The Fallout Universe belongs to someone other than me. No infringement is intended, no profit is to be made and I'm just not worth the hassle of suing anyway unless you want a share of the wages of an underpaid Civil Servant.

"The Great Man Theory of history was popular in the 19th Century but fell from favour among historians as the nationalism, class struggles, ideological conflicts and resource wars of the 20th and 21st Centuries swept the old certainties aside. In the post-apocalyptic aftermath of the Great War however a number of remarkable individuals appeared whose deeds reshaped the nuclear wasteland, not only making them legends within their own lifetimes and inspiring others to rebuild the shattered world but also rehabilitating the old idea that it wasn't changed economic realities, new technologies or broad cultural trends that drove history it was great men after all.

The "Vault Dweller" and his grandson the "Chosen One", the so-called "Lone Wanderer" of what was once known as the Capital Wasteland and the equally famous "Sole Survivor" of the Commonwealth all not only wrote their names in history they shaped it around them as they went.

Greater than any of them however was the man who first gained fame as "The Courier" before ability, determination and ambition earned him new titles and fame everlasting.

A.J.P. Carr The History of Post-War America (New Adytum: Republic Press, 2398)

Freeside – New Vegas - The Mojave – March 11th 2283

Some of the teeming crowd only came for the free food being handed out by the Kings, others just out of curiosity or to see the girls from Gomorrah dancing up on stage in skimpy outfits, but most of those assembled there from throughout the Mojave genuinely wanted to show their support.

The Chairmen had built the imposing wooden stage set up directly in front of the gate to the Vegas Strip and as a result their leader Swank had the best seat in the house, front row centre between Cachino the boss of the Omertas and Majorie from the White Glove Society. The two men were smiling and joking together like they were old friends but both were packing heat under their suit jackets in case the other started something, old rivalries that dated all the way back to when they were tribals from warring clans died hard. Sat with them in order to display the unity of the Three Families in this endeavour the expression on Marjorie's face and her failure to join in the conversation however clearly signalled her personal distain for both of the gauche ruffians.

Almost anyone with any power or influence in the region was in attendance. The movers and shakers of the Mojave sat on the rows of chairs set up in front of the stage while a far greater number without seating, those the White Glove Society called the "Hoi polloi and riff-raff", watched from further back.

Francine Garret and her brother James were using the opportunity to try and network, discussing the possibility of matching the purchasing power of the larger casinos through a syndicated procurement deal for food and alcohol with the saloons in Goodsprings and Boulder City and the Vikki and Vance Casino in Primm. Trudy was certainly interested in the idea, the safer roads had meant increased numbers of customers and a higher turnover of stock anyway, so they all agreed to meet at the Atomic Wrangler for a proper discussion the next day before she headed back home.

After the Gomorrah girls finished their dance routine, Marjorie to be heard muttering throughout that it was vulgar to the point of being practically pornographic, stage hands quickly set up microphones and the comedians Billy Knight and Hadrian the Ghoul arrived in order to warm up the crowd and get everyone in high spirits. They recycled a lot of material from their popular "Smoothskin and Zombie" comedy routine but the vast majority of the audience would have never watched them perform it before at The Aces anyway and they soon had the majority laughing at the good jokes and groaning at the bad.

The King of course was far too cool to laugh, even at the better material, but he did audibly groan at the joke, "My ghoul-friends got no nose", "Your ghoul-friends got no nose? How does she smell?", "Awful". In doing so he went up considerably in Marjorie's estimation having already pleased her to learn he maintained excellent personal hygiene and dressed with some style, especially given that he was sat directly behind her in the second row.

Following on after the comedians finished their routine and vacated the stage another human and ghoul double act took over the job of getting the crowd in the right mood. This duo comprising the singers Tommy Torini and Dean Domino performing a well-rehearsed variety act was a real hit as they sang a medley of classic pre-war songs interspersed with a few jokes of their own. Dean, who as usual performed the whole set with a glass of scotch in his hand, had recently been offered and accepted a contract to sing at the Shark Club in New Reno. He had signed enthusiastically, the pay being noticeably better than he was getting at The Aces, but he had told Mr Bishop that he had to do this pro-bono gig first because he owed it to the man who had not only saved his life but had got him back into show business.

