The barracks of the Mojave outpost had a bar space accessible to civilians. It was a rectangular room, with a bunch of small tables on its outer rim and a square island in the middle, delineated on three sides by a counter, with a few shelves in the center exposing various alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks and some foodstuffs. Some of the bottles were glowing. A bunch of civilians and soldiers were loitering around and a weary-looking young woman was tending to the bar. "New faces," she remarked, with mild interest. "What will you have?"

To condense the back-and-forth: Akira and Makoto each got a backpack with some assorted canned foods and clean water for the road – sadly, the bartender didn't have rice in stock, but she did have some ground coffee. Akira also got a big pot, thinking that cooking the group a meal or at least reheating some canned stuff would be good for morale once he reconnects with the Thieves. The courier wanted a long gun, but the stocks were lacking so he had to settle for a cheap bolt-action shotgun. On top of that, they got a box of ammo for each gun the four of them had, (three boxes of nine-mil, one box of ten-mil, one of three-fifty-seven and one of 12 gauge slugs) and a speedloader for Makoto's revolver. The order was capped with four bowls of pork n' beans and some purified water to eat on the premises.

"Is that all?" the bartender asked.

"One last thing." The courier pulled out a deck of mismatched playing cards and displayed it to her. "I'll play Caravan for the goods."

"Show me that deck," the bartender demanded, before yanking the cards out of his hands.

"What's Caravan?" Makoto asked.

"It's a two-player card game," the courier explained, as the bartender went through his deck. "Each player puts together three stacks of cards so they beat the opponent's counter-stacks while staying in the specific interval."

"So we're playing games of chance for our supplies," Makoto pointed out.

"It's not pure luck," the bartender remarked, "A lot of it comes down to strategy and what cards are in your deck." She put the courier's cards back into a neat pile and handed it over. "That's why I'm checking his deck, to make sure he didn't stuff it with Kings, tens and sixes. We can play."

The courier shuffled his deck in his hands and glanced at Akira. "You can go and ask around for rice. Like I said, look for San Fran merchants."

"I'll go with him," Makoto piped up. "Make sure nobody tries to short-change him or anything."

The two left the barracks, and the courier and Whitmeyer sat down by the bar counter. Both the bartender and the courier drew eight cards from their decks into their hands. She played a ten of clubs, he played an eight of hearts opposite it.

"Can you tell me more about the kid that came over from Nipton?" the courier asked, watching her play a nine of diamonds as a base for the second stack.

"Why do you care?" she asked, as he played a ten of spades opposite her.

"The sanest path to eastern Mojave right now goes through Nipton," he elaborated. "I know what happened there, and I know that kid's there with the wounded. He's from the same Vault as the two dwellers I'm traveling with, and they told me a lot of unkind things about him. I want to know what I'm walking into."

"Uh, what unkind things?"

They both turned towards one of the wastelanders sitting by the tables on the outer rim, a young man in leather armor, with messy black hair. "Why do you care?" the courier asked him.

"That's my line," the bartender deadpanned.

"I… we've walked together for a moment," the wastelander explained. "He saved my life from a bitch that tried to mug me and ranted a bit about how lawless this place is." He thought for a moment, wondering how much he should disclose. "He seemed… dunno how to describe it. Angry at himself for some evil stuff he did, and angry at the world that there's nobody else that can do something about what happened to Nipton."

"That matches what I saw of him, honestly," the bartender added. "Not that I saw much. He walked in, exasperated, got some supplies, that guy bought him a thank-you Nuka, and he left." She placed a nine of hearts on the third stack.

"What do you think are the odds of him shooting me for no reason?" the courier asked.

"Very low?" the wastelander told him. "He asked if I didn't want to shoot him, 'cause he's guilty about all the stuff he did and thinks it'd be fair."

"Interesting. Thanks." He turned back to the bartender and, noticing she placed a third card, played a nine of diamonds opposite her.

Whitmeyer stared at the cards on the counter as the bartender put a king of hearts on her ten. "You know, I never could wrap my head around the rules of this game."

"Eh, it's easy once you play a few rounds," the courier shrugged and put a king of diamonds on the bartender's king.

