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"No, no, try this." Rough weathered hands take the tiny screwdriver from much younger and less irradiated ones. Each finger carefully angles the tool, re-tightening ancient screws. Then they set the tool down and wind the crank.
The small toy robot shifts, then moves in tottering steps. With each motion it makes crunchy pleasing noises, the inner workings doing their jobs. The toy has a new paint job as well, shining brilliantly blue, with an undeniable attitude that said 'Look at me!'.
"Ha!" Veronica claps her hands together, smile wide enough to hurt,"Thanks, Raul. I couldn't have gotten it working without you."
The ghoul shrugs, but he's pleased despite his casualness, "You're used to working on larger machinery when you do. I'm happy to help you learn."
Cass, sitting in an easy chair with her hat tilted over her eyes temporarily lifts the brim. She eyes the toy and a grin takes over her face, "Cute."
"Do you think? Its my first time painting something like this. Honestly the Brotherhood doesn't really care so much for colorful aesthetics, aside from keeping your tools polished." The scribe looks at the toy with a sense of wonder, eyes barely flitting towards the former caravan owner.
"I'd say so. Its good work, you'd make any kid jealous." She replies.
Footsteps pace back and forth, an agitated rhythm. Their doctor anxiously wringing his hands. He eyes the spectacle with frustration. It's something that's unusual to see here in the privacy of their own 'home', when they're not actively being shot at. He's more wound up than the toy is.
"I think it I could get more working I could hand them out to kids in Freeside, y'know? Of course, I'll keep this one, especially for reference. Hopefully I'll get better at it. Being a scribe only prepares you for-" She's interrupted by a sharp inhale, and a stomp to the ground. Veronica scoops the robot toy up, even though the stomp wasn't near it.
"How can you be talking so casually about this? The Mojave is about to blow and they're not back yet!" Arcade isn't yelling, not quite. It's carefully restrained, really.
The sniper's voice drifts from the corner of the room, "Not like you to lose your cool like this."
The entire group jumps a little, each reaching for where their respective weapon would be holstered. He makes no claim to being the smartest man in the room, but he sure does have an unsaid claim on being a master in startling people. Cass hisses through her teeth, "Fuck me sideways, I hate when you do that, Boone."
The man simply tilts his head in question, though genuine or not is hard to tell. The combination of the shadows from him sitting in the chair in the far corner of the room to his sunglasses makes him unreadable.
"Melting into the shadows, she means." Raul clarifies, "Though I'm sure that training is sunk in deeper than any chem could."
Boone's mouth twitches into a ghost of a smile, then turns his head towards the anxious man he'd originally addressed. His head tilts enough to convey he wants his question answered, and his hand twitches as if he's about to add a military sign to add to it. Arcade does the thing where he bites the inside of his cheek, making it look temporarily more hollow as he ponders his answer.
"I know I'm usually more calm about discussing the general politics- getting mildly annoyed, not withstanding - but surely you guys can feel it too? Everyone's one step away from shooting each other's brains out."
"Hallelujah." Cass mutters, her hand lifting her empty glass in a false toast.
Arcade continues, "And we're just entertaining ourselves here, because we've run all the errands we can without their guidance. It feels … useless."
"Well." Veronica's voice is careful, "You're right, everything feels tense, but are you saying we should make a move without-"
"No, no. Could you imagine if we fucked something up and they came back to that?"
They all paused, collectively remembering the initial hunt for the man in the checkered coat. The walking dead taking revenge on the ungrateful living. Vengeance, Justice, what have you. It had brought them all this far into the deep web of inter connected politics of the Strip, and the Mojave itself.
"Either way, I guess I'm just-" He's cut off by the sound of the elevator shaft moving. They all still, frozen as they listen to it. There's a chance it might be Lily, coming down from Jacobstown. Though that chance is low, she doesn't like the casino or the overwhelming nature of the Strip by herself. ED-E has been in a low power mode for the past while, 'sleeping' in one of the rooms. Rex is with The King. So there is only one person that it could be. Unless, a Securitron was finally coming up to kill them or something like that. Probably not torture, seems inefficient for the robots.
The elevator doors slide open with a clunky hiss. Things seem to move in slow motion, every breath held in wait.
The Courier stands there in all their glory. They step into the threshold, looking around with a critical eye. They're wearing a new duster over their armor kit they've assembled to their liking over the past year. A respirator mask hangs around their neck, and their face is tired in an entirely unfamiliar way. They seem as if they've aged in the short amount of time they've been gone, new worry lines around their eyes. They step into the room carefully, and their footsteps would no doubt echo in the space if it weren't for the carpet absorbing the sound. Their eyes trace over each person in the room carefully, sharp, assessing.
"It's time." Their voice is low, yet the two words seem to echo with utter power. The sound of them curls in the air like smoke. Months of waiting, planning, going from each edge of the Mojave and back again had led to these two words.
The companions glance between themselves, some opening their mouths hesitantly as if to reply, to discuss, then thinking better of it. The Courier stands before them, almost like a God rather than a mailman.
"Boone. I need you to to go to some of the NCR camps, Golf, Forlorn Hope, such- tell them to watch for fleeing Legion. I'll meet you in Novac, then we're heading straight to the remains of Cottonwood Cove and making a trip." Their lip curls, "Pick up Rex from the King if you want, he enjoys a good fight against Legionaries."
