New Vegas: Sheason's Story

That was Johnny Bond and his Red River Valley Boys with a little number called Stars of the Midnight Range. This is Radio New Vegas, and have I got news for you. I tried to measure my charisma on a Vit-O-Matic Vigor Tester once. The machine burst into flames. Just kidding, folks. I'll have some real news for you at the top of the hour, but right now I have more music for all my lovely listeners out there. In New Vegas, we know the pain that numbers can bring us. Well, so does Guy Mitchell, who's got Heartaches by the Number.

For a long while, neither of us spoke. We just sat in my Corvega in silence, ED-E flying nearby (and occasionally peeling off to take potshots at radscorpions). The ride this time around was a bit rougher than before, since I wasn't sticking to the road. I thought it would probably be a good idea to give Nipton a wide berth the second time around, so I was doing a bit of off-roading. It was times like this, I was glad I'd gotten the Corvega lifted and had the reinforced suspension put in during my last trip to Sac-Town. To keep us on course, I was using my Pip Boy's map function. Yeah, it was a bit awkward, holding my arm so I could use the steering wheel and see the map at the same time, but I managed.

I can't speak for Cass, but I was silent because I was still fuming on the inside about what I'd seen at Nipton. I was trying to put it out of my mind. I had other, more important, more immediate things to do, like finding the man who shot me, and left me for dead. I could actually do something about that. I couldn't do anything about the Legion, even if I wanted to. It was just too huge; it was an army, and I wasn't prepared to put my ass on the line for any causes right now… not unless that cause was my personal quest.

Even so, what they had done to the people of Nipton… I just couldn't get the image of that boy, nailed to a cross, out of my head. I didn't even know his name. I never would. And it just got under my skin.

"So…" Cass finally spoke up. "Novac, huh?" It took me a few seconds to even realize she was talking to me.

"Wait, what?"

"Well, back at the outpost cantina, y'said you were headin' to Novac." She took a drink from her flask. "Call me curious, but… why? That's a whole lotta nothin' out there, an' it's awful close to Legion territory. So what's in Novac?"

"Do you really want to know?" I asked her, my eyes locked on the horizon in front of me.

"Well, I did ask."

"I'm looking for the man who shot me." There was a very long pause.

"The man who shot you?"

"Twice. In the head." I turned to look at her, pointing at the scar on my temple and the scar on my cheek. She was just staring back at me, a look of disbelief on her face.

"You got shot in the head, twice…" She spoke slowly and her voice was flat, almost like she was having trouble processing this information. "and… you got better." I nodded… though, truth be told, if I hadn't lived it I would probably have trouble believing it myself.

"I got patched up by this doctor in Goodsprings. Even so, I was in a coma for about a week."

"Two shots in th' head without an Auto-Doc is still a whole helluva lot of patchin'. I hope you thanked him properly." She said, chuckling weakly and taking another drink from her flask. I thought about it, and remembered how Doc Mitchell had mentioned he'd gotten 'more than enough caps' to cover the operation and care from Victor. "So, who is this snake, put bullets in yer head? He have cause, or…?"

"I was on my way to Vegas, to deliver a package. He and a couple of thugs ambushed me, beat the shit out of me, took the package I was carrying, shot me in the head, and buried me in a shallow grave. I woke up in Goodsprings about a week later."

"Fuck. That's a helluva story." She brought the flask to mouth, but stopped just short of taking another drink. She shook her head. "Man, robbin' a courier… that's just low. I mean, I know some fuckin' ruthless bastards, but you don't fuck with the one who brings you your mail. I mean, that's like basic Caravan Code – you don't screw with your supply lines. Any family or group he's with is gonna get a black eye for it, one way or 'nother."

I nodded, turning my attention back to the horizon. ED-E was zooming around the car, flying rings around it. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was showing off. Cass took another drink, and continued.

"Hope this shithead knows what he's in for… from the both of us." That gave me pause.

"Both of us?"

