The Mojave sun was already starting its slow climb when we left Primm behind. The desert stretched out in front of us, a road that promised heat, dust, and danger with every mile. ED-E hovered faithfully at my side, while Maria kept a nervous but determined pace just behind me.
We didn't go far before I decided to stop at the Nevada Highway Patrol Station. The place still reeked of powder and smoke from yesterday's trap. A few scattered NCR troopers were posted around, keeping watch and picking over what remained. Hayes had already moved most of his men back to Primm, leaving the place mostly quiet.
I figured it was as good a spot as any to start Maria's first lesson.
"Alright," I said, setting my rifle against the side of a burnt-out cruiser. I unholstered the old 9mm I'd kept tucked away and handed it grip-first to her. "If you're serious about staying on the road with me, you need to learn how to use one of these. The Mojave doesn't care how young you are—when things turn bad, either you can defend yourself or you can't."
Maria's hands trembled as she took the pistol, the weight of it foreign in her palms. She looked at me with wide eyes. "I've… I've never shot one before."
"Then today's your first," I replied simply. I pointed her toward a broken window frame leaning against the wall—perfect for makeshift target practice. "We'll start with the basics. Safety first. Finger stays off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Keep it pointed downrange, always."
She nodded, biting her lip, trying to focus.
"Good," I said, circling around her. "Now, grip it tight. Both hands. Don't strangle it, but don't hold it like it's a dead rat either." I adjusted her stance, her elbows, the angle of her wrists. "Feet apart. Bend your knees a little. You're not posing for a picture—you're bracing for a fight."
Maria inhaled sharply, steadying herself.
"Now," I said, stepping back, "aim. Line up the sights. Take your time."
Her arms wavered slightly, but she fixed her eyes on the frame.
"Breathe in… breathe out… then squeeze."
The shot cracked loud against the empty station, echoing into the Mojave. The recoil jolted her back a step. She gasped, blinking as smoke curled up from the barrel.
The bullet had clipped the edge of the frame. Not perfect. But not bad for the first time, either.
Maria looked at me, half-startled, half-proud. "Did… did I do it?"
I gave her a rare smile. "You hit the target. That means you did it."
Maria lowered the pistol, arms still trembling from the recoil. I stepped closer, placing a hand on the barrel to lower it safely.
"Not bad," I said. "But your wrists were too loose. You keep that up and one day the kick's going to send the pistol flying right out of your hands."
Her face fell, shoulders sinking as if I'd just told her she'd failed. Before I could soften it, ED-E let out a series of sarcastic-sounding beeps, ending with a sharp bwoop that almost sounded like laughter.
I shot the eyebot a look. "Don't start."
Maria giggled nervously, some of the tension melting from her. "I think he's saying you're being too harsh."
"Maybe," I muttered. "Or maybe he just likes seeing me get interrupted."
ED-E gave a cheerful ding-ding! like a confirmation.
I sighed and turned back to Maria. "Alright. Reset. Both hands again. Tighter grip this time."
She lifted the pistol again, struggling to find the stance I'd shown her. I nudged her elbow, corrected her shoulders.
"Better. Now keep your breath steady—don't hold it. Just let it flow."
She exhaled slowly, lined up the sights, and fired. The crack echoed again, and this time the bullet smacked into the wooden frame dead center.
Maria's mouth fell open. "I… I hit it!"
Before I could answer, ED-E blasted a triumphant fanfare of beeps and whistles, circling once like a victory lap.
I couldn't help it—a laugh escaped me. "Yeah, alright. You hit it. Good shot."
Maria beamed, cheeks glowing with a hint of pride. She looked down at the pistol in her hands like it was both terrifying and empowering at the same time.
"Don't let it go to your head," I warned. "That was a good shot. But the Mojave won't always give you time to line it up like that."
ED-E made a long, scolding boooooop at me.
Maria giggled again. "He's saying you're doing it again."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "One day, I'll teach you how to mute him."
The eyebot let out a defiant wah-WAH! in response, and Maria laughed even harder.
For a moment, in the ruins of a burned-out patrol station, with a pistol in her hands and the Mojave all around us, she looked less like a survivor and more like a girl being given her first taste of hope.
After Maria's breakthrough shot, I let her sit on one of the broken benches to catch her breath. ED-E hovered close, giving a soft whirr like a guardian dog watching its pup. I decided to scout the rest of the patrol station.
The air inside was dry and stale, dust thick enough to make my throat burn. The farther I walked, the more I noticed signs Hayes and his boys had left behind. Near the back room, a cluster of giant mantis husks lay twisted and dried, their limbs severed clean by rifle fire. Their green shells flaked like old paint under my boots.
