"Alright, you're good to go. Your kids are waiting for you outside."

Altan nodded, too exhausted to correct the doctor. "Thanks, Doc."

The doctor, a middle-aged woman, gave him a stern look. "Enjoy your stay at Rivet City," she said, pausing for emphasis. "And take better care of yourself. The wasteland isn’t kind to parentless children."

Altan grunted in response, but his heart sank. Delilah was tough, but that wouldn’t stop a bullet. It wouldn’t stop them—the raiders, the slavers, and worse. His jaw clenched as a hot flush of rage spread through his body at the thought of Delilah becoming just another resource for some monster.

"Altan!" The rage melted away as Bryan and Delilah shouted his name in unison, their tired but happy faces crowding around him.

"Hey, you two. You ready to go?" he asked, his tone softening as he smiled at them. The kids nodded eagerly, and Altan led them past the bulkhead door of Rivet City's visitor quarantine. Following the posted signs, they climbed a flight of stairs. He sighed, realizing this would be the first of many.

When they'd first arrived at Rivet City, they'd crossed the drawbridge and been escorted into a stairwell, then led several levels down. After a quick decontamination shower and an actual hot shower, Altan had endured a borderline invasive physical examination. He'd been annoyed by the doctor poking and prodding him—he was just desperate to find a bed and collapse—but it was mandatory for anyone entering the ship. At least it came with the opinion of a medical professional.

The doctor had made it clear: He was simultaneously lucky, an idiot, reckless, and, of course, an idiot—she had mentioned that one more than twice. Altan took it all in stride, even if the ten minutes of being lectured had grated on his nerves. She wasn’t wrong, though.

"What did the doctor say?" Bryan asked.

Altan shrugged. "Two days of bed rest, hearty meals, lots of water. One week of light duty after that. And she told me to stop being an idiot." He paused, then added with a sigh, "More times than I care to remember."

Delilah giggled next to him, her face pressed into his arm, muffling the sound. "She sees the truth."

Altan raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Delilah nodded, a teasing smile on her face as she peeked up at him. "Yeah, that you're a turbo dork."

Altan chuckled and steered the kids up another flight of stairs. By the time they reached the so-called "Upper Deck," Altan was flagging, and the kids weren’t doing much better. They paused to catch their breath.

"You ready for this?" Altan asked Bryan.

The boy hesitated, then shrugged. "I mean, I guess. I’m just really nervous. What if she doesn’t let me live with her?"

Altan nodded. "Then we'll find you somewhere else to live. There's an entire village along the riverbank, another one further north, and one more in the marshes on the other side of the ship." He paused. "But we’ll worry about that later—if we have to. You're a great little man, Bryan. I’m sure Vera will love you. If she doesn't, then it’s her loss."

Bryan nodded, and they followed the signs to the Weatherly Hotel. It turned out to be a collection of rooms with watertight doors, spread across several hallways. Most were sealed shut at this late hour, but a few were cracked open, and faint sounds of conversation could be heard from inside. Altan ignored those and continued following the signs until they reached a large room repurposed into a lobby.

A large curved desk manned by a Mr. Handy stood in the center, flanked by sofas and armchairs arranged near the entrance. A pair of dining tables sat in a far corner, while the remaining corner housed a small kitchen and pantry. Rounding out the room was another bulkhead door, situated across from the lobby entrance and shut tight for the evening, with a rack of keys on the wall next to the door.

"Welcome to the Weatherly. Mister Buckingham at your service!" the bot exclaimed, an odd sight in its bow tie and bowler hat. Delilah stared at the bot in silent wonder, while Bryan held tightly to Altan's hand.

"Good evening, Mr. Buckingham. We're here to see Vera Weatherly," Altan said, gently tugging Bryan forward. "This is her nephew; he needs a place to stay."

The bot hovered in place for a moment, then spun around and floated toward the lone bulkhead door at the back of the lobby. "Mum, you have visitors." It rapped at the door with the nub where it would usually have a rotary saw. After a few moments, the handwheel on the door slowly spun, and the dogging mechanism disengaged with a muffled grunt from the other side. The door cracked open, revealing a bedraggled woman with blonde hair who poked her head out, blinking tired eyes in the soft light of the lobby.

She did a double take at the sight of them—heavily armed and exhausted—and quickly pulled her head back in. "Miss Weatherly," Altan called out.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The woman reappeared, stepping fully out this time, clad in slippers and a long bathrobe over her nightgown. She carried a combat shotgun, held at a low ready, and wore a plate carrier over her bathrobe.

"Good evening and welcome to the Weatherly Hotel. I am your hostess, Vera Weatherly, and I would very much like to know why three heavily armed strangers have come calling for me at this hour of the night."

Altan blinked at her owlishly before sighing. "This is your nephew, Bryan Wilks. He's the sole survivor of Greyditch, which was overrun by mutated fire ants created by some jackass with too many smarts and not enough common sense. He needs a place to live—preferably one with an adult who will care for him." He paused. "Little man's been through a lot these last few days."

A tense moment passed, then Vera’s eyes widened. She lowered the shotgun, letting it dangle across her chest, and quickly moved toward Bryan, dropping to her knees to meet him at eye level.

"Oh, poor dear," she murmured, her voice softening. "I know what it’s like to be alone. I’d be honored to take you in." She looked up at Altan, her gaze steady as she gently clasped Bryan's hands in her own. "Don't worry. I have everything I need to keep him fed, healthy, and, most importantly, safe."

