there is, son," Oliver said, trying to contain his anger, "we want a face-to-face meeting with House. No more of this securitron bullshit." "No, General, you see, that's not how this works. You don't get to demand things. I am House's second-in-command. You deal with me now. House also gave me access to the treaty the NCR signed with him. You have no goddamn authority on the Strip. I'm not an NCR soldier or citizen, so I don't serve at the pleasure of the Republic, and there's nothing in California that you can threaten to take away from me to force me to comply. Those stars that you wear on your hat, and on your collar, they mean absolutely nothing to me. For your information, Pacer is no longer a problem, and I'm already on good terms with the King. I'm already aware of Freeside's issues, told to me by a trusted local source." Mark stood up, as did Oliver and Crocker. "You better remember damn well who you're talking to, son," Oliver said through gritted teeth, his face red and contorted with rage. Mark smirked at him. "Oh, I'm well aware of whom I'm talking to, General Oliver, or would you prefer General Wait-and-See, who's too afraid to make any move against the Legion? I've also heard that you're only a general because you know the President, and that you actually suck as a leader and as a military tactician."
"Gentlemen," Crocker said, coming out from behind the desk, attempting to defuse the situation, "if we could just take a moment to-" "STAY OUT OF THIS, CROCKER!" Oliver yelled, as he put out his left hand to stop him, while pulling out his sidearm and aiming it at Mark's head with his right. Mark didn't flinch. "I'll be damned if I let some walk-the-wasteland fuck talk to me like that! You better watch your back, son." Boone just stood back, watching this all unfold. "Is that a threat, General? Let me tell you something. The last "military official" who demanded something from me and pointed a gun at my head ended up dead, face-down in a pool of irradiated water." "Are you threatening me, son?" Oliver retorted.
"No," Mark said, pointing a finger at the General, "I'm warning you, and this is the only warning you're gonna get. You think you scare me? I've seen and done shit that would make you piss your pants, so some glory-seeking, Dwight Eisenhower- wannabe general doesn't scare me in the slightest. Heed these words, Oliver: If you come near or threaten me or any of my friends, you will live to regret it." There was a tense silence in the room, broken only by Oliver's angered breathing. "Good day, gentlemen," Mark said as he walked out of the room. Boone stood there for a second, and then followed. On the way back to the reception area, Boone chuckled a bit and said, "And you were worried about Cass getting every gun in the place pointed at us?"
(10 minutes later)
They were near the gate to Freeside, and Cass nearly choked on the whiskey she was drinking when Mark told her what he said. "Ya called him what, again?" she asked. "A glory-seeking, Dwight Eisenhower-wannabe general were my exact words," Mark replied. "And then, ya basically threatened ta kill him if he came near ya or any of us?" "No," Mark said, correcting her, "I said he would live to regret it. The word 'kill' never came out of my mouth." There was silence for a few moments, and then Cass started laughing and slapped Mark on the back. "Dude, you've got tha biggest, brassiest balls I've ever seen. I wish I coulda seen tha look on Oliver's face." They passed through the gates into Freeside. "Well," said Mark, "let's just say I've had my fill of egotistical assholes who try to push people around just because they have a little bit of power. Look, I know you guys are both NCR citizens, and Oliver's probably your guy or whatever, so if you're upset with me, then I apologize.
Cass gave him an incredulous look. "Upset with ya? I outta buy ya a drink." Mark looked at her. "Mark, I don't give a fuck about Oliver. Everyone an' their grandma knows that he's an idiot. Yer probably just the firs' person ever ta tell it ta his face. Right, Boone?" Boone had been silent since they left the embassy. "Don't worry, Mark," Boone said, "I've got your back. We've only been here for four days and you've already done more against the Legion than the NCR has in the past few years." "Well," Mark said, a bit relieved, "I'm glad you guys are still on my side." "Hey, uh," Cass said, "that Eisen-wahtever his name was ya mentioned, who is he?" "Dwight Eisenhower. He commanded the Allied forces during World War II and later became a United States President. He was one of the most brilliant military tacticians in history."
As they made their way through Freeside, Cass showed Mark on his pip-boy where the NCR said her caravan was attacked. They were heading towards the east gate when they passed by the Old Mormon Fort. "Guys," Mark said, "I just need to make one more stop before we find her caravan. I'm sorry." Boone nodded, while Cass groaned. "Alright, fine, but make it quick. I wanna get this over with." Mark led them back into the Old Mormon Fort. Mark couldn't find Julie, but after asking around, he found out that she was in her office that was in a tower that was on their right as they entered the Fort. They went into the tower and walked up a couple of flights of stairs. Julie's office consisted of a desk, a couple of chairs, and a filing cabinet. She didn't hear them come up, so Mark knocked on the doorframe.
Julie looked up and was a bit surprised to see Mark. "Mark," she said, "I didn't expect to see you back here so soon. I thought you would be taking care of your wife." "Oh, don't worry. Arcade and my other friend, Veronica, are watching her." "How is she doing, by the way?" "She's doing a bit better, thanks for asking." "Okay, so do you need medical attention, or-" "No," Mark said, "we're fine. I actually have something that I want to give you." Mark put his bag down on the desk and opened it. He pulled out a sack and placed it on the desk. Julie's eyes widened. "Mark, what-" "Julie, there are seven hundred caps in there, all for the Followers." Julie looked back and forth between the bag and Mark a couple of times, trying to ascertain if this was really happening or not. "Mark," she stammered, "I-I-I don't know what to say. I-I can't accept this." "Julie, you can and you will. Don't worry about me. I've got plenty of caps, and you need these far more than I do. You said that you needed a regular supply of medicine. I'm still working on that, but I'm hoping you can stretch this as far as possible until I figure something out."
"No-no one has ever been this generous to us before. What are you getting out of this?" "Julie," Mark said, "the only thing that I want out of this is your friendship. Arcade speaks very highly of you. You guys, the Followers, you try to help people the best you can with what you have, and barely ask for anything in return. If I've learned anything in my travels, it's that there are still people out there who are willing to do what's right, just because it's the right thing to do." Mark paused. "Well, that, and to never go anywhere without a knife, but I digress." Julie was still in shock.
"I still don't understand something," Julie said. "I mean, Arcade told me that you're the Courier. You've only been here what, like four, five days? From what I know, you've had no previous ties to this area. You don't owe anyone anything, and yet, you help get Bill and Jacob back here so they can get clean, and now you're making this more than generous donation. I've also heard that Freeside's main source of drugs is dead, and a troublemaking King is gone, and that's all happened since you've been here. For the first time in a while things are starting to look up a bit. You're like some kind of…" Julie paused, searching for the right words, "…earthly angel or something."
Mark chuckled. "Would you believe that that's not the first time that someone's called me that?" "Honestly," Julie said, "I can believe it." "Look, Julie" Mark said, looking at Cass and Boone, "we've got to get going." She got up from behind her desk. "Mark," she said, shaking Mark's hand, "you have my eternal gratitude. And my friendship. I suppose having the Courier on our side can only help further our cause." "Have nice day, Julie," Mark said as he picked up his bag and followed Cass and Boone down the stairs. Julie turned back and looked at the bag on her desk. "Of all the clinics in all the wasteland, he walked into this one," she said to herself, smiling and shaking her head.
As they headed toward Cass' caravan, which was about three miles outside Vegas, Mark realized something: he was tired as hell. He hadn't really slept since yesterday morning, and that was only for a few hours. He figured the effects of walking for twelve hours to and back from Cottonwood Cove, going through Freeside multiple times, and staying awake to make sure Amata kept breathing really started to take a toll on him. He was hoping they could get to the caravan, Cass could pay her respects, he could buy that armor, and then go back to the 38 and take a long nap.
As they came closer to where the caravan was supposed to be, Mark noticed that Cass look a bit distraught. "Cass," Mark said, "are you okay?" "I, uh, I thought I was ready fer this, but I'm afraid of what I'm gonna find." "Cass," Mark said, trying to reassure her, "whatever happens, whatever we find, we've got your back." She gave a half-hearted smile. "Ya know, ya remind me a lot of ma dad." "I hope that's a good thing," Mark said jokingly. "Oh, it is. If he liked ya, he was the nicest guy in the world, but if ya crossed him, ya were screwed. Sorta like you. Ya know, he used ta tell me these stories about his life before I was born, about how he traveled with some kid or grandkid of some vault dweller and some other people, jus' goin' around, helpin' people just fer the sake a helpin', defendin' those who couldn't defend themselves. I used ta think they were jus' fairy tales or somethin', ya know, ta teach me ta be a good person, but then I decided to travel with ya, and now I'm not so sure that those stories were fake. Ya two, ya are very similar."