"Yup. Someone attacks one of us, they attack all of us. That's Caravan Code, an' as far as I'm concerned, couriers apply as well. So you damn right I'm gonna help you teach this fucker some manners. He got a name?"

"You know, I didn't get the chance to ask, and he didn't introduce himself," I said, thinking. "He wore a bad suit, though."

"Bad suit?" Cass asked, finishing off her flask. She pulled a bottle of whiskey out of nowhere, and started refilling it. "What kinda bad suit?"

"Black and white checkered jacket. Tacky as hell." She shrugged.

"Well, if assholes had taste, we'd all be feastin' on shit." I started laughing. I couldn't help myself; that just cracked me up. She even joined in, and when the laughs finally died down, she continued. "Still… suit means money. And suits stand out, 'specially in the Mojave. Could be Vegas, but he could be at one of the larger towns 'round here, too." I nodded, agreeing.

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. The last tip I got said he was heading to Novac, though. I'm not holding out hope that's where he is… but if nothing else, I'll find something there to show me where to go next."

"Don't you worry," she said, nodding. "We'll sort this asshole out. Rattle his cage a little."

"I'm gonna do more than rattle his cage," I said, grimly. "When I catch up to him, I'm putting two in his head as payment, see how he likes it."

"I hear ya," she said. "I get the chance, he'll get a couple rounds 'o buckshot in his ass."

"Works for me. We'll call it interest." I said with a grin. She nodded, and took yet another drink from her flask. At that, I couldn't stay silent about the drinking any longer: "Ok, I gotta ask, how are you not dead?"

"… what?" She looked confused.

"Well, that is whiskey you're drinking, right?"

"Damn right it is! Whiskey's my drink o' choice!" she beamed proudly.

"Is it now?"

"Well…" she paused, looking thoughtful. "Not sure if I chose it, or it chose me. Dad ran a bar, a long time ago. It was a labor of love, Mom said. Didn't really sound like it made her happy. Still, I'm guessin' I got some o' Dad's love o' whiskey in me, 'cause the burn suits me just fine." As if to punctuate the thought, she took another drink from her flask, letting out a long, satisfied sigh when she finished. "People used to call me Whiskey Rose, back West… 'fore I punched 'nuff people. So now they say it, but quiet 'n when I'm not around."

"Whiskey Rose?" I braced myself, fully expecting her to sock me in the shoulder, but she just continued.

"Yeah, on account of my name… an' the blossoms on my cheeks when I drink too much," She laughed, a smile spreading across her face. "S'why I don't even like bein' called Rose. Won most o' those fights, too. Can take a helluva punch an' give it right back when I've gotta bottle in me. See, s'all in how ya drink it, y'know? There's a trick to it… I'll show you how s'done, if you want." She waved the half-full bottle of whiskey in my general direction; I declined, pushing it back towards her.

"Maybe when we get to Novac."

"Suits me fine. Though I don't think they even have a bar in that town…"

"You don't need a bar to drink, do you?" Judging by how much she'd already drunk in my car, I already knew the answer.

"Not really, but I gotta buy th' whiskey somewhere, right? There's usually a bar in ev'ry stop along th' road, though. Helps me sleep. Well… not really, but s'what I keep tellin' myself. Sometimes, I have t'brew it myself, if I'm too far from a bar, or I've run out. Not quality, but I'm for anything that takes th' edge off th' day."

"Wait, you can make moonshine?" I asked. My Pip Boy beeped at me, and it informed me that we were getting close to Highway 95.

"Well yeah, what else y'gonna do with an empty bottle? Wait for it to refill itself?"

"Fair point," I said, shrugging.

"Tell ya what – you get me some ingredients, an empty bottle, a little time, an' I'll keep us stocked."

"Alright, sounds good. What do you need?"

"Some maize, a couple mutfruits, a little yeast," she took a drink from her flask, and continued. "… and a fission battery."

"…what."

