Chapter 2: But the Crying

Jon felt the vault lift come to a grinding and screeching halt. Up a short set of stairs, the door proper began its screeching opening. Air currents from the pressurized vault assaulted Jon in the lift entry, and it smelled of a graveyard. Jon was angry at whoever did this.

He did care now, with no other purpose than to survive. Someone broke into this vault, killed these people that probably watched the bombs go off, and didn’t even have to common courtesy to do a maintenance check to make sure their backup would survive until they came for her. A mother that watched her husband die, baby stolen, and then probably suffocated when her pod cycled one last time.

It didn’t matter how much of a parody of a culture this place was, how gameified his Pip-Boy made things seem, the silly propaganda on the billboard nearby, how callous the wasteland had become. These were real people that watched their world blow up, however mad it was, and then died slowly to the whims of others without a chance of ever surviving the end of it all. He wouldn't stand for it. Not then, not now.

He passed the scientist, dead by the gate controls. His sleeve was rolled up, but with no Pip-Boy around his skeletal arm. Jon glanced at his again as a giant roach crawled from under the grate and tried to leap at Jon. A quick boot mashed it’s head into the concrete, exploding it and sending wet insect viscera flying away for a foot or two.

He had his Delta at the ready in the close corridors. The door to the left took him straight back to the bank containing the broken family. He passed and searched a couple other banks on his way, this facility housing a several dozen people, men women and children. Jon found it odd there weren't more, and wondered what the foul play was. It was enough for sanctuary, but this was supposed to be a shