Steppe Sage 09

Gathering up the herds from Bitter Springs was one thing, but actually moving them to Red Rock was going to be a challenge in its own right. The big problem was that we were trying to control almost a hundred and fifty animals, with only five of us. It was just barely doable, particularly thanks to Briggs and Holler, who were both experienced herdsmen and excellent riders, but it meant we had to plot our route out to Red Rock carefully. Taking the bighorners and slippies through Vegas’ outer ruins was just asking for disaster, as the animals could get lost among the turns and corners of the city streets, or be killed and eaten by vagrants long before we found them again.

In the end there was simply no choice but to lead the beasts on a long, circuitous route North around Vegas, then West until we arrived at the helpfully named Red Rock Canyon Road, which would lead us straight to our destination. The journey was about a hundred miles, and our horses could do about forty miles a day without hurting them, but we would also be directing the herds as we rode, which would slow us down. All in all, if things went well, we would be there near the end of the fourth day.

Despite the work of keeping such a large herd together and moving, we were all in fairly good spirits. The Khans who had waited for me at the Clinic were mostly younger, in their early twenties or late teens, and were all Maggie’s friends before she died and I took possession of her body. None of them lost spouses or children in the Bitter Springs Massacre, though Tan had lost his mother and seemed just about ready to challenge any NCR soldier we saw to a fist fight. Perhaps the main reason that spirits were so high was because the young Khans seemed convinced we would receive a hero’s welcome when we rejoined the tribe. I’m sure they were exaggerating, but I had no doubt the others would be happy to have even a portion of their herds back. 

Holler had apparently received some training as a vet when the Followers had been on friendlier terms with the tribe, and he seemed to love any animal he put his hands on. We even found a small raven hatchling that had fallen out of its nest on the way through the city, and Holler had insisted that we pause long enough for him to save it. Using a pair of cooking tongs to avoid getting his scent on the chick, he picked it up, scaled the old telegraph post one handed, and gently returned the chick to the nest before climbing back down. It was among the most foolish things I had ever seen, but it gave me confidence that he was the one best suited to help me care for Soldier.

“I swear to god, Maggie, ain’t ever seen a tougher beast in my life.” Holler proclaimed, admiringly, as he checked Soldier’s health one morning. “No wonder them NCR rats love these things.” Then he looked up at me, his expression guilty. “Not that I think they’re better than our slippies.”

Soldier himself remained quiet and admirably stoic, not being bothered much by the flies or the heat, or the extra weight he had to carry from me. I rode alongside Ezekiel, who had been given a particularly friendly slippie mare to ride, named Sweet Pear. He was clearly struggling after a few days in the saddle, hobbling painfully when he got off the horse in the evening, and wincing when he had to climb back up to the saddle in the morning.

“Tell me about yourself, Ezekiel.” 

“Hm? Me?”

“Yeah.” I wiggled a bit in the saddle to make myself comfortable, and he winced and looked away, so I stopped. “Maybe a little chat will help take your mind off things?”

He shrugged after a moment. “Well, I was born north of here. In a place called New Canaan.”

“New Canaan?” I couldn’t keep the grin from my voice. “Well, what do you know? I was just hearing about New Canaan the other day from a fellow at Happy Trails. You guys really ranch geckos up there?”

Ezekiel gave a startled laugh. “Is that all he told you? Of all the things people hear about New Canaan, I thought the geckos would be the least interesting.”

“Well, what’s more interesting about the Canaanites?”

He shrugged. “Well, let’s see. We’re all shooters. Learning to use a Colt 45 is a right of passage. We’ve got good relations with the NCR and the Followers. Because of our beliefs, well, their beliefs, they’re out to evangelise to all the tribes around them. They’re probably the best linguists in the wasteland, they make a habit of carefully studying and understanding every language they encounter, so they can translate the bible for everyone to study. Followers and NCR both tend to hire them out as translators. Last I heard, they just finished translating and making copies of the bible for the Shi, out on the West Coast.” 

Ah, the pious types, though they at least seemed friendly enough. I had to keep the grimace from my face. It seemed that if Being X were to suddenly appear and send one of these barbarian wastelanders to form a crusade to kill me, New Canaan would be a fertile recruiting ground. 

“Is that why you left them to join the Followers? Your beliefs changed?”

Ezekiel fell silent. I glanced over to see him looking away wistfully. He sighed once before shrugging. “I… miss the church. I don’t believe in it, but I miss it.”

Ah, a personal story then. “Well, I was thinking of hiring someone from Happy Trails to go out that way, actually. Pick up some domesticated gecko eggs.”

He looked at me. “Gecko ranching isn’t easy, Maggie. Even the domesticated ones are little monsters. What do you want with them?”

“Golden geckos.” I replied, and he looked surprised by my answer. “Golden Gecko hides sell for two hundred and fifty caps, each. If we can get some radiation into a domesticated gecko, and mutate it into a golden gecko, we could corner the market on a radiation resistant, energy resistant, and stylish material. Imagine the proffits!”

“That’s… potentially a really good idea.” He admitted, like he was stunned that I could be clever. “I can see the caps in it, but won’t handling the radioactive materials hurt the ranchers?”

I nodded. “I was thinking maybe we could use robots for that? Put some distance between the farmers and the sludge.”

“You’re going to have to replace the robots fairly often then, or they’ll become radioactive too.” Ezekiel said, consideringly. “Probably a better option would be in two parts. One, you use some of the golden gecko hide to make a radiation resistant suit for the farmer, so he can handle the materials with some safety, and two, keep him on a steady diet of cave fungus, to help flush the radiation out.”

“Cave fungus?”

“Yup. A lot of people around here don’t seem to realise it, but there’s a variety of fungus that produces enzymes which bind with radioactive particles naturally, and render them inert. So you just excrete out a small amount of radiation with each meal. The Tribals up in the calico basin noticed it first when the people who ate the fungus seemed to stay healthier, then the Canaanites learned about it from them. Eventually the Followers did studies on the subject, and were able to prove its effects. The Followers have even been able to synthesize rad away from it, though they’ve never been able to find a reliable supplier of the stuff.”

“That’s fantastic.” I muttered, mind racing. “There’s gotta be some old caves and mineshafts around Red Rock Valley, somewhere. I’m not an expert on the subject, but I know of a few mushroom farming techniques that we could figure out with a little trial and error.”

Ezekiel turned to look at me, at first smiling but then pausing, and looking confused. “Who told you about Mushroom farming?”

I didn’t have a good answer. My mind raced to find an excuse, when a sharp whistle from up ahead dragged both our attention to Melbourne.

“Alright, break it up, lovebirds.” The darker skinned woman said, riding over towards us. “We’ve got trouble up ahead.” Then she turned her horse around, and it cantered forward when she dug her heels into its sides. 

“We’ll talk later.” I told Ezekiel, before touching my spurs to Soldier, and hurrying after her. At the front of the herd I found Tan already there, staring grimly into the distance through a rifle scope, though it wasn’t currently attached to any rifle. “What’s the problem?”

“Fiends.” Tan answered. “Look, by that old caravan park over there.” He tossed me the scope.

I looked through it, and was greeted by what at first looked like a tangled mess of collapsed buildings, with concrete bricks and rebar strewn everywhere amidst the skeletal remains of old ruins, but when I looked past that I saw what looked like a dead body on the road just next to a caravan park. The park sat right on the corner of the Red Rock Valley Road that we intended to take. There was a pair of dogs feasting on it, tearing apart the old body between them. The remains were nothing but a bloody mess at this point, to the point neither age or sex were distinguishable, at least from this distance.

As I looked at the caravan park, I realised that there was a scoped rifle pointed right back at me. Instinctively I ducked away, but Tan said, “Relax. Violet’s crazy, but she answers to Motor Runner.”

“She’s not going to shoot at us?”

“I didn’t say that.” Tan muttered. “She’d be crazy to kill a Khan, but Fiends are fucking crazy.”

“And Violet’s crazier than most.” Melbourne muttered. 

“Alright, so… If we just try to ride straight past, our ally and trading partner might start taking pot shots at us?”

“That’s right.” Tan said. “And Violet ain’t a bad shot, either.”

“And if we start shooting back at her, more Fiends might come around to see what the noise is about.” Melbourne added, her nose wrinkling. “And the Fiends have a lot of firepower.” 

I looked back through the scope, watching the young fiend woman as her lips moved in what I had to assume was a compulsive mutter. No one was near her, she was up on that caravan by herself. She had a dog’s skull stuck to the top of her helmet, and strips of drying meat hung out on a string behind her. If she was representative of the Fiends, I had to wonder where they were getting their weapons from? She certainly didn’t look like the sort of person who knew how to build and maintain a firearm.

“What kind of firepower do they have?”

Melbourne answered. “Laser rifles, plasma rifles, RCWs, and grenades. Not all of them have the good shit, and none of them are well maintained, but they can pack a hell of a punch.”

“Where do they get it all from?”

No one answered, and eventually Melbourne shrugged. “Dunno. They just have ‘em.”

I considered it for a moment. “We could just pay her off.” They all looked at me, and I continued. “She let the other Khans pass, so she hopefully won’t be completely unreasonable. Probably thought they were a bit too tough of a target to risk firing on. If we give her a case of jet she’ll just drug herself into a stupor and we can ride past.” I glanced at the others. “Right?”

The pair looked uneasy at my suggestion. “I wouldn’t want to get closer to South Vegas.” Melbourne answered. “Some of our runners never come back from Fiend territory. Killed and robbed on the way to the drop off.” 

“...And these are supposed to be our allies?” I asked the others. Once again I was met with silence from the group. “Great.” I muttered. “Look, if someone carries a case of jet, and a bunch of Fiends show up to try and take it from you, just dump it and run. I’m sure they’ll be so distracted you can get away.”

“That’s a good idea.” Tan nodded, considering, then he looked at me, smirking. “You wanna make the hand off, then?”

Obviously, I didn’t want to be the one to do it, but Tan and Melbourne weren’t willing, and I couldn’t order them around like I could soldiers under my command or employees back in Japan. Holler and Briggs were our two best herdsman, and I wasn’t sure we could get the beasts to Red Rock without them. That just left me and Ezekiel, and the Follower was hardly a skilled enough rider to make a speedy get away.

Shit. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

I absolutely didn’t want to get into a protracted fight with a large number of fiends, especially if some of them were carrying energy weapons. Our homemade firearms were better than nothing, and I doubt the Fiends were great shots, but there were only five of us, and I wasn’t sure how many of the damned druggies could be hanging out nearby. Looking at that mess of ruined buildings, I could easily see what looked like a dozen places that would make for a comfortable shooting nest.

Violet certainly didn’t seem like the reasonable sort. That dead body in the road was almost certainly her handiwork. If she fired on us, and the animals panicked, we might never get them back.

It really seemed like my idea to give her enough Jet to sate her was the best option for now. With a sigh, I turned around and rode to the back of our herd where Briggs was riding back and forth to keep any stragglers with the group. He was in charge of our pharmaceuticals for now, if only because he was using some of them to treat the illnesses of a few of our animals. 

“Something going on?”

“Yeah, give me the jet. Put it in a bag.”

He hesitated to give it over until I finished explaining the situation to him. After a while he shrugged, before he started taking out all the inhalers and shoving them into a little sack. “Just the jet?”

“Yeah, it should be enough to pay off the Fiends.”

He didn’t look pleased as he passed them to me. “You gonna be the one to make the trade off?”

I nodded.

He pursed his lips. “Wait a sec. Keep an eye on them.” He gestured to the bighorners, before turning his slippie around and riding back over to Holler. They exchanged a few words I couldn’t hear, before Holler tossed what looked like a pole to Briggs, who nimbly caught it and rode back over to me. “You better take this.”

I recognised it as one of the old fibreglass oars Briggs and I had taken from the boat shed, but the paddle had been taken off the end and replaced with a sharpened steel tip. It was brown in colour, except for where a whetstone had been used to peel back the layer of rust to leave a gleaming edge and a pointed tip. A lawnmower blade, I realised, fixed to the shaft with screws. They had also wrapped leather at the balance point of the shaft, so that someone could hold it without getting fibreglass splinters. “What do I need a spear for?”

Briggs looked at me like I’d said the stupidest thing he’d heard all day. “It’s a lance. You know? So if Violett’s dogs come for Soldier’s ankle, you can stab them without having to get out of the saddle? You just said you shouldn’t fire a gun, right? Might bring other Fiends in. So stab ‘em with this instead.”

I finally understood the logic, and it made sense. I didn’t get the impression that Violet had a lot of control over her pack, so turning around to ride back to the group might provoke the dogs to chase me. With Briggs help, I was able to use a belt to make a leather loop on the side of the saddle that I could rest my new lance in. 

Once again, primitive tools had their uses in a barbarian era. It occurred to me that my 21st century biases might have predisposed me against tools that seemed primitive or backwards by modern standards, when it could be that they were the simplest and easiest solution to apply in a world without reliable access to electricity and running motors. I’m certain I possessed a wealth of knowledge and skills that could benefit myself and the tribe, but by that same token it wouldn’t be wise of me to dismiss the hard earned wasteland wisdom of the Khans. 

With my preparations made, I turned and rode towards Violet, one hand on Soldier’s reins, and another holding a jet inhaler aloft over my head for the sniper to see. 

I saw the sun gleam off the madwoman’s scope as she tracked me, coming closer and closer. As I passed the corpse in the road, the emaciated dogs growled at me, but didn’t move away from their prize. I could see enough of the body up close that I could make out a shaved head and a feminine face.

 When I got close enough to her little perch, I saw her lower the rifle so it wasn’t pointed directly at me, and I finally got a clear look at the woman. She was absolutely filthy, rank like a rat that crawled straight out of a sewage pipe. Her eyes were bloodshot, and sunken, with thick black bags around her eyes. There were spatters of dried gore on her boots and hands, and she kept rocking up and down on the spot, moving her body weight with her knee. Her dogs barked and yapped, rushing out to encircle me and Solider, and my horse gave a nervous wicker beneath me, its tail swishing back and forth.

“Whatchu doing here, Khan?” She spat out at me, voice shrill. “Is that Jet? Is that for me?”

“Thought you might like some.” I called back with a smile. “You want me to bring it to you, or do you want to come get it?”

She looked around, left and right, licking her lips. Possibly afraid that other fiends might see, and she might be forced to share. “What are you giving me this for?” She started scratching at her scalp rapidly. “I didn’t ask for this!”

“I was thinking if you liked my jet, you wouldn’t need to shoot at us.”

Her scratching and jittering came to a sudden stop as if a rational thought had paralysed her. “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah!” She burst out in a shrill laugh. “Yeah! Give it to me!” She beckoned me closer.

I tapped one spur against Soldier’s side, and he began to trot forward, nervously. When we were only a few metres away from her, I was close enough to see over the little scrap wall she had around the caravan park, and I noticed a small, pale, bruised child laying naked on a mattress. He couldn’t even have been more than ten years old, his hands bound to a post so tightly they were obviously cutting off blood flow to his discoloured fingers. The poor boy had been beaten, whipped, and burned all over every corner of his body. Shivering uncontrollably, he slowly raised his gaze to look at me, his light brown eyes meeting mine for a brief moment, before Violet shrieked.

“What are you looking at, Khan?!” She screamed. “Don’t look at him! He’s not yours!” 

This was a Fiend. This was the tribe that my tribe was doing business with.

…What a disgusting waste of human resources. Being such a worthless addict that you’d murder for your next high was despicable, utterly antisocial in every way, but to capture and mutilate children for your own private amusement? In all my years of service to the Kaiser, never have I felt such an intense hatred for anyone before except Being X.

I dropped the jet canister in my hand and it fell to the ground where it burst open with a hiss of foul smelling gas. Violet’s eyes widened in horror, and she dashed forward to the edge of the railing in a panic. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” She screeched.

“It’s okay, I’ve got more.” I said to her, and hefted the bag. She looked up, and there was a long pause before she recognised the value of the sack.

“Give them to me!” She snapped. “Now! Now!”

“Yeah, catch.” I tossed it to her, and she reached to catch it, but I’d thrown it so that its arc fell short of her perch. Eyes fearfully wide, Violet lurched forward, throwing herself bodily against the fence to stretch her arm out and save the jet. The rifle she was carrying dropped to the caravan roof so she could hold onto the fence, with all her weight resting on only her hip, pressed against the rail. Her arm was raised and what little armour Violet wore didn’t cover her neck or upper chest, revealing bear cleavage and a thin neck. She was helpless to do anything, as I ripped the lance from the loop and rammed it straight into her chest. Blood sprayed free and she gasped as the air was forced from her lungs, before she went limp, falling to the ground in a dead heap. 

There was a pregnant pause, before one of violet’s dogs let out a piercing growl and lunged. Unbidden by me, Soldier spun on the spot and lashed out with his hoothes, and the dog’s neck broke with a wet crack. Soldier pranced about on the spot, whinnying and kicking, throwing hooves as the entire pack rushed about us, looking to lay gnashing teeth on hoof or ankle. I was a better rider than I realised, reflexively moving my hips with Soldier to keep myself from being thrown free. When there was a chance and I saw one of the dogs coming too close, I stabbed out with the lance, splitting its snout open. With its master and two of its members dead, the dog ran away, whimpering. The rest of the pack gave up, and turned to follow his example. No doubt the wild mongrels would threaten someone else in the future, but I was happy to let them go.

Once they were gone it didn’t take long for Soldier to calm down, nostrils flaring and eyes rolling as it searched around for any more of them. “Good work, Soldier. Good work.” I petted him on the neck, before climbing down out of the saddle.

I kicked Violet’s body over with my boot, and found her face slack and eyes glassy and unfocussed. Definitely dead. I scooped down long enough to recover the jet, her rifle, and whatever rounds she had for it, before returning the lance to its loop, then I climbed my way up the ramp Violet had set up to find the young boy sitting up and staring at me with a mix of fear and hope.

“I’m gonna cut your rope, okay?”

He nodded once, wiping at his eyes, though he flinched when I took out the knife I got from the dead cowboy, and used it to cut his bindings. Rubbing at his wrists, the boy attempted to stand up, but his legs were too weak and he fell down. In the end I had to carry him down from the caravan roof, and sit him upright in Soldier’s saddle. 

The poor boy was completely naked, so I poked around and found a discarded set of rags, sized for a child. They were sliced open, Violet must have cut them from him, and now they were ruined. The only other bit of cloth I could find around that could have protected his dignity was Violet’s flea ridden blanket, and I wasn’t going to let that anywhere near myself or Soldier. In the end all I could give him was my old shirt, which was so large that it draped over him and down to his knees like a dress.

The boy had never ridden a horse before, so I had him in the saddle in front of me, while I gripped the reins with my elbows resting on his shoulders. As we passed the dead woman on the ground, the boy broke into sobs. I don’t know if that woman was his mother or his sister, if she was just a stranger. 

In the end I decided not to ask. 

The rest of the Khans saw me approaching with the nearly naked boy and a bloodied lance, and were obviously curious about what happened. After I explained to them, most of them looked accepting except for Tan, who gave the kid a suspicious eye.

“Who’s the president?” He demanded.

The boy didn’t respond at first.

“Hey.” Tan snapped his fingers. “Tell me, who’s the president?” 

It took a while for the boy to reply, “Eden?”

Tan harumphed, then shrugged at me. “At least this brat’s not NCR.” 

“Who’s President Eden?”

Tan shrugged. “I don’t know. But the NCR president is Kimbal.” 

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “We can figure it out later. For now let’s get clear of Fiend territory.”

Tan frowned, obviously wanting to say more, but then decided better. He spun in the saddle, before putting his thumb and middle finger between his lips and letting out a long piercing whistle. Off in the distance Briggs waved back, before he started driving the herd forward again. Soon we were riding away, New Vegas fading into the distance.

-----

Red Rock Valley was well named. The entrance sat between two roughly parallel ridges of red sandstone, between which small amounts of wild grass and other hardy shrubs sheltered from the harsh Mojave sun. Marking the entrance was a large boulder that had clearly been there since the prewar. In fact, as I looked at it more closely, I realised it wasn’t actually stone, but concrete that had been so worn down by the centuries that it had begun to resemble the rocks around here. On its surface I could see the words, ‘RED ROCK CANYON, Southwest Commonwealth Conservation Area.’

Ahead of us was what remained of a toll booth, and beyond that a carpark and a handful of ruined buildings. So far we hadn’t encountered any of the Khan’s Scouts, but it was only a matter of time. We were seeing plenty of evidence of their passage ahead of us, including the remnants of a freshly dug well right next to the pre-war ruins, old bricks repurposed to hastily build a wall. 

We were all seated around a campfire, made from wood scavenged from the ruins, and Holler was stirring at a stew pot. He was cooking a ‘white stew’, made from water drawn from the well, a pigeon he caught when we passed Outer Vegas, some prickly pads, pepper, pinyon nuts, and bighorner milk. It was almost the same thing we had last night, but that was cooked with pinto beans instead of meat. It wasn’t exactly delicious, but it was filling and nutritious. 

The water well had me curious, though.

“How did they know to dig here?” I asked the camp. 

Ezekiel shrugged. “A lot of pre-war structures were built right above some kind of water source. They could pump it in from a distance, but it was usually just cheaper to build where it was already. The other Khans probably know that, so they tried digging it up and got lucky.”

It was a good thing they did. It gave us a chance to fill our water bottles and clean up the boy I rescued. At the moment he had the boy stripped down to the waste, his back exposed. Though he claimed medicine wasn’t his specialty, Ezekiel was the closest thing we had to a qualified doctor. It certainly looked like he knew what he was doing, as he cleaned the boy’s wounds and sewed the nastier cuts shut. Currently, the youngling was sipping a healing powder tea, not a word of complaint despite the terrible taste or the prick of Ezekiel’s needle. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, and was obviously underfed even before his captivity.

The sun was setting, and we decided to stop here on the evening of the third night, just because there was water. Tomorrow we would follow the Khan’s tracks deeper into the valley, and finally get a look at our new home with some luck.

Curiosity was itching at me as I looked around at the collection of buildings. There was a little one by the old road that was probably all that was left of an old toll booth, and another structure over at the carpark that was half buried in tumbleweeds, which I think was a former public toilet. There were others, some kind of sleeping quarters, a visitors centre, etc, but what really caught my eye was one pile of ruins sitting on a set of raised foundations. Though it was collapsed, I could see rusted bars that once would have sat over the windows, and the collapsed doors had a layer of steel plating on front and back, as well as heavy bolts so they could be sealed from the inside.

“You think that was a bank?” I asked Ezekiel, pointing to it. 

He glanced at it then shook his head, returning his attention to his work. “That was probably headquarters for the National Park Rangers.”

“Why’s it built like a fortress?”

“If I had to guess, that was where they kept the money they collected from the Toll Booth. Might be an armoury in there, too.”

Melbourne’s head jerked up, suddenly interested. “Armoury?”

Ezekiel shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You interested in the armoury?” I asked her.

Melbourne nodded. “There are some parts I can’t make that I need for our guns.” She patted the little SMG at her side. “Most of it’s just sheet metal, and I can hammer ‘em out if I’ve got a work bench and my tools, but I can’t make the barrel, bolt, and most of the firing mechanism.”

“You make these?” I asked her, surprised. I took out my own crude little submachine gun, and examined it more closely. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Melbourne shrugged. “It was in some old book. Guns and Bullets.”

“In the Pre-War, the United States was afraid there would be an attempt at invasion.” Ezekiel explained. “So a number of older, more rugged designs found their way back into print. The kind of guns that a man with a shed could make, back then.”

“Impressive.” I considered her for a moment. “What if you had better tools? Could you make more guns?”

“I mean, I’m not some master craftsman over here.” Melbourne grunted. “I know how to fix up what we have and hammer out something simple, but I ain’t a Gun Runner.”

Even I knew who the Gun Runners were, their booth was just a few streets over from the Crimson Caravan. They were a large family business operating from California that had somehow preserved manufacturing knowledge from the Pre-War. They operated a couple of factories, and even had a workshop set up here in New Vegas. They held the contract for the NCR Army, and supplied them with all the semi-automatic rifles they used, among other things.

“Well, would you like to learn more if you got the chance?”

“Yeah, sure, I’d love to.” Melbourne replied. “But the Gun Runners weren’t exactly willing to take on a former Khan as an apprentice.” She got a frustrated look on her face. “They laughed at my work.” 

Ah. Another young Khan who made an attempt at life outside the tribe, only to be forcefully rebuffed by the world. 

“Well…” Ezekiel began, then he trailed off.

We all looked at him, but he kept his mouth shut, pretending not to notice us. Tan and Melbourne both exchanged annoyed looks, but I held a hand up to make them back off. I’m pretty sure I’d have better luck speaking to Ezekiel by himself later.

Ezekiel continued to work in silence until he handed the shirt back to the boy. The clothes we got for him weren’t much to look at. We had access to fabric, and some needles for stitching, so we had thrown together something for him to wear. He was still going barefoot for now, but at least he now had pants with suspenders and a white shirt.

“Whatever.” Tan grunted, standing up. “Come on Melbourne, we’ll see if we can find something.”

They both headed off to poke about the wreckage in the dying light, and I decided to join them. The roof had collapsed completely, and the ground floor was buried by a mess of concrete and scattered bricks. We threw aside some of the old doors that we could drag free, and tossed the bricks away from the foundation for an hour, until at last the sun set and we still hadn’t made much progress.

“We’ll try again in the morning.” I said, dusting my hands. “Maybe with some horses we can pull some of the larger pieces of rubble off the foundation.”

I turned to start walking back to the camp, but Melbourne stopped me with a hand on the shoulder. “Tan, give us a sec, eh?”