"Ya heard me," she said with a smirk. "I don't actually put it in th' brew, 'fore you ask. You hook up that nuclear battery to th' bottle just right, it'll ferment th' yeast in a few minutes like ya been distillin' th' batch fer six months."

"H-uh. Your dad teach you that trick?"

"Pfft," she snorted. "Nah. Only thing I ever got from him was this." I glanced at her, and she held up the diamond shaped pendant around her neck.

"You know, I've never seen a pendant like that before. What is it?"

"Gift from my old man, like I said. Gave it to me when he gave me my name – Rose of Sharon Cassidy. Mom said he got the name outta some Old World book 'bout dirt pilgrims, or somethin'. Sounds sweet, I guess, but I prefer my last name Cassidy. Anyway, pendant's a little rose. Originally thought it was one of Mom's tribal necklaces, but when I asked her, she said no, came from my old man."

"Wait, tribal necklace?"

"Y'know, like one of the tribes from the East? We got 'em out West, too. NCR's herdin' 'em up, though. Domesticatin' 'em. Mom was from East of th' Colorado. Not sure what tribe. Was before the time Caesar started roundin' 'em up, an' made 'em Legion. She walked a helluva way till she crossed paths with my Dad, 'an he convinced her to stop walkin'. An' lucky for me, he was a horny ol' bastard."

"Uh…" I didn't quite know what to say to that. "That's… one way to put it. Did you know him at all?" She shrugged.

"Not really. He ended up walkin' East one day when I was young, an' never came back. Mom died waitin' for him, an' she had me to raise. She was sick more often than not, but held off dyin' till I was old 'nuff to be gettin' in trouble with boys. As fer Dad… I figure he just got himself lost or dead. It happens. I'm not all boo-hoo 'bout it, so save yer glass fer someone who's cryin'."

"Any idea why he went East?"

"Not a clue. When he left, I was too in my crib t'understand why, an' 'round th' time Mom passed, I was too into my teens t'listen. Got his name, got this pendant, an' that's 'bout it. So what 'bout you?"

"What about me?" I asked, confused.

"Well, hell, here I am goin' on an' on 'bout my folks, an' my past, an' all that happy horseshit. What 'bout you, y'got family somewheres?"

"I dunno," I said honestly. "Never met 'em." She was silent for a long while.

"You've never met your parents?" She asked. I shook my head.

"Nope. I don't even know where I was born. I grew up on the back of a brahmin caravan that went all over the place. California, Nevada, Oregon, Washington… You name a place West of the Rockies, I've probably been there growing up."

"You ever ask about your parents?"

"Of course I did," I said, pausing as the car violently jerked one final time before driving back onto the (relatively) smooth tarmac of Highway 95. "But by the time I was old enough to think about asking, there weren't that many of the original caravaneers left – some had died, sure, but most had just joined other caravans. And the ones who were around, well, they all had different stories about where I was from. And a lot of the stories just didn't seem to match up with one another. Eventually, I just gave up wondering. I figured that if I wasn't supposed to find out, I wasn't going to find out. Like you said, it happens."

"So, why'd you become a courier?"

"Seemed like the thing to do, I guess. I tried settling down, once I was old enough to leave the caravan, and strike out on my own. Got myself a place in Shady Sands, tried my hand at a couple odd jobs here and there, and got myself in a fair bit of trouble, too. But staying in that one place for so long… Maybe it was because I grew up always on the move, but staying still just drove me buggy. That was…" I trailed off, trying to remember how long it had been. "12? 13 years ago? Maybe? Either way, I started moving and I haven't really stopped since."

"Sounds like me. My feet get antsy if I stay in one place too long, like the Outpost. Was drivin' me crazy, that feelin' of bein' trapped there. But with my caravan gone, who knows when I would'a left. So… thanks for that."

"Don't mention it. So… how'd you get started in the caravan business, anyway?"

"Started? Took to it like a fish to water…" she paused, considering her choice of words. "That is, if ya know what a fish is."

"I know what a fish is. Do you know what a fish is?" I asked with a smirk.

