Two Suns—what was once known as Tucson—and the Navajo were the last significant allies remaining after months of negotiations, annexations, and conflict with the minor tributaries of the Legion.
Of the two, Two Suns had benefited the most from their arrangement with us. Unlike the Navajo, they submitted without resistance. No bloodshed, no broken wills. They integrated with a warning, I imagine the warning Vulpes delivered to persuade them must have been... compelling, recognizing early on that joining the future was far more profitable than clinging to the past.
The Legion supported their campaigns against the remnants of the Desert Rangers, aiding their expansion southward into the fertile lands once held by the Tohono. But perhaps most notably, they gained control of the Generalissimo Vialla's armories—a network of factories and depots that became the backbone of their rise.
Their territory expanded. Their population surged, drawing merchants, technicians, refugees, even fugitive slaves who preferred servitude over death. And Caesar, observing their loyalty and usefulness, rewarded them generously. Roads. Temples. It was in Two Suns that the Cult of Nas was born—also known as the Cult of Speed—a curious fusion of mechanical devotion and faith in constant motion.
Nearly every vehicle the Legion employs is either built or assembled in Two Suns. Armored trucks. Freight caravans. While we still rely heavily on slave labor for transport, the vehicles from Two Suns have become a quiet but vital pillar of our logistics. They pay their tribute annually, in gold and silver, and contribute men, vehicles, and technicians as regular support.
In fact, most of the Legion's advancements in vehicular technology can be traced back to Two Suns, thanks to the efforts of the priestesses of Nas. Though they appear as pious devotees of speed and mechanical purity, they are in truth engineers and mechanics—refining our machines to be faster, more durable, and less dependent on fossil fuels.
They had achieved much. Perhaps too much.
In just a few short years, the cult had grown, their influence spread, and their technical network now rivaled the scale of our own supply chains. They had acquired power, prestige, and an unsettling degree of independence. They were not yet a threat on the scale of the NCR—but left unchecked, they could become one.
Of course, we had the means to crush them. Hundreds of legionaries in power armor, tanks, aerial bombardment from restored Vertibirds. It wouldn't be a war. It would be an execution. But the cost would be high: their lands ruined, their infrastructure shattered. We would spend years rebuilding what, at present, already serves us well.
No. Diplomacy was preferable. A structured integration, step by step—securing the loyalty of their leaders, absorbing their technology and personnel into the fabric of the Legion. Done correctly, we would avoid needless conflict and gain a powerful asset.
Yet there were signs.
The information about the changes within the Legion—the disappearances of tribes, cities razed, systems dismantled—was contained, but nothing stays hidden forever. Merchants crossing our cities were no doubt telling stories. Some exaggerated. Others not. But all enough to plant seeds of doubt.
Two Suns was likely beginning to feel the pressure.
And if that was the case, then the time to act was now—before they dug in, before they questioned their place in the new order.
So I traveled swiftly to Two Suns—not as a guest, but as the heir to the authority that now demanded not partnership… but subordination.
I arrived with a generously sized escort—veterans, every one of them. Men with scarred faces and fire in their eyes. A force large enough to raze the city in hours, should it become necessary.
There was no delay.
When the heir of Caesar arrives in your city, all else ceases to matter. Roads clear. Doors open. Meetings are canceled. And when thousands of soldiers wait beyond your gates, priorities shift accordingly.
I was received by Will Faster, the high priest of the Cult of Nas, in what they called the Grand Garage—their central temple. An old factory transformed into a shrine, lined with consecrated engines, vehicle parts hung as relics, and offerings of tools and fuel canisters.
Will greeted me with arms wide and a voice full of warmth.
"Legate Gaius! What a joy to finally welcome you to our temple! The roar of your arrival was music to our ears."
The priest of Nas was exactly what one would expect in this part of the world. Brown skin, muscular frame, worn by years of labor and time behind the wheel. Burns marked his left arm and part of his face—testaments to the desert sun—but also a clear sign that he spent more time with machines than preaching from any altar. He wore lightweight garb reinforced with metal fittings, something between ritual robe and mechanic's uniform, all adorned with the cult's symbols: entwined pistons, wheels, and lines representing speed.
He welcomed me with theatrical gestures and the overeager enthusiasm of a man walking on thin glass.
"Please, Legate… take the seat of honor," Will offered with his forced cheer, gesturing to a reinforced chair placed at the center of the hall—clearly prepared for someone of my station. "You may remove your armor if you wish. You're among allies here."
"No."
That was all I said, sitting down without removing a thing. The chair creaked under my weight.
I saw him swallow. Subtle, but telling. He knew exactly why I was here.
"I won't waste your time, Will. We are both men of many duties. I'm here to speak about your tribe's position within the Legion." I gestured for him to sit.
The smile vanished from his face. He moved stiffly, sat, uncertain whether to speak or remain silent.
"Legate Gaius… Two Suns is loyal to the will of Caesar. Always has been… always will be," he said, attempting firmness, but the tension in his voice betrayed him. He licked his lips, visibly unsettled.