Tan shrugged and wandered away.

“What’s the problem?” I asked her.

Melbourne nodded, and scuffed her boot against the ground, before looking up to meet my gaze. “Look, you.. changed. You changed a lot.” She scoffed. “Fuck, if I didn’t know your face so well, I wouldn’t think you were the same person. Sometimes you sound the same, but other times it’s like you have an accent. Like one of them northern tribals, almost.”

“Is that a problem?”

She rubbed at her hair, uncomfortable, but breathed out a long exhalation. “You know what’s going to happen when we get back, right? You’re going to have to join the tribe as an adult, now. Which means the beatdown.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” She looked me in the eye. “Can you handle it?”

To be completely honest, this body was a lot tougher than my second life. Not only was Maggie fully grown, but as best as I can tell she had spent a lifetime riding, shooting, and practicing hand to hand combat on an all natural, high protein diet. In my second life I was raised in a state orphanage, where the food and conditions were hardly great, and enrolled for the front lines of a major industrial war before I’d even hit puberty. I couldn’t remember the exact manner of my second death, but I don’t remember ever growing a hair above five feet. Maggie was statuesque by comparison, though I had yet to find out her exact height, she was taller than every other woman I’d met, and eye-to-eye with most Khans who were taller than most NCR I’d met. If I could handle the front lines of a war and getting into a fight with that super powered maniac Mary, then I’m pretty sure I could last through whatever the Khans could dish out, especially in a body like this.

“I can handle it.” I promised her.

She stared at me for a long moment, before patting me on the shoulder and turning away. “Alright, just checking you knew what you were getting into.”

We arrived back at the campfire to find the food had already been served, and there were two bowls of hot stew waiting for us. The Khans didn’t waste time with things like spoons or forks, sipping straight from the bowls directly. We sat around the fire, eating in silence. Surprisingly, it was the boy who finished first, woofing down his serving in what looked like seconds, and then staring hungrily at the pot like he wanted more.

“Here, get some seconds, boy. God knows you damn well need it.” Ezekiel waved the lad over, and filled his bowl a second time. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Marcus.” The boy answered, eyes on the stew. “Granite.” Then he tried to take a sip, but it was too hot for him. He blew on it a few more times, before trying again.

“Two names?” Ezekiel hummed, curiously. “So you’re not a tribal, then? And Marcus is definitely not a Canaanite name. And you’re sure you’re not NCR?”

Marcus shook his head, mouth full. “Mughm shays-” He swallowed loudly. “-Mum says my dad was a hero. He fought the NCR.”

Ezekiel blinked, then frowned. “Where’s your father now?”

Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know.”

We exchanged looks. “Does the tribe take in orphans?” I asked.

“Course we do!” Tan scoffed. “Papa even raises them himself. He loves kids.” 

I nodded, then I realised, “Wait, is that why everyone calls him-?”

I was interrupted when from out of the darkness, there was a long, piercing whistle broken up in two intervals. Immediately, Brigs rushed to his feet, and gave the same whistle back, but in three intervals. There was a long pause, then in the distance we heard murmuring voices beyond the light of our campfire. Out of the darkness to the north of us, large silhouettes emerged, eventually revealing about twenty or so Khans. Leading the group was Papa, who had a wide smile on his face.

“Too bold, young pups.” His deep voice had mirth in it, and a tone of warning. “We didn’t recognise you in the dark. We were about to rustle your herd. Would’ve killed all of you before you even realised what was happening, fireblinded like you are.”

“Ah, come off it.” Tan answered. “That’s what the signal’s for, right?”

“There’s other Tribals in these hills, boy. It might not have been us who crept up on you.” He surveyed all of us, before his eyes settled on me. For just a moment, I think there was a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. “Come over here and give your grandpa a hug.” 

It felt a little odd, but I stood up and walked around the fire to embrace him. 

“So. You decided to stay, eh?” He let go of me, and looked down at me with a fond, sad smile. “And you brought gifts? Who’d you rustle these from?”

“No one. These are ours.” I answered. “This is a portion of the herd from Bitter Springs.”

Papa’s eyebrows shut up in disbelief, and he glanced over to see the rest of them nodding in agreement. “...You’re going to have to explain to me how you managed to sneak this many bighorners past the NCR.” I would have told him that we didn’t have to, but he continued, pointing a finger at Ezekiel and Marcus. “And you two. I still recognise you, Ezekiel, but who’s the boy?”

