Steppe Tanya 05

Freeside was a slum, complete with raw sewage in the streets and gangs of armed robbers watching me from every alleyway. The stench of human refuse was overpowering, but somehow the druggies squatting in the filth smelled even worse. The once smooth asphalt roads were pitted and cracked, with debris pouring out of countless collapsed buildings and onto the road. Two hundred years after the end of the world, and seemingly not a thing had been done to try and repair or clean up.

I hurried through town, keeping my hand close to the 9mm at my side. There was one man with a moustache, and wearing a hat with goggles that approached me, but I warded him off by reaching for my pistol. I kept my eyes on him as I walked away, and he looked at me confused.

“What about Dixon’s resupply?!” He called out, before shrugging, annoyed, and going back to whatever he was doing.

As I moved through the decayed, urban sprawl I saw dozens of casual horrors, like a line of underage prostitutes, hanging out together under the watchful eye of a slick haired pimp in a black jacket. A child threw a rock at a large, hairless rat, stunning the beast before chasing it down to bite into it raw, blood and other fluids running down his cheeks and hands. A man who had somehow survived what looked like third degree burns all over his body squatted down to defecate on the street in front of me, and even he wasn’t nearly as stomach churning as another fellow who did the same, but had long, fat, writhing tapeworms hanging from his anus.

Finally, after an hour of walking, a street with some semblance of order came into view, the glowing lights of the Strip in the distance. I didn’t want to run, lest I incite this filthy rabble to chase down a fleeing woman, but I did quicken my step. Criers promised me an array of fine beverages and prostitutes at the Atomic Wrangler, while across the street a young delinquent with shoe polish in his hair whistled at me as I passed.

When I arrived at the gate and saw it guarded by an array of robots, I felt relieved. The shining towers of the Strip were separated from the rest of the city by a large wall, topped with barbed wire and patrolled by machines. The robots were strange looking, each was essentially a large television screen with tubelike arms sticking out the sides, balanced precariously atop a single wheel. The screens portrayed a cartoon image of a grumpy police officer.

“Submit to a credit check before proceeding to the gate.” The machine demanded in a tinny voice. “Trespassers will be shot.”

“Uh, what kind of credit check?” I asked.

“Admission to the strip requires an official passport or proof that you are carrying the minimum balance of two thousand caps.”

I blinked once, then twice. “I don’t have either of those.”

“I’m sorry, but your balance doesn’t meet the minimum.”

“...Kuso!” I hissed, turning around to look behind me, back the way I came, but seeing light glinting off eyes from a nearby alleyway. A group of men were gathered, watching me with vicious grins, and carrying various bludgeons and knives. I drew my pistol and they disappeared from sight, no doubt waiting for a chance to strike at me later. Turning back to the robotic greeter, I said, “I’m worried I’ll be attacked if you don’t let me inside. Can you let me in?”

“I’m sorry, but your balance doesn’t meet the minimum.”

With a final groan of frustration, I turned around and walked back the way I came. I stuck to the centre of the roads, head turning in each direction at every alleyway, until I passed a female crier that called out to me, “Hey, you! Why not come stay at the Atomic Wrangler?! It’s not on the strip, but it’s the next best thing! We’ve got booze, drugs, and hookers!”

“How about rooms, do you do cheap rooms?” I asked. 

“Yep!” They answered, then turned and pointed down a branching street. “We’re right across from the Silver Rush, you can’t miss us.”

“How much for a room?”

“Just fifteen caps!”

I sighed, realising I didn’t even have that much. I was about to leave, but I stopped to look down at her exposed midriff, and provocatively short outfits, a question springing to mind. “Hey, why don’t you get jumped by these thugs?”

“Oh, I work for the Garettes.” She waved it off casually, like that explained everything. “Maybe they could give you a job, too? They’re always looking for new girls.”

I grimaced, instantly dismissing the idea. “What if I don’t have any caps? Do you know where I can stay?”

“You can try your luck at the Mormon Fort, but they don’t always have enough beds.”

‘Mormon?’ The word should have been unfamiliar to me, though it tickled something from my memories. Two lifetimes ago, in Japan, I had a decent working knowledge of the USA, though I couldn’t remember everything right now. “Thank you for your help. Can you point me in the right direction?”

-----

Yes she could.