"They cleared this place well enough," I muttered, nudging one carcass with my boot. The crunch echoed down the empty hall.
Past the husks, I found something else. In one corner, slumped against the wall in a faded uniform, was a skeleton. The badge on the chest plate was so worn I could barely read it, but the outline of "Nevada Highway Patrol" was still visible. One bony hand still clutched the grip of a rusted service revolver, the other resting on his lap as if he'd chosen to sit and wait for the end.
For a moment, I stood there in silence. Not out of reverence—though maybe it was—but because something in the scene gnawed at me. A relic of a man who thought his watch still mattered, even as the world crumbled.
At his side was a pack that had all but rotted away, but inside, hidden in a tin case, was a small stack of cards. Caravan cards. Most were warped and useless from time, but one stood out, crisp and untouched by decay—the Ace of Diamonds.
I turned it over in my hand, its face still sharp despite the years. My first caravan card.
"Guess even the dead have something left to give," I murmured, slipping it into my Pip-Boy.
When I returned to the front, Maria was rubbing her shoulder where the recoil had hit hardest. She looked up at me, curious.
"Find anything?" she asked.
"Dead mantises. NCR left their marks. And…" I paused, thinking of the patrolman. "…someone who never left his post."
Her expression softened, almost reverent. ED-E let out a low, solemn whoooop, like even it felt the weight of the silence.
I decided not to dwell too long. I lifted the Ace of Diamonds, letting the sun hit its face. "First of many, I think."
Maria tilted her head. "What's that?"
"Caravan card. First one I've ever found." I turned it over in my hand—the Ace of Diamonds, edges scuffed, the red ink faded with age. For a moment, I thought of Scripture, how even the smallest signs can bear weight if you choose to see them. Maybe this card meant something. Maybe it was just another scrap in the dust. Hard to say.
She leaned closer. "Do you know how to play?"
I gave a short laugh and slid the card into my Pip-Boy. "Not a clue. Game's got more rules than the NCR's got red tape. I've seen men bet their rifles, lose 'em, and still argue about whether the play was legal. I'll stick to blackjack when I get the chance."
Maria's lips curved into the faintest smile. ED-E let out a playful boop-whrrr, almost like it was laughing at me.
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, shaking my head. "Maybe the wasteland'll teach me the rules one day. Until then, I'll call this card what it is: either a sign… or just a lucky find."
Getting a move on our journey, the desert road stretched before us, heat shimmering off the cracked asphalt. In the distance, the slope dipped down toward a sun-baked gulch—the only path forward if we wanted to reach the Mojave Outpost.
But the road wasn't empty.
Half-buried in sand and stone, tails raised like wicked spears, radscorpions crawled across the slope. Big ones. Their chitin glistened under the noon light, and the sound of their claws dragging against rock carried farther than I liked.
I threw my hand back, signaling Maria and ED-E to stop. Then I dropped into a crouch, motioning for silence.
Maria's eyes widened, following my stare. Her breath hitched, and I saw her hands twitch like she wanted to grip the pistol I'd given her.
I shook my head slowly, whispering low enough that only she could hear:
"Not a sound. If they catch wind of us, it won't matter how good you shoot—you won't walk away."
ED-E gave a muted boop, its usual humming softened, almost like it understood.
The scorpions shifted, tails swaying, their pincers clacking against stone. One stopped, antennae twitching in the air. I froze, hand instinctively hovering near my revolver—though I knew better than to think six rounds would do the job.
We stayed low. Waiting. Watching. Hoping the things moved on before the Mojave heat cooked us right there in the dust.
The slope ahead dipped into the gulch, that cracked road funneling straight through the nest of chittering tails and armored shells. NCR engineers probably thought cutting through the rock was easier than paving over it—but all it did now was give the scorpions a shaded haven and anyone unlucky enough to pass through a death sentence.
Maria glanced at me, whispering, "That's the way to the Outpost, right?"
I kept my eyes on the cluster below, shaking my head. "It's a way. Not our way."
Her brows knit, confusion flickering, until I pointed higher up the ridge—the rocky plateau that paralleled the gulch. Steep, uneven, but passable. Safer.
"We'll keep to the high ground. Takes longer, but I'd rather have the sun on our backs than venom in our veins."
Maria nodded, swallowing hard.
ED-E gave a short, approving chirp, buzzing upward like it was already scouting ahead.
I smirked faintly. "See? Even the eyebot agrees."
With that, I led us along the ridge, each step on crunching gravel taking us farther from the monsters below. I didn't look back until the clicking and scraping of claws faded into the wind.
