Good Business
I hadn't planned on stopping. The run from New Flagstaff all the way out to Sunshine Corners is a long one, so I wanted to get it done in one leg before nightfall came. It's bad enough with all the critters wandering around these days, mutant or otherwise, so the last thing I wanted to do was have to worry about them at night. It gets real dark hereabouts, and a flashlight only helps so much.
My plan to keep on going was foiled on the road just south of Haven, the local Lightbearer town. I didn't have much truck with Lightbearers, what with the stories of them wanting to kill off all the humans and such, not to mention some of their harsher beliefs. Sure, I've met some Lightbearers who were decent folk, and I'm a mutant myself so I'm not personally worried, but I'm also a Traveler, and we have more than a few, shall we say, ideological disputes with the Lightbearers. I like bringing people a bit of happiness in this dead world just as much as anybody else. What's the harm in making a little profit while I'm at it? The Lightbearers, on the other hand, like giving everything to those who say they need it, regardless of whether they've earned it, and profit be damned. I'm all for folks eating and whatnot, but they got to do their fair share and have something to trade in exchange for the food.
The road south of Haven was choked with vehicles, which is pretty common these days, but these were wagons and they were still burning. It was pretty obvious from all the smoke that something bad had just happened. The survivors huddled among a few mostly-intact wagons a short distance away, some standing guard with bolt-action rifles. I could tell from a distance they were Techs, due to their clean clothes, glasses, and sweet firearms. Techs make better guns than anybody.
Travelers and Techs have an understanding; we salvage resources in the wastes and trade them to the Techs for finished goods, which we then sell for them at a reasonable markup. Works well for everyone, so I knew in the spirit of inter-faction relations I had to stop and lend a hand. I figured I could probably get some bullets and a handful of chips out of the bargain too.
Techs usually have a lot of firepower, but they're often short on the will and skill to use it. These folks were no different. Sure enough, they'd been heading from the Plateau up to Picus Ridge, which is usually a pretty safe jaunt, what with the Enforcers being so close by. But this time the soldier boys were out playing fascist, apparently, instead of protecting people like they say they do, and these Techs ended up paying the price for it.
From what they told me, a group of white-clad humans attacked them with firearms, which made it clear these weren't your run-of-the-mill raiders, but part of the White Crow Battalion. This made things much more serious than a simple raider attack. Sure, raiders may have the occasional pistol or crossbow, but most are armed with knives, clubs, basic stuff. The White Crow are another matter. Most of the time they've got guns, and enough bullets to be a serious pain in the ass. This particular group may have been running low on rounds, though, since I was soon told they had carried off a wagon of ammo and the gunsmith who owned it. Doubtless they were already putting the man to work making more, something we didn't need in these parts. We had enough trouble already.
I'm not what you'd call a civic-minded sort. I figure most would actually describe me as materialistic...some might even say downright greedy...but I know good business. Helping the Techs survive and make more goods for me to trade is good business. Keeping bullets out of the hands of people who would shoot them at me is also good business.
So helping the Techs recover their lost gunsmith and his bullets? That's good business.
Luckily the White Crow weren't being too careful about leaving tracks. They went west down into Picus Gorge and up the other side, stopping just out of sight in the fields south of Barret Manor. Their camp was small, and at first looked almost deserted, but I laid down and crept through the tall grass anyway. I unslung my rifle at about fifty paces' distance. I could only see one of the White Crow among the three tents, which made me suspicious. I flipped my eye to using the rifle's telescopic scope--a gadget that had cost a pretty pile of chips to get from the Techs--and was rewarded with several more White Crow sitting around a fire, eating, mostly hidden from view by the stolen wagon. Firing from here would just get me in trouble, as there was no way I could bring down a half dozen White Crow with a bolt-action rifle before they reached me and demonstrated their displeasure at being shot at. Instead I crawled around the camp, putting one of the tents between me and most of the Crows, and began inching closer, trying to make as little noise as possible.
I reached the back of the tent, and was just able to peek through the door before one of the White Crow guards spotted me.
On the plus side, I saw the kidnapped Tech in the tent surrounded by tools, but on the minus side I now had one Crow to deal with, quickly and quietly to avoid attracting his friends. I figured I had maybe a tenth of a second before he got over his surprise enough to call for help--I heard him draw a breath to shout--but that tenth of a second was all I needed. I sprang to my feet and slid my trench knife into his throat right behind his Adam's apple.
The Crow fell to the ground, his friends none the wiser thanks to overloud dinner conversation. I ducked into the tent and poked the Tech, signaling him to be quiet. With my backpack and both our hands full of ammo boxes, we snuck away from the camp, again keeping the tent between us and the White Crow. I didn't know when they'd find out their friend had been killed, but I didn't want to be nearby when they did.
Halfway back to the Techs, though, things turned sour. From the bottom of Picus Gorge, we could see them standing at the top, along the edge: Union soldiers, and lots of them. Too many to just sneak away from. The Union was a big power in this area, with plenty of towns, soldiers, and money at their disposal. While they weren't always trouble, they were rarely helpful, and as I watched, all their long-range weapons swung around to point straight at my head. One stepped forward, dressed in a black military uniform, and said, "Hand over the bullets and the Tech and you can leave, Traveler."
It was pretty clear he wasn't asking, he was telling.
It was also pretty clear that whatever happened next would not be good business.
When I started backing up, it got clear to the Union folks I didn't plan on cooperating, so they came down the hill after me. Luckily, while the Union is trouble, they aren't as well armed or protected as the White Crow, so I pulled out my rifle with some confidence I'd be able to whittle down their numbers before they became real threats. Sure, a few had crossbows, but I'll take a good hunting rifle over a crossbow any day.
Not having time to use the scope, I had to shoot a bit more from the hip, so to speak, but these guys didn't have much in the way of good armor. Leather doesn't stand up well to bullets, and five of them were in the dirt before the last two reached me. Both were using what looked to be old lawnmower blades, but despite their crude appearance they still cut pretty well. At such close range the rifle was not the best choice, so I quickly slung it and pulled my knife and hatchet.
The first Union soldier only got two thrusts in before my hatchet caught him across the face, putting him down in a bloody heap. The second fellow did slightly better, nicking me a few times across the torso, but luckily I had invested in some metal plates to go under my leather jacket, so those cuts were none too serious. He got his own cut to the gut a few seconds later, leaving only their commander up on the hill. He was already making a hasty retreat, so I pulled out my rifle and took aim. I'm not a vindictive man, and bullets are expensive, but I could tell from here that the man was wearing a really nice pair of leather boots that looked to be about the right size. I made sure to hit him through the upper torso to avoid getting blood on my new boots as he fell. Sadly, the other Union thugs had little worth taking besides pocket change and spare parts.
The Tech and I continued up the Gorge, taking my new boots as we passed the dead Union leader, and headed back to the Tech caravan without further incident. In my absence they had managed to get some of the wagons back in traveling shape, and were on their way shortly after we arrived. I got a handful of chips and bullets for my effort, which was enough, I guess.
Not a lot of profit, but enough.
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