Fallout NV fanfic: Old Man Courier chpt 23

“Thank you, I owe you my life. You saved me… back there.” the injured man said, “I’m the one they call the King. This here is my friend Pacer, and we appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”

They were back at the place where the doctors reside. It was a place called Old Mormon Fort. And it was the Followers of Apocalypse’s base of operation. The doctors stayed here to help local folks around. Usually treating wounds from people who were robbed by thugs or those who came from petty squabbles. The Followers here were led by a woman called Julie Farkas. She was one of the leading doctors around here, had a funny looking haircut that gave Raul the heebie-jeebies. The other one of the leaders was a skilled doctor called Arcade Gannon. He looked like a young man, perhaps in his late twenties. He wore a lab coat and a pair of glasses. He looked like a regular doctor around here, like any others. But word was that he was one of the most skilled surgeons in the area. He could treat any wounds no matter the severity, with only the bare essentials.

The Followers were actively trying to treat wounds and injuries for the NCR troops and the King’s men. The man who was called the King was the leader of a gang called… the Kings. Yes, confusing as hell. Raul spent a few minutes trying to figure out which was which. Apparently they’d been at war with the local NCR citizens around these parts. The NCR – or the Squatters as the people called it. So that explained the little war they had going on a while back.

By the corner Sol was treating Cass’s bullet wounds. Veronica, Boone and Raul could only sit there and watch while ED-E floated around the Fort. The Followers sure were fascinated with the little fella. It only took a few seconds before Sol pried out the bullet and wrapped bandages around her shoulders. 

“Thanks.” Cass said. She was somehow… a lot more different than whom he’d met back at the Outpost. She was a lot more… focused for lack of a better term. And surprisingly not drunk.

Sol stared at her for awhile before he asked:

“Cass… what are you doing here? I thought that the NCR forbade you from leaving the Outpost.”

She looked at him, then said:

“It’s a long story…”

She was going to leave it at that, but Sol had this look at him telling her he was not satisfied, demanding for an answer. So she had no choice but to oblige:

“Okay… here’s the truth. I’m the owner of a little caravan called the Cassidy Caravans. You might have heard of it. Well, I ran the business trying to see if I could bring in some profit. It worked out fine at first, but as time goes on, the business started to go downhill. I wasn’t getting as much customers due to big competition, prices for caravan guards started to go through the roof, and my caravan started getting attacked. I was about to give up on the business when one day I investigated one of the caravans that got attacked. At first I thought it was just a gecko or something, my guard had melted the thing with his laser rifle. But on closer inspection, I found this.”

She pulled from her duster a note which she then waved around while continue explaining:

“It wasn’t some random attacks, it was an organized ambush… by none other than my competitors themselves. The Crimson Caravans in cahoots with the bloody Van Graffs, who specializes in selling energy weapons. They run a monopoly on energy weapons around here, you want some plasma or laser? You go to them. Those filthy bastards… so here I am… up here in Vegas trying to track them sons of bitches down.”

“How’d you caught up in the little battle in the first place?” Sol asked, “The one with the Kings and NCR?”

“Haven’t you noticed? I’m NCR. I saw one of my boys getting hurt so I stepped in and gave a helping hand. I couldn’t help myself. I never realized that they were firing at the Kings though. I never really had a problem with the Kings in the first place. They’re generally nice folks. They have their own laws around here though, but mostly just laws for their own ranks so that they could keep peace around here to an effective level. Strange bunch, though. A lot of them dress up in these weird outfits.”

Sol sat there in silence, he didn’t know what to say. But she sure was different than his first impression of her. Even in the way she dressed, it was a lot more cautious than that carefree girl who drank nothing but whiskey. It was like a split personality or something.

The silence was broken when Sol suddenly saw from afar the blond man called Arcade, calling for him, waving him from afar. Sol stood up and walked towards him.

Arcade had his sleeves rolled up with his palms all washed up of the blood from all the injuries he was treating. He was… for the least very mysterious, there were strange vibes from him that Sol just couldn’t figure out.

“I’d like to thank you for what you did for the King,” he said rubbing his hands together, “we Followers around here do have problems with keeping up with all the injured, so help are most certainly welcomed. Especially help from someone as talented as you are, not many are well-versed in the ways of treating wounds nowadays.”

Sol smiled:

“I’m flattered, thank you.”

“Well, I would love to stay and say more thanks to you, but the fact of the matter is that we can’t do that. Because we’ve got another problem. A problem that I think a man of your talent could be of use. You see, the NCR – or the Squatters, as they call it, they’ve been severely injured as well, we’d like to treat their wounds, but we’re not so sure if we can do that after treating their… ahem… opposition. It would be nice to have someone with your skills to accompany me to their camp to show our good will.”