We climbed higher, the gulch slipping further below us until the scorpions were just shifting dots in the dust. Maria kept looking back, her hand near the grip of the pistol I'd given her, nerves still hot in her eyes.
I slowed my pace until she caught up beside me. "Lesson one of the wasteland," I said, voice low but steady. "It's better to run instead of picking fights."
She glanced up at me, lips pressing thin.
"There will always be someone stronger than you," I continued. "Or bigger. Or with more teeth." I nodded toward the gulch. "You don't win by charging in—you win by knowing when not to."
Maria took that in, breathing heavy, then finally nodded.
ED-E whirred and let out a teasing beep-bwoop, like it was questioning whether I practiced what I preached.
I smirked at the little bot. "Alright, almost always."
That got the faintest smile out of Maria—small, tired, but real.
The gulch stretched beside us for what felt like miles, no more than ten or fifteen meters down, but it might as well have been the mouth of Hell with the way those radscorpions scuttled and clicked in the dust. Every so often, one of their tails arched high, glinting in the sun, before sinking back into the pack.
We kept to the upper ridge, slow and silent, boots crunching gravel just enough to make my nerves twitch. Maria stayed close, hand never leaving her pistol, while ED-E drifted above, humming low, almost like it was holding its breath too.
Finally, the gulch began to thin, the walls sloping back toward the road. The sound of clicking legs faded into the Mojave wind. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and straightened my posture.
Maria exhaled hard, whispering, "Thank God…" before shooting a look back at the gulch as if it might rise up behind us.
"Don't thank Him yet," I muttered, scanning the horizon ahead. "We've still got ground to cover."
But truth was, I felt the same way. The Mojave wasn't merciful often—passing that gulch without a fight was its own kind of blessing.
We pushed on, the sun sliding higher, heat shimmering off the cracked asphalt. Maria kept glancing at the horizon like she expected something to leap out at us. ED-E whirred ahead, scanning the road, occasionally pinging when it spotted a mole rat darting back into the brush or the shadow of a hawk overhead.
The Mojave wasn't dead—it was restless. Always moving, always waiting.
At one point, Maria slowed down, spotting a faded road sign half-buried in the sand. She brushed the dirt away with her boot. It pointed east—"Nipton – 10 miles."
"That's where the old trade road splits," I told her, nodding at the left-hand fork. "Nipton that way, Mojave Outpost straight ahead. Remember it—landmarks save lives when the desert tries to eat you."
She nodded, pressing the lesson into her memory.
By the time we cleared the next rise, I caught sight of them—two massive silhouettes standing against the desert sky, cast in bronze and dust.
Maria stopped dead, eyes wide. "What is that…?"
I let the corner of my mouth twitch upward. "The Mojave Outpost. NCR's idea of a welcome sign. Two Rangers, shaking hands over the wasteland."
The heat waves made the statues waver, almost like they were alive, watching us come closer.
The incline grew steeper, the cracked asphalt sloping up into the high desert plateau. Each step felt heavier under the dry sun, the road twisting between ridges of rust-colored stone. ED-E hovered ahead, occasionally buzzing low to scan the ridge, his lens flashing in little bursts of light.
Maria kept pace beside me, sweat glistening on her forehead, but she didn't complain. She'd already learned enough to know that complaints wasted breath out here. The sight of the two great statues of iron—NCR Rangers frozen mid-handshake— finally broke her silence.
Her breath caught. "Are those… men?"
"Statues," I answered, adjusting the strap of my pack. "NCR built them to mark their border. To say, 'we're here now.'"
From this height, the Mojave Outpost stretched out below the towering figures: a scattering of buildings, patrol vehicles long rusted, and a steady movement of brown-uniformed soldiers pacing the walls. The air carried the faint smell of gun oil and brahmin dung, mixed with campfire smoke.
Maria's eyes lingered on the massive iron Rangers. "They look… so big. Like they're guarding the whole Mojave."
"Or watching it," I muttered, not sure which was truer.
ED-E gave a cheerful chirp, as if urging us forward. The outpost wasn't far now—another five minutes and we'd be at the gates, at the line where Maria's search for her brother might finally begin.
The closer we got, the more obvious it became—the Mojave Outpost was on edge. Soldiers in NCR fatigues moved briskly across the yard, rifles slung tight, eyes scanning every approach. The crackle of radios carried through the dry air, clipped voices reporting sightings and movements I couldn't make out.
At the checkpoint before the gate, a pair of troopers stood with rifles raised, not quite aimed at us but close enough to make Maria stiffen.
"Hold it right there!" one barked, hand tightening on the grip of his service rifle. "Identify yourselves!"
I raised a hand slowly, keeping the other where they could see it. "Prometheus," I said evenly. "Worked with Lieutenant Hayes back in Primm. If you've heard about that chaos, you'll know who I am."
