//------------------------------// // The Crimson Caravan // Story: Student Six Watch Fallout Lore: The Storyteller Series // by Rated Ponystar //------------------------------// Chapter 15: The Crimson Caravan The following videos started by showing what appeared to be a group of merchants armed to the teeth and traveling with brahmin that were holding large packs filled with various items. Some were carrying guns, others food and water, and a few other odds and ends. While this group traveled through the Wasteland, the narrator explained that it wasn't hard for small communities to live on their own in isolation. Growing your own food and digging your own well for water could be just enough for a few small shacks, but as you began to grow, you needed to find supplies for your people. And that meant trading and exchanging goods with one another. "Every creature lives by exchanging," Ocellus quoted as the others looked at her. "Apple Smith. Founder of capitalism. I think Professor Applejack is related to him." Before the Great War, the old world had so much stuff that they didn't know what to do with it. Thankfully, despite the bombs destroying most of civilization, there was plenty of it still around, and folks were eager to trade for them. Almost every area of the Wasteland had large piles of scrap that could be salvaged and used for repairs. Salvaging was pretty much a must-needed skill for any Wastelander if they wanted to survive. The real gems to find were areas with fresh soil and untainted water so you could grow food and water. In a post-apocalyptic world, the need to eat and drink was the basis of not just survival but also establishing control.  The problem was these areas were few and far from each other, with raiders, mutants, robots, and other nasty things in the way. It took a lot of guts and courage to be a trader, but they were the lifeblood of the new civilizations in the Wasteland. Whether it was the NCR or Caesar's Legion, trade needed to flow to keep flourishing. No better group did this than the Crimson Caravan.  "Make sense," Gallus said with a nod. "Even we griffins, despite being selfish, still trade with our cities and towns." "Yak clans trade with other yak clans all the time," Yona proclaimed. "Before the Storm King, Mt. Aries used to be a big trading center," Silverstream explained. "Auntie Novo is looking to restore that glory these days. For over a hundred years, the Crimson Caravan had been trading all over in California. From north to south, east to west, they were among the few if not the first significant trading organizations in the Wasteland not long after the bombs fell and the vaults opened up. They had managed to survive and prosper thanks to clever business tactics, ruthless determination, and a little bit of luck along the way. They were willing to risk it all. It paid out as they were now one of the biggest influences and businesses in the New California Republic.  The life of the caravan owner wasn't easy. Before the NCR became the powerhouse of the west, the roads were a lot wilder, with dozens of raider gangs like the Vipers and Great Khans roaming the area. The Crimson Caravan made sure to hire the best gunslingers, mercenaries, or hardened wanderers who were willing to risk their lives in a few shootouts for caps or supplies in return. The Vault Dweller was even said to have helped a few caravans himself along his journey sometimes. One of his first companions was a hired gun working for them before joining his buddy in changing the Wasteland. Thankfully, these days, the caravans were smaller, more armed, and could easily fight off raiders looking for easy loot.  "Kinda sounds like one of those old western tales you hear about," Sandbar said with a smirk. "A bunch of cowponies walking the desert with a trading group, fighting off bad guys, and heading into town for a nice cold drink at the saloon."  The scene on the video screen then changed to show what appeared to be one of the Crimson Carvan's branches. It looked like a large armored outpost with an iron steel fence. Workers counting various goods before hooking them up to the brahmin and mercenaries checking their guns could be seen aplenty. Over the years, the Crimson Caravan had expanded its business to even outside California, including the Mojave.  However, things weren't going as smoothly. The Crimson Caravan might have been the top dog in NCR territory, but the Mojave had dozens of family-owned caravans and delivery groups that had been around for years. They weren't too keen on some outsiders coming in and trying to take away all the good work, and thus competition was fierce. One of their biggest rivals was the Mojave Outpost, as shown in the following image. While not a caravan trading company, they were said to have the fastest and best couriers west of the U.S.  Because the Mohave was a lot more dangerous than the trade routes of California, everyone was trying to claim what routes there were. To help out with the competition, the Crimson Caravan sent out an old but tough-looking woman who made the others gulp upon seeing her stern glare. Anyone could tell that this lady was willing to buy out the competition with either diplomacy, threats, or plasma.  "Remind me to never get involved in the business world after we graduate," Gallus whispered to Smolder, who nodded in agreement. One prominent group didn't fear the Crimson Caravan, and they had also been around just as long as them. Since the Wasteland was dangerous, everyone needed a weapon to protect themselves. If you wanted protection, then the Gun Runners was your group. Unlike other groups which traded or found weapons to sell, the Gun Runners was one of the few, if not the only, business that could make their own firearms and ammo from scratch.  "Wait, they can make the weapons?" Ocellus asked in awe. "That's a huge advantage they have. It's one thing to sell items, but to make and sell them is even better." The narrator agreed and even stated that both the Gun Runners and Crimson Caravan had similar origins. They used to be a gang near an area known as "The Hub". They often hung out at an abandoned factory, as shown in the video as the gang was looking around in awe at the vast space and machines before them. Seeing an opportunity, they made sure to build up their defense by surrounding the factory with radioactive sludge save for their own personal entrances to ensure that only the most serious customers came to trade with them. The six soon saw the Gun Runner testing out various rifles, pistols, shotguns, and more on target practice dummies while writing down details with each gun. They needed to make sure that their weapons were of top quality so that everyone who came to see them had access to the most severe hardware possible in dealing damage. "Hmm, between these guys and the Brotherhood, who do you think is more dangerous?" Silverstream. "I say the Brotherhood of Steel because they got lasers, plasma, and power armor," Gallus picked as he pointed at the screen. "These guys look like they just shoot regular ammunition." "Yeah, but