"Well…" she faltered, but tried to cover it by taking a drink. "Of course I do. It's this… slimy, scaled thing. Like a lakelurk, 'cept no legs or claws. Most times, that is. They're like… birds, 'cept they stay underwater, y'know?" I did my best to keep a straight face while she continued. "Anyway, I've seen pictures. One guy even had one above his bar in Redding. 'Cept it was made of Pre-War plastic. Used to say it could sing, but I figured he was on a Jet rush." When she said that, I couldn't help but laugh. "What? What's so funny?"

"You know, I think I've been to that bar. What was it, the Marmite Saloon or the Malamute Saloon or something?"

"Yeah, that's it! Malamute Saloon. Way I heard it, place was a whore house, like, 40 years ago, 'til th' NCR rolled in. Good drinks though, even if it was a bit pricey." I laughed at that, nodding. The car fell silent for a few minutes.

"So, what do you think of the NCR, anyway?" I asked. It was a stretch, sure, but I was just trying to keep up the conversation – kept my mind off Legion.

"NCR's my country, an' I support it. Anyone who says otherwise, I'll feed 'em my knee. I know which side of th' firin' line I'm on in the Mojave, just so y'know."

"There's a 'but' in there, isn't there?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "There is. NCR's my country, but I'm not some blind, flag-saluting, do-as-they-will NCR lover. They're family. An' let me tell you what family means t'me. Th' NCR's like a brother – like some dumbass younger brother, who knocked up th' pastor's daughter, can't hold a job, and his home-away's a fuckin' jail cell. Their compass is spinnin', all the time." I thought about that for a minute. Even though I never had a brother, that kind of made sense… in a weird sort of way.

"So… what are you saying? They lack direction?" She nodded, and continued.

"S'been like that for a long while, ever since Tandi died, but Kimball's been the worst. He tries t'put th'NCR's stake in ev'rythin' he sees. Nobody's dick is that long. Not even Long Dick Johnson, and he had a fuckin' long dick. Thus, the name."

"Yeah, I got that. Thanks."

"So Kimball tries to hold ont'a ev'rythin'. He can't, 'cause it's too big for th'NCR t'get their arms 'round. Can't guard the roads, can't put a line 'o troops 'round th' Mojave… s'just greed that makes Kimball even try."

"And everyone suffers for it."

"Aside from th' people in th' towns, it's th' soldiers suffer for it most. Ever seen NCR troops asked t'go after gangs at three-t'-one odds?"

"Yeah, I have. Pretty recent, too, down at Primm."

"That bear flag doesn't make 'em bulletproof," she said. "An' when those gangs were caused by NCR in th' first place, like th' Powder Gangers? Caesar on a crutch, don't even get me fuckin' started there."

"So, what's the alternative?" I asked, shrugging.

"Look, don't get me wrong. I wouldn't want th' Brotherhood or th' Followers or th' Vegas families runnin' the Mojave. All 'o them're a differen't kinda fuck-up. NCR just has some… shapin' up t'do. Maybe Caesar kickin' 'em in the nuts is a nice wake-up call, is all I'm sayin'. I just wish Caesar would kick th' heads of NCR, not th' feet. I've fucked a soldier in my time – they don't need t'get fucked by their orders."

"After seeing what they did to Nipton… I wouldn't even wish Legion on the man who shot me." I thought about that for a minute, then added: "Maybe."

"Yeah… s'kinda th' major downside to that whole idea. I mean, Mojave's sufferin' now… imagine what it'd be like with Legion ev'rywhere."

"I'm trying not to."

"I don't trade caps r'supply anyone who keeps slaves, an' treats women like brahmin in those… 'camps' of theirs…" She trailed off for a moment, and horrible images flooded into my head. Until Nipton, I'd never really heard much about Caesars Legion, except that it was this big army of slaves across the Colorado; a nebulous force of evil and spookiness that I always thought was just NCR propaganda. Now I was starting to wonder just how many of those stories I'd heard were true. "But there are some caravans that deal with 'em."