While Marjorie had disliked the entertainment until now she found she rather enjoyed Dean's crooning in particular and thought it a terrible shame that the man was an unsightly ghoul because otherwise she would have suggested he take employment at the Ultra Luxe. After all, according to reliable sources he had been hired by billionaire Frederick Sinclair to entertain the cream of pre-war society at the famous Sierra Madre casino, thus proving Mr Domino to be at the very top of his profession and therefore worthy of her select clientele. Perhaps he might be persuaded to hide his face behind a Society Mask when performing, she wondered, thinking that might pass muster.

After performing their last song Dean raised his glass in salute to the audience's uproarious applause, theatrically winked at Marjorie as the only woman in the front row who found herself blushing as a result to her huge embarrassment, and then headed off stage, leaving Torini up there alone.

Tommy Torini applauded the other singer himself and then raised his hands to hush the crowd. 'They say some men are born great while others have greatness thrust upon them' he began to speak, 'but here in Vegas we do things differently' he said, smiling. 'It's now my great privilege to introduce to you the man who has made this country a better place for our children to grow up in' he told the seated dignitaries and the heaving masses behind them. 'The man who crushed the Vipers and the Jackals so we can now walk the highways unmolested by raider thugs' he said. 'The man who rid this town of the Fiend threat by decapitating their leadership' he continued then paused, '… literally' he added, grinning at the resultant chorus of cheers and laughter.

Torini raised his voice for emphasis, one advantage of being a singer by profession was having a decent set of pipes. 'The man, no the hero, who cut down Caesar in his own tent and sent those Legion slaver sons-of-bitches running back to Arizona with their tails between their stupid mini-skirts' he thundered, raising one arm in the arm fist clenched, the cheering now becoming wild. 'The man who wasn't born great or had it thrust upon him but had it shot it into his goddamn head!' he exclaimed, voice getting louder and louder as he attempted to be heard over the crowd. 'Ladies and Gentlemen I present to you, the next Governor of The State of Mojave…'

'COURIER SIX, COURIER SIX, COURIER SIX' the crowd were already chanting too loudly to hear Torini as the man of the hour himself got up on stage, shook hands with the entertainer and took his place behind the microphone.

'Hi, I'm the Courier and I'm here to deliver a message of hope for a better future' the most famous man from Two-Sun to the Angel's Boneyard introduced himself to the huge election rally organised in his support, the resulting explosion in cheering and applause meaning he had to pause for several minutes before continuing. He might have a reputation for being a smart-ass know-it-all, and people commented, and not without cause, that he was always trying to be at the centre of anything even mildly important that was happening anywhere, but even his worst critics had to admit he was damn popular.

'They say that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas but I need your help to make sure that's not the case this time' the man they called The Courier told the crowd. 'Robert House and I have negotiated a treaty that will see The Mojave to join the NCR not as some lawless frontier or conquered territory like Baja but as a fully-fledged member-state with its own government' he announced. 'A state the equal of Boneyard, Dayglow or Shady itself!' he declared.

Swank, Cachino and the King immediately leapt up from their chairs and started to clap, the rest of the seated audience immediately following them as the crowd joined in, although Marjorie of course moved slowly with the required decorum of a lady and she clapped her gloved hands softly as good manners dictates.

'I want to build a Mojave that retains control of its own internal affairs while still benefitting from all the protections and opportunities that the Republic offers all its citizens' Courier Six continued once the applause died down again and the dignitaries had re-taken their seats. 'But if we're going to do that we need to form a proper, organised government here first' he told them. 'A government elected by the people of the Mojave that will stand up for the people of the Mojave' he said with evident passion. 'I believe I can lead that government for you, help steer us all towards a better future' he told the audience with sincerity, 'and I hope with all my heart that you believe in me enough too that you'll cast your vote my way in the election next month.'