they have them in such high quality and quantity," Sandbar pointed out. "Plus, it looks like they can build them faster with bigger numbers. Despite a small setback due to some deathclaws at one point, the Gun Runners soon became one of the biggest allies to the New California Republic, who pretty much armed the entire army with their stock. "See? And let's not forget the NCR beat the Brotherhood at Helios One. All the strongest equipment in the world is nothing if you don't have the numbers to use it properly." The Gun Runners took no chances with their hardware. All their purchases were made at kiosks with robot salesmen who had their entire shops built around them. No way in or out save for a small dispenser to give the merchandise and caps over. A bit paranoid, but it ensured that their secrets remained safe and that nobody stole from them. Funny enough, despite their dealings with death, they were one of the more honest and noble merchant groups who would treat you well if you treated them back the same way. Some groups were a lot less noble. The student's eyes widened at the size of a large amount of plasma, laser, and flame-based weapons that looked shiny, new, and very deadly. One could almost forgive them for thinking that this was some station of the Brotherhood of Steel or the Enclave. Instead, it was a store for the Van Graffs. Unlike the Gun Runners, the narrator called the Van Graffs merchants of death and for a good reason. Their shop was cold, dark, and armed with dozens of heavily armored guards who looked like a nasty bunch. Each was armed with a laser or plasma rifle, and the snarling expressions on them made it clear that they didn't want to deal with small talk but just caps.  "I got a bad feeling about these guys," Silverstream whispered, and the others nodded their heads in agreement.  The Van Graffs took no shit from anyone. They were as likely to shoot you with a plasma pistol just as much as they were to sell it to you. They were a family-owned operation from California that only recently started operations in the Mojave in a pre-war casino in Freeside called "The Silver Rush." Unlike the Crimson Caravan or the Gun Runners, the Van Graffs were willing to use underhanded tactics and work with shady groups to get money and power. They were more like a mob family than a business, and they didn't care who they hurt or killed to get their way. This was even more evident when one of the Van Graffs immediately executed a tied-up and helpless person with a laser rifle that turned them into ash.  "How horrible," Ocellus whispered as the Van Graffs looked away from the charred remains without a hint of remorse.  "Ruthless sons of bitches, huh?" Smolder said, crossing her arms.  "Well, if I ever end up there, I'm never doing business with them," Silverstream growled. Still, even with shiny plasma weapons, there were some problems that even weapons couldn't solve, such as dehydration. If a person hadn't had any water in days, they would be willing to trade their shiny plasma pistol for a single bottle of water. Such was evident in the video that showed one trader giving a poor dying man his bottle of water while taking said plasma pistol. Silverstream shivered. "I couldn't imagine dying of thirst. That's one of the worst ways to go. I'd rather end my own life." Water was perhaps the most precious resource in the entire Wasteland, and people drank it whenever and wherever they could. From rain in the sky to holes in the ground. Even from toilet bowls that were hundreds of years old. "Too much information!" Ocellus screamed as everycreature gagged. "Okay, maybe dying of thirst sounds less bad..." Silverstream groaned in disgust. The problem was most of the water around still contained radioactive atoms from the bombs, and anyone who drank it could face a minimal risk of being sick over time. In the old day, water was fresher, and some machines could purify it just in case something was wrong, but those days were few and far between save for Washington D.C., where the water was as fresh as new.  If anyone had access to fresh, clean water, they had perhaps the most precious resource in the entire world. In the days after the Great War, a group of Water Merchants who lived in The Hub had access to one of these areas and controlled it as a means of influence and protection. They were one of the most powerful factions at the time. Even the Vault Dweller turned to them in Vault 13's time of need with their water chip breaking down. Nowadays, the NCR made sure that almost all of their citizens had access to fresh water, but there was never such a thing as too much as they eyed the Mojave's Lake Mead with desire. Those living there were lucky that Hoover Dam was built so that pretty much anyone could get it if they did good enough engineering.  Out east, there was no Crimson Caravan or anything similar to it. Most of the trading hubs and businesses were small and independent. Still, thanks to the big cities and towns devastated by the war, they were ripe for the picking. The closest to being the most influential was one trade hub near Cadbury Commons. However, that didn't last long due to a superhero and supervillain fighting it out with giant robots and ants. "...what?" Every creature asked as they tilted their heads upon seeing a human dressed in some robot suit fighting with a female in ant armor. Both were controlling armies of robots and ants that were tearing the city apart.  Since East America was more anarchistic, it was up to the foolish or brave to be traders and messengers who dealt with all the rotten luck that came down their path. Fortunately, some skilled fighters were out there, and some were willing to give gear to help them out like military-grade robots for protection.  When the video changed, Gallus's eyes went wide. "Wow, that's a lot of robots and broken parts." The narrator explained how a single item in the Wasteland could hold such great value even if the person who found it didn't understand what it meant. After all, it was a single water chip that started the first significant change in The Wasteland. So who's to say having the right amount of scrap metal, electronics, and sensor modules couldn't give you a best friend that would end up saving lots of lives? In the end, everything was owed to those who were willing, for whatever reason, to haul things from one end of the world to the next.  Suddenly, the music began to change to a more hip and jive tune, which surprised the group. The narrator explained how, despite civilization being built one scrap yard at a time, some believed that the world wasn't being made fast enough. There were still goodies from the old world that had value and could change the world for the better. Or worse, depending on who you asked. One of these men, dressed in robes with a strange rifle on his back, believed this to be accurate and slowly walked into a new area the group hadn't seen before. There was a golden gate with two words that dazzled the dark red sky like a siren in the night. Sierra Madre. But this place was a story for another day.