Chapter Five--What I Must Do

 Warning: This chapter contains violence at an appropriate level for a story based in the Fallout universe.  While not excessively gory, some readers may find it disturbing.  Use your own best judgement.


'Oh, fuck me sideways with a flaming chainsaw!  This wasn't supposed to be how this would go.  We were supposed to make it safely to the mall, because the wastelands were such a lovely place and... and...' Of course I was being sarcastic, even if only in my mind.  Of course, I'd been expecting something like this.  Alan hadn't let me that shotgun to go skeet shooting, after all.

I hunkered down behind the old Corvega and readied my own weapon.  From across the way, I heard muffled voices and the sound of weapons being reloaded, then the sound of the grass rustling as the Hunters shifted their positions.  Not that I really had a good idea of where they were exactly, anyway.  All the same, I broke out the glass on the driver's side window of the car--the other side had broken God only knew when--and poked the barrel of the shotgun in.  Though I took careful aim where I thought I saw someone moving about, I only succeeded in making a great deal of noise and making my shoulder sore.

Meanwhile, Edgar also wasted no time in taking advantage of the current lull in their violent activity to fire back.  He popped up just enough to get a clear shot, aimed, and carefully squeezed off a round.  His shot was true, because immediately I heard a high, gurgling scream which quickly faded into a breathless, garbled moan.  "Right in the throat," he grunted.

I tried not think about that as I reloaded then took aim again.  I preferred to not make use of VATS--Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting System--on my Pipboy, because I had trained myself to not rely on it.  One never knew if the device might become damage or VATS simply not working for whatever reason or whatever the fucking reason, I didn't like to rely on it.  Perhaps also there was a little touch of pride in knowing that when I was firing a gun or rifle, that if I struck my target, I had hit true.  I thought of Alan's pleased expression earlier, and felt that little surge of pride again.

This wasn't the time for overweening hubris, though.  I quickly pushed a button on my Pipboy, and within seconds, VATS had detected and illuminated a target for me.  My chances of hitting were still very poor, but at least now I knew where one of the bastards was hiding.  She was in the tall grass, taking cover amongst some rocks slightly left of center.  No chance of hitting there, so I selected another possibility.  This one was in the process of moving to join the woman.  As he walked, I noted that he trembled slightly, wobbled even.  I took careful aim, and fired.

The roar of the shotgun filled my ears, but the man's screams drilled into my brain.  No matter how vile or foul someone was, I disliked killing.  this was self-defense, and it gave me no pleasure. I'd had to shoot people before in defense of the Vault, but even then I'd only managed to wound or slow them down some.

This man would be dead.  The shotgun had sheared his leg off at mid-thigh in a cloud of blood and flesh.  It threw him back several feet and he lay where he landed, screaming until he went into shock from catastrophic injury and loss of blood.  I felt nothing as I reladed and took aim again, only this time the return fire of the three remaining Hunters forced me to duck down behind the Corvega once more.  I tried to not think about how the man's screams had sounded.  Twisted or not, they were still human beings, struggling to survive in a world that their distant grandparents had seen fit to nearly destroy.

For some what it came to eventually was when you were faced with one too many evils of humanity at times, you began to see only the endless tide of those turned Raider or slaver or cannibal or other, even more foul dregs of humanity, you even ceased to see them as "De-Evolved Humans" and more as "Human by virtue of DNA only".  I would never fully lose my faith in humanity, but I would suffer more than a few dark times of the spirit, times where it would even seem that the man I would come to love would wonder of me.

For now, I pushed this out of my mind.  Others depended on me and if I couldn't do what I must do, then why the fuck was I even out here?  I edged upward, preparing to take aim, but Edgar pulled me back down.

"Not yet," he hissed.  "Wait until you hear them moving and reloading again.  Meanwhile..." He reached into the pouch on his belt and withdrew a round object.  "I have a little party favor for them."  He smirked, his leathery mouth twisting, then pulled a pin out of the round object.  With horror, I realized that I was looking at a grenade.

"Oh, shit, Edgar!"  The fact that this wasn't some lark right out of an old Grognak the Barbarian comic was really sinking in now.  I opened my mouth to say I didn't even know what, but Edgar's hand on my shoulder, pushing downwards, silenced me.

"Get down.  On the ground," he ordered, and when I was sufficiently down, he said, "Cover your ears."
I did so, and quickly, Edgar popped up from behind the car. Even with my ears covered, I heard him grunt as he tossed the grenade across the road, and the thump it made as it landed in the grass.

In the near silence that had followed as the Hunters had been shifting and reloading, that thump seemed to swallow the world in sound.  One of the Hunters apparently spotted it, for he screamed, "Oh fuck, no!"  Another cried out, "Jesus Christ, run--"

The world exploded.

Even with my hands clamped firmly over my ears, I heard the explosion, followed my a soft splattering sound and thuds.  I didn't want to look, nor did I need to, to know what that had been.  My stomach turned over.  Thank God I hadn't eaten much for breakfast that morning: just a couple of old danish and some coffee that Millie had thoughtfully provided.  I stayed where I was because, truth be told, I was afraid that i I looked and saw that I would never be the same person ever again.

I didn't hear Edgar calling my name.  Only when he knelt down and tapped on my hat did I realize he was trying to get my attention.  I uncovered my ears, but stayed where I was.'If I don't get up,' I thought, 'the world won't be so bad.'  But I knew this wasn't true; I just couldn't make myself do it.  I didn't want to see what that grenade had done to fellow humans, as degenerate as they had become.

"Forty-Nine," he repeated, his voice unusually soft, kindly.  "are you all right?"

I shook my head.  My own voice sounded as if it came from very far away as I said, "No, Edgar.  I don't think I am."

With surprising gentleness, the ghoul took hold of my arms and helped me to sit back up.  As if I were in a dream, I folded my legs together in the tailor's pose, my hands on my thighs.  He didn't let me stay there, though.  With gentle but determined prodding, Edgar got me to stand back up, and got my weapon back into my hands.  Without thinking about it, I slung it onto my back once more, and now stared across the road.  Blood and God only knew what else had painted the grass in bright crimson streaks.  Over the grisly scene, crows had already begun to gather, along with a vulture or two.

Edgar turned me to face him now.  He'd taken his sunglasses off, and reached up to remove mine as well.  "I need you to see right into my eyes as I say this, Forty-Nine," he told me.  There was some look in his eyes that I couldn't quite identify this time.  Not desire, not recrimination.  It took me a moment, but finally I realized that it was compassion.  But it was a hard compassion, one so terrible that I had to struggle to not look away.  It was the look you gave someone when you were about to say, "I'm sorry that you had to find out the hard way that the world sucks."

Edgar said, "You've never killed before, have you?"

I shook my head.  "No, I've--I've--"  I couldn't finish the words.  Tears threatened to push themselves out of my eyes as I struggled to find the words.  Edgar said nothing as he wordlessly wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close.

It wasn't simply a hug.  Somehow, instinctively, I knew that.  It was a gesture of comforting, but more than that, it was a gesture of humanity, one intended to show that I was not alone.  Perhaps also  he meant for it to calm me down long enough to get my head together, so that I didn't suddenly tip over into some mental abyss from which there'd be no escape.  It wasn't merely a hug: it was a lifeline.

Normals often feared ghouls, called them monsters, or zombies.  In that moment, for good or ill, Edgar was the most human of us all.

"Let it out, smoothskin,: he ordered.  "Let it out or it will seep into your soul like tainted groundwater and poison you.  You won't be the first one who cried after killing, so let it out."  His voice sounded hoarse now, and I wondered briefly what his first kill had done to him before it all flooded out of me.

As Edgar kept watch, I vented my grief and anger.  I shouldn't have to be out here killing.  The world shouldn't be like that.  There shouldn't be people hunting other humans, normal or mutant, for food or sadistic pleasure.  But it was, and either I could let despair and anger pull me into a dark pit from which there could be no escape, or I could take what happened here today, and do my part to make a difference.  There were many who took the road of doing no harm.

