New Vegas Steppe 04

The bulk of the Khans were still packing their things, when I departed for the Followers’ Clinic with the rest of the injured. There were around thirty of us, sporting a mix of injuries that required further surgery. A stimpak could heal a broken bone, but if it wasn’t set correctly first then it could result in permanent disability. Spinal injuries in particular required a lot of caution before being treated with a stimpak, or any injury were fragments of bone, bullets, or other matter might linger in the wound. These stimpaks really were miraculous, and I was eager to learn more about them.

All the tribe’s horses had run away during the battle, so those of us in a fit state to walk did so. The few of us who couldn’t carry ourselves were laying or seated in horse drawn carriages, which looked like they were repurposed from cutting apart old vehicles. I personally didn’t know much of anything about mechanics, but I supposed that as long as the metal springs were relatively intact, there was no reason not to take advantage of the vehicle’s suspension.

I found myself walking near the centre of the formation, surrounded by a group of burly, filthy men. Almost all the surviving Khans were the tribe's warriors, with the dead women and children being buried on site by teams of NCR. They didn’t just want to remove the Khans from Bitter Springs, evidently they intended to repurpose it for their own strategic ends. The Khan warriors glared at the NCR with a kind of suppressed, exhausted hatred. I could tell this wasn’t over. Whatever economic incentives might be offered in the future, the Khans would never forgive the NCR for this.

Obviously traveling to New Vegas on foot wasn’t exactly ideal, but it did give me time to talk and learn from the Followers who were walking with us. Word had gotten around that my brains had been scrambled, and all my memories were gone, so no one seemed to mind my probing questions.

“I heard that you’re an anthropologist?” I asked, sideling up to a fellow named Ezekiel. 

He was a short man, actually an inch or two shorter than me, and a good half a head smaller than the bulk of the Khans. He was quite thin, but like everyone I’d seen in this new world, he had calloused hands that were well used to hardship. The pair of prescription glasses he peered at me through might have looked nerdy if it wasn’t for his sun darkened skin and the sidearm he carried.

“Yes.” He finally said, like he was waiting for something. “I’m also trained in first aid. When the NCR contracted the Followers to provide first aid for their operation, I was qualified, though it really wasn’t my specialty.” 

I nodded at that, giving him an interested smile, which for some reason made him break eye contact. He must have felt like I was being condescending, so I pressed, “Is it alright if I ask you some things?”

“U-uh, go ahead.” He said, glancing briefly at me then jerking his gaze forward to watch the road ahead. 

“If the US Federal government collapsed during the great War, how did the California State government survive?”

His eyebrows shut up, and he turned to look at me, blinking.

“I’m sorry if it’s a dumb question.”

“No, it’s not a dumb question.” He replied, his gaze falling down before he jerked it straight and tore his gaze away to look ahead. “I mean, that is to say… uh. I’m surprised you knew there was a California State government. Very few people know anything about the functioning of Pre-War governance. How did you know that?”

“...I don’t know.” It was an easy excuse to use. I had already been diagnosed with amnesia, so it was easy to just plead ignorance. “Somehow it’s just in there.”

“I see. That’s very interesting.” He pushed up his glasses. “That is to say, there is no connection between the New California Republic, and the former State of California. The state government was destroyed alongside the federal government.”

“Then where does the NCR come from?”

“The same Vault that your people, the Khans came from.”

“What’s a Vault?”

“Uh… a very large, pre-war underground shelter built to host a population of up to 1000 people for a duration of at least fifty years, until the bulk of the radiation had cleared.” He then added, “Your people, the Khans, come from the same Vault as the people of Shady Sands.”

One of the nearby Khans spat at the name.

Ezekiel ignored him and continued. “Shady Sands is the current capital of the NCR, and though its founding tribe has long since been outnumbered by newcomers, you can still see that original ethnicity in their members. Major Bullah is an example, you’ve met him. Much of the NCR’s ruling class share that background.”

“How did two different tribes come out of the same vault?”

“At least four tribes we know of for sure came from Vault 15.” Ezekiel answered. “We’re not sure why, but it seems like Vault 15 was dangerously overpopulated, and due to a serious oversight, selected from four groups of roughly equal size with radically different belief systems. According to my research, the original four groups of Vault 15 were a gnostic cult, a group of pre-war foreigners called Sikhs, a group of militant atheists interested in the elimination of all religion, and a collection of social radicals formed around a vague spiritual movement, called, ‘the Hippies’.”

