4The road north of the settlement she had traded at is far busier than the one's she traveled before, and not just because of the rancher. He does add a lot of noise and people, with his three Brahmin and two guards, as well as his awful whistling, but they pass groups of people every couple of hours anyway. Apparently, the horrible screeching isn't enough to warn them off.
The second day she caves and asks why he didn't just take possession of her Brahmin right away. It had been puzzling her for a while, as it made no sense why he wouldn't- they had agreed to their deal, and it wasn't like it put more pressure on him. Most of the time, when they fed his Brahmin, they took care of hers too. So she asked him, yet again to take it off her hands.
"No," He spat, hawking up something and sending it to the weeds. "My answer hasn't changed. Didn't your daddy ever teach you the rules of trading on the open road?"
When she didn't say anything back, he continued on.
"If I take your cow now, then there's no one to say that I owe you anything. I can claim whatever the hell I want, and no one can dispute it. But, as long as you have the reins, I still have to deal with you if I want it. See?" He explains.
"But, there's already no one to dispute any claim you make. We're traveling alone through the wilds, you, me, two guards, and a small herd of four Brahmin. It's not like we're keeping them separate. The only distinction between our beasts is that yours smell worse and mine is louder. You're the one who's paying the guards, you're the one who knows where we're going, and you're the one who knows people. My word is useless unless you agree to it. So, there is no real purpose in you not taking possession." Tracey argues.
"Maybe you shouldn't protest so much and stop giving me ideas. Lord knows I can be tempted." He growls, looking skyward.
"There's also the responsibility to consider." One of the guards says, butting in on their conversation. "If for some reason your Brahmin dies between here and the ranch, he doesn't owe you anything. But, if he takes possession and is a man of his word, then he would still owe you the terms, despite losing any benefit to himself. I'm sure you had no idea of this and were pressing him to take possession out of misguided fairness, not to take advantage or shirk responsibility." He says with a thin smile.
Tracey mumbles and lets the matter rest. That night, the other guard shows her how to clean and maintain both her rifle and pistol.(She carefully doesn't protest when he lifts a couple rounds of .308.) Her heart pangs again at the loss of her modified laser pistol, as it was better than any other firearm she'd seen to date.
Camp each night is a lively affair, with the four of them bickering and cursing in equal measure. Someone has to tether the Brahmin (unpleasant), someone has to make fire (can be a pain), someone has to set up the tent (can be even more of a pain), and someone invariably has injured themselves (No, a sunburn does not allow you to skip making the fire) . Tracey passes on what she's picked up from her dad, not realizing just how valuable the information is. Traveling with an even partially trained medic means that all of the cuts, burns, sprains and other small injuries are dealt with in quick fashion, improving life considerably.
Being relatively fair and equitable people, the guards quietly slip her ammo and caps, tucking away a good root or leaf that she could use. When they part ways, they'll pull her aside and mention how valuable her skills are, but not yet.
It took them a week of travel before trouble found them. Bridges had to be bad luck for Tracey, as the first one she ever found had led to a raider camp. The second had seen a thief, and now the third was proving worse than either of the ones before. This one had been a military checkpoint before the war, and some ruthless but intelligent soul had repaired the turrets. They were military grade, rapid fire 5.56 chambered monstrosities. They would rip through anything not armored like a hot knife through butter. Their party stood no chance against them.
"Halt! If you want to cross, you have to pay the toll." A raider shouts from atop the barricade.
"What's the cost?" The rancher shouts back, elected spokesman of the group by nature of experience and wealth.
"100 caps a head, 250 for the Brahmin."
"We don't have that kind of money." He replies.
"Then give us the girl." Came the reply, as quick and a non negotiable as a deathclaw.
Well, that put the mole rat in the basement. Tracey side-eyed her traveling companions, searching for any indication they were about to turn on her. Neither guard moved to grab her, but neither did they move to say that they wouldn't. The rancher was silent too, and she realized the guards were looking to him, waiting for his orders.
"I bet right now you're wishing you'd taken me up on handing over my Brahmin." Tracey finds herself saying, watching the men.
"Shut up, I'm thinking. We might be able to go around, loop through bulkhead." The rancher muses.
"Bulkhead'll add two weeks to our travel. We don't have the supplies." One of the guards tosses in. The mood of the group is growing sour.
"Dammit, I'm not handing her over. While I have an active deal and can't," The rancher says, "neither would I. She just got free of slavers, I'm not sending her back."
"They're growing antsy up there, boss." One of the guards says, watching the gates. "We're sitting ducks for those turrets."
"If I can get into the controls, I can hack those turrets." Tracey admits, stepping behind her brahmin, who is now between her and the guns.
"Well down there? You come to a decision yet?" The man at the gate asked.
"Fuck. I won't hand her over, but if we say no they'll turn those turrets on us. We may manage to get away, but we'll lose the Brahmin. There's no damn options." The rancher curses, hand reaching for his shotgun.
"WE GET ONE MORE NIGHT WITH THE GIRL. TOMORROW MORNING, WE HAND HER OVER." One of the guards shouts suddenly, stalling any plans.
"No need to yell asshole! What took so long?" The guy on the gate asked.
"Tonight, she's Leo's, tomorrow she was mine, then the rancher after. Had to negotiate payment." He shouts.
"Who won?"
"Who do you think?"
"What if I want her tonight?" The man on the gate asked.
"Then come and try your luck taking her from me, asshole!"
With that, the confrontation was over, at least for now.
"I suppose we should thank you?' The rancher says dryly.
"I don't expect you to. But now we have until the sun rises. If I hadn't said something, then they would have opened fire and we'd be dead. You're paying me to keep you alive, not to throw my life away." The guard says, leading them to the side of the road.