What the world needed those who would not be content to simply and passively do no evil.  It needed those who would actively strive for something better.  I didn't know if I was oir even could be that person, but I was sure as hell going to try.

I pulled away and wiped my eyes.  Edgar said nothing, but he pulled an old bandana out of his pocket and handed it to me.  I hesitated, and he said, "Eh, I can get another."

I wiped my eyes and blew my nose on it.  "I must look like a big baby," I said.  "You're all so tough, and badass."  I felt compelled to include his bosses in that statement.  Maybe because being over three hundred years old and waking up to a world that had all but gone down the shitter for the final count...not that what we did have was a picnic in the park.

Edgar shook his head.  "No, you'd be surprised.  Cynical is more like it, and pragmatic.  but it comes with know that what must be done, will be done, for the good of all.  This goes no further, Forty-Nine, but if it helps... when I found them in what was left of Akron at the time,they were lost, disoriented, and scared shitless.  If I hadn't come along when I had... there wouldn't be an Akron, no mutant community.. Just another nameless shithole of a ruin on the wasteland map." He stared back the way we had come, adding, "They'll be the first to tell you that, too.  Once they like you enough."

He put his sunglasses back on. and smiled.  "You handled it a lot better than some do, Forty-Nine.  i've seen people never come out of the shock... or worse, their heart shrivels into nothing."

I nodded.  I still felt shaken to my very core, still felt that I would never be the same again.  Perhpas this was another reason why it was said that sex and death were the opposite sides of the same coin: your first time with either changed you forever on a deeply fundamental level.  There was no going back now, only forward.

To that end, I said, "I'm ready to move on if you are."

"Well, this is going to be distasteful, but it's the law of the wasteland.  He who is the victor wins the spoils."  He nodded to me, saying, "This is going to be bad, kiddo.  Very bad.  But if they have anything that we need in order to fulfill our mission, we need to take it.  Besides, they don't need it anymore.'

I felt my face go white at the thought of looting the mangled corpses.  "No...i suppose not."  I swallowed hard.  "but you're right.  I... I can do this.  I just might need to, uh..."  I felt my stomach twist again in a current of nausea.

That look of compassion was back.  "it never gets easier, smoothskin.  You just learn to make do.  Come on.  'Once begun, the sooner done', my mother used to say."

"Yeah."  I followed him across the road.

****

Looting the grenade-splattered corpses was not a chore that I ever cared to repeat.  I didn't puke, but I did come close.  Several times, I had to turn away, and take a deep breath.  Once I looked up at the bright morning sky, only to see the scavengers circling overhead.  Some things never changed, wasteland or not.  Somehow, seeing the carrion pickers was worse than the carrion itself.

Thankfully, Edgar spared me most of the serious grue, instead having me pick up dropped rifles  or knives, or retrieve ammunition and the like. He took on the dirtier work of rifling through their packs himself.  Much of it was still usable, and while the idea of eating food that had once belonged to these cannibals sickened me a little. Edgar reassured me, "Most of  this isn't even meat, Forty-Nine.  It's those Fancy Lad snack cakes, dried fruit, stuff like that.  Pickings must have been slim, especially if they were attacking us both.  Ain't much good meat on a ghoul, I wouldn't think."

"Err, yeah.  Still kind of gross to think of, though." I examined the bolt action rifle that one of them had dropped.  It was what people at the Vault called a 'varmint rifle', and that was what we mostly used it for: hunting vermin like radroaches (which could get to be the length of your forearm) and molerats, which could grow to be as big as a medium-sized dog.  I showed it to Edgar, who was looting a dead Hunter's pack.  He nodded and said, "Good rifle.  I wouldn't go shooting yao guai with it, but I suppose for what this trash was hunting, it would have worked well enough."  His voice sounded wry behind his scarf.

"Yeah, well if--"

"Score!" Edgar exclaimed.  I looked over, and saw him holding two bottles of Nuka Cola aloft in triumph. Forgetting all about our grisly task, he quickly uncapped one with his teeth and spat the cap out as I'd seen him do yesterday.  He drank half of it, then belched hugely. That wasn't anything new.

What was new was the way he held the half full bottle out to me.  When I hesitated, he said, "Come on, kiddo.  You earned it."

"Wow...Edgar.  I know how much this stuff means to you.  I'm honored."  I reached out took the bottle, then raised it to him in a toast. He nodded to me, and I gulped down most of the softly glowing bluish liquid in a single pass.  Nuka Cola always had a lightly berry-like taste in my opinion, and even this stuff that had been out in the wastes for two hundred years instead of popping fresh out of a food synthesizer  was still pretty good.  Our own back in the vault had died years back, defying everyone's attempts to fix it.  Thinking of this, I chugged down the rest and let out a belch to rival Edgar's.

The ghoul blinked, then laughed long and loud.  Feeling redness creep up my face, I couldn't help but join him.  "Damn, smoothskin, was that a belch, or your impression of an angry Deathclaw?"

I grinned.  It felt good to laugh a little after what had just happened  The whole thing was no less ugly for it.  In that moment, a friendship began, one that has lasted to this very day.  I gave him back the empty bottle, saying, "Bound to be a use for it."

He nodded, pleased by my care for the environment as well as my desire to not be wasteful. Before the war, people littered, wasted things, or even outright polluted their environment without a care for the world or its future..  Here and now, even something as seemingly inconsequential as an empty Nuka Cola bottle could be useful.  It could hold water, be used as a weapon, or even melted down in a glass furnace and shaped anew.  Edgar tucked the bottle into his pack,

He picked up his hat and studied it. I didn't need to see his face to know that he was scowling at the bullet hole in it.  then he shrugged and put it back on his head before we headed off down the road again.

"Not a bad haul," he commented as we walked. "Couple of good hunting rifles, the ammo, some food with decent origins, some pure water,  even found a bottle of Med-X and a stimpak."

"Not to mention the Nuka Cola," I added.  "Those chems, that will be helpful to Bob 2, if we don't end up having to use them."

"Speaking of..."  Edgar scanned the roadside grasses for the plants we'd been asked to find.  He shook his head.  "Nothing so far.  Keep your eyes out, though."

I started to answer, then a voice came out of my Pipboy.  Startled, I almost dropped to my knees again, expecting another fire fight.  I knew this voice, though.  It was Jerry.

"We had reports of gunshots out by your position," he said.  It came through tinny and weak sounding, with small bursts of static further occluding it.  I said, "Yeah... Um, Hunters.  They're,uh, dead now."  My voice shook a little.

"Shit."  In that one word, he managed to convey disgust, relief, and gratitude for ridding the territory of dangerous pests.  "Just glad you're both all right..  We can't interrupt Big Dog's broadcast for long--his is the only transmitter with enough range.  This is a secure channel, by the way, so it isn't like this is going out to every freak and asshole in the wasteland.  We needed to break in and let you know we've had reports as well of Super Mutants on the move out of Cleveland.  So far, we don't know where we're headed, but you and Edgar keep your eyes open, spudess.  Got it?"

"Yep, we got it," I assured him.  "Got it, Jerry," Edgar told him.  "Seems strange that they're mobilizing so early in the year.  They're just smart enough to know to wait until late Spring, early Summer, when the snow is for sure done.  Wonder what's got them so stirred up?"

"I have no fucking clue, but rest assured, we're keeping on top of things over here.  Akron out."  Almost immediately, Big Dog came back in on the radio, saying, "Sorry about that little interruption, friends and neighbors. Even ol' Big Dog has his day."  A deep chuckle.  "But never mind that, now.  Here's a little tune that's even older than our founders... believe it or not, such a thing is possible!  You know it's true, because kids, 'It's A Sin To Tell A Lie'"  An old song by the Ink Spots followed.

"I didn't even know I had the radio on," I mused.  "Maybe when I hit the dirt I switched it on, or it's malfunctioning."

