There Must Be A Way

Mojave Outpost

The sun was just finishing up its trip as the travelers began showing up. It had all but finished it's trip below the horizon when the flow became a trickle. Spread about the old dusty outpost the travelers went about preparing in whatever way they thought most appropriate. Some sought to identify the strengths and weaknesses of their company, some sought to learn as much as they could from the NCR, some simply found a good spot to lie down and try to get a moment's rest before this trip really started. Many clustered together for some brief respite from the cold. As hot as it was during the day cold winds blew throughout the nights. The rocky path that had lead the travelers here was the perfect recipe for the cold dusty wind which blew against their backs and chilled their bones.

The NCR seemed slightly more adapted to the cold, but that likely had something to do with the warm clothing layered underneath their armor. The troopers moved about, many split between their duties to maintain a secure border and their desire (for whatever reason) to talk the travelers out of crossing into the Mojave. At one of the small picnic tables several grim faced NCR troopers describe the horrors of the Mojave, they're too far away to tell whether they speak of experiences or tall tales but their stories seem to be taking effect. At another of tables a more affable trooper is taking a look at one of the travelers weapons. He has produced a small metal box and pulled a basic cleaning kit from it. Rags, toothbrushes, oil, and some manner of cleaning fluid. Jovial as this trooper may be his act draws many disapproving glances from his comrades.

Before you, a rather pale female Ranger crouches atop the barracks scanning the party with a set of binoculars. She seems to be looking for something in particular, but failing to find it looks back out onto the Mojave. It is a wondrous sight. In the last light of the day travelers can make out the massive statue of an NCR Trooper and a Desert Trooper shaking hands. Beyond that one can make out the lights of New Vegas, though at this distance they are indistinct the knowledge that they are, in fact, the lights of New Vegas itself is encouraging. The pale ranger's gaze returns to those gathered in the Outpost and she finds what she was looking for. Fellow troopers are pulling the gates closed and locking them securely. She pulls the receiver of her radio close to her mouth and speaks into it, a moment later the barracks doors open and a tired looking Ranger with a handlebar mustache emerges.

"Well," he begins with an exasperated pause that reverberates awkwardly through his loudspeaker, "You're all here."

He looks out into the crowd. Traders, mercenaries, gamblers, and no doubt degenerates of all shapes and sizes. Apparently at least a few of them warranted an escort, lucky bastards. Maybe some families though, maybe some decent folk.

"Is there anyone unaccounted for? Any of you missing friends or family?"

The night would be cold and the desert was vast and indistinct. Anyone lost out there was all but certainly doomed to a long lonely death.

"You're welcome to keep warm in the barracks until your escort comes, though I want to encourage you all once more to return to the safety of the NCR."

Seeing that no one remaining was likely to take heed of his warning the Ranger gave a nod to his pale lookout and returned into the barracks.

Where in the hell was that escort, the Ranger wondered.