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."