"Leave it on," he told me, in case they need to give warning about the Frankensteins," Edgar told me.  "But if it's malfunctioning,we need to get it fixed asap," Edgar said.  "Last thing we need is that thing switching on when we're trying to be sneaky.  Come on, smoothskin.  I want to hit the mall by noon."

"Yeah, good idea."  We moved on, leaving the carnage without another look.  Behind us, the scavengers had begun to feed.

 

 

End of Chapter Update

Shae Montgomery Richardson

Karma: Good

Karmic Title:Defender

Level 4

Age: 28

Tag Skills: Repair, Science, Small Guns

S.P.E.C.I.A.L: Strength: 5 Perception; 7 Endurance: 5 Charisma: 4 Agility: 6 Intelligence: 7 Luck: 5

New Perk:

Educated

 

With the Educated perk, you gain three more skill points every time you advance in level. This perk is best taken early on, to maximize its effectiveness.

Chapter Five is Tomorrow, but meanwhile, enjoy this, ah, thing.

Chapter Five is tomorrow, come hell or high water.  Meanwhile., the main theme of Fallout 4 has been released.  It's one of the most beautiful pieces of soundtrack music I've ever heard.

Fallout is special to me, because getting me a copy of Fallout 1 way back in 1997 is one of the last really lovely things that my boyfriend at the time did for me before we broke up.  It's also special to me because underneath the horrors of the wasteland, the cynicism, the obvious De-Evolution is a small, but strong, hope for humanity.  In fact, the highest Karmic (measure of good vs. evil for your character in the game) title one can receive in Fallout 3 without DLC is "Last, Best Hope of Humanity".

Where there's life... there's hope.  The guys might disagree with that, and Shae herself will be sorely tested in chapters to come, but even if the center does not hold...

...it's still a hell of a long way from giving out.

Some Additional Disclaimers

Below this is an excerpt from the in-progress Chapter Five, but just in case you missed the Disclaimers at the beginning of the blog, here it is again, with a few additions.

Fallout: De-Evolutions

Chapters: Currently 4

Rating: Mature.  this is an overall rating, and chapters will vary as to exact content.

Reasons for rating: Language, Violence, Sex, Use of Drugs and/or Alcohol (in universe drugs such as Med-Ex, Mentats, etc. only), Crude Humor, Mature Themes (not so much in the sex and violence way, as I already disclaimer that, but in the sense of how some subjects need to be approached thoughtfully, with care and maturity).

Chapters with especially violent or sexual content will receive their own NSFW warning at the beginning of the chapter.

Legalese and Disclaimers: I do not own the Fallout Series. That belongs to Bethesda.  DEVO belong to themselves, not me (but they're welcome to hang out here all they want, any time). If asked by either part to cease and desist, then that's that.

Furthermore, no real life person in the story is being portrayed or intended to be portrayed as "This is the real deal". Anything written is extrapolated from interviews, videos, my own imagination, and intuition. Don't sue me, bro!

Duty now! Prepare for the Future.

Apologies for the delay

Chapter Five is in progress, and I hope it will be done in the next few days, but the weekend, at the very least.   Meanwhile, I have an excerpt from the work.  Please note that this chapter gets violent and dark, and might not be suitable for some people.  Only you can judge if that applies to you.




I hunkered down behind the old Corvega and readied my own weapon.  From across the way, I heard muffled voices and the sound of weapons being reloaded, then the sound of the grass rustling as the Hunters shifted their positions.  Not that I really had a good idea of where they were exactly, anyway.  All the same, I broke out the glass on the driver's side window of the car--the other side had broken God only knew when--and poked the barrel of the shotgun in.  Though I took careful aim where I thought I saw someone moving about, I only succeeded in making a great deal of noise and making my shoulder sore.

Meanwhile, Edgar also wasted no time in taking advantage of the current lull in their violent activity to fire back.  He popped up just enough to get a clear shot, aimed, and carefully squeezed off a round.  His shot was true, because immediately I heard a high, gurgling scream which quickly faded into a breathless, garbled moan.  "Right in the throat," he grunted.

I reloaded then took aim again.  I preferred to not make use of VATS--Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting System--on my Pipboy, because I had trained myself to not rely on it.  One never knew if the device might become damage or VATS simply not working for whatever reason or whatever the fucking problem, I didn't like to rely on it.  Perhaps also there was a little touch of pride in knowing that when I was firing a gun or rifle, that if I struck my target, I had hit true.  I thought of Alan's pleased expression earlier, and felt that little surge of pride again.

This wasn't the time for overweening hubris, though.  I quickly pushed a button on my Pipboy, and within seconds, VATS had detected and illuminated a target for me.  My chances of hitting were still very poor, but at least now I knew where one of the bastards was hiding.  She was in the tall grass, taking cover amongst some rocks slightly left of center.  No chance of hitting there, so I selected another possibility.  This one was in the process of moving to join the woman.  As he walked, I noted that he trembled slightly, wobbled even.  I took careful aim, and fired.

The roar of the shotgun filled my ears, but the man's screams drilled into my brain.  No matter how vile or foul someone was, I disliked killing.  this was self-defense, and it gave me no pleasure. I'd had to shoot people before in defense of the Vault, but even then I'd only managed to wound or slow them down some.

This man would be dead.  The shotgun had sheared his leg off at mid-thigh in a cloud of blood and flesh.  It threw him back several feet and he lay where he landed, screaming until he went into shock from catastrophic injury and loss of blood.  I felt nothing as I reloaded and took aim again, only this time the return fire of the three remaining Hunters forced me to duck down behind the Corvega once more.  I tried to not think about how the man's screams had sounded.  Twisted or not, they were still human beings, struggling to survive in a world that their distant grandparents had saw fit to nearly destroy.

For some what it came to eventually was when you were faced with one too many evils of humanity at times, you began to see the endless tide of those turned Raider or slaver or cannibal or other, even more foul dregs of humanity, you even ceased to see them as "De-Evolved Humans" and more as "Human by virtue of DNA only".  I would never fully lose my faith in humanity, but I would suffer more than a few dark times of the spirit, times where it would even seem that the man I would come to love would wonder of me.

For now, I pushed this out of my mind.  Others depended on me and if I couldn't do what I must do, then why the fuck was I even out here?

Chapter Four--I Luv Ur Gun

"Yeah... I guess I have that affect on people," I said, feeling a bit small now.  Edgar stared at me a moment longer, then shrugged.

"No time to worry over it now, Forty-Nine.  Just try to check your mouth, okay?  Do you have a weapon?"

"Yeah, it's a 10 mm, here on my belt."  I put my hand on the weapon.  Edgar snorted in amused derision.  "Yeah, that will do... if we were only going to encounter a few angry rats.  Listen, I don't know what that vault of yours was thinking--"

"I guess they were thinking that I wouldn't be sent out to fetch everything but twenty yao guai butts," I interrupted.

He gave me another look.  "As I was saying," he continued, sounding almost as grouchy as Jerry now, "I don't know what that vault of yours was thinking, kiddo, but that thing won't help much against anything besides small vermin.  I don't have anything to spare, so we're going to have to stop by and see Alan.  He handles all the armaments here in town.  Guess it makes an odd sort of sense.  In his former life, he played the drums with their band, and now he deals with another sort of percussion altogether."  He chuckled a bit.  "He's usually up and about at this hour, too.  Let's see if he can spare us any goodies."

****

The former drummer turned armaments specialist looked me over thoughtfully.  Like the others, Alan was barely in his mid to late thirties, but of course was much, much older than that.  His demeanor came across as aloof, slightly cool, but his nod to Edgar was friendly enough.  He didn't seem to have much in the way of mutations, other than the slight point in his ears.  He had a hawklike profile. The latter wasn't so unusual, but that his eyes had a slightly golden, iridescent cast to them.  "So you're the normie everyone's been on about?  Yeah, Jerry had some things to say about that yesterday."  He smirked slightly.  "Hadn't seen him so irked in a while.  He isn't used to anyone pushing his buttons, and kid, you pushed them all just to see where the elevator would go."