"I didn't think Legion dealt with any caravans at all," I said, thinking about some of the anti-Legion posters in the outpost.

"Yeah, they're out there. An' as much as it pains me to say it, any caravan marked by Legion is safe as houses. They guard their roads, their supply lines – even Fiends think twice 'fore going after any trader with a red bull flag. If Kimball took th' same stand and made sure NCR committed patrols to th' roads, then I think that'd solve a lot o' their problems right there. But he doesn't, so they don't. Caravans get butchered in th' Mojave all th' time, like mine. And so fuckin' close to Vegas, you could see it from th' wall."

"Sounds to me like it's not so much Kimball, but the NCR as a whole."

"Eh. NCR tries, I guess," she said with a shrug, taking another sip from her flask. "S'just that tryin' don't mean a good goddamn when you're payin' yer respects to th' dead. And Legion, from what I've heard, they don't do th' 'stop tolls' on th' roads or in th' outposts like some NCR quartermasters do. You're lucky if y'turn a profit. Sometimes, if some new officer gets assigned a route, fees just get worse."

"I'd much rather take the fees than get put on a cross." I said. "Or burned on a pile of tires. Or have my head cut off."

"Know what I want? I want Kimball t'make good on his campaign promises, an get NCR to protect th' roads like Legion does. Much as I hate the Legion – an' trust me, I'd bet you any money I hate th' Legion s'much as you – caravan life would be a hell of a lot easier… as long as those companies were run by men. An' that's the biggest issue I see. It's a shame, but I think there's people in th' NCR who feel more strongly 'bout this than I do. An' I feel pretty fuckin' strong about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Some caravans deal with Legion now 'cause of th' security. If towns could get th' same protection? A lot more tempting than you'd think. Bunch o' people would be willin' t'side with th' Legion t'not have to worry about Fiends or Boomers or Great Khan attacks. S'not hard for some folks to sell freedom when th' alternative is worse…"

"Especially if being with NCR is going to get you on a Legion cross," I said, finishing her thought. She nodded, grimly.

"S'like, no matter what we do, we're gonna get fucked. Legion'll crucify yer ass, an' NCR'll tax it out from under ya – and then Legion'll put you on a cross anyway fer yer trouble."

"Only if you stay in the Mojave," I said, trying to steer the subject away from the Legion. It was just making me madder. "Something tells me you and I aren't really the type to stick around here if things go pear-shaped."

"That's true. You said you've traveled a lot – so've I. Passed through places enough times people'd sometimes pay me some caps to take somethin' to the next town. That's kinda how my caravan got started. One day, it occurred to me I could scratch th' travelin' itch an' get paid for it. Cassidy Caravans just sort of… formed around me."

"So, how is the caravan life here?" She shrugged.

"Up 'till my caravan got burned, I liked it. I'm not one fer soft livin', or soft men, let me tell you. Otherwise, I wouldn't be talkin' t'you right now – on both counts." It took me a minute to parse what she'd said.

"Miss Cassidy… are you flirting with me?" I said, with a wry grin on my face, half joking. I had no idea what grinning was doing to the scar on my cheek; for the first time, I was kind of glad I hadn't shaved in a few days, since it probably hid the scars. Somewhat. She laughed… and then hit me really hard in my shoulder.

"Don't you be takin' that as anythin' more'n words. I know yer look. Met a dozen guys with that same look'n their eyes. You probably say all the right things, an' leave a trail 'o broken hearts behind you. Just so we're clear, nothin' – an I do mean nothin' – is ever gonna happen 'tween us. You'd best respect that. My point before? You know th' wasteland, an' it's a hard place, where only th' strong survive."

"You know, that's probably gonna bruise," I said, looking at my shoulder.

"Serves ya right, ya letch."

"Good hit though."

"No it wasn't. This is a good hit -"

WHACK.