Altan eyed the dangling shotgun with a chuckle. "Yeah. I can see that."

Vera flushed slightly, standing up and ushering them toward one of the dining tables. "Out here, everyone has the right to defend themselves—man or woman." She sat Bryan at the table, fussing over him, gently taking the Chinese assault rifle from his hands and setting it on a nearby table.

"Come, sit down. I'll have Buckingham set out some snacks, on the house." Altan and Delilah let out relieved sighs. Altan sat Delilah across from Bryan, then took a seat next to her.

As Buckingham floated over to the pantry, rifling through it with mechanical precision, Vera sat next to Bryan, her gaze shifting between him and the others. "Now, tell me everything. Starting with why my nephew was carrying an assault rifle."

Altan gestured toward Bryan. "He was exercising his right to defend himself. Anyway, we—" He cut off as Delilah tugged at his arm.

"You should let Bryan explain," she said, her voice drowsy. "We did a lot of cool and scary stuff, but you'll just explain it all boring-like."

Altan frowned but shrugged. "You're up, little man."

An hour flew by as Bryan excitedly recounted the last two days, his voice filled with a mix of awe and adrenaline. He spoke with the unrestrained enthusiasm of a child reliving the adventure of a lifetime, his words tumbling out as he detailed the danger, the excitement, and the people they met along the way. Vera listened intently, her expressions shifting from disbelief to concern, then finally to pride as Bryan spoke. Intermittent breaks for snacks and Altan's occasional interjections—mostly to clarify or scale down Bryan’s more dramatic embellishments—kept the flow of the conversation grounded. By the time Bryan finished, Vera was visibly moved. She took his hands in hers, giving him a warm, steady look.

"My goodness, you really have been through it." Vera shook her head, her voice softening. "Well, I can promise you won’t have to deal with giant ants or horrid super mutants while you’re staying with me. That’s a guarantee."

She shifted her gaze to Altan and Delilah, her eyes softening further when she saw Delilah softly snoring, leaning against Altan. "And you two." Altan met her gaze with tired eyes—bloodshot and tinged red from the concussive blast earlier that day.

"You risked your lives bringing Bryan to me," she continued, her tone now serious but understanding. "While I don’t appreciate the danger he was in, I can’t blame you. It’s dangerous out there, especially for children. I’ve been fortunate enough to live in Rivet City most of my life, but I still remember how it was before."

Altan nodded, rubbing his eyes as he let out a tired sigh. "Yeah, I get it. It’s been a long couple of days." He paused, glancing down at Delilah, who was still half-asleep beside him, and then back to Vera. "I’d love to keep chatting, but we really need to find a place to crash for the night. You wouldn't happen to have any rooms available, would you? We’re a little light on caps, but we’ve got some barter goods we can trade."

"How long are you planning on staying?"

"A couple of weeks, probably. That blast messed me up something proper, so the doc told me to take it easy for a week or so, and we're also here on business."

"Two weeks, you say?" Vera’s brow furrowed in thought as she tapped her chin. Altan nodded, and she paused for a moment, considering. "Well, I do have rooms available, but since you've brought Bryan to me, I refuse to take your caps."

Altan opened his mouth to protest, but Vera raised a hand to stop him. "Wait here, and I'll have a room ready for the two of you. While you're here, you can stay for free—on one condition."

Altan raised an eyebrow. "One condition?"

Vera gave him a mischievous smile. "Don't overstay your welcome, don't be disruptive, don't break anything, and make sure you join us for at least one meal a day. My prices are a bit higher than Mr. Staley's, but I can assure you, the quality's well worth it."

Altan snorted, his lips twitching into a wry grin. Delilah stirred awake with a soft whine, rubbing her eyes.

"That's how they get ya," Altan muttered. Vera simply smiled, her gaze warm and knowing.

"If you are good guests," Vera continued, "I'll give you a discount on your future visits and make sure there's always a room available for you." She handed her shotgun to Buckingham, who took it and stowed it in her room. Then, she rifled through the key rack next to her bedroom door. "Ah-ha! Come right this way."

Altan shook Delilah, who had drifted back to sleep, and the pair sluggishly followed Vera down the hall, their shoulders slumped, feet dragging. The woman cheerfully explained the details of their room as they walked. "This is one of my premium rooms. Normally, I charge one hundred and twenty caps per night, but as I said, you don't need to worry about that while you're here. For future stays, I'll only charge you one hundred caps."

Altan mumbled a tired "Much obliged," and Vera continued, undeterred. "Your room is equipped with a large bed, a table for two, a dresser, and a footlocker. If you need a cot, just let me know." Altan nodded, and she pressed on. "There's also a small fridge and a working television, though you'll need to bring your own holotapes or rent them from me." She flashed a dazzling smile before unlocking the door with a large key, which she handed to Altan. "I hope you enjoy your stay." She yawned, daintily covering her mouth, and with a final wave, bid them farewell.

Delilah stumbled over to the bed, slowly shedding her gear as Altan shut the door behind them. As she collapsed on the bed, Altan quietly dropped his rucksack by the foot of the bed, and piled his and Delilah's gear in and around the footlocker. He sat on the bed next to his sister, intending to rest his feet for just a moment.

Around him, the quiet creak of the ship echoed softly, like a lullaby meant only for weary travelers.