“...It sounds like whoever was in charge of screening the Vault’s applications was trying to start a civil war.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to suspect that.” Ezekiel said. “Some of the Vaults seem to have worked perfectly and just as intended, while others were built with major defects and obvious oversights. It’s a topic that many Followers debate.” 

“So… I’m guessing the Sikhs went on to form Shady Sands and the NCR. Who are the Khans descended from?”

“The Hippies.”

Oof. Gross. “What about the other groups?”

He pushed the glasses up his nose. “We have no first hand accounts of exactly what happened inside Vault 15, but from what we gather, there were multiple phases of civil conflict. The first group exiled from the Vault were the congregation of a preacher named Jonathon Faust. He seems to have doubled down on the gnostic theology, portraying god as a jailor, and the Serpent from the Garden of Eden as a liberator and source of wisdom. About two hundred of them left or were exiled from the Vault together, and formed their own settlement South of Lost Hills, but they picked a fight with the Brotherhood of Steel, and were forced out of California into the Mojave.” At my questioning look, he quickly added, “The Brotherhood are another tribe, they worship technology and are very well armed.”

“I see. So the Vipers are descended from a pre-war cult?”

“Yes, but I don’t think they bear much resemblance to their original beliefs.”

“And what about the Militant Atheists?”

“They became the Jackals, the second group exiled from the vault.” Ezekiel sighed. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you much about them. They’re the most hostile to outsiders, of any of the four tribes from Vault 15. They’ve been known to practice cannibalism, and file their teeth to points. I was never able to interview one of them.”

I cringed at the idea. “And how did they leave California?”

“That was the work of your people.” Ezekiel said, sounding regretful. “The Jackals were defeated in a war by the Khans, and all in all, are probably close to extinction by this point.”

“Good riddance!” A Khan called out, and I looked across to see that all the nearby Khans were listening in. “Got what they deserved. Coyotes are as bad as Fiends.”

Another guy snorted. “The Fiends are our customers.”

“Who are the Fiends?” I asked.

“Another tribe.” The Khan who had been listening in commented. “Basically animals. They’re all twitchy chem addicts. They kill and rob for caps.”

“Which they then spend on our chems.” Another Khan pointed out. “It’s a nice circle.”

Someone called from the back, “Guess that makes them better than Coyotes!” That drew a few chuckles from the group.

Oh, Verdammtes! No wonder the NCR were so determined to root us out. We weren’t just raiding and attacking them, but incentivising others to do so on our behalf as well!

Of course Being X would do this to me! 

Whatever! It wasn’t my problem! As soon as I had received the surgery from the Followers, I was leaving. I already had Papa Khan's permission so there was nothing to keep me here.

“My next question, why are bottle caps used as currency?”

One of the Khans opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. He looked at the other Khans, who all looked like they didn’t know either. As one we all looked to Ezekiel.

Ezekiel wilted under our collective gaze, scratching the back of his head. “Well, where to start? The first thing to understand is that every civilisation has developed currency in some form. It’s just useful to have a tradegood that won’t lose value, and can be transported in large quantities. Even mesolithic societies have been proven to trade with sea shells.”

“Yeah, but why caps?” A Khan insisted.

Ezekiel coughed. “I’m just making the point that if it wasn’t going to be caps, it was going to be something else. Now, as for caps in particular, they’re small, easily counted, easily transported and they’re made from aluminum so they don’t rust or rot. No one makes new aluminium or bottle caps anymore, so there’s a roughly fixed amount out there; all the features of a good currency. In particular in California, merchants from a large settlement called the Hub agreed to exchange water for caps at a fixed rate, which created a demand for caps and made them the de facto currency for the region until it was briefly replaced by the NCR Dollar, which could be exchanged for gold. Then in the NCR-Brotherhood War, the Brotherhood of Steel was able to capture their gold reserves, which caused the value of the currency to plummet, so a lot of people returned to the water backed currency of caps, particularly here in the east.”