Just before he came on stage dozens of placards had been handed out painted with the slogans "Vote Courier" and the somewhat more inspired "I believe in the Couriers message" and these were now being held aloft above the crowd. Press photographers from the larger cities of the NCR jockeyed for the best position so they could frame some of the placards with the Courier himself, this was going to be big news back home too.

'Forget the governorship of the Mojave, when are you going to run for President of the NCR?' an off-duty soldier in uniform called out from the crowd. 'I'd vote for you' she added to more cheering.

'Okay who leaked my long-term master-plan?' The Courier responded curtly, looking dead serious for a moment before breaking out into a broad grin. 'Seriously though, one election at a time please' he requested. 'I'm not even in the pocket of the brahmin barons yet and isn't that pretty much a pre-requisite of the job these days?' he added humorously although there was enough truth in that statement for it to hit home with anyone who hailed from the Republic.

'Whose pocket are you in then?' a heckler called out, there were always a few in every large crowd.

'Nobodies, My Friend' Courier Six replied earnestly. 'Even if you don't believe the brahmin-shit that I'm some kind of messiah sent to save the wasteland, or that I'm the incorruptible paragon of the Mojave, let's face it I'm too damn rich to bribe anyway' he retorted. 'I'm the guy they've banned from playing blackjack at every casino back there on The Strip because I was taking too much money off them' he declared, pointing back towards the huge gate behind him.

'It's true, the card-counting bastard' Swank yelled out to laughter.

Courier laughed himself. 'Come on man' he continued to address the heckler. 'Haven't you heard those stories that I use Legion coins for shotgun ammo, light my cigars with NCR hundred dollar bills and use gold bars as freaking paperweights?' he asked rhetorically. 'Only last week Robert House came to me asking for a loan and I pay Heck Gunderson to do my laundry' he joked. 'Stupid brahmin-punching son-of-bitch uses too much starch' he complained, shaking his head sadly in a theatrical manner as the crowd roared with laughter again.

Watching from their own vantage point behind the stage Veronica turned to Arcade. 'He really does use gold bars for paperweights' she observed quietly. 'And according to Boone he first brought down Caesar by blasting coin-shot made of Legion denarii into his chest.'

'The coin shot was just so he could "Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's" but you're right about the paperweight too though' Arcade agreed. 'The cigar thing is crap though, he doesn't smoke.'

'Yup, the man definitely needs more vices' Cass interjected. 'He doesn't hardly drink either' she said disparagingly.

'He doesn't drink that moonshine you make with acid from freaking fission battery as one of the ingredients but nobody with any sense would' Veronica countered.

'You don't know what you're missing' Cass told them, taking a sip of her latest batch from her hip flask.

'I know exactly what I'm missing' Veronica replied. 'Radiation sickness and going blind' she said with certainty before returning her attention to the man speaking on stage.

'Now I know some of you don't think we should join the NCR at all' the Courier got back on track with his speech, unhooking the microphone from the stand and starting to walk around with it. 'You're worried about paying taxes and having soldiers from Junktown or The Hub sticking their noses into your business telling you what to do' he said. 'Well I'll clear a few things up about that, starting with the soldiers' he assured those listening.

If you've ever visited a city in the Core Region you'll already know they don't have martial law there like they've been enforcing here' he said. 'In Boneyard, Dayglow and Shady it's locally elected lawmen who keep the peace, not trigger-happy conscripts toting assault rifles' he told them. 'It'll be exactly the same here' he continued, 'well apart from the New Vegas Police Department making the criminals they throw behind bars sing "Jailhouse Rock" anyway, right King?' he asked, looking down towards where the man was sitting.