"How so?" Mark asked. He knew what she meant, but he was trying to keep her mind off of her caravan. "Well, take today fer instance. Ya obviously don't like Oliver, so ya basically tell him ta fuck off, but then ya give all those caps to tha Followers. Now yer takin' me to ma caravan, and I'm not payin' ya or nothing. I mean, when 'Mata asked me ta come with ya'll, I jus' thought she felt sorry fer me." "Cass, Amata didn't ask you to come with us because she felt sorry for you. She asked you to come because she has a kind, caring heart. That's a big reason why love her."
"I know that now, but not when she asked me. It's kinda funny. He traveled with some vault dweller's kid, helpin' people, and now I'm doin' tha same thing." Mark didn't have the heart to tell her that his dad wasn't a true vault dweller, and that he wasn't actually born in a vault, so he didn't say anything. "So," Mark asked, "is your dad still alive?" "Probly not. When I was 'bout six or seven, he jus' started walkin' east one day and never came back. He didn't abandon me or my mother, before ya ask. It just happens. All he left me with was this necklace, a propensity fer hard drinkin', and a heart condition."
That last bit concerned Mark a bit. "Heart condition?" Mark asked. "Yeah, my mom explained it ta me. It's called a rhythm an' somethin' disorder." "Rhythm and conduction disorder?" "Yeah. How'd ya know that?" "My dad was the vault's doctor. I learned a few things. You need a cardio booster shot in case your heart stops beating. Do you have one on you?" "I appreciate the worry, but I'm fine. I've only had a couple of attacks, and I haven't had one in years, so I stopped worryin'." Mark made a mental note to have Arcade check the medical facilities for any cardio boosters when they got back.
When they finally found the caravan, it was not a pretty sight. It was lying in what was once probably a river, as there was a bridge nearby, but now it was just a ditch. There were a couple of rotting brahmin corpses, and the caravan wagon was nearly collapsed. The only thing that identified it as Cass' caravan was a rose painted on the side. When Cass first saw it, she looked like she was going to be sick. She approached it slowly. Mark and Boone hung back, letting her grieve, and making sure they weren't going to be attacked. Cass put her hand on the painted rose, as if touching it was going to give her some sense of closure. She just stood there for a few minutes, not saying anything and not moving.
Eventually she came back to her senses and walked out of the ditch. "Well," she said, trying to compose herself, "there's not much left, so if ya find anything, ya can have it. Otherwise, we can go." "Cass," Mark said, "if you need more time, take it. We're not going anywhere." She waved him off. "Nah, it's okay. Ya got that thing you gotta do fer House, and ya got 'Mata waitin' fer ya. They took all tha physical stuff, but I still got tha memories." Mark smiled, and then looked back at the caravan site. Something wasn't adding up. Mark got a focused look, and went down into the ditch. "What're ya doin'?" Cass asked Mark, as he poked around the remains. "Something doesn't feel right to me," Mark said. Boone apparently felt the same way, because he went to investigate something a little ways away.
"What do ya mean, Mark?" "Well, Amata told me that you said your caravan was burned, but I don't see any evidence of fire damage. But 'burned' doesn't necessarily mean 'fire.'" He continued to look around, and then suddenly got a look of discovery. "Cass, how long ago did your caravan get attacked?" "Two, three weeks ago, I think. Why?" "Then we're lucky the wind didn't get rid of the evidence." He picked up a white, flaky substance, one that he had seen many times before: Someone getting disintegrated with laser weaponry. "They used energy weapons," Mark said.
Before Cass could respond, Boone called out, "Hey guys, you might wanna check this out." He was about thirty yards away, reading a slip of paper near a rotting human corpse, which was wearing black combat armor with a lion's head with a flowing mane in the upper left corner of the chest plate. Boone handed the piece of paper to Mark. Once Mark read it, he frowned and looked at Cass. "What is it?" she asked. Mark sighed and looked Cass in the eye. "Cass, this wasn't a random hit. Your caravan was targeted."
I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. If any of you watch the show NCIS (the original), then I hope you caught the reference to it in this chapter. Until next time, and reviews are always welcome.