Alright, so bottlecaps. It was in many ways a strange notion, but it also explained why I had a pocket full of them when I first woke up. What a shame I threw them away before I knew their value. That did raise a question, though. Just who were the NCR really to be creating an official currency and supplant the accepted one?

“How large is the NCR exactly?”

“Their latest census had them at a population of a million.” Ezekiel answered. “If true, that would make them far and away the largest power in the wasteland.”

So why exactly were the Khans trying to wage war on them?! I wanted to shout. Did a tribe of four hundred men seriously believe they could resist the might of a nation of more than a million?!

When I glanced back to see the other Khans’ reaction to this information, they had all gone quiet. Instead of curious or joking, they just looked sullen and resentful towards Ezekiel. Clearly they had no love for the bearer of bad news.

I turned to Ezekiel, then stepped in a little closer to ask him in a low voice. “Papa mentioned that the NCR massacred the Khans in the past?”

He hesitated. “Sort of. The previous two massacres were carried out by itinerant heros.” At my confused look he added, “Basically, both the Vault Dweller and the Chosen One were famous mercenaries who accrued a good reputation for their charitable work. Both were hired by the Tandi family, leading to the 2161 and 2241 massacres.”

…Was he seriously trying to suggest that in both cases a single individual was able to kill an entire tribe in the hundreds? No, definitely not. It must be that these were the leaders of a mercenary company, whose deeds had been mythologised. Although, 2241 was only thirty years ago. It was surprising that such an exaggerated reputation could build up so quickly. 

“What’s going on, Cyclops?” One the Khans called out, a woman with her arm in a sling. “You into that stringy punk or something?”

That drew a bunch of shouts and hollers from the pack.

Ezekiel looked embarrassed and I decided it was best to leave things there for now. I didn’t want the rest of the tribe to start bullying our doctor, so I gave him a smile to help understand I wasn’t embarrassed from associating with him, and backed away to join the rest of the Khans.

-----

For the rest of the journey, I was careful about how much time I spent with Ezekiel. I definitely still wanted to talk to him, he was the only historian I was likely to meet any time soon, but I only really got a chance to speak with him when we happened to pass by each other. 

With these brief conversations, I was able to put together a better understanding of the region and its situation. The short version is that the NCR were expanding in all directions simultaneously, pushing south into the Baja Peninsula, north into Oregon, and east into the Mojave all at once. Though it was undoubtedly the greatest nation in the Wasteland, with its only feasible rival being a luddite tribe to the East called Caesar’s Legion, into the Mojave the NCR were operating at the end of a long and overburdened supply chain. Just last year they’d very nearly lost the Hoover Dam to the luddites! 

It was a level of overreaching and incompetence that I found somewhat of a relief to learn about. If the NCR didn’t have the cooperation of the current master of New Vegas, they almost certainly wouldn’t be able to exert nearly as much influence over the Mojave. The current ruler of New Vegas was someone claiming to be Robert Edward House, a pre-war billionaire. Given that no one had ever met him in person and he operated his business entirely through a robot army, he was probably actually long dead. The entity claiming to be Mr House was probably some kind of AI based on his personality.

Either way, he was yet another power that was hostile to the Khans. Apparently we used to rule the strip ourselves based out of the old casino, Caesar’s Palace, no relation. We were forced out by House’s robots and a coalition of other tribes. The Followers had set up their operations inside a place called Mormon Fort, and apparently we used to be pretty good friends, though they were currently upset at us for taking the knowledge they shared with us and using it to manufacture chems.

Towards the end of the second day, I felt like I had really started to become firm friends with Ezekiel. His whole demeanor changed whenever we met. He’d smile, and talk energetically about the history of the postwar world and inquire about what I’d been up to during the day. Of course I encouraged him. There was little to no chance of me getting to enjoy similar conversations with the rest of my tribe.

“I admire your intelligence.” I told him plainly. “I’m enjoying talking with you.”

He seemed particularly pleased by such compliments.

-----

It took three days of travel before we arrived at the clinic. Normally it wouldn’t take so long, usually it could be done in two days, but many of us were walking injured. The Khans were nomads, well used to travelling on foot, so I’m sure if pressed and in better health they could have covered the distance much faster.