"Yeah, so I heard."  I shuffled my feet, feeling off-kilter.  Word sure travelled fast in this town.  Who needed Three Dog from out DC way when the mutants could spread gossip amongst each other faster than fire could spread in a paper factory?  I had to wonder if they shared some kind of low-grade telepathy, though of course they could have gathered and talked last night, as Edgar said they might.

"Well, what can I do for you this morning?  As you can see--"  he waved an arm at the collection of empty shell casings on the bench here "--I'm a little busy getting these casings filled.  So unless you have some business to conduct..."

The smell of gunpowder hung in the air, and for the first time, I noticed the big signs with the bright black and yellow lettering proclaiming "EXPLOSIVE" and "HIGH EXPLOSIVES NO SMOKING" and just in case someone couldn't read, graphics of explosions and ammunition cooking off.  I could get that he was busy, but what I didn't get was why he was doing it all himself.  Looking at the bench, it amazed me to discover that not one single grain of powder or shot had been scattered, and yet when we'd come in, he'd been right in the middle of filling them.  That sort of precision was unheard of to any but a Mr Handy unit.  As I watched, while he awaited Edgar's answer (I was keeping my mouth shut now) he quickly and with incredible precision filled a few more casings.  Not a single bit was spilled as his deft fingers worked.

Edgar said, "This kid doesn't have a proper weapon, and she's supposed to go a few step and fetch jobs for Jerry and Mark.  Well, she has one, but it ain't worth a heap of shit at a brahmin farm."

"Ah, I see."  He finished what he was doing, then stood up.  He eyed me carefully, studying just about everythig about me, except maybe my dress size (and maybe that, too).  Finally, Alan nodded.  "Yeah, I got something for you, all right.  Can you handle a rifle?"

"Sure."

"How about submachine guns?"

"Those too.  I'm a decent shot," I assured him.

"Well, I don't have either of those to spare," he said, which made me wonder why he'd even asked me.  I restrained myself from rolling my eyes.  Were all of them intent on giving me a hard time?  Probably.  He stood up from the bench and went over to one of the gun racks.  "You look like you can handle this.  Mind, I want it back.  This isn't a present, normie."  He took a double-barrelled shotgun from the rack, then went over to a shelf full of boxes and pounches and the like.  He selected two drums of ammo and brought it all it over to me.

"Come with me to the firing range," he said.  "I want to make sure you aren't going to get thrown on your ass when you fire this thing."

"I've fired these before--"I began, but his sharp look cut me off.  "Okay," I finished, almost meekly.  These mutants, good people or not, weren't people to fuck with or argue with.  I was starting to finally get that.  I wasn't going to let myself get pushed around, but I sure as hell didn't want to fuck this up.  I followed Alan to the firing range, Edgar following behind, silent as smoke.

Alan led me to a target, a stuffed effigy of a snarling beast that vaguely resembled a Deathclaw.  He pulled a set of headphones from a peg on the wall and gave them to me, and a set of goggles as well.  He gave some to Edgar as well, and took some for himself.  As I put the goggles on, he said, "Listen to me, normie.  I am one of the kindest and gentlest mutants around.  Ironic, I suppose, considering I work with death dealing devices.  We're all good guys here.  Jerry gets grouchy when he thinks any of us are being fucked with.  We aren't sending you out to hit a wasp's nest with a stick.  That isn't our way, and that's why I'm giving you this to use.  You bring it back in one piece, or I will know why.  Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I said, meekly again.  I thought for a moment that I was going to cry. I took a fair amount of teasing at home, but for some reason I took everything much more personally from these people. I wasn't as tough inside as I tried to present, with my language and sass. I didn't want him to see my eyes, so I busied myself with inserting the drum home.

His tone softened some as he said, "Just 'Alan' will do.  Now show me that you can handle this thing as well as you say you can."

I took a deep breath and raised the shotgun to my shoulder.  Taking another deep breath, I stared down the sights, thumbed off the safety, and slowly squeezed the trigger.  Even with hearing protection, the gun bellowed like an angry brahmin. At the same time, it kicked hard enough into my shoulder that it hurt, the force jolting through my shoulder and down my arm. I kept a good hold of it, but damn, that was one hell of a kick. I'd handled shotguns before, but this was one bad motherfucker.  It meant business.  I decided to nickname it Shaft, after a character in an old holotainment tape that I was fond of.

"Not bad," Alan said, nodding towards the effigy.  I'd blown a sizeable hole in the first several layers of the chest.  "I tried to approximate the correct skin and muscle thickness of an adult Deathclaw when I made that.  I doubt you'll run into many, depending on where you're going, but it's best to be prepared."  Sounding more grim now, he said, "I don't think that I need to tell you what this will do to a human, mutant or otherwise."

"No argument here," I said, putting the safety back on.  I eyed the shotgun, grinning.  "I love your gun," I said.  I knew damn well how that sounded once it was out of my mouth, but I didn't care.  This was a good moment.

That made Alan grin for the first time as Edgar laughed.  "You're all right, normie," he said.  "Get back in one piece.  Both of you."

"We plan on it,"  Edgar said.  Alan got up and went over to a small table.  Switching on the radio, which was in the middle of one of those really old pre-war songs, he said, "Roads ought to be safe, for now.  Last time the Brotherhood of Steel was in the area, they said that they'd wiped out a nest of Raiders at the old hospital.  I doubt there's anything left worth grabbing there, but it's always worth a look.  As for what Jerry wants, Medina is likely your best bet.  Most of the other towns around here are full of Super Mutants and radiation. I wouldn't even bother with Cleveland, unless you have a rad suit, spudess.  Not that it's an issue for Edgar--Ghouls thrive on that shit.  Of course, you might try up at the old mall.  We haven't picked everything out of there yet, and if you think creatively, you might find good stuff in unexpected places."

"Make a mental note of this, Forty-Nine," Edgar told me.  "Alan knows what's what around here."

He smiled.  "I like to think that I do, so I'm glad someone agrees."  He rummaged through a filing cabinet, then returned with a battered softbound book the size of a road atlas.  Which in fact it was.  He put it on the work bench and flipped through it until he found what he wanted.  "Edgar knows the way," he said, pointing to Akron on the map.  "But you need to be prepared for anything.  If you leave via the western gate--you came in via our south one--you can follow West Market Street northwest.  Eventually it turns into Medina Road, Highway 18.  Now, most of the bridges and overpasses are still in fair shape, but it might be a good idea, also, to cut straight as the crow flies, if all you want to do is get to the town."

"The problem with that as I see it is that first of all, there's fewer scavenging opportunities," I mused.  "Second, we'd end up disturbing more of the local wildlife, like yao guai and shrub boars.  Not sure what would be tougher: the mutated bears, or the mutated boars."

"Or the human animals along the road, possibly," Edgar said.  He turned to me, saying, "These are the sorts of things that any leader has to think about when keeping his people safe, smoothskin.  Where the enemies are, food sources, sites for medical supplies, what the roads are like.  Come spring, we have no idea what the roads will even be like.  If they deteriorated over the winter, caravans can be delayed for days, if not longer.  That's why the radio communications are so vital.  So when your vault didn't answer us, the bosses--" he nodded to Alan "--get concerned.  We don't have time to play nice around here, so I'm sure you can see why Jerry gets tetchy and Mark is messing with you.  It's like when you accidentally startle someone and they smack you  for it.  Stop taking it personally, play along, and before too much more time has passed, people might let up on you.,"

Alan nodded.  "Listen to Edgar.  He was here surviving in the ruins before we even woke up.  He won't steer you wrong.  He's absolutely correct.  I don't know what things are like in your vault, normie, but here, if someone older and wiser gives you a hard time, they're getting the measure of you.  Take my advice, and dodge the shots.  Don't fire back."  He gave me a stern look.  "Especially don't fuck with Jerry.  He's a good man, but his store of patience is short these days."

"All right."  Well.  I certainly felt like a schmuck now.  I'd been raised to be strong and stand up for myself.  It was hard for me to bite my tongue when someone seemingly wanted to give me a ration of shit for their own amusement.  Now it was beginning to make a bit more sense.  The founders had sense and brains enough not to burn their bridges with their trading partners, but it was obvious to me that they could run one poor normie in circles and make me their bitch if they felt that I deserved it.  They were smart enough to know how to do it without pissing off my vault.;  So I could let the dings to my pride pass--as I'd been struggling to do--or I could let them get my back up.  This would be a struggle, though.  Knowing a thing was different than applying that thing.

To that end, I said,  "I keep hearing something is going on--"

Alan cut me off.  "Let us deal with it, normal.  If Jerry and Mark want it known, they'll tell you."  He looked me over, and not unkindly, added, "You look like you have a big heart.  I'm not a bad judge of character.  But let me say this:  some things change a person forever.  Mutate them, you could say.  If you get mixed up in things here... you may never be the same again."

I nodded.  I din't know what he meant by that. But wasn't that what life's experiences were about, anyway?  Before I could say anything, a voice on the radio announced, "Good morning, kids.  This is your old friend Big Dog with a public service announcement.  Seems we got ourselves a visitor, a normie.  Just remember: normals are people, too.  Not as cool or interesting as mutants, of course, but people all the same.  That is all.  And now, we have another song from the five guys who made our little slice of paradise a reality.  And this one ain't for the kiddies, folks.  I Been Refused.  I am, as ever, your old pal Biiiiiiig Daaaaaawwwwg, bringing you the news and the truth about De-Evolution, no matter how much it hurts."  A chuckle.  "No relation to Three Dog, of course."

I listened, of course, curious to hear it, and oh dear God.  those lyrics!  "Damn," I muttered, turning redder than the warning sign near the missile launchers.  "I thought my mouth got salty."  I was grinning, though, as I said it.  Nothing prettied up about it:  that song was raw and blunt.  and why not?  Sex was one of our most primal urges, not only for reproduction, but for connection, for companionship.  The song wasn't funny at--it was coarse and angry, and carried the bitter sting of rejection with it. Not merely rejection, it was full of the sense of being thwarted and denied basic dignity.

What was funny was their response to my reaction. Edgar and Alan laughed, the ghoul damn near doubling over and Alan laughing so hard tears ran down his face.  "You're all right,"  Alan told me again.  "I bet they don't use language like that in the Vaults, eh?"

You don't know me very well, do you? I thought.  "Are all your songs like that?" I asked, still grinning a little.  He shook his head.  "Nope, just the early stuff.  We got a bit more clever and polished about it later on.  Maybe Big Dog will play one of those some time."  He nodded to me.  "Go on about your business, spudess.  I got work to do.  Come see me when you get back, though.  I might have something for you."

"You heard the man, Forty-Nine.  Let's get moving."  He looked at me, then nodded to the map.  "So...what shall it be?  Follow the road and check out the mall, or cut through as the crow flies and go straight for Medina?"

"Well, given all that we've just discussed, I'd prefer to avoid the local wildlife.  It's Spring, and doubt there's newborns.  That will make the mothers extra testy.  Besides, nature has take too many hits at the hands of humanity over the years,  I say keep to our own places, like the roads, and if we need to defend ourselves, we will."  I smiled a little.  "Besides, my dad always taught me that there are no real shortcuts in life."

Alan looked at me and nodded, his face unreadable.  Edgar nodded too, though I heard the smile in his voice as he said, "A very wise man.  Well, if we want to hit the mall in the next couple hours, we best get moving.  Come on, Forty-Nine."

****

It took us over half an hour of steady walking to reach the west gates.  The mutants stationed on the wall eyed me curiously, but no longer seemed so suspicious of my presence.  They gave us a brief nod of acknowledgement, then the massive gates pulled open, letting us out of the city.  We began heading steadily northwest, the noise of metal on hard-packed earth and ancient asphalt as the gates closed behind us the only sounds that morning.

As we drew further away, however, I heard the harsh calls of crows and occasionally the chirping of songbirds.    Dad had told me that the plants and the birds would have recovered first, and Nature seemed to bear this out. Life certainly did find a way, I noticed, seeing weeds growing up already in the cracks of the road and hearing the shuffle and snorting of various small animals in the underbrush.

"Be alert, smoothskin," Edgar cautioned. "This might look all peaceful and friendly, but it's more the Earth's territory than our own anymore. Don't go thinking that just because the woods haven't encroached this close to town that there won't be big critters about. Sometimes yao guai will come sniffing right up to the gates. We try and scare them off with a warning shot, since the bosses don't want us harming wildlife unless it's food or self defense, and even in the second case scaring them off is preferable. Thing is, sometimes it just pisses them off."

I blinked. "Your bosses?" In my defense, I hadn't had a decent cup of coffee since yesterday morning. Edgar gave me a sidelong look. "No, the yao guai. You get enough sleep last night?"

"Enough, I guess." I fished my sunglasses out and put them on. Despite my hat, the morning sun was getting into my eyes now. "Given everything going on it's a damn miracle I slept at all."

"Mmhmm. Well, my pack has some basic camping gear in it, just in case we make it all the way there and have to stay overnight. I mean Medina proper," he explained. "Which we might need to do. At any rate, the Mall isn't terribly far. Maybe an hour's walk more."

"Not bad, I guess. At least I'm not going alone." I smiled, feeling a little shy and unsure as I said, "I know a boring smoothskin might not be your choice for a traveling partner, Edgar, but I'm glad you're along."

"Well, when you aren't going out of your way to be as aggravating as possible, you're not so bad yourself." I heard the smile in his voice again.

"Me? Aggravating? Well, I never!" I did my best to look very put out and offended. Edgar snorted, causing his face scarf to billow out slightly as he said, "With a mouth like that, I'd be more surprised if you hadn't than if you had!"

I blushed all the way under my hat as I said, "Sir, a lady's love life or lack thereof is no one's business but her own. Not that mine's terribly exciting."

It wasn't. The friends I'd had special 'benefits' with weren't bad in bed, from what I could tell, meaning I'd had some fun, but I'd always felt like there was something that I was missing out on. Love was part of that, but I was also thinking of the all-out screaming, scratching, making the walls shake ecstasy I'd heard the older ladies talk about when they didn't think they were being overheard. Once I'd heard one of them mention what else Officer Thompson might be willing to do with those handcuffs of his. Another mentioned "not minding a bit if he wanted to do a cavity search" on her. Since I'd still been pretty young at the time, when they'd seen me walking by, they'd quickly changed the subject to the latest holotainment tapes. So I never did find out about what possible use handcuffs might have with sex.

Edgar said nothing. I let the subject drop. This wasn't a social stroll around Akron: we were on a scavenging mission, and needed to stay alert as possible. With that in mind, we were both quiet as we walked, and stayed that way, both of us keeping close watch for human and animal threats.

As we got further to the northwest along West Market, the grasses and live or half-dead trees on either side of us grew more thickly. This was definitely a place in which to keep our eyes open for trouble. "Follow my lead, Forty-Nine," Edgar said. He had noted it, too. "If I ready my weapon, you do it too. No arguing, no questions. Got it?"

"Yes," I said. I forwent asking him anything, and he added, "If I say 'Fart' you say 'How loudly?'"

"Got it, Edgar."

"Good." He lowered his voice. "occasionally, we get slavers traveling the road, trying to go through Akron. The bosses don't normally get harsh, even with normies, but the orders are to shoot slavers on sight and if there's slaves, free them Usually the slavers try and pass themselves off as BoS with prisoners, but you can always tell. BoS is very clean-cut, polished, their stuff in good shape. Slavers passing themselves off look rough and scruffy, crude. Then there's hunters." I heard the disgust in his voice.

"What's wrong with hunters?" I asked. "Are you a vegan, Edgar?"

He shook his head. "Not 'hunter'. 'Hunters'. the Hunters specialize in long pig. Human meat," he said. Seeing the horrified revulsion on my face, he said, "What's worse is they try passing it off as scrub boar. That's another group that gets run off at the gates. I knew what they were like, so I was able to warn Jerry and the others. We take care of our people in Akron, so no one was tempted to buy from them anyway, but you can bet that their asses are persona non grata. Rest assured, I know the difference, too."

"How?" I asked, sickened and fascinated both.  I tried to both listen and keep my eyes open for threats.   We were passing by an old Corvega stalled on the side of the road. Behind it was the rusting hulk of a Nuka Cola truck. The truck was slightly atop the Corvega, and both listed at a tipsy angle, making it look as though both had chosen to indulge in a bit of drunken humping.

As Edgar scanned the tall grass on the other side of the road, he said, "They like to sample their own wares," he said, his voice thick with revulsion. "Makes them smell badly, for one. Second, they're kind of twitchy, some of them. Human meat makes some folks ill, damages their brain and nerves. And third--"

A bullet suddenly took Edgar's hat off. Any lower, and it would have removed his head, instead. The shot had come from the tall grass on the other side of the road. Edgar grabbed my arm, nearly pulling it out of joint. Run!" he growled, and made for cover with me in tow, pulling me along with him to take cover behind one of the stalled vehicles.

"Third," he said grimly as he unslung his rifle and thumbed off the safety, "They're shooting at us now."

While You're Waiting on Chapter four...

I had fun putting Shae in some new outfits.

"Fun for you maybe. I'm an electronics expert, not a Vegas hooker."

*From somewhere 'offstage'* "I wouldn't mind some of those shots over here."

"No, just no."

"I am not going out in this."

This is the closest I could find to a Sexy Cop outfit mod.  There's mods for slutty nurse, French Maid, etc, but Cop?  Nope.  "Don't taze me, bro!"

"Oh, fuck NO."

"This isn't bad, but for fuck's sake, why does it have nipples?  Not. Wearing."

Her normal attire.  Looks like what I describe Edgar as wearing in the story

.

Chapter Three--Worried Man

For a bit, I didn't say anything as Edgar and I walked to Millie's Place. From the name and what I could gather from Mark's words, it was like one of those old taverns from back in the day, perhaps with rooms for rent as well. That brightened my spirits a little. Back before rapid transportation such as cars and trains had become commonplace, I knew that people has taken days or even weeks to travel distances that with a car would take so little time it was almost inconsequential. Inns had been a thing because travelers had needed a safe place to stay, out of the reach of the local natives and wild animals. In some ways, Akron was giving me a glimpse into the past, as well as a life that I had not known inside the vault.

if I refuse to be taunted into a reaction and just enjoy being here, in a new place and experiencing new things, it will be much more pleasant. I wonder what the other two--Alan and Bob2--are like? As we walked through the town in the slowly gathering dusk, I decided to ask.

He gave me a sidelong look, as if judging my intent, and said, "All five of them are good mutants, Forty-Nine. A bit strange, I guess, but considering they have been alive since shortly after the Second World War, I guess they're entitled to some eccentricities. They used to be in a band that had, as I understand it, an unusual philosophy that they call 'De-Evolution'. They still have it, so far as I can tell."

"De-evolution'," I repeated, fascinated. "What exactly does that mean? How have they been alive that long?"

Street lamps were beginning to come on now, casting a glow over the evening gloom. Did they use generators for their power? I wouldn't be surprised. These mutants didn't live like savage tribals.There were very tech-aware and quite self-sufficiant with regards to energy sources and machines.I wondered in what other ways they were similar to my Vault. Were we really so very different? Physically, there were differences, but what about mentally and--where it counted the most--inside? If they were giving me a hard time, I thought, was it that much different from their being hassled by the 'normies'? Maybe not.

Edgar said, "Well, I don't have such a great handle on it myself, to be able to explain. And I don't know the whole story. I know that I've known them for nearly one hundred years, Forty-Nine, and be;lieve me, they haven't aged. Whatever made them mutants slowed down their aging just like it did with us ghouls. As for De-Evolution, it's like I get it, but when I try to word it, I can't really. If you want to know more, kiddo, you'd be best off getting it sttraight from them. Especially Jerry. He's the one who came up with it." Edgar looked thoughtful in the street's soft light. "I don't know what happened to him-and don't you go asking, hear me?--to make him come up with something that cynical."

"Understood, Edgar," I told him. I'd seen Jerry talking with Edgar, and had heard, under his anger, a deep worry, something which of course had been verified. I had to wonder what had him so concerned. Whatever I might have thought of him, he was obviously very invested in the welfare of his people and his fellow founders.

"Good. He's a good man, but...best to let him tell you himself, should he ever decide to."

Edgar led me to an old bar and grill, the sort of which had no doubt proliferated during the times before the war. A large neon sign proclaimed "Millie's Place" and underneath it was added "Only Neon Sign in Town". That made me smile. Whoever Millie was, she obviously took pride in the fact that her place had the only working neon sign. It made me happy just looking at it. Here was a piece of the past that outside New Vegas was a rare and wondrous sight. I made a note to ask her about it, should she prove agreeable to talking.

"You gonna gawk at the sign all night, or come inside with me?" Edgar asked. His tone held amusement more than annoyance. Wow, I thought as I followed him inside, a bottle of Nuka Cola really does make a big difference with him. I would keep that in mind.

Inside, the bar was little different than those I'd seen on the entertainment holodisks back at the vault: it was slightly dimmed, with a long, much polished bar, shelves full of liquor, wine, or beer, much of which I'd never seen before. The locals sat chatting at the bar or at tables as they drank and ate whatever the local fare was. all conversation faded to silence as Edgar and I walked across the room to the bar, however. I felt the stare of dozens of pairs of eyes on me we passed them It felt more curious and suspicious than outright hostile, but still, I knew that word had gotten around town about a 'normie' that had come to call.

Edgar led me up to the bar where a not entirely unfamiliar sight greeted me. It was just that the context was different. Behind the bar stood an eight foot tall, greenish-brown humanoid, outlandishly dressed in a purple flowered dress and bright red wig of wavy red hair. Around its--her--neck hung a strand of pearls that I could have worn around my waist. Her attire was complimented by a black and white fabric flower pinned in her 'hair'. Did she remember being a woman before being taken by the Master's children and dipped in the foul FEV vats, or had she adopted that, as super mutants no longer had gender? It didn't matter, and asking would be offensive. All that remained to show she'd once been a normie like myself were her eyes, which were dark brown, intelligent, and kindly looking.

"Well, look who's here!" she rasped out. I strongly suspected that even before being dipped she'd had what Vargas called a "whiskey and cigarettes voice". she grinned, and if it hadn't been for her eyes being so warm, it would have made me shit my pants. "Edgar Price! Ain't seen you in here for a bit. Who's this you got witch-a? That the new kid?" She peered at me over the rims of her lensless catseye frames.

"Yes, I'm--" I began, but Edgar cut me off. "Yep, that's the new meat in town, new spud, as the bosses would say. I'm calling her Forty-Nine, on account of the vault she's from. Kid, this is Millie. Other than the founders, she's our oldest living resident. Most beautiful, too." he grinned at her.

"Cut the shit, Edgar," she said, but I heard the deep fondness in her voice. She pointed now to a picture behind the bar, of a breathakingly lovely redhead in early middle years, dressed in some fashionable outfit from before the war. "I was gorgeous when I looked like that, sweetie," she told me. "I know what I look like now, but I'm at peace with it. Anyway, what's your real name? I know those boys like to give people embarrassing nicknames or call them 'spud' or 'Spudess' until they prove themselves, but I've never been known for playing along nicely."

"Shae Richardson, ma'am," I told her. Her eyes widened, and she said, "Ooh, listen to you, honey. All polite and shit. Well, your parents sure raised you right. You be sure and tell them so." She turned back to Edgar, saying, "So what kind of stupid fool errand is she getting sent out on?"