Mormon Fort turned out to be a 19th Century fortress, made of sandstone and with a large wooden gate. I had a sinking suspicion that it had been preserved in the years before the Great War as a historical relic, from America’s colonial past. Now it was occupied by the Followers of the Apocalypse. 

As I approached, one of the gate guards saw me and immediately came forward to speak with me.

“Hey, Maggie?”

“Yes?” I squinted at him. “Do I know you?”

He spoke very slowly, and held out both his hands like he was afraid I would run away. “No, my name is William, I’m a friend of Dr Usanagi. She radioed ahead to let us know you might be coming. Now, I’m sure your confused right now, but I’m here to help you. I’m just gonna take your arm, and get you inside if that’s okay?”

On the one hand I was offended at being treated like an invalid, but on the other it was well past midnight and I was eager to go to bed. “Fine.” I muttered, letting him lead me.

They had a bed set aside for me in a tent reserved for other women. It smelled horrible, and I was sleeping on what looked like an old, stained mattress on the ground with a few layers of blankets to keep me warm. At least I wouldn’t have to share. With a long, miserable night behind me, I finally was able to go to sleep. I went to bed comfortable in the knowledge that I would be able to resume my job hunting in the morning.

-----

After speaking to the Garrets at the Atomic Wrangler, and confirming the only job they could offer me was as a scantily clad ‘working girl’, I headed across the street to try my luck at the Silver Rush with the Van Graffs. First impressions weren’t good when the guard at the door felt me up during the body check. Second impressions were even worse when I stepped inside, and found what looked like a bloodied and beaten man tied to a cage wall in the shooting range. My third and final negative impression came when the woman behind the counter saw me, and pointed her finger at the door angrily.

“Nuh uh. We don’t do business with Khans. Get out.”

I briefly considered applying for work with the Kings, but decided against it. Mick and Ralphs weren’t hiring, and the only other available employment seemed to be a man trying to start up his own fast food franchise, skinning and grilling various rodents and selling them near the Free Side Gate. I watched as he fried up rats, iguanas, and giant insects, and realised I had no idea at all if he was being serious or was just utterly delusional. No thanks.

After an entire day wasted, I retired to my bed in the Mormon Fort again, frustrated and foot sore.

-----

The next day I left the Mormon Fort, hiking my way out of the City to try my luck with the different caravan companies. Who knows? Maybe someone would be hiring.

“We’re closed.” The guard at the Crimson Caravan wouldn’t even let me in the front gate to their compound, even though I wasn’t wearing my gang colours, having turned the jacket inside out. I thought the discomfort of the embroidery rubbing against my back would be worth it if it meant I wasn’t associated with my tribe, but apparently not. “You ain’t coming in here.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t care what the NCR says.” The man answered. “Whether you people have Passports or not, ain’t no caravan company going to hire a raider to spy on them and tell their friends.”

“But I’m not a raider.”

“Right, and I’m a super mutant.” The man snorted, rolling his eyes. “We all saw you Khans coming in the other day, and you were with them!” He jabbed his index finger into my chest. “Fuckin’ Followers, fixing you scum up when they woulda done better finishing the fuckin’ job. Goddamn NCR, can’t get anything right.”

I stared at him for a moment, briefly surprised at the amount of hatred he had for my tribe, but then I suppose caravaners in particular were vulnerable to raiding. It was easily possible that my peers had killed someone he knew, or done things that were even worse. With a sigh, I turned and walked away, ignoring the invective he shouted at my retreating back.

With the Crimson Caravan firmly crossed off my list of potential employers, I decided to try my luck at Durable Dun’s.

-----

“At least if Caesar was in charge, he woulda crucified every last one of you!” 

Wiping spittle from my face, I hesitated before continuing on to Cassidy Caravans.

-----

“...Look, I have insurance back West.” Cassidy said to me, her world weary face looked sympathetic but firm. “If they find out I hired a Khan, my rates go up.”

I thanked her for her time, and as I walked out the door I heard the distinctive sound of a whiskey bottle being uncapped.

-----

“The Khans think they send over a pretty face, and I’ll fall for this shit?” Griffin of Griffin Wares yelled. “I wasn’t born yesterday!”

-----

The sun was setting as I trudged back to the Mormon Fort, humiliated and frustrated. It seemed that from the perspective of any respectable employer, a former member of a raiding band was just too much of a risk to consider. This was the Wild East, where there were no courts, and everyone was just making a judgement based on their own intuition. It wasn’t as though I could sue these people for discrimination, even if I was a citizen of the NCR.