A while later, another group comes through. They have the caps for the toll and are let through. Tracey watches, but they never exit the other side of the bridge.
"They're running some scam." She says, "no one ever leaves the other side of the bridge. Anyone who goes through vanishes."
"Well, shit." The rancher says. "Looks like another bridge is closed."
"What do you mean?" She asks.
"Well, once word goes out that this is happening, then people will stop coming by. The group here'll start branching out and killing people, raiding settlements. Maybe they piss someone off who is strong enough to clear them out. Maybe the trader's bureau gets enough sway to buy a clear-out team. Maybe a gang of super mutants come by and kill them. Maybe someone steals the wrong guys pillow one night and they take each other out. Fact is, until something happens, the bridge is simply crossed out to most people. They take the long route around. Traveling is a dangerous business. Only fools employ as couriers or traders." He explains.
The next group to come by does not have the money for the toll. The bandits turn on the turrets. The group doesn't even make it to the gate before being cut down.
"Shit." One guard swears. "So, how're we getting you into their controls?"
"Well, if she swims out to the pilling, she could try and climb up." The other guard says.
"I can't swim." Tracey says.
"What?"
"How can you not know how to swim?"
"I grew up in a vault- they don't keep large bodies of water in there." She hisses defensively.
"Fucking pampered vault kids." One of the guard's sighs. "New plan?"
"Can you break into a turret at the source?" The rancher asks.
"The signal source or the turret themselves?" Tracey responds.
"The body itself."
"Maybe?" She shrugs. "If it's hardlined, then yes. But if it's a broadcast signal then no."
"How can you tell which one it is?" he asks.
"A hardlined one will have wires leading off of it. A broadcast one will show up on a frequency scanner." Her second explanation draws a blank look, but they get the first one.
"I'll find out if they've got wires." One of the guards says, climbing to his feet.
"How're you going to do that and not get killed?" the other one asks.
"I'm going to take a leak." The one explains, walking off.
He returns shortly after.
"No wires."
"Damn. There goes that idea." The rancher says.
"Maybe not." Tracey says, looking along the top of the gate. "Do you have a pre-war radio in one of your brahmin bags?"
"Yeah, I think so. Why?"
"I should be able to rig it up to broadcast the signal for the turrets."
"Sweet!" the guards cheer.
"But, there's one issue."
"Fuck. There always is."
"We have to knock out their broadcast antenna, up there." She points to a dish atop the gate.
"That's not so terrible."
"And the radio has to be close to the turrets. Within 20 feet. And did I mention that have to be at the same time? If the turrets get an interrupted broadcast, they default to factory standards."
She gets a blank look. "Fire at anything that moves." She explains.
"So, one of us has to shoot out the dish up there, and the other has to run the radio to the gate, all while being shot at." The rancher says.
"Pretty much." Tracey explains.
"Not it!" the rancher says.
A few hours later, once night has fallen, they prepare to execute their plan. Tracey has captured the signal from the antenna and rewrote the portions she needs, setting the hacked program to broadcast from the radio. One guard sets up with a rifle, aiming at the dish. The other, stripped down of everything but his armor and a knife, holds the radio in his hands.
"Don't drop it." Tracey warns.
"This is idiotic, I swear." The guard says, clutching the box with both hands.
"It's out best bet." The rancher says.
"I hate you." He says without venom. "You'd better pay me for this."
"There will be a bonus for you, I promise." The rancher says.
"You ready?" the prone guard asks.
"Let's do this. Leroy Jenkins!" the guard screams, running pell-mell for the gate. The turrets spool up and open fire, but miraculously, he doesn't get shot. The moment the radio is on the ground, the second guard squeezes the trigger. With a crack, the dish plummets. The turrets stop firing and droop, going into reset mode. The guard who ran takes the lull to sprint back, diving back into cover behind a ruined car. With a small whine, the turrets boot back up. They swing around, and the loud roar of gunfire starts up again. There is no return fire.
A minute later, a loud alert sounds, and the turrets go limp again, powering down. The party creeps up to the gate and pushes it open. The other side of the gate is pockmarked with bullet holes, casings rolling away and smoking with every step. The bodies, if you could call them that, are in chunks no bigger than one of the guard's fists. The turrets advanced targeting meant that no one survived. Tracey doesn't know if she messed up her code, or if they were designed like that, but either way, nothing is alive within the gates. Blood and gore is splattered everywhere, their shoes squelch with every step. Those in cages fared no better, pasted by the onslaught of fire. Tracey rushes to the terminal and powers the turrets off, making everyone relax a little more, but still horrified. There had been maybe 20 raiders in the camp. But there had probably been seventy or ninety people locked in the cages. The turrets didn't discriminate.
"My god." One of the guards exclaims, looking around. Any hope of salvaging the place is gone, everything soaked in blood or riddled with bullets.
"They didn't stand a chance." The other whispers.
"None of them did." The first one says with horrified amazement. In a rage, the rancher pulls a sledgehammer from one of the Brahmin and takes it to the turrets. One by one he beats them off their power supplies and ammunition feeds.
"Dammit." He swears as he returns to the group, passing the hammer to one of the guards, who stows it away.
"We'd better move on." He finally says, taking the reins of one of the Brahmin. They all follow him in silence. Tracey is wide eyed and white, shaking at the carnage she caused. Since she emerged from the vault, she's done nothing but kill people it seems. The overseer was right, above ground is no place for anyone- it's a wasteland of nothing good. Pain and suffering.
They keep going down the road for a long time, well into the night. No one wanted to sleep anytime soon. Not with the smell of gunpowder and death in their nose, their ears ringing with the sound of automatic fire and screams.
The massacre on the bridge, Tracey decides to call it, writing the incident down in her pip-boy, knowing that someone has to record it, has to remember it. She has to, if only to remind herself the consequences of her actions.