"Well, Jerry's in a mood and won't talk to her, so he sent her over to Mark. Mark's not playing ball either, so he thinks she ought to go fetch some fancy-pants wine for Jerry and soften him up, first. Then he'll no doubt what her to go to some junk heap in the wasteland and scavange up some obscure doohickey or thingamajigger for his synthesizers or some art project of his." He smiled with wry amusement. "Doohickey and thingamajigger are technical terms."

"Hmmm," she grunted, looking at me and rubbing her chin. "Did you piss them off? they don't normally put anyone through all that, and it seems a bit much, even for a normie."

I shook my head. "No, ma'am--"

"Call me Millie, kid."

"No, Millie." I explained how the radio had decided to shit itself and die ten days before, and that'd I'd been struggling for the past three days to fix it. "You know the rest. the gates are still closed because they're annoyed at us normies who live in the Vault, and my Vault sent me over to see what's going on. Jerry's cranky because we weren't answering, and Mark won't tell me what's afoot, nor will anyone else. I'm told no one but Jerry is really at liberty to say." I flapped my arms in helpless disgust. "So I have to play these silly games and be a good little spudess and fetch." I snorted and plopped my butt onto the cracked leather barstool. "I promised my dad that I would keep my over the top swearing to a dull roar, but trust me when I say it's getting harder by the moment."

"Yeah, I can't blame you there. They have their ways, and thy have them for good reason, i guess. they can be harsh, but you won't find better folks in the wasteland. They're not being unfair... tougher than usual, it seems, but not unfair." She went to the selection of bottles behind me and examined them, then looked at me. Finally choosing a bottle of whiskey, she poured a shot and put it on the bar in front of me.

I opened my mouth to protest, but she waved her hand. "First one is on me, kid. I reckon you're headed off in the morning, right?" When I nodded, she said, "There's a room in the back that I keep available fo folks who might need it. Twenty caps and its yours. I'll throw in dinner, if you make it thirty."

"Deal." I reached into my belt pouch and took out twenty caps. Giving them to her, I said, "Thank you, Millie. I actually feel a bit more welcome now."

"Don't mention it." she turned towards the back room. "Chatsworth, one wastelander special!"

A robot's voice called back, "One wastelander special coming right up, madam!" A clatter of pans and other kitchen noises rang out as the Mr Handy unit got to work.

Edgar turned to me, saying, "Listen, Forty-Nine, you're in good hands here. Millie's a good old gal. I'm going to see if I can't catch Jerry before he heads off to bed or gets too busy sitting up and drinking and shooting the shit with his brothers. Maybe I can convince them to let me come with. They can be hard at times, but they're basically decent people, and won't send you out on your own. The other founders, I mean. Anyway, I'll see if I can't have a chat with him and get him to go a bit easier on you. You're not so bad, for a normal."

I nodded to him. "Thanks, Edgar. You're not too bad yourself. Have a good night I'm headed off to bed soon as I eat."

"Good plan;. You'll want to get up bright and early." He nodded to Millie, saying, "Night, Millie."

"Good night, Edgar. Don't be a stranger." She watched him go, then said, "One thing you ought to understand about Jerry. Something awful happened when he was younger, and that along with seeing how the world was a whole was headed for hell in the proverbial handbasket has given him a bit of a sour outlook on normals. I'm willing to bet that when you folks at the Vault didn't answer, it made his mood a bit more grouchy towards you than it might have otherwise been," she said.

"I guess I can't blame him," I said, "but I was trying my hardest to get that damned radio fixed for that very reason. We didn't want you all to think we'd suddenly given you all the finger." I picked up my whiskey and sipped it. Not bad. A little rough around the edges, but smoother than most I'd had.

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't take his soupuss behavior personally, honey. That really would have done wonders for his disposition right now. Listen," she said, and leaned in close. Her breath was redolent with whiskey and hand-rolled cigarettes. She obviously liked to sample her own stock. Willing myself to not cough, I listened closely as she said, "That boy built a wall around his own heart that day long ago, not unlike the one around this town. Ain't no one ever breached it, but there's some folks he lets in. His brother, of course. And his friends, the other founders. Said they all used to be in a band, way the hell and gone back in the 1980s. Yet not a day of them past forty. Jerry's only 37, he says. Can you believe it? How is that even possible?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, Millie. But hell, there's super mutants--"

She interrupted me with "Honey, we prefer to be called "Meta Humans'. Since you didn't know any better, I won't beat you to death with your own arm"

"I--oh dear." I must have looked absolutely horrified, for she suddenly roared with laughter. "I'm just joking with you. Anyway, you were saying?"

"Um, well...I was saying there's Meta Humans. and Ghouls. And also things like Harold out near the capitol wasteland. If a ghoul merged with a tree can bring green plants back to the wastes, then why can't there be,, uh, ummm..." I was suddenly uncertain how to classify the other mutants I'd seen. Was it insulting to call them that? Seeing my confusion, Millie said, "They embrace the word 'mutant' and wear it with honor. I think it's all right to call them that."

I nodded. "Okay, then. Why can't there be mutants like them who've somehow survived, and even thrived, long after the war? Makes sense to me." It did. Refusing to accept that the town's founders had been alive since the 1940s, 1950s, and weren't a day olderthan their late 30s to show for it, yet being able to accept that things like that horrifying Dunwich Building (said to be able to turn people into ghouls just by their being there inside it) or space aliens or hell, even mundane monstrosities like Deathclaws seemed a bit like refusing an aspirin after one has swallowed a doorknob.

"I reckon they found some place to hide it out," Millie offered. "Went to ground, and into some kind of sleep, maybe. Or maybe I just read too many old science fiction stories."

Chatsworth hovered out from the kitchen, cayring a tray. On it was a steaming plateful of roasted meat and some vegetables I couldn't quite identify. Asparagus, perhaps. It smelled delicious though, and he placed it on the bar before me, saying, "Here you are, madam. Cooked to perfection and served with a smile. Or it would be, if I had a mouth. Enjoy!" He floated back to whence he came.

Without even caring what it all was or where it had come from, I dug in with gusto. Between mouthfuls, I answered Millie's questions about me and who I was. I told her that my mother had died to a raider attack when I'd been only four years old. "First year being an open Vault," I said. "We might as well hung up a big neon sign like yours out there saying "FREE FOOD, AMMO, AND WOMEN". It was our first year trading with you all, too, I recall. If your caravan folks hadn't been there, we might not have had enough people to ward the raiders off."

I sounded calm and collected, because I was. I still missed my mom some days, but truth be told, I was so young that I barely recalled her. I only rememvbered that she had pretty blonde hair like all the popular ladies of the Vault, her gentle voice and loving ways... and the fact that I'd inherited my ability to make a hardened soldier blush with my language from her. Mom, I recalled, had once let out a string of curses after mole rats had eaten the vegetables she'd been growing in the hydroponics lab so blisteringly hot that it could have fused the computer's delicate electronics. Dad had made a comment about 'little listeners having big mouths', and she'd quieted, but not before I'd gotten my first introduction to phrases like 'cocksucker' and 'thieving little shitweasels'

"Sorry to hear about your mom, honey.," she said, her voice gruff but kind. "My own family are all long dead... except I consider the folks here in town my family now." Pushing aside her sentimental mood, she nodded to my plate. "How's that shrub boar treating you? It's gamy, and sometimes normals like yourself have a time of it when it gets down to their bellies."

The boar was no problem. I had a strong stomach. Shrub boars were the descendants of domestic pigs gone hog wild after the war. The results of radiation, residual FEV, and 'survival of the fittest' had resulted in tough and fearsome wild swine. I nodded to her. "Thanks, Millie. I don't remember her well, only that she was lovely and kind. And her tongue would make even a hardened raider go white. As for the boar, yeah, it's gamy, but that isn't bad. The veggies kind of balance it out." I prodded a green stalk with my fork. "Wild asparagus?"