For all my hard work trying to find an honest living, all I got was footsore, and a thin gruel for breakfast and dinner, the best the Followers could offer me. If the communists would just sell their service like a decent person then their charity would have more to offer! Here I was, begging for a job while stuck in a bloody breadline!

-----

The next morning, I set out for Camp McCarren. It was a bit further than I had traveled the previous days, so I set out early in the morning, the thin lukewarm soup doing little to sate my growling stomach. After detouring east to the Freeside gate out of the city, I then turned south towards the airport.

What had once been Las Vegas' largest airport was now the largest military base in New Vegas. Old passenger and freight liners were visible on the runway, rusting wrecks of what once was. Maybe one day, once the people of the Mojave had begun to industrialise again, they might take the old planes apart for the steel inside them, but for now they were old, disused, ruined hulks. Each one was nothing but the rotting bones of the once great civilisation that covered every corner of this continent. I was already annoyed from hunger, but the reminder that Being X had shunted me off to die of radiation poisoning in a dangerous wasteland infuriated me.

“Of all the dirty, pathetic, conniving asspulls that worthless liar could attempt, how could he think that this would make me want to worship him?”

Eventually, my journey came to an end with my destination in sight. A fence ran around the base’s perimeter, with a large gate as the only way in. Armed guards stood ready at the exterior. As I approached, I found myself drawn along by a crowd of others who seemed to be in a partygoing mood. Plenty were drinking openly, despite it being early in the day.

“What’s going on, is there a celebration?” I asked one of the gate guards.

“NCR personnel get free access to the Strip.” He answered, with a long suffering shrug. “They’re off duty and out of uniform, on their way to the tram.”

Free access to the Strip? I could get access to walled off, protected urban center with actual industry, commerce and safety?

“Can I join?” I asked.

He nodded, turning to point at one of the airport terminals. “Go in there, and talk to one of our recruiters.”

Feeling a surge of relief, I hurried across the open ground. I was hit by a rush of cool air when I stepped inside. The airport interior was air conditioned! The luxury of it was so powerful that I froze in the doorway, merely basking in the feeling of cool air.

Ahead of me was a man with a corporal’s bars on his collar sitting behind a counter. Amazingly, there wasn’t even a queue, and he seemed to just be waiting around, bored. I hurried up to him, feeling almost giddy.

“I’d like to join the NCR!” I said.

He looked at me, before lazily turning his chair straight and digging out a pen. “Name?”

“Maggie.”

“Surname?”

“No surname.”

“That’s okay. You can use your father’s name, or your tribe’s name if you have one.”

“Uh… Papa.”

He looked up at me, raising an eyebrow. “You really want to be known as Maggie Papa?”

I sighed. For a moment I considered lying, but I also didn’t want to get discharged if they found out about my background later. “Is it a problem if I was raised by a raider tribe?” I asked in a low voice.

“Not really. As long as you can speak English and follow orders, the NCR will accept just about anyone who can pass basic. They don’t even need you to read and write, though no way you’ll rise above Private if you can’t read your orders.”

Ha ha! I couldn’t believe it. Finally, the road ahead was opening up. “Khan. My name is Maggie Khan.”

“Oh, good for you.Getting out while you can? Wise decision.” He said, impressed. Then he looked back down to his form. “Birthdate?”

“Uh… I don’t know.” 

“Just gonna go ahead and make it today, then.”

His questions went on for a while longer, but soon enough he had everything filled out. “Alright, I’m gonna pass this on to the Military Police, and they’ll check our database, and as long as there’s no obvious security risk, your application will be accepted by this time tomorrow. Then you’ll be off to Cam Golf for basic training.” He looked up at me, smiling in a friendly way. “You got anywhere nearby to stay tonight?”

“Mormon Fort?”

He winced. “Ah, well.” He looked down, his gaze lingering on the front of my shirt for a moment. “Tell you what?  I’ll pass your application to my friend in the MPs, and ask him to rush this one as a favor, see if I can’t get an answer for you today. Meanwhile, I’m on break in half an hour, so why don’t I take you out for lunch? ”

At the mention of food, my stomach growled loudly and my face heated up. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He led me outside the airport, to the mess hall where the soldiers ate. The runway was covered by a maze of tents, fire ranges for target practice, barracks, latrine pits, and all the things I expected to see with an army. It was pretty easy to determine which were the tents that the soldiers bedded in, and which were shared environments just based on their size. As we passed a sleeping tent, I was able to count the number of beds inside, four of them. If there was four men per tent, and twenty five tents in this two alone, that would mean each row was at least a hundred men. Glancing around, I could see that there were forty rows in view, so about four thousand men were camped out here on the airport runway. There were some sign posts and a few clear paths for people to walk down, but compared to the Kaiser’s armies I thought this was a pretty sloppy camp.

Even as we were approaching the mess hall, I saw what looked like a Caravaner bringing a horse drawn cart of goods right up to the kitchens, where a man in uniform waited to receive and sign for it. Was that carted all the way from California? On horseback? It was going to be extremely difficult to sustain an army in the field that way. 

I sat down at the table, and it wasn’t long until I was served a plate of half burnt beans, greasy ham and runny mash potato. In my first life I would never have eaten something like this, but my second life had thoroughly rooted out any part of me that was a picky eater, dragged it behind the trench and shot it for the glory of the Kaiser. The armies of the Rhine had been expected to eat far worse.

“Hungry, I see.” The Corporal smirked at me, and I realised he hadn’t given me his name.

“Yes, can I get seconds?” I was still far from satisfied.

He laughed at that, taking my empty plate. “Why not?” He headed towards the kitchen. 

Feeling happy, full, and like things would soon get better, I sat there feeling surprisingly content. For the first time since I came to this absolutely awful version of Earth, it felt like things were finally looking up. 

“-yeah, she’s just inside. Why, something come up?”

That sounded like the Corporal's voice, coming from the door, but he sounded nervous, like he was just caught doing something he shouldn’t have. A prickle of worry stirred in my belly, and I stood up, moving closer to the tentflap.

“-lifted documents from Major Bullah’s tent, during Operation Spring Clean. It’s a good thing you put a rush request on this one, who knows what else she might have grabbed. Is she still here? ”

…Damn it. I turned around and hurried away, slipping out the other side of the tent and ducking to the right to step into a different row of tents and out of their siteline, then I beelined it for the gate. 

-----

Worthless NCR, bloody caravaners, and stupid Khans! I continued through Free Side as the sun set, casting long shadows from the skeletal wrecks of buildings over the street. Why did I even waste my time applying for a job with the NCR? At this point, about the only people that might be willing to hire me would be the worthless communists of the Followers! And they still thought I was an invalid!

I swear, one of these days I was going to find a way to cast Being X from his throne, and then we’ll see how that self righteous liar likes crawling around in the mud! 

Suddenly, a man sprung up from behind a car in front of me, swinging a lead pipe at my face. I was so shocked that I just barely raised my arm to protect my head, red hot pain shooting up to my shoulder where he struck my elbow. I staggered back, fumbling for the 9mm in my pocket and tugged it free, only for someone behind me to seize my good arm just. I lost my hold on the gun, and it fell, bounced and slid under the same wrecked car the fellow had jumped out from behind. I tried to stamp on his foot, but another thug grabbed my other arm, gripping it painfully and nearly pulling me off balance.

“I got you, girl!” A foul voice hissed into my ear, rancid breath and rotten teeth reminding me of old blood and bodies in the war. “You're gonna be mine, now!” 

I threw myself forward, trying to pull free and get my gun, only for the first man with the pipe to grab me by the legs. “I told you guys! I told you! Third day in a row she comes through here, just as the sun is coming down!”

“God, you’re so fucking hot!” The rotten breath in my ear whispered. “God, I’ve wanted you so bad.” His rancid tongue licked the side of my face, trailing saliva and old blood from what smelled like several bad teeth. 

I didn’t waste my breath calling for help. Around the street I could see numerous other strangers clearing out and running away, pretending they hadn’t seen anything. A few of them even stood there watching, including an armed and armoured man, who calmly smoked a cigarette while these men assaulted me! Panic rising, I considered my options, and realised none of them were very good. I might have been strong enough to overpower Dr Usanagi, but these were all men, and there were three of them, already with a good grip on me.