“Marcus is just a straggler that we picked up.” I answered. “You know Ezekiel?”

“Of course. It was just a few years ago, he came to join us on the Strip with other Followers. He and I talked extensively about the history of our tribe.” Papa walked over to where Ezekiel sat, who rose to meet him and offered a hand for a shake, but instead was pulled into a powerful hug. “It’s been years, but I would be honoured if you were to join us as a guest for a time.”

“The honour’s all mine.” Ezekiel assured him.

Papa then knelt down in front of Marcus so they were at eye level, and offered the lad his hand. “Marcus, was it? Do you need help getting back to your parents?”

The boy swallowed and shook his head. “I never knew my daddy. And mum…” His lip wobbled. “Mum… we tried to run away, but the Fiend-”

Without a word, Papa pulled the boy into his arms, patting him on the back. “Don’t need to say anything else, son. Not if you don’t want to.” Wordlessly, Marcus started to sob into Papa’s shoulder, who let him do it.

From among the ring of the waiting Khans, the single largest man I had ever seen in person in any of my lives stepped forward. He was maybe just a few inches taller than Papa, but his arms were as big as my thighs, and corded with thick muscles. His neck wouldn’t have looked out of place on a bull, and his hair was kept in a large mohawk. When he spoke, it was with a surprisingly collected, almost civilised tone.

“Great to see you guys made it back in one piece. Our main camp’s not far from here, and we can show you the track. Even in the dark we should be able to move the whole herd there.” The giant man then stepped over to where Papa was finished helping the young boy. “Papa, spirits about the camp are low right now. I know the herd isn’t very large, but we can slaughter some of the young rams and make a feast out of it.”

Papa considered his proposal for a moment. “Feasts are for celebration, Regis. What are we celebrating?”

Seeing an opportunity, I interjected myself. “My initiation into the tribe.” Both men looked at me. “Papa, I would like to join this tribe as a warrior.” Having this celebration to celebrate my initiation would associate the feast with me, and it could only help make me more popular among the tribe. I didn’t want to live as nothing but a raider; to turn this tribe into something more than a band of petty criminals, I needed to be in a position of power and influence.

“A warrior, eh?” Papa looked over the group. Then he smirked, and rather than speaking to me he addressed the rest of the young Khans. “Even after she tried to leave the tribe that raised her? Tell me, do you believe this girl is worthy of joining us as a warrior? What does she have to offer the tribe?”

My friends all glanced at each other, and Briggs rose to his feet. “I wouldn’t be alive without her. At Bitter Springs, a cazador stung me and dragged me into its nest. She found me there and killed it with her bare hands, before burning the rest of them alive with turps. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, Papa. She’s a worthy warrior.”

Holler stood up. “We didn’t just find the bighorners, Papa. We got sixty four slippies back. It was her plan that got us into Bitter Springs, and her plan that got us out.”

After a moment, Tan stood up, shrugging. “She distracted the NCR so we could recover the stashes in the caves, Papa. We got thousands of caps, not to mention the jet and a good chunk of our armoury back.”

Finally, Melbourne stood up. “Papa, Maggie ain’t just a little smart.” She scratched her head and shrugged. “A little unlucky, I guess, but she’s just constantly coming up with plans. Plans that work. I swear, she’s only gotten smarter since half her brains were blown out.”

Smiling, Papa opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated when he felt a tug on his coat. We all looked down to see Marcus, looking up at Papa shyly. “She saved me from the Fiends.’

“Alright, alright.” Papa waved them off with a chuckle. “The point has been made. Are you satisfied with that, Regis?” 

“The point has been made.” Regis agreed. He looked at me, then back to the group. “Papa and I are both present, and we have more than enough worthy warriors to make a full ten, I see no reason we can’t hold the initiation right here.”

“Very good. Go ahead.”

Regis looked at me, then at the crowd. He pointed out ten warriors, six women, and three men, and called them all forward by name. Then he joined them, and I found myself suddenly feeling weary. Even in my first life as a man, I doubt I could have taken a serious punch from Regis to the head and not passed out.

From his pocket, Regis took out a battered miniature sand timer that I was pretty sure was claimed from a board game at some time in the past. “You must last until all the sands drain from the top to the bottom. No fainting. No crying out. No throwing any back. No falling. You understand?”

I nodded once.

“Alright then. Warriors, ready?” At their signal, he crouched down and upended the timer, placing it down. “Start.”