'You said it man, Viva New Vegas PD!' The King called back in good humour, the pair of them having already discussed the future of law and order in the city long and hard. The Three Families were too disliked by much of the population, and too distrustful of each other for that matter, for the notion of any of their enforcers being given authority to meet out justice to work. The best alternative in the short-to-medium term was therefore putting together an interim police force made up largely of King's members and the Westside Militia who tended to be liked and trusted by the majority of the New Vegas citizenry.

The Courier stopped for a moment when a small insect, probably a mosquito from the noise it made, buzzed around him. He swatted the thing and pretended to be looking at its tiny corpse in his hand. 'Didn't know who he was fucking with' he joked before frowning. 'Cazadore stung me once' he told the crowd, a serious expression on his face. 'The paralysis and sweats began almost straight away and then a few minutes later the convulsions started' he continued. 'Agonising' he recalled, 'pain like you wouldn't believe' he said sadly. 'In the end I was so sorry for the poor fucker I had to put him out of his misery' he declared, entirely unable to keep a straight face for more than a few seconds afterwards as the audiences responded with groans and laughter. 'Yeah, yeah, I know, even the ghoul comedian told jokes that weren't that old' he apologised.

'If you deliver mail as badly as you deliver a punchline I can see why you're after a new job' Veronica yelled out as loudly as she could.

'Okay, okay everyone stop reaching for the rotten mutfruit to pelt me with, I'll stop trying to be funny' Courier Six promised. 'Okay, getting back to taxes, the way I see it is we should pay them like everyone else' he stated firmly, knowing that it wouldn't be a popular notion but that didn't make it wrong. 'Taxes will pay for schools and hospitals, they'll pay to fix the power-lines, irrigate the desert, get the railroads running and they'll pay for the police and soldiers that will keep us safe' he said, explaining his position. 'We'll pay our Federal Taxes to the bureaucrats in Shady because people in the Mojave might be frugal but that doesn't make us cheap or looking for handouts without paying our fair share like moochers do' he continued. 'But the way I alsosee it' he said, voice growing louder, 'is that its power from Hoover Dam that lights their cities and that's our dam that does that not theirs' he declared. 'So when I'm governor my administration is going to provide free power to everyone in the Mojave but the rest of the NCR will have to pay for it' he told the crowd, 'and I'll use that money to make sure we have the lowest state taxes in the Republic!' he practically bellowed into the microphone to another round of wild cheering and applause.

The Courier smiled with satisfaction. Nobody liked taxes but were always more palatable if you knew some other poor bastard was paying a lot more of them than you and he wasn't getting any more back from the government in return than you were he thought to himself

Positioned on a rooftop overlooking the election rally Craig Boone scanned the other rooftops and the windows of the surrounding buildings through the telescopic sight of his rifle. The Kings were providing most of the security presence below, they were a lot less intimidating than a bunch of Securitrons would have been, but the sniper had insisted on keeping overwatch himself too. 'I got zip' he said. 'You?' he asked the man kneeling beside him.

Manny Vargas lowered his binoculars. 'Nothing' he replied. 'You don't really believe the Legion will attempt a hit on him do you?'

'They might' Boone replied, still looking through his scope. Assassination might not be Lanius's style, he thought, but that slippery, underhanded bastard Vulpes was still out there somewhere in too, he knew.

According to intelligence reports from Arizona, Lanius and Vulpes were involved in an ongoing power struggle to seize the Caesar's former throne, an internal conflict verging on outright civil war that had paralysed what was left of the Legion politically. Taking out the man on the stage below who had infamously finished off the already mortally wounded Caesar by slitting his throat with a combat knife while whispering "Sic semper tyrannis" in his ear might well tip the balance in Vulpes favour. As an act of retribution it would certainly bring more Centurions to his side at least, the veneration of Caesar being buried deep in the Legion's psyche and their desire for revenge palpable.

Vargas raised his binoculars again. 'Listen man, I want to thank you for this' he said awkwardly. 'I know things have been rough between us the last couple of years…'

'I needed a trained spotter, maybe another gun if things got bad' Boone cut him off.