"...fuck you," she cussed him out.

By happy coincidence, one merchant from San Francisco had been standing by the closed gate on the road leading further into core NCR, keeping an eye on his pack brahmin.

"...twelve caps per pound. Final offer."

"Can I get a minute to think about it?" Akira asked.

"Sure," the caravaneer shrugged. "I ain't going anywhere."

Akira walked away a few steps, and Makoto followed him. "[Okay, maybe you'll know]" he asked her, "[how much does a pound weigh?]"

Makoto shrugged. "[I am as clueless as you are. The courier's in the loop, isn't he?]"

"[Yes, but I don't think he knows what a kilogram is for reference.]" A small light-bulb went over his head and he retreated into a corner, still followed by Makoto. "[Maybe Futaba will know]" he said, pulling out his cell phone. "[Wouldn't put it past her to see the conversion rate somewhere years ago and keep it in her brain.]"

He dialed her number and put the phone to his ear. Futaba picked the call up almost instantly: "[Yeah?]"

"[Hey again. Do you know how many kilograms are in a pound?]"

Futaba was silent for a moment, and Akira heard her fingers tap the screen a few times. "[One pound is 453 comma whatever grams. Round it to 500, or 450 if you wanna be more precise.]"

"[Thanks a ton]" Akira smirked at his own stupid wordplay. "[I don't know jack about those American units.]"

"[Neither do I]" Futaba replied. "[My phone calculator comes with a unit converter. So does yours, I assume.]"

After a beat, Akira commented: "[...well, I feel silly now.]"

"[Are you just calling me for unit conversions?]"

"[I also wanted to hear your lovely voice]" Akira grinned to himself. "[Honestly, one update you might care about is that the 'local' I'm traveling with is an ex-con, and he knows someone that might help the wounded in Nipton. We'll need to talk with Goro about it first though.]"

"[Yeah, good idea. Like I said, I'll text you…]" Something flashed on Futaba's computer screen. "[Uh, he just finished talking to Ann. You can call him now.]"

"[Okay, cool.]" Akira inhaled air through his nostrils. "[I'm gonna repeat myself – you are invaluable.]"

"[Yeah, but I'm also overspecialized]" Futaba countered. "[Wouldn't be half as useful if I didn't have party members with better real-world skills than mine. Heck, I wouldn't have gotten the cell phone network running if friendly locals didn't help me. Thanks for being there for me, Akira.]"

Akira felt like someone stuck a pin in him. "[Don't mention it]" he said. "[Talk to you later, buh-bye.]"

"[Bye!]"

Akira hung up and deflated slightly, before realizing that Makoto's looking at him and puffed himself up back again.

"[You know]" Makoto remarked, "[I just realized that we didn't really talk about your feelings on Akechi.]"

"[Just imagine a prolonged frustrated groan]" Akira remarked. "[Go get Whitmeyer and bring him to that slope. He should be present for that call and he can't hide behind the language barrier like we can.]"

Makoto nodded and trotted away towards the barracks and Akira headed towards the road to Primm and Nipton. As he walked under the Reunification Monument, he dialed Goro's number and put his phone to his ear, just in time to hear the tone indicating a rejected call.

"[...of course]" he grumbled, ducking behind one of the trucks.

He redialed the number and waited for a few seconds on the line. As he tapped his foot in irritation, Makoto came back to him with Whitmeyer in tow.

"So, uh, is he on the line?" Whitmeyer asked.

"Nope," Akira sighed. "Rejected the first call and now ignores the second one."

"Maybe text him?" Makoto suggested. "Try to reassure him that we're not a threat."

"Good idea," Akira nodded, hung up, and started typing.

"'Text' him?" Whitmeyer repeated, confused.

"As in, send him a text message," Makoto explained. "Our, er, communicators allow us to send brief written messages."

Whitmeyer stared at Akira typing the message. "How does that work? You move your fingers on the screen and that gets decoded into your language or something?"

"It's a touchscreen. With, like, virtual buttons forming a keyboard, like in a computer." He tapped the bottom-right button with his thumb. "The messages went out, by the way."