The Clinic itself was situated amidst the ruins of Las Vegas. The city proper was surrounded by a shoddily constructed wall, made of sheets of concrete rapidly propped up against a chain link fence. Apparently this barrier ran around the entirety of the city centre, with the outlying districts left largely to fend for themselves. That’s not to say East Side was entirely undefended. The NCR patrolled fairly regularly, and there were a number of caravan companies with their regional outposts nearby. 

Not too far from the clinic, just a mile or so up the road, was the Crimson Caravan’s walled compound and right across the street from that was a factory run by a group named the Gun Runners. Apparently they were the NCR military’s biggest supplier. They had factories back east that produced 9mm and 5.56 rifle rounds, which were by far the most abundant ammunition in the Mojave as a result. 

There were other caravans set up nearby as well, though none were nearly as big as the Crimson Caravan or as heavily defended. Cassidy Caravans, Happy Trails, Durable Dun and Griffin Wares among others all had refurbished some of the ruins of Old Vegas to trade goods hauled in from California. The Caravaners certainly weren’t happy to see us Khans around. They us with a stink eye that the tribe was happy to give right back.

The New Vegas Medical Clinic was apparently different compared to the other Followers outposts. It was specifically constructed as a profitable business for paying customers, to fund their charitable works elsewhere. Apparently the Followers built their entire organisation around a painfully shortsighted ideology of helping humanity in general, and so despite their impressive technical knowledge and strong internal structure, they were mostly quite poor and lacking in influence.

“If you moved entirely away from this wasteful ideology, you could be richer, more influential, and help more people. You have a valuable skill set, but by giving your services away you reduce the incentives for people to learn for themselves, while limiting the amount of people you can really help because you’re always running out of supplies. A well run business would result in a virtuous cycle of profits developing better products, those products would produce greater profits, and so on. More medicine for more people, and a better quality of life for you.”

None of the Followers I tried speaking to seemed at all receptive to the true value of the free market. If anything, they seemed passively hostile to me. It seemed that word had gotten around about my dispute with Dr Usanagi, and all the Followers treated me with what I came to realise was their business face. For non-members, the Followers spoke politely, formally, and kept very tight control of their emotions and expressions. Only a hint of their true feelings could be grasped from their eyes, and they mostly seemed to regard me with cold dislike.

Ezekiel was an exception. I don’t know if he was particularly interested in my ideas, but he was definitely excited to talk to me. He would often come by my tent whenever he was on his lunch break, bringing snacks with him. It also helped that he had access to the Follower’s library, and was more than willing to let me read some of their books.

Unfortunately, a lot of the records that had survived the apocalypse weren’t very impressive. For example, the only book left for Ezekiel to reference regarding pre-war Mongollians was called Pretty Pretty Horsies: A History of the Mongolian Empire. It seemed to have been written in an effort to get teenage girls interested in history, and I could recall facts about the Mongolians from my own memory that the book totally overlooked. Still, it was better than nothing.

This world really was in a sorry state of affairs.

“You know, if you like him, Papa might be happy to give him a chance.” One of the Khan women said to me. her name was Melbourne, I wasn’t sure why. She was here because her hand had been nearly destroyed by an NCR sniper. Though the Followers wouldn’t be able to fix all the nerve damage, they were able to reconstruct her hand to almost the state it had been in previously. 

Currently she was lounging in a deck chair next to me, while all the Khans hung out around a warm fire that we started in the yard using half a barrel with some holes in it as an embankment. Of course they didn’t have the courtesy to ask for permission before lighting it, but it was pleasant enough to gather around on the cold desert nights. They were all smoking as well, and despite myself I joined them. This tobacco addiction was harder to kick than I expected. The smell of the smoke was always just so unbearably tempting, particularly when paired with coffee or beer.

“I don’t think he’d do very well in the tribe.” I answered her, honestly. “Though his skills would be useful to have around.”

She blinked at me, then smirked. “Oh, that poor boy. You haven’t noticed yet?”

“Noticed what?”

“He likes you.”

One of the Khan men nodded, sagely. “You gotta stop leading him on, Cyclops.”

What did they mean by ‘leading him on?’ My English was getting better, but some of the phrases that didn’t have a literal meaning could confuse me. “My final surgery will be tomorrow. So you’ll have to give up on that name.”