'I get that, it's just that it means a lot that you asked me' Vargas persisted.

Boone's expression was as impassive as ever behind his scope. 'I don't forgive or forget but I'm trying to let things go so they don't eat me up inside these days' he said then sighed. 'And if you're going to keep fucking Arcade I'd better get used to seeing you around the Lucky 38 more anyway' he added flatly . 'Also, in future lock the goddamn door or hang a sign on it or something' he growled.

Manny Vargas tried not to laugh. 'Arcade said he'd bet you wouldn't have looked that horrified if you'd walked in on Veronica and Christine.'

Boone made a non-committal sound and scanned the crowd through his scope again. At least if anyone down there pulled a gun even if The Kings missed it the robots would be all over the gunman before they could get off an aimed shot he reasoned, watching ED-E 1 and ED-E 2 hovering around with "VOTE COURIER" bumper stickers plastered on them.

Down behind the stage Veronica joined in the applause as Courier Six finally finished his speech and everyone looked up at the Lucky 38 Tower to watch the promised fireworks and laser light show due to start now the sun was going down. 'Think he'll win the election?' she asked Arcade.

'They're giving eight-to-one odds against anyone else winning at Gomorrah, eleven-to-one at The Tops' Arcade replied. 'This is Vegas, the house always wins' he said with a smile.

'Not always, sometimes he just has to go with the flow' Veronica quipped, wondering just how Robert House up there in the tower really felt about all this? All those years of scheming and some glorified delivery boy arrives at his door, hears his plan, goes away to think about it and comes back with a ten page document summarising a better one the day after.

Courier Six was undeniably brilliant, charismatic and actually a pretty decent guy when you came down to it, but even his closest friends complained that his excessive competence at anything he turned his hand to could be really damn irritating sometimes. That was why they liked to make a special effort to keep him grounded with his ego kept under control, or at least that was the excuse they gave when yanking his chain anyway.

'So how was the speech?' The Courier asked his friends brightly, practically bouncing down the stairs from the stage. 'I thought it went well' he decided, feeling upbeat about the whole thing.

'It sucked' Veronica replied, deadpan.

'I was going to say it blew' Arcade told him, playing along with her.

Courier Six looked at them askance. 'How can anything suck and blow simultaneously?' he asked reasonably.

'Ah ha, so is there is something you can't figure out!' Veronica exclaimed. 'Stop the presses, polymath genius created by freak accident finally stumped by question.'

'It was a freak occurrence or event, not a freak accident' Courier Six corrected her, 'Accident would imply I wasn't intentionally shot in the head, which I was' he said. 'It was my survival that was unintentional' he pointed out.

'Jeez, are you always on?' Veronica asked, rolling her eyes before playfully sticking out her tongue at him when he glared at her.

Arcade chuckled. 'Just remember in the future when you're surrounded by sycophants only after your money or political influence that we liked you first' he requested.

'Yes, we wub you the mostest' Veronica declared, throwing her arms around Six and hugging him while trying not to laugh.

Cass joined in and hugged him too, mostly because she saw how aggravated he was by it. 'Hey Six, is that is gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?' she asked as she encountered a hard bulge in his clothing.

'It's a Compliance Regulator, now get off me before I use it' The Courier replied curtly, trying to push them both off him as the fireworks started to launch from the top of the Lucky 38. 'Hey, I just had an idea' he said suddenly. 'Do you think I can get the Boomers to drag an election banner for me through the sky with their B-29?' he suggested.

'They might, but there's still no frigging way I'm going to ask Elder McNamara if he can get the guys we've got helping the NCR patrol the I-15 and Highway 95 to put those "Vote Courier" bumper stickers on their Power Armour' Veronica replied firmly.

Note from the author:

An awful lot of questions you might have will get answered in Part II so if you're familiar with Fallout: New Vegas but still feeling a tad confused don't worry.