"What did you send him?"

Akira glanced at the screen. "Translated from my language: I am in the Mojave outpost and I have heard about the wounded convicts. Maybe I can help get them somewhere safe. I am not doing anything behind your back though. Call me."

"Could he be scared of you, maybe?" Whitmeyer asked. "The way you talk about him, he might be worried that you just want retribution."

Akira typed up one more message, Also, nobody is going to shoot you. I just want to help. Trust me for once. He stopped himself from adding "you edgelord bastard" and pressed 'send' again.

There was a moment of awkward silence, as the group waited for some response from him, before finally, the phone buzzed in Akira's hand.

"It's him," Akira remarked. He picked up the call. "[Well, well, well]" he said, in a slightly playful tone, trying to appear confident. "[Does that make us back-from-the-dead buddies?]"

On the other side of the line, there was breathing and nothing else.

"[Uhm, Goro? Akechi-san? Are you there?]"

A brief curse in Japanese, followed by some faint footsteps and the creak of an opened door. Akira put the phone on speaker and the group was able to hear Akechi call for a guy, then tell him in English to 'put this to your face like so and speak with the caller'. There was some rustling and a voice Akira didn't recognize came out of the speaker. "Uhh, Kristoff speaking?"

"Hello, Kristoff, I'm Akira. I am…" He struggled for a moment to come up with a brief and polite summary of his relationship to Akechi, failed, and pivoted: "...assuming you're Goro's second in command."

"I guess?" he shrugged. "I-I mean, he's in charge, and everyone else is wounded and I'm the one with medical know-how… Are you that guy Mr. Akechi betrayed and tried to kill?"

"Well… yes. I won't lie, I did not expect him to bring it up."

"Yeah, he had mentioned he saw you heading towards the Mojave Outpost as he was leaving it," Kristoff explained. "He also mentioned you might want to kill him, and when the convicts got protective he told them to back off and said you're the good guy in this scenario."

"We will not harm him," Makoto replied. "Furthermore, we did not plan to do that at any point."

"Moving on," Akira butted in, "I'm calling because I might have a way to help the wounded in Nipton. We don't want to act without Goro's permission though, so could you please put your phone on loudspeaker, so he can hear our plan too?"

"Uhhh… how do I do that?"

"Ask him, he'll show you."

The three heard Kristoff move the phone away from his face and converse with Akechi. Finally, they heard the rustling of a phone yanked out of someone's hand and Akechi's voice came out of the speaker:

"I asked for your help, goddammit, why would I deny it now?"

"Wait, you did?" Akira asked, surprised.

"I was on the phone with Takamaki-san a few minutes ago," Akechi explained. "Asked her to pass it on to others that I need help with this mess."

"It didn't reach us yet," Akira replied. "We learned about the situation in the outpost and offered to help based on that."

"Of course you did, you bleeding heart. Fine, I accept your help, and I promise no further homisuicidal temper tantrums," he said, in a slightly obnoxious tone. "You can talk details with Kristoff, I'm gonna leave now."

"Come on," Akira put on the playful tone again, "It's been a while since we talked. We could catch up-"

"Are you having fun, Ren?!"

The snarled response stunned Akira for a moment, and he switched gears. "No, I am not," he replied, gently. "I know how bad the situation in Nipton was, and I am trying to whistle past the graveyard, so to speak."

"Well, it doesn't fucking work on me." Akechi replied, then took a deep breath. "[Amamiya-sama] he continued, calmer, "[I… I'm not in the right state of mind to have a conversation with you. Speak with Kristoff. He did the hard part of getting those folks some medical fucking help, he'll be more useful.]"

"[Okay, I'll give you space]" Akira conceded. "[Pass the phone.]"

Akechi had already handed his phone back to Kristoff. "Uh, hello again," his voice came out of the speaker. "If I can ask… what was that 'Ren' thing?"

"Well, my real first name is Ren," Akira explained. "Akira's just a nickname. Long story."

"Ah. I thought it's some insult in your language or something. Anyway, you wanted to offer the wounded some help, right?"