Novac was a little community that had sprung up in the remains of a small, two story pre-war motel, at the intersection of Highway 95 and Highway 165. What the motel used to be called, nobody remembered. The letters on the sign had all fallen away, or rusted into nothing. The only thing left was what the townsfolk had taken for the name – the only five remaining letters of the "No Vacancy" sign.

The most prominent feature of the motel was not the sign, or the shanty town on the West side of the 95, or the abandoned gas station nearby; the most prominent feature of the town was the dinosaur. I think it was supposed to be a T-Rex or something – I'd seen something similar, years ago, at the radioactive Labre tar pits in the Boneyard. It wasn't quite as big as the NCR monument at the outpost, but it was still the first thing we saw as we approached in the Corvega. As we got closer, I could see that bits of its green scales were flaking off, revealing the metal framework underneath.

It wasn't quite night yet when I parked the car at the gas station, but it wasn't quite day either. The sun was just starting to set, and the sky was turning all shades of oranges and purples and reds and blues. ED-E buzzed around the car, a soft and happy sort of tune made out of random beeps and whirs coming from his speaker.

"So," Cass said to me, getting out of the car. "What's the plan?"

"Well…" I said, checking the time on my Pip Boy. "I figure, we can get a room and stay the night, and then I'll start asking people in the morning if they've seen a guy in an awful suit."

"We?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and staring at me, ice water in her gaze.

"Did I say we?" I said, as tonelessly as I could muster, despite my shoulder suddenly and inexplicably flaring up. "I meant you. You'll get the room, I'll stay in the car."

"I'm just givin' ya shit, ya know that right?" Cass said with a smirk.

"Still, I was probably gonna stay in the car anyway. Force of habit, you know." I said shrugging.

At that precise moment, something oddly familiar caught my ears. I perked my head up, trying to listen. Before I realized what was happening, a familiar squeaking sound, like a greased axle grinding along metal sounded from behind me, followed swiftly by an all too familiar mechanical cowboy voice.

"Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit, if it ain't my old friend from Goodsprings!" I heard Victor say to me. I turned around to see him roll to a stop a few feet away from me.

"Hello Victor," I said, eyeing the robot with suspicion. His screen flickered slighty as he wobbled in place.

"You know this bot?" Cass called out from behind me.

"Yeah," I said, turning to her. "This is Victor. He's the one that dug me out of that shallow grave. Victor, this is Cass."

"Howdy, ma'am." Victor said to Cass, making a motion that would've been like tipping his hat… if he'd actually had a hat on his head. Which he didn't.

"Uh… hi there." She said, waving weakly. She shot me a look that practically said "What the fuck is going on?" without actually saying anything.

"So, Vic, tell me… what are you doing all the way out here in Novac? This is quite a ways from Goodsprings." The robot's screen flickered again.

"Don't rightly know – I just got the notion to make my way up to New Vegas. Reckon I'll find out when I get there."

"Quite the coincidence, us meeting up like this," I didn't believe in coincidences, so I was trying to probe the robot for any answers I might be able to get.

"Seeing how this is the only road around, I'd be a sight more surprised if we didn't run into each other from time to time."

"You said the men that jumped me were heading this way, right?" It was a longshot, I know, but I thought maybe that would trip him up and get him to reveal something.

"No… don't believe I did." Victor said slowly, his screen flashing violently before shifting back into focus. "You might ask around – the Novac folk usually see anyone travelling this way."

"Hm." I knew something was off, but I couldn't figure out what. And talking with Victor… that was like talking to a very stubborn brick wall. Made out of titanium. "Well. I guess I'll see you around then, Vic?"

"Be seeing you!" Victor said. He turned, and rolled away before coming to rest at the Novac sign.

ED-E floated in the air beside me. He looked at Victor, then at me, then back at Victor, and then finally back at me, where he started beeping and buzzing something that sounded slightly obscene.

"You know, I really wish I could understand you."

Cass walked around the car, looking over at Victor as she approached. "So what th' fuck was that about?"

"I don't know," I said. "But I have a nasty feeling I'm gonna find out soon enough.