"I know there are some in my tribe who do not appreciate the Legion, but I… I know what Lord Caesar has given us, and I'll never forget it. I remember what this place was like before he brought order. I remember the raiders bleeding us dry, the blocked roads, the fear of every journey."
He raised his gaze slightly, as if searching for a hint of clemency behind the visor that concealed my face.
"And I know exactly who we owe everything to. Lord Caesar. He crucified them, enslaved them... and blessed us with roads."
"I am well aware, Will. I made certain to learn everything necessary before this meeting," I replied, my tone unwavering, leaving no space for misinterpretation. "But your status as an ally has afforded you far too much freedom. Freedom we can no longer tolerate—especially now, as we prepare for the great conflict with the NCR."
I paused, letting the silence settle like a weight between us.
"If something fails... if anything deviates from the plan, the Legion could suffer a defeat. And a defeat, no matter how small, is the perfect moment for some to start whispering of liberty. To forget who gave them order, roads, and stability."
Will said nothing at first. He only nodded, swallowing hard.
"There's no doubt about that, Lord Gaius, but..." he finally said, cautiously, though he never finished.
"The only Lord here is Lord Caesar," I interrupted, immediately and sharply. My voice never rose—but the correction struck with the weight of doctrine.
His eyes widened, as if he'd just committed heresy.
"My apologies, Legate Gaius... I thought—well, with you as his heir—I thought you might permit the title..." he stammered, trying to recover. "But our tribe will always remain loyal to Caesar. Ask what you will. Vehicles, engines, fuel—warriors. Whatever is required to prove our devotion to the Legion."
His face showed genuine concern.
"What I want is a Legate-appointed governor installed over these lands," I said, my voice like stone. "Your administration will be restructured according to Legion standards. Our laws will be enforced, and the Cult of Mars will have an active presence here to begin smoothing the cultural edges."
Will went pale. He swallowed again, his hands tightening on his legs as he looked down before responding.
"I... I can do that, Legate Gaius. I can make it happen. The Cult of Mars—yes, we can integrate them into the Grand Garage. And the administration, it can be reformed—just say the word." His voice faltered slightly, and he looked downward again, aware he was pushing the boundaries. "Just allow us to keep our faith, our culture, Legate Gaius... let some of your laws not apply to us."
"Which laws?" I asked, my tone and posture unchanged.
"The treatment of women... alcohol... our views on slavery... and that we may continue to honor Nas in his great coliseum. The largest race in decades is about to begin. I can't let it be canceled..." Will's voice faded as he spoke.
"Very well," I said simply.
"If I grant this," I continued, "you will send orders to all your commanders to surrender authority. My legionaries will assume control of key facilities. A new governor will be established—you, Will. Someone who knows this land is more valuable than some eastern officer unfamiliar with this dust."
Will looked up, surprised.
"However," I added, "we will station Legion garrisons in the major cities, and your warriors will be reorganized and trained as urban legions. Standards, command, discipline. And—five thousand youths, between six and thirteen, will be sent to Flagstaff to begin their training as legionaries."
I paused.
"Preferably, sons of your tribe's most prominent families."
Will didn't speak at first. His face said enough. He understood exactly what I was asking. But he took a long breath, swallowed his pride, and nodded slowly.
"Of course, Legate Gaius... I'm grateful for your generosity," he said at last, relaxing slightly in his seat.
"This race of yours... what exactly is it?" I asked, more intrigued by his reaction than the event itself.
"Ah—we've been investing in the largest temple of Nas," Will said, regaining some of his spirit. "An homage to the Cannonball. Tribes from all around have been invited. It's the grandest race in decades. Everyone is waiting for it. The streets are full of participants, merchants, travelers, pilgrims..."
He spoke with pride—like one describing a sacred rite.
"Entertainment, hmm... forgive me—a religious ceremony," I said with a faint nod.
Will nodded eagerly, this time with a genuine smile.
"My own tribe once had a sort of coliseum," I continued, glancing up at the ceiling of the Grand Garage, already envisioning blueprints in my mind. "I'd like the new Rome to have something similar... a blend of both worlds. A grand arena for combat—or better yet, an immense track across the Mojave deserts. Races. Noise. Crowds."
I fell silent for a moment, letting the vision take shape.
"Entertainment for the masses. It will generate work. Trade. And of course... it will require skilled mechanics, well-tuned engines. Someone who knows how to honor Nas properly. Don't you agree, Governor?" I asked with a half-smile.
Will smiled too, more confidently this time. "It would be an honor, Legate Gaius. For me—and for Nas."
I removed my helmet and looked him directly in the eyes.
"I know this is not the way to treat the Legion's most loyal tribe, Priest of Nas. But it is the only way the Empire of Caesar can prosper. When the time comes, there will be a great road stretching west to east, north to south—and I expect yours to be the first wheels to test it," I said, with a faint smile.
Will smiled just as he had when I arrived. "There will always be a place for you and Caesar in the Grand Garage, Legate."
"Good. Let's not waste such a fine table, Governor. You have work to do, and I must head north—to negotiate, or perhaps to fight, with the Navajo. And I will need some of your men."
Will nodded with conviction. "My best will drive at your side, Legate. You have my word."