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With the ruthless southwestern sun reaching its zenith, the trio of wanderers should have been looking for temporary shelter. However, the need for urgency had somewhat overridden both Boone's survival instincts and Cyrus's usual eagerness to be anywhere other than direct sunlight. ED-E, as usual, had little to contribute in terms of planning. With Jeanie May out of the picture, Novac’s economy would take a definite hit; the ghoul situation at REPCONN preventing them from collecting the scrap they needed for trading couldn't wait.
Luckily, the site was relatively close to town, by Mojave standards, anyway. Despite the amnesia he'd picked up from being shot in the head, Cyrus was certain he hailed from a region where things were more conveniently cluttered. Had it been any closer, though, these feral ghouls popping up would have spelled trouble for more than just the scavenging parties. Any farther, and the site wouldn't have made for such a convenient supplement to Novac's usual offerings. It was that proximity that made the appearance of a Legion scouting party over the hill ahead of them so much more disconcerting than usual.
Cyrus heard the distinct, dusty thud of Boone hitting cover behind him before the red and brown armor had even registered to the courier as a threat. It was a miracle he'd lasted as long as he had on his own.
One of the legionaries raised his rifle and leveled it at Cyrus, but the group's decanus stepped forward and raised a hand, signalling all of them to lower their weapons. Cyrus had seen it enough times to know what it meant: he was still considered a tool of Vulpes, still protected by the double-edged sword of the frumentarius's decree that the fate of Nipton be known as far and as wide as a courier could travel.
As Cyrus nodded to the group and moved to continue on his way, there was no immediate shot nor any footsteps following as he passed up the hill. Boone must have waited for him to get out of the way.
Sure enough, as soon as Cyrus had cleared the through-line, the decanus's head exploded, the black and red plumage of his helmet scattering nearly comically to the winds emphasizing the now-vacant space they had once been affixed to. Cyrus whipped out his varmint rifle as fast as he could, but ED-E had already vaporized the closest legionary by the time he'd found his aim. A few seconds, two laser blasts, and three bullets between them later and the three travelers were alone again.
Cyrus stooped down to the nearest pile of ash as he holstered his weapon, casually brushing the recruit's remains aside to grab the box of rifle ammo ED-E had miraculously spared. Or perhaps his lasers just didn't interact with metal the same way they did with flesh and bone. Although he'd worked on ED-E once and brought him back to life, Cyrus was wary of blindly tinkering with the eyebot again, even to find out how his weapons worked. It had been trouble enough getting his circuits talking the first time, and he wasn't convinced the same trick would work twice, not without some replacement parts and the right issue of "Fixin' Things."
The crunch of dirt and grit under heavy combat boots signaled Boone's approach as Cyrus moved methodically from one body to another in a pattern he guessed he would have to get used to, and sooner rather than later.
"What was that about?" Boone demanded in his usual, brusque manner.
Cyrus didn't bother looking up as he rifled through the decanus's pockets, setting their treasures neatly in a row in the dust at the side of the road as he tried to remember how much space was left in his pack. He'd unloaded most of his scrap in Novac; he could likely spare the room for the weapons at least.
"A week or so ago, I stopped in at the Mojave Outpost on Interstate 15 to trade, see if I could pick up some side jobs for caps to get me on my way to New Vegas, since I'd had some luck working with the NCR before." Cyrus intentionally left out the part about seeking a pardon for Meyers; he still couldn't gauge how closely Boone liked to stick to the letter of the law where revenge wasn't concerned. "A sniper there asked me to check out a town nearby called Nipton. Said they'd been seeing smoke, that they'd stopped getting travelers from that direction.
"When I got there, it was like the entire town had been consumed by hellfire. All of the buildings were burning. All of them. Except for maybe the ones that had already burned themselves out and were smoldering, though I think they might have torched those a second time just to be sure. Men, half-dead, crucified in the streets; piles of rubble and corpses, burning along with everything else; and, on the steps of the town hall, Legion. Five of 'em. Four legionaries and Vulpes Inculta, a frumentarius."
Boone was silent through the entire account, scowling down at him with arms crossed tightly over his chest as Cyrus packed his bag with the spoils of their encounter.
"The way he walked to me, calm as could be, while his men leapt to their positions like Securitrons, I thought for sure he had me in his cross-hairs. But he opened by saying he'd spare me. Told me the story of Nipton, of why they had passed judgement upon it, and ordered me to go out into the Wasteland and spread the word of their atrocities there. My words, not his," he clarified, as if it was even necessary. "He only called it his 'little sermon.'" Cyrus paused with his hand on the strap of his pack. "Then they left. And sure enough, it seems like the word went out that I was to be allowed to live."
"So, now you're his bitch," Boone spat.
"I'm a living record of Nipton's fate, if nothing else," Cyrus muttered as he hefted the fully-laden backpack onto his shoulders. At this point in the day, he hardly had the energy to argue. All he wanted was to get to the REPCONN building and get out of the sweltering afternoon heat.
"You didn't even take a single shot, did you? Coward."
"It was five-to-one, not counting their dogs. I had one stick of dynamite and a 10mm. I was terrified. I thought I was going to die."
Boone sneered, the light that reflected off of his sunglasses momentarily blinding Cyrus.
"A soldier never hesitates."
Cyrus stared at his companion blankly, the soft hum of ED-E hovering by his side a surprising comfort.
"I'm not a soldier," he said, his voice hoarse and parched. He watched Boone's expression carefully as his eyes swept over him, as if he was only just now sizing him up.
"No...you aren't, are you?"
For once, Cyrus was thankful for his heavy-set build, his fair complexion riddled with freckles, the thick glasses he prayed everyday would last until he could find a place with machines still capable of grinding and fitting similar lenses. Rarely did any of the second-hand clothing or armor he ran across fit him, but people often underestimated him thanks to his appearance. Now his soft edges seemed proof enough of his civilian status for Boone to rein in his building indignation.
"I'm just a mailman."
A short huff from Boone served as a laugh.
"Well, you'd better count your lucky stars. I'm sure I don't have to tell you what they normally do to people who can't defend themselves."
The cries of the men strung up on crosses with barbed wire in the burning, soot-swept streets of Nipton swelled in Cyrus's ears, followed by the abrupt, peaceful silence that took their place after he had dispensed what mercy he had been capable of: the only shots he had found the courage to fire that day.
"Yeah," he said simply, watching the dust swirling at their feet.
Boone sighed.
"What's done is done. But clearly you can handle a gun now, and not too poorly I might add. There's no time for fear or hesitation out here. And like I said before, as far as I'm concerned, the Legion is KOS. We still clear on that?"
Cyrus wiped his brow and adjusted his black, wide-brimmed desperado hat against the glaring sun overhead. The last time he'd checked the map on his Pip-Boy, they'd been getting pretty close to their destination, not that it had been very far to begin with. It seemed every inch of the Mojave was just chocked full of surprises.
"Yeah. Crystal."