Delilah walked with a bounce in her step as she led Altan toward the hangar bay that housed Rivet City’s bustling marketplace. Two things fueled her good mood: the new lead they’d just gotten in their search for their father, and the upcoming shopping spree. Her bartering experience had been limited so far—Vault 101 didn’t exactly offer many chances for a young girl to trade goods—and even during their time in Megaton, Altan had handled most of the transactions. But today, with a bundle of scavenged items in hand, she was excited to give it a shot herself.
"Make sure you stay close to me, okay?" Delilah glanced up at her brother and nodded, gripping his hand for safety. He was fully geared—vest, rifle, duster, and all—and carrying his rucksack over his shoulder. She knew Altan planned to barter most of their salvage, hoping to trade it for a laser rifle and new armor. She was determined to help him pick out the armor, too. She’d made him swear on it.
"Where are we going first, bro?" she asked, stepping over the bulkhead frame, one leg at a time.
He glanced down at her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Why don't you choose?"
Delilah grinned, knowing exactly where they were headed. She pulled her brother through the crowded market, weaving around clusters of shoppers until they reached Rivet City Supply, a general store Vera had recommended. The owner, a tired-looking middle-aged man wearing a motorcycle helmet, sat at his counter, tinkering with a dismantled gizmo.
Delilah stepped into view and waved. "Hello, sir. We’d like to trade with you. Miss Weatherly said you’d offer us a fair price for our salvage."
The man paused his tinkering and waved them over. "Howdy, little lady. I'm Seagrave—Seagrave Holmes. And you're right, I'll buy your salvage, but I’d recommend you take a look around first. I’ve got all sorts of things in here."
Delilah nodded and wandered off, leaving Altan with their salvage and their Mark. She lost herself in the clutter of boxes, shelves, and racks stacked with Seagrave’s goods. Most of it didn’t catch her eye, but a few items stood out: a compact can opener, a bundle of unlabeled holotapes, a new scarf, a ratcheting screwdriver, and a pair of aluminum sporks quickly filled her hands. She also found two scrappy-looking books titled Tales of a Junktown Jerky Vendor, one of which had a Brahmin on the cover—an image that made her smile.
"Lily? I'm done here, you ready to go?" Altan called out. Delilah’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice, her eyes lighting up. She quickly made her way back to the storefront, a slight bounce in her step as she carefully deposited her finds onto the counter.
"I'm done," she replied, then turned to the shopkeeper, who looked a bit frazzled from dealing with Altan. "I'd like to buy these, sir. I’ve got some salvage I’d like to trade."
Seagrave grinned, his eyes gleaming with the promise of a deal. What followed was a tense but satisfying quarter-hour of bargaining, bluffing, and back-and-forth haggling. In the end, Delilah walked away with her chosen items, plus a faded blue and gold ribbon that, with a little imagination, almost matched her vault suit.
"You did well, Lily. I’d say you really gave him the business," Altan teased. She huffed, but despite herself, a smile tugged at her lips. Taking his hand again, she pulled him toward the next stop on her list—Flak and Shrapnel’s, the arms vendor.
"No more puns. Now, c'mon, bro, we're getting you armored up," Delilah said, her voice full of determination. Altan followed without complaint. A few people huddled around a fire barrel in front of the shop, chatting idly while they warmed their hands. Inside, the shop was crammed with lockers, ammo cans, display racks, and a table showcasing several firearms. One of the shop's owners, sitting on a couch near the back, nodded as the siblings approached.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
"Need to do some killing? You've come to the right place," the man said, gesturing toward the firearms laid out on the table.
Altan nodded, his eyes drifting to a laser rifle in a nearby gun locker. "Yeah. We're heading into the D.C. ruins to find our father. Heard your shop’s the best for gear."
"And you're bringing a kid with you?" The man sighed at Delilah's determined nod, then stood. "Fuckin' hell. Alright, we’d better get you kitted out. Name’s Flak. Step into my office." He waved the siblings further into the shop. "What exactly are you looking for?"
Altan unslung his Chinese assault rifle and pulled a few bundles of magazines from his rucksack. "I'm looking to trade these in for a laser rifle. We also need better armor—nothing too heavy, though, especially for her. Also, we’ll need ear protection and something to stay in touch if we get split up. We’ve got caps to burn, and Vera vouches for you, so anything else you think we might need, we’re all ears."
The man nodded, and soon the siblings were looking at a spread of weapons, armor, and gear laid out on the table. Flak started pointing to each item, his tone matter-of-fact.
"First up, an AER-9 laser rifle. This one's got a few modifications—boosted capacitors and a beam focuser. Means it'll hit harder and reach farther, but you’ll burn through fusion cells faster and it’ll overheat quicker. Comes with a flashlight and a 6x piggyback recon optic." He raised an eyebrow. "You following so far?"
Delilah shook her head. "What does that do? The piggyback scope, I mean."
Flak picked up the laser rifle and flipped it over to show the optic. "Recon scopes can 'mark' targets. Keep them in your sights for a moment, and it'll track them for a bit. As for the 'piggyback' part—it’s because the red dot sight sits on top of the main scope. This way, you can have both a long-range optic and a quick, short-range sight at the same time."
Delilah made a sound of understanding, and Flak moved on, pointing to a large pistol on the table.
"M&A Thunderstrike," he said. "You’ll want a ballistic backup in case that rifle malfunctions. This baby'll lay a mutie out like a bolt from the blue. It’s chambered in twelve-point-seven, so it kicks like a mule—and that goes both ways."
He gestured toward the next item: a set of combat armor.
"U.S. Army combat armor," Flak continued. "Not much to say about it, except it'll protect you a hell of a lot better than those raggedy plate carriers you're wearing."
He turned to Altan. "I’ll need to modify a set to fit you, which’ll cost extra, but I’ve got a lightweight version here that should work for your sister."
Altan nodded. "Right, sounds good so far." He turned to Delilah, who was staring wide-eyed at the hand cannon. "What do you think?" The girl blinked, startled, then quickly nodded, her gaze still fixed on the weapon. "Yeah, it looks... powerful."
Flak chuckled, then picked up a radio headset and a combat helmet, fitting the headset into the helmet’s interior. “Short-range radio headsets, built for these helmets and with two layers of sound dampening. The over-the-ear design blocks most loud noises, and this switch here activates active noise reduction. Keep the energy cell topped off, and as long as you stay within twenty meters of each other, you should be good to go.”
He turned to Delilah. "You’ve already got your grenade launcher and laser pistol, so all that’s left is practice. I’ll throw in a red dot sight for the laser pistol and some training rounds for your launcher." He paused, rummaging through a nearby bin before pulling out a pair of gas masks and a bundle of filters. "And last but not least, keep these with you at all times. Some parts of the ruins have nasty stuff in the air that you definitely don’t want to breathe. The filters last about half an hour, give or take."
Altan gave the gear a once-over, then turned to Delilah. "You happy with this?" She nodded, her eyes bright with a mix of excitement and determination. After a bit more haggling for extra ammunition, Altan handed over their Mark, the weight of the decision settling heavily in his chest. It wasn’t just caps; it was a step closer to the danger they’d be facing, a silent commitment to the journey ahead.