The soldier's eyes narrowed, suspicion warring with recognition. His partner lowered his rifle a fraction. "Primm?" he muttered. "Hayes did mention some outside help… said it made the difference keeping the whole town from going under."
I inclined my head. "That was me."
The first guard still looked tense, but the edge in his stance softened. "Alright. If Hayes vouched for you, that carries weight here. But don't mistake it—we're stretched thin, and jumpy as hell. Hands visible. No sudden moves."
Maria exhaled slowly beside me, the weight in her shoulders easing just a fraction. ED-E gave a chirp that almost sounded like, See? Told you you're famous.
The guard jerked his head toward the compound. "Welcome to Mojave Outpost. Try not to add to our problems."
Stepping through the gate, the chaos of the Mojave Outpost hit me all at once. Soldiers dashed between posts, shouting orders into crackling radios. Troopers ran along the wooden watchtowers, scanning the horizon, rifles ready but tense, every movement sharp as a blade.
Down below, the traders and merchants were scrambling. Caravan trains pulled by brahmin creaked and groaned, wheels kicking up dust as wagons struggled to maneuver around the haphazardly stacked crates. Merchants shouted over each other, trying to get their goods in or out, papers fluttering in the dry wind, tally sheets and receipts scattering into the dust.
Some tried to leave toward California, hauling wagons loaded with caps, chems, and supplies; others clambered into the Mojave, hoping to take advantage of the NCR's stretched presence. The smell of sweat, manure, and smoke mixed in a sharp tang, and ED-E hovered at my shoulder, beeping in little bursts that matched the chaos around us.
I scanned the crowd: brahmin pens thronged with restless animals, their lowing cutting through the cacophony. Guards herded them with sharp prods, while nearby, caravan drivers barked at their teams to keep moving, some using whips that cracked like gunshots. The sound bounced off the metal and wood of the outpost's walls, a constant reminder of how fragile order here truly was.
Maria stayed close, eyes wide but alert, absorbing the motion and the noise. I could almost see the tension in her body—the same tension I felt every time I stepped into a hub of activity in the Mojave.
Everywhere I looked, there was movement, but the unease lingered underneath. Everyone was doing their best to look busy, to act normal, but the fire to the east toward Nipton had them on edge. One wrong spark, one misstep, and the controlled chaos could erupt into something far worse.
And through it all, the statues loomed above us, iron Rangers frozen in time, silent witnesses to the storm of men, animals, and machines below.
The headquarters building stood at the heart of the Mojave Outpost, a modest structure of wood and corrugated metal, its walls lined with faded NCR flags and requisition forms. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and the rustle of paperwork. Behind a cluttered desk sat Major Knight, his uniform slightly askew, eyes scanning a ledger with the intensity of someone who had long since lost interest in the mundane tasks before him.
As we entered, he looked up, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Caravan, citizen, pilgrim, or...?" His voice carried the weight of routine, as if he'd asked this question a thousand times before.
I stepped forward, offering a nod. "Wastelanders," I replied, my tone steady. "Seeking information."
Knight's eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary, perhaps recognizing the weight of the words. He set the ledger aside and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Information's a scarce commodity around here," he remarked dryly. "But you've got my attention. What kind of information are you looking for?"
I motioned for Maria to stay close, careful not to overwhelm her.
"His name is Rafael," she said softly, almost a whisper, her eyes fixed on the floor. "Rafael Ortega. He's my brother. Please… is he here?"
Major Knight's brow furrowed, his gaze sharp as he studied her. "Rafael Ortega…?" He paused for a moment, then nodded. "Hold on. Let me check."
He moved to a filing cabinet and flipped through folders with practiced efficiency, eventually pulling one out and scanning it. "Rafael Ortega… yes, I see him. He was one of the new recruits picked up from patrol work here in the Outpost. Recently, he was assigned to go to Novac with a squad."
Maria's shoulders tensed, a mix of hope and worry in her eyes. "So… he's alive?"
Knight gave a curt nod. "As far as reports go, yes. But the road to Novac isn't exactly safe. You'll need to be careful if you're thinking of meeting him."
I stayed quiet, letting her absorb the information. "We'll be careful," I said softly, mostly to her, mostly to myself. "No mistakes."
Knight added, "I can give you a heads-up to his squad, but beyond that, it's on you. The Mojave doesn't forgive mistakes."
Maria exhaled softly, relief mingled with tension. "Thank you… thank you for helping me."
I stayed quiet, letting her words hang in the air. ED-E beeped lightly at my side, a small reminder: Stay alert. Every step counts.