She grinned. "Close enough. Formerly wild. I kept the seeds and replanted them. Got a little garden out back. Say, I'm always looking for new plants. if while you're out traveling if you spot any interesting new edibles, an you bring me some samples?"

I nodded. "Sure, I think I can manage that."

"Thank you, Shae. Best eat up. You got a long, hard day ahead of you." She left me to finish eating. Once that had been accomplished, I said, "I best get on to bed. It's been a pleasure talking to you."

She smiled, then said, "Why it's been a real pleasure talking to you as well, honey. Haven't met too many normies who talk to me like I'm a person."

"Well... you are," I said, and meant it. "Just different, is all."

She nodded. "Well, so far as I'm concerned, you're welcome in my bar any time."

It was my turn to smile. "Thank you, Millie. Would you point me to the room?"

"Sure thing. Right down the hall, then make a left. She pointed in the direction she described, and I picked up my pack and started off. I heard the door to bar open, hear Millie call out a greeting to someone of which she obviously was fond, but my exhaustion outweighed my curiosity. I continued to my room.

Once there, I had a brief look around. It was about what I'd expect: a small room, with an old gun cabinet in place of a closet for one's posessions, a narrow bed with a hard looking matress, the bedding old but as clean as many washings could make it, the gray wool blanket a little threadbare. There was a wastebasket, and an old two drawer filing cabinet used as a nightstand. It wasn't home, exactly, but what did it matter? I didn't imagine I'd be here long.

I dropped my pack on the bed then sat down to tug off my boots. My socks followed, then my Vault coveralls. Sitting back down on the bed in my boring Vault issue undergarments (gray panties, bra, and singlet vest) I opened my pack to take brief stock of what I had.

I'd been given a basic suit of leather armor--brown leather jacket, shoulder and knee pads, padded trousers--by Vault security to wear should it be needed. I hadn't worn it, nor had I carried the old basic issue 10mm pistol or combat knife. It wouldn't have done to come to Akron armed to the teeth, and get my ass blown away because I looked like one lone, suicidal Raider. Here also was a Vault issue canteen, yellow and blue with "49" on it, and basic survival gear for firestarting, first aid (including some Med-X and stimpaks from Dad), and my mother's old jewelled compact. Her face powder was long gone, but the mirror was still very useable for signalling and the like. I found my hairbrush, sunglasses, and an old hat, similar to the one Edgar wore.

Putting everything back, I found something else. It was an old photo of Dad, David, and myself. Dad was holding me on his hip, as I couldn't have been more than four at the time. Dave stood next to him, and had to have been about seven, maybe eight. I was holding my toy Mr Handy, and Dave had his baseball bat. Seeing the photo made me smile. Knowing that it was my favorite, Dad had taken this out of our family album and given it to me.

On a hunch, I flipped it over. Sure enough, both Dad and Dave had written a note. Dad's said, "We're proud of you, honey. Always remember that. We'll be thinking of you. Love, Dad." Dave's said, "Hey, sis. Lucky you, out seeing the world! Don't piss off the mutants. Love, Dave."

I smiled, thinking wryly, 'Might be too late for that.' I felt my eyes mist up a bit. There wasn't time for that. I missed them both already, but there were more important things to worry about. I turned off the light on my Pipboy and unclipped it from my arm. After setting a wake-up alarm on it for five am, I placed it on the nightstand. I fell asleep within minutes of crawling into bed.

****

Stepping outside in the dim light of early dawn, I got a bit of a surprise. Jerry was here, accompanied by Edgar and another mutant that I recognized only by his family resemblence to Jerry. He wore standard issue wastelander attire, but a white armband with a bold red cross proclaimed what I already knew: this was Bob 2, the town's doctor. Not even the most vicious and bloodthristy raider would kill or harm a doctor or healer of any sort. Bob 2 looked, to my curious gaze, completely normal, and I had to wonder what it was that set him apart from the normies like myself. He caught my look with a smile, and nodded to me, but remained silent.

Jerry stepped forward, looking less suspicious and grouchy than the day before, and even a little chagrined. He said, "it seems I owe you an apology."

"Oh? I'm listening." I said this as Edgar nodded to me, then came to stand by my side, indicating that he'd successfully convinced them to let him come with me.

"Edgar and my brother," he nodded to Bob 2, "both feel I was too hard on you yesterday. In thinking on it, I decided that they were right. I'm sorry."

"I accept your apology. I'm sorry for firing back. Does this mean--" I ventured hopefully, regarding the gates.

He shook his head. "Not yet. And I can't let you off the hook about errands you may have picked up. You wouldn't wish to break your word, now would you?" He smirked slightly, and I wanted to whack it off his face with my hat. Sly bastard. He obviously knew about the little quest Mark had sent me on, and he wanted that wine.

Fuck me with a stick. "Well, no, we couldn't have that now could we?"

His brow furrowed. "Is that sarcasm I hear, spudess?" I saw his lips twitching, though, so he wasn't entirely put out by my show of sass. He said, "If you don't find those particular varieties, I would happily accept a lesser, but still fine, vintage."

"Do I look like a wine expert?" I groused. "What's next, Mark is going to send me after a fully functional Moog? I'm an electronics expert, not a provisioner."

Edgar snorted and turned away, shaking his head. Bob 2's eyes widened a little and he covered his mouth with his hand. I caught the sound of a snicker behind it as he and the ghoul exhanged looks. Jerry folded his arms across his chest, saying, "I didn't ask for any more lip out of you, normie. I came to apologize and tell you my terms."

You can shove your terms up your ass and pack it with sand, I thought, but that wouldn't get me anywhere. His strange cat's eyes flared orange at me, and with the anger, I saw that same odd look of speculation that had been there the day before. What was with him, anyway? Not voicing any of these, I only said, "Well, sarcasm is just one more service I offer." What was with me? I wanted to be good, yet at every turn, I felt an urge to push his buttons and see what made him tick.

"The normie is throwing some serious shade, big brother," Bob 2 teased him. Jerry gave him a sour look. Turning back to me, he said, "Those are my terms, babe. Either you take them or leave them. Meanwhile, my brother has a request of his own." Jerry gave me one final look--it practically blazed in the early morning light--then turned and walked off. My cheeks felt hot and red as I at last recognized the look for what it was.

Swallowing and feeling the dryness in my mouth, I turned to Bob 2. "What can I, uh, do for you?"

He smiled. "Don't mind my brother. Girls don't usually challenge him. Anyway, I'm usually too busy here in town to go out myself, but I am in desperate need of any chems you might find out there, for the pharmacy. Also, if you come across any medicinal herbs, such as echinacea, xander root, broc flower, things like that. We're chem resistant, so we often require double the dosage that you normies do."

"That I can do," I said. "My dad's a biologist, and is a;lso an expert in botany. He taught me what to look for. He's brilliant with plants. The Overseer says my dad can talk them into sprouting."

"Your dad," Bob 2 mused. Suddenly, his hazel eyes lit up. "Your dad is Dr. Paul Richardson? He came here once, about twenty years back. We ended up sharing some scotch he'd brought and talking about herbs and medicine until dawn one night."

But--how--their ages... It blew my mind. Now I had even more questions. Instead, I answered with, "Really? He never told me that, though I do recall he'd come here for a few days shortly after I'd turned eight. He did warn me, well... not to get stroppy. while I was here." I covered my face with my palm. "Not making a great impression, am I?"

"Nope," Bob 2 agreed congenially. He patted my shoulder. "Don't worry about it, though. My brother will calm down by the time you get back. Besides..." he broke into a grin, and now the resemblance was even stronger. "...I think he likes you. Well, don't take too long, you two. I need those chems." Bob 2 turned, hands in pockets, singing softly under his breath.

"Crack that whip... give the past a slip..."

Edgar gave me a disapproving stare. "You sure do know how to win people over, smoothskin."