The one with the pipe reached for the front of my pants, fumbling with the zipper as his hands trembled with excitement. Not giving myself time to think, I kicked upwards, bringing my legs up to level with his face, and wrapped his head between my thighs. I squeezed as hard as I could, and he yelped in pain as his skull squeeked, striking at the outside of my leg with his pipe, but I grit my teeth and kept up the pressure. The two men who had my arms were trying to pull me away from him, but the man in front of me was pulling the other way. For grim life I clung, and there was a tipping point when the pipeman tripped backwards over the rusted hulk of the car. He took me with him, pulling me free of the two behind me as we both went sprawling. In the tangle of limbs, I was face down, just at the edge of the old car and still trying to crush the man’s head. 

I stretched forward, reaching desperately for my pistol, and felt my hand touch cold steel. My fingers just barely closed around it when a pair of hands seized my other shoulder and pulled me back. The gun came out in my hand, and I realized all I’d grabbed was the barrel, the trigger wasn’t in my hand. With a smooth motion that surprised even me, I twirled the automatic with my fingers, so the wooden grip slid into my palm and the trigger was under my finger. 

I rolled over, gun in hand and the thug who had been pulling at my shoulder’s eyes widened before I blasted him in the dead centre of his nose. He sprawled back, gurgling and screaming, and I looked past him to the other goon, who flinched to the side to try and clear the path of my gun, but it didn’t save him. I fired three times into his chest, and he staggered back, reaching for his injuries, frozen in place for an odd moment before collapsing. 

The last of the gangsters who was trying to wiggle out from between my thighs screamed, trying to bite through my pants legs, and I yelped in pain as his teeth ripped into flesh. With a hateful snarl, I pressed the pistol into his belly, and emptied the magazine. The fecal and blood smell of a ruptured intestine filled the air, as I was splattered with his sickly gore.

He writhed, and screamed. “Momma! Momma!” 

I released him, rolling away and scrambling to my feet. Quickly I drew the magazine from my other pocket, reloading in one quick motion. 

I looked around at the few Freeside folk who had stuck around to watch the whole thing happen. The man in man in overlapping plates of metal armour and wearing sunglasses, actually clapped, looking faintly impressed. The condescension was so infuriating that I shot him directly between the eyes. That was done for the rest of the onlookers, who turned and ran.

I hate this place, I hate these people, I hate this world. 

I didn’t want to waste ammo finishing off the two that were still alive, so instead I grabbed the discarded metal pip, and burst his skull open with a two handed swing. “You like that?” The one who I had shot in the face seemed to be trying to stand, but nerve damage kept him trapped to the ground, paralyzed. This was the disgusting cretin who licked my face, his eyes wet with tears as he twitched, trying to move and watching me fearfully. With a disgusted sigh, I put my boot to his throat and pressed down until finally he stopped twitching.

Almost before I even noticed I’d done it, I’d fished out the pack of cigarettes from my pocket and lit one up with my light. I puffed at the tobacco as I looked around, and realised one of my attackers had dropped a few caps. I blinked once, then stooped down to check the rest of everyone’s pockets. My attackers had seven caps between them, but the onlooker I shot had hundreds! He also had a fine holster on his hip, a large old fashioned revolver with a scope on it, and six extra oversized rounds of ammunition for the handcannon. I was also pretty sure his suit of armour would sell for money too.

I took my spoils to Mick and Ralph’s, the local pawnshop, just as they were about to close up. They barely seemed phased by my blood stained appearance, and they quickly ushered me inside.

“Hey, that’s Orris armour.” Mick murmured, recognising what I was trying to sell. “You killed Orris?”

“Yeah?” I scowled at him. “Doesn’t seem like that should be a problem around here.”

The two brothers looked at each other, then shrugged. 

“He was a scumbag, anyway.” Ralph murmured. “I’ll give you 50 caps for it.”

“One hundred fifty.” I countered. 

We haggled back and forth for a while, but in the end I walked away with a new backpack, a white shirt to go under my Great Khan jacket, a holster that fit my 9mm better, pants that protected my knees, and finally a few bras. Walking around without my chest properly supported had been painful, I have no idea why my body’s former occupant hadn’t owned any. I still had a few hundred caps left over.

For a few moments, I considered renting a room at the Atomic Wrangler, but decided against it as I didn’t know how long my current windfall would last. The guards at Mormon fort recognised me, and let me in through the gate without trouble.

Despite everything that had happened that day, I went to bed feeling better than I had since leaving the Follower’s Clinic.