"Yes." Akira glanced at Whitmeyer. "Give 'im the details."

"Okay, so… hey there, I'm Whitmeyer," he introduced himself. "I met Akira on the road, near an old airport north of Primm. There's a bunch of folks from the Westside militia holed up there. I could walk back to them and ask them for help for the guys stuck in Nipton."

"N-not that we can be picky," Kristoff commented, hesitant, "but that feels like a very long shot."

"I…" Whitmeyer hesitated, knowing he's only a dozen or so meters away from a large group of NCR soldiers, "I know these folks. They've always been stand-up guys and I'm sure they'll help you in any way they can."

"You know these folks," Kristoff repeated, getting the allusion. "Do you also know the wounded here?"

"Yes."

"Ah. So it's about helping your… acquaintances, right?"

"Kinda, but there's more to that," Whitmeyer looked at Akira. "Someone helped me with my problems earlier today and I want to pay it forward."

"Understood," Kristoff nodded on the other end of the line. "Well, if Mr. Akechi approves of this and trusts you, I am not going to overrule him. Do what you can."

"'Trust' is probably a strong word, but… eh, that's another long story," Akira replied. "Anyway, there's one more thing I wanted to ask about."

"Yeah?"

"Me and my crew will want to go through Nipton and head further on later today," Akira explained. "Can we go through the town without getting any more holes in us?"

"If you could gently ask Akechi-san what he thinks about that, we would appreciate it," Makoto asked. "To reiterate, we want no trouble and won't cause any either."

"R-right. I'll pass it on."

The group heard Kristoff's footsteps, as he trotted up to Akechi and then repeated the question. Then, a few more steps and Akechi shouting at someone: "Hey! A few folks will come over from the outpost! Do not fucking shoot at them, or I will gut you like a fish and use your lower intestine as a suppressor! Got it?!" After getting some kind of response, he muttered to Kristoff: "Tell them it's fine. I'll start cleaning up the bodies."

"Yes, sir." Kristoff put the phone back to his ear. "You will be able to go east with no issue."

"Cool." Akira was obviously aware that Akechi's promises were worth very little, but he preferred them over absolutely nothing. "Thank you, sir, have a nice day. I'm gonna hang up, so you can give the phone back to Goro."

"Got it. Thanks."

Akira hung up and pocketed his phone. "Right, so that's done. Thank you for offering to help, Whitmeyer."

"Don't mention it, kid. You don't seem happy," he pointed out.

Akira shrugged. "I mean, we've achieved the bare minimum of Goro not shooting us on sight, but I kinda hoped for more."

"Like learning how on earth he is still alive," Makoto added.

"I would use a stronger word, but yes."

"By the way," Whitmeyer spoke up, "what was that about a homisuicidal temper tantrum? I know 'homi-' and 'suicide', but both of them at once?"

"We plead the fifth," Makoto remarked.

Whitmeyer glanced at her confused. "...fifth of what?"

"Fifth Amendment of the Constitution of the United States," she explained. "Here used idiomatically, to mean 'I don't want to talk about it'."

"Basically, it's a long story," Akira repeated himself. "Let's wrap things up and send you on your merry way."

"Yeah." Whitmeyer turned around and marched back towards the outpost. "Your pork and beans probably got cold at this point."

"We'll get there in a minute then," Akira said, walking up the slope as well. "We found one caravaneer with rice in stock. We were about to buy some when Futaba interrupted us." He turned to Makoto. "Whaddaya think, six pounds?"

"Maybe get twice as much," she suggested. "We probably won't be able to buy it reliably down the line."

Fun fact: the title of the chapter is a reference to Polish-made playing card decks, which actually include three Jokers, coloured red, black and blue. It seemed fitting for a chapter focused on Akira, Akechi and the courier.

Bolt-action shotgun comes from NS Bolt-Action Shotgun by NS97. They made a whole weapon pack, NS Weapons All in One, but I didn't install it because I already have most of the guns from that pack from other mods. I don't need three different Dragunovs :P

Ground coffee courtesy of Cowboy Coffee and Coffee Grounds by falloutloubegas.

No mods for rice, sadly.