Boone nods his head with quick decision.
"Cass, Raul, tell the promoters on the Strip the code word, they'll inform their bosses. Then head to Freeside, check the general status with the Kings, Garretts, Mick and Ralph's and what not. Westside too."
"Anything for you, boss." Raul replies while Cass shoots a two finger salute.
"Veronica, Arcade. Check with the Mormon Fort. See if any of their outposts need help moving medical supplies, and tell them they'll need to prepare more elaborate triage stations within the month."
Veronica nods with an affirmative, but Arcade raises his pointer finger, "Actually, Six, I need to talk to you about something-"
The Courier raises their hand, "We'll have time after I come back with Boone from Caesar's land." The classical pronunciation of the name is venemous in a way no Legion citizen would say it.
"What will you be doing while we're doing this?" Cass asks, a curious gaze at their leader.
The Courier glances towards the De-Activated Victor Securitron, long since sabotaged in their private floor. They look towards the ceiling, face scrunching in frustration, then back to the group, a furrow in the brow, "I'll be taking down The House." Their words verge on the edge of a snarl, "Then I've got a few errands of my own to run. No doubt we'll encounter each other with our parallel tasks." They wait a moment, none of their companions moving.
"Now, go go. Time waits for no one." They all raise from their spots with a flurry of motion, each going to gear up. All except Boone spare them a glance as they leave. Until finally, they're left in the silence, except for the hum of the building and it's air vents itself. "Not even me." Six finishes quietly.
They wait a moment or two longer, breathing slow and steady. Then, they make their way over to the room that could count as ED-E's. Their companions already gathering up at the elevator, ready to go. They give them a nod, but don't stop, not to distract them. When Six finally enters the room, finding ED-E in sleep mode on the desk, they let out a laugh that sounds like cracking glass. The door closes with a soft click, and Six slides down it's surface, until they're on the floor, knees pulled up. Small. Childlike. They pull off their breathing mask that hangs around their neck, throwing it to the floor. It served them well, but the weight of it being gone is a relief.
Their head turns to the ceiling, tracing the imperfections on it's surface with their eyes. Their hair, finally growing back, crumples a little from the movement as it's against the door. They sit there for awhile more, before they finally get up, and go over to their robot companion. Six finds their hands making their way across his carapace, checking for damage. They turn him on. The motors whir gently, and the robot stirs, before he finally is floating across from them.
"ED-E." Their smile wavers, fragile, "I'm so- I'm so-" Sorry? Thankful? Frustrated? Angry? "I'm glad you're here."
He beeps back in a happy tone.
"Yeah, yeah. Heh. I know, I'm being sappy." They wipe at their eyes with the back of their hands, "And now I've got to ask you to do something for me- I need you to be a courier for me, hm?"
ED-E beeps out a question lightly.
"Yeah. Quick in and out though. It'll probably mean you'll miss some of the truly exciting stuff, unfortunately, but it's important."
"Hello. I've figured that I've heard enough of your audio logs and messages that it was time to give you one back. By the time you're hearing this, House will be dead. Caesar will be dead. And if all went according to plan, Hoover Dam will belong to New Vegas. Not me specifically, but New Vegas. Of course to make that work I'll have to be doing a lot of politic-ing. I have a way with words but it'll be more than that. Actions to go with those words.
I've thought a lot about the things you've said. I don't agree with everything, but… I'm holding those words close to my chest now along with the rest of my cards. What you said about the Divide… I can't remember still. I think maybe I'm able to identify some former fragments of memory as being there. I'll probably never be able to remember it fully. From what I've been told when I took a bullet to the brain, apart from it physically being in there, the knock back onto the ground caused a concussion along with swelling from a combination of the two. In short, I should've died. Maybe that would've been its own justice.
I can't recreate the Divide. I'm not going to try either. That would be impossible. If I can make things even a little better around the Mojave, I will. Maybe that's closer to the Divide than ever trying on purpose. Working towards something better.
That doesn't mean it won't be hard. All the tribes of the Casinos, the Brotherhood, The Followers, the Khans that refused to leave - no doubt NCR that have deserted because they built a life here- they're all going to fight against each other, kicking and screaming. It's a good thing I've dealt with worse. Hopefully the work I've already done will help with that. I'm also not sure about Yes-Man. I'm not exactly enthused by only one person having control of the- I'll tell you later, in person. Just in case this falls into the wrong hands.
And I mean it! It might be more than a couple months, but I will come back to talk to you Ulysses. I'm not leaving you to rot out there, us Couriers need to stick together.
Maybe next time I see you, you can tell me more about the past, and I can tell you about the future.
…
Be seeing you,
Six."
For the first time in a long time, the Courier properly laughed, genuine and true. It sounded odd through his respirator mask, but it didn't matter. He hadn't known what to expect when the robot, the original, had dropped off the holotape and then nervously retreated. Perhaps for the best when it's counterpart had died within the Divide. It wasn't until he'd put it into his player that he'd heard their voice, ringing clearly.
"We'll see, Courier. We'll see." Ulysses says, taking the tape out and spinning it between his hands.
The sun crests over the distant mountains striking clear through the dust clouds. Perhaps, if he were more of an optimist, he would say it looked a little bit like hope.