Chapter 4

For the first time in many years, Robert House was afraid.

The Courier's Pip-Boy had picked up a signal originating just outside Nipton and, as usual, he insisted on investigating it himself. That had been a week ago, and no one had seen, or heard from, him since.

Ever since the gift of the alien ship had come to him, he had spent nearly every moment in extracting technology, and attempting to decipher the alien database. The ship held an amazing array of other world technology, and the large amount of time and energy consumed in uncovering it all made him extremely grateful that he had the Courier to take care of the mundane aspects of his expanding empire.

Besides, pouring through that ship was exciting. He was, as they used to say before the War, like a kid in a candy store.

The disappearance of the Courier put an end to his preoccupation with the ship. Now, his time was spent searching for any clue that might solve the mystery. The days were no filled with the constant scanning of radio waves, directing the dozens of Securitrons scouring the area between New Vegas and Nipton, and attempting to divert the hundreds of citizens demanding to know what had become of their idol.

A team of Securitrons had located a crashed satellite just outside Nipton. It was obviously the source of the signal that the Courier had gone to investigate, but there seemed to be no further clues as to what had occurred. The technology within the satellite was quite complex, but he was reluctant to move it or disturb it in any way – at least until he could determine whether or not it had anything to do with the disappearance of the Courier.

Unfortunately, the discovery of the satellite couldn't have come at a worse time.

He would have preferred to meticulously scan the satellite, extracting every bit of information in an attempt to discover the whereabouts of the Courier. The destruction of several Securitrons near the former California border demanded immediate attention, and he was forced to give up the search. At least for the moment, the Courier had to be given a lesser priority.

The Courier's eyebot, dispatched to the scene of the destruction, had discovered a small army of NCR soldiers massed in the ruins of Sandy Valley, a tiny pre-War city that would have been approximately an hour away from Vegas in the old days. Now, of course, other obstacles (the lack of automobiles being the most prominent) would significantly extend the travel time – but not by nearly enough. If these soldiers were as disciplined as the typical NCR soldiers – they could be in Vegas within a day.

It seemed they were staying put, but there could be little doubt what their intention was. Outlying communities, most notably Goodsprings, were directly along the path this force would take. Mr. House, at one time, would have considered it expendable. In the final analysis, however, the fact that the people there had aided the Courier made it somewhat more important – especially now that he was missing.

Victor had been sent to inform Boone of the new development. The general had not been happy with the news of the Courier's disappearance, and had been insistent that a massive search be conducted. More than likely, Boone would have turned over every rock, searched every cave and building, and questioned every person he came across until he found the Courier – dead or alive. Fortunately, he was persuaded to wait until the analysis of the satellite had been completed. It was incredibly fortunate, because now he might be needed elsewhere.

Under Boone's leadership, a massive NVR force, along with two dozen Securitrons, began the march to Goodsprings.

If the NCR wanted a fight, they'd get one.

. . . .

Oblivious to the events in New Vegas, the Courier arrived back at the Mojave Drive-In – courtesy of the Transportalponder given to him by the Think Tank.

It was a strange feeling knowing that his brain, heart, and spine were still housed (comfortably, according to his brain) in the Sink. He half expected to fall into a drooling heap once he arrived back. Apparently, however, distance did not diminish the effectiveness of his artificial implants and, in fact, it almost seemed as if his senses were heightened. He felt strong and, ironically, more alive than he ever had.

For the first time he noticed the smell of the blooming plants that dotted the Mojave.

All of it might have been his imagination, of course. After all, a week of running through dark, artificially lit labs could dull the senses somewhat. And, of course, returning so abruptly to the harsh brightness of the Mojave might have had the same effect even with his "original" parts.

Something was subconsciously disturbing him, though. At first, it didn't immediately come to him what it might be. Nothing was obviously amiss. In fact, it looked the same as it did when he left.

No, it didn't.

Studying the scene more closely, he finally realized what was different. Track marks criss-crossed the area like a web. They weren't random, but were methodical, purposeful. All the tracks seemed to terminate at the satellite, and radiate out from it.

Securitrons.

Apparently, Mr. House had sent searchers out to look for him. It was something he should have considered, but it never crossed his mind that anyone might come looking for him. He knew that Mr. House was reluctant to let him go off alone, and now he was sure that a lecture would be forthcoming, probably the instant he arrived at the Lucky 38.

Mr. House was truly a great man, but he wouldn't miss the opportunity to say "I told you so."

The dressing down would undoubtedly be lessened when Mr. House saw the "gifts". The Big Empty was filled with Old-World technology, and he brought many items back with him. The weapons would, no doubt, interest Mr. House, but the schematics would thrill him. The robo-scorpion schematics alone would be a bounty that any power would literally kill for - the Brotherhood of Steel and the NCR, for instance. With Big Empty weaponry, though, the main defensive advantage of the Brotherhood of Steel, their Power Armor, would finally encounter something that would pack a real punch. As for the NCR, it was fairly safe to ignore them.

. . . .

The Courier slept in Nipton that night. Though the town was being rebuilt, many people shied away from it because of perceived Legion "taint". Well, there was nothing that he could see or feel that would cause him to pass up a bed for the night. The solitude was a blessing as well. The Strip was never quiet, no matter the time of day.

A smell kept him from falling asleep. It wasn't something that he could immediately put his finger on, but it was definitely there. It was obviously not coming from anywhere in the house, but it was strong enough to tell him that it wasn't some momentary smell brought in on the wind.

Then he had it – it was fire. The Nipton fires had been extinguished long ago, but it was possible that his new "brain" was still detecting traces of them. It seemed strong than a residual whiff, however. It was also possible that some passing caravan or even a remnant of one of the gangs had recently set up camp nearby.

Something still wasn't sitting right, though, and caution won out over sleep. If there were gang members nearby, he wanted to put them down before they could cause trouble, or join up with some larger gang force somewhere. The gangs had suffered since the rise of the NVR, and reports had suggested that the remaining members of the largest of them had joined forces. Not that they would ever be a real threat, but they could certainly be a threat against lone travelers or homesteaders in the outlying regions.

Quietly leaving the house, the Courier detected nothing - no movement, no campfires, and no sounds. The air was still. He felt troubled, but couldn't quite explain why. Scanning the horizon, he could see the bright, almost garish, glow of the Strip. He had seen the sight a thousand times, but it was different this time. He was certain it wasn't some heightened sense, as the glow seemed almost exactly as it always had.

Oh, well.

Walking the road to New Vegas finally gave him the final piece of the puzzle. Something was wrong on the outskirts of the city.

Something was on fire.

The wind shifted, and now he could faintly make out the sounds of weapon fire, and screams. Someone was attacking the city, and it was impossible to tell, because of the distance, who it was, or who was winning.

What he did know was that when you're in Vegas, his Vegas, you don't bet against the House. Whoever was attacking Vegas had just drawn a dead man's hand.

The Courier was certain that they had no idea what was coming.