Sol couldn’t put his fingers on it, on what it was about him. He was certainly polite and well-spoken, but maybe a little too polite, as if he was hiding something. Arcade continued:

“Oh good lord, where are my manners… hi, my name is Arcade Israel Gannon.  You can call me Arcade.” He extended his hands and Sol shook them.

“My name’s Solmund, you can call me Sol though.” He then turned around and pointed at his friends one by one, “the grumpy sniper’s name is Boone, the one wearing red robe – she’s Veronica. The other one's called Cassidy, you can call her Cass. And of course my ‘best friend’ Raul Tejada.” Sol said that last part sarcastically of course. But somehow Sol had a feeling that he could pick up the sarcasm.

“Oh I almost forgot, our little buddy over there, he’s ED-E. Spelled E-D-E. Apparently he’s quite popular with the Followers around here.”

“Yeah,” Arcade agreed, “we get quite work up once somebody brings in technology from the outside. They love it. Now, back to the matter at hand. Are you in?”

“Sure, why not. It’ll be fun.”

 

 

 

 

It was noon when Solmund and Arcade reached the NCR camp. It was at a secret location that the Followers had promised out of good will to not reveal to anyone. Ah, the Followers, one of the most gentle tribe of people on the planet, they’d help anyone, despite being named Followers of the Apocalypse. Sol was thinking that it was more likely that they were literally following after the Apocalypse that happened 200 years ago. Pretty smart if you think about it. Honestly, these folks, they couldn’t hurt a fly even if they wanted to. Sol wished that there were more people like the Followers in the wasteland.

Sol had decided to leave his friends behind, so they could help tend the wounded, while him and Arcade would go to the NCR and help them with the injured. 

“So you looked awfully… strange if you don’t mind me saying,” Arcade commented, “I guess it’s not too weird when you start to think about it. I mean, a ranger usually is pretty old, but then again they also rarely appear out in the public. What’s even weirder is that you look like a 20 year old super model.”

“Why the fuck does everybody keep saying that?” Sol cried, shaking his head, “I don’t look that young... or that good.”

“Ha ha, you're selling yourself a bit short here…” Arcade said, “you have to admit though that you look pretty young, as if you’re a friend with Lazarus himself.”

“Hey, the day I crawl out of a cave on the command of God is the day Deathclaws stopped being dangerous. Because I'm sure as hell that not even God could do something like that.”

“Well-versed in Old World stories, too.” Arcade complimented him. Sol had suspected it from the start, he was a lot smarter than normal folks. And a man as smart as he would always have secrets to hide.

They reached the NCR camp and half of the folks were injured from the fight. Arcade had to explain to the commanders that they came on their own good will. Although some NCR soldiers were a bit suspicious of Solmund. Mostly because Sol was wearing a ranger duster, which made them think that Sol was a spy of some sort. But in the end Arcade managed to convince them.

The injuries of these people weren’t too serious. The Kings definitely took more damage than the NCR. These guys had got better armor and better equipment, no matter how you look at it. Sol and Arcade spent the afternoon treating wounds, after many hours of sweat and blood, the pain finally managed to die down a little bit.

“Phew, that was intense,” Arcade said, wiping his forehead, “you’re a lot better than I expected. I’ve never even seen a doctor in my life as good as you.”

“Well,” Sol said, flattered, “I did help out a lot back in my days with the NCR. So I learned a bit here and there.”

“I can see that. I’m actually a little jealous,” Arcade smiled, “funny thing… I’ve actually been waiting for a little competition around here. I don’t want to brag but folks around here say that I’m the best doctor around. At least until you showed up. I was kinda bored for a long while. I know it's a ludicrous thing to say, but hey, it is what it is.”

Sol pondered on this for awhile. Was this what he was feeling all this time? Bored? For so long? He felt it… he had all of this power granted to him. But did he really want it? Normal folks when offered the opportunity of power, money, fame, they’d take it in an instance. But Sol? He felt different. He’d already established that he was insane. But what was this feeling? Was it a mental condition? He didn’t remember if he felt like this before he was shot in the head, but the feelings were there.

“So anyway,” Arcade snapped Sol out of his thoughts, “I was thinking… the Followers are kinda running low on supplies at the moment. And the Crimson Caravan is sort of busy on some Caravan trip which put them out of commission for a while. Treating these soldier boys really put a dent in our supplies. So the only place left to get medicine is in the city itself.”

Sol’s heart jumped a beat, it was a strange emotion he couldn’t comprehend on the moment. Arcade continued:

“Would you mind coming along with me into the city? We’re going to need as much supplies as we can carry.”

“Sure,” said Sol, a bit unsure, “but doesn’t Vegas have a fee of entry? Or at least a passport in order to get through?”

“Not to worry my friend, I’m sure we can ask the King for a little favor, especially after what you did for him. The King, he has a lot of power around these regions.”