“Well, what do you want us to call you instead?”

“What was my name before I was shot?” 

“You really don’t even remember that?” Melbourne said, disbelieving. “I’ve heard you talking with Ezekiel about all kinds of things I never even heard of, but you can’t remember your real name?”

“Exactly. Now please, what was my name?”

She stared at me for a few moments. “It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore. Maggie, we called you Mags, because you always loaded the 9mm into Papa Khan’s magazines ever since you were nine.”

This tribe is awful. What the heck was a child of nine doing with live ammunition?! If I was just a little luckier, I might have been shot in the head sooner and woken up to my real memories a decade ago!

“Then just call me that.”

She shrugged. “Once you’ve been through a beatdown, you can choose your own name, anyway.”

“What is the beatdown?” I asked. “I know it’s some kind of initiation ritual.”

Melbourne raised an eyebrow. “Your boyfriend didn’t tell you about that? You want to be an adult with the tribe, then the tribe surrounds you and beats you. If you pass out, or cry out for them to stop before they’re done, then you fail.”

Oh, of course it was something that stupid. “What possible purpose could that achieve?”

“Keep out people who don’t really want it.” Melbourne answered. “To join the tribe, you gotta earn it. Every Khan knows that every other Khan can tough it out, even when things go bad.”

Thinking about it, I suppose the beatdown would do a lot to filter out people who only wanted to take advantage of the tribe’s resources. It allowed the tribe to expand its numbers by taking in outsiders, while ensuring those outsiders were at least somewhat committed. It also represented a degree of buy-in. Once you’ve been through the beatdown, you were less likely to leave the tribe because you had earned your place inside it.

“Well, I’m leaving the tribe anyway.”

Melbourne smirked at that.

“You think I’m not serious?”

“No, I think you mean it.” Melbourne shrugged. “But everyone says the same thing. They leave the tribe, thinking that they’ll be happier, but eventually you’ll realise the truth that I did. No one cares about Khans, but Khans. I’ve seen a dozen teens like you, run off to wander for a bit. Only one of them never came back, and it was because he got his skull caved in by a gang in Freeside.” 

I grimaced at that. There was probably a grain of truth in her words. If I travelled with gang colours people would obviously be as hostile to me as they were to the rest of the tribe. Once I left the hospital, I was going to have to get my hands on a change of clothes. The Khan Logo printed on the back of my vest would do me no favours.

“...Here.” Melbourne said, reaching over to her own bag. She unzipped it, and took out a small pistol with two magazines of 9mm rounds and offered them to me with one hand. “Don't worry, I keep it clean. If you’re going out by yourself, stay strapped.” 

It was an act of surprising generosity that I really hadn’t expected from a member of this miserable tribe.

-----

When the morning came around, I went in for my final surgery under Dr Usanagi’s knife. It took another day before she was finally willing to take the bandages off and I was able to get a look at my newly reconstructed eye.

“Why’s it blue?” I asked. It was really quite a striking shade of blue as well, almost turquoise. My other eye was a shade of faded green, almost brown, which I had assumed was my natural eye colour.

“Baby’s are often born with eyes of this shade that darken over time as they adjust to natural sunlight. Due to this eye being brand new, it’s reverted to the colour it was before the melanocytes in your eyes began producing melanin. It should darken over time, but adult eyes don’t adapt nearly as quickly as newborns. Your new eye will probably never be quite the same shade as the other.”

Ah, well. The effect was somewhat off-putting, but it was much better to have two working eyes then none at all. I was just about to leave when Dr Usanagi cleared her throat.

“Is there something else?” I asked her.

“As your Doctor, I have to recommend that you remain with your tribe.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“With your current impaired mental state, you would be extremely vulnerable going into the wasteland by yourself. I cannot in good conscience let you leave without at least warning you.”

Oh, she still believed I was a helpless invalid, even after everything I’d done. It was annoying, but at least she was acting as a doctor should.

“How did you learn about my plans?”

“Ezekiel has been very worried about you.”

Ah, I see. He was a good friend.

“Well, thank you, Doctor. I’ll take it under advisement.”

----

To avoid further awkwardness, I slipped out of the Clinic alone that night, and made my way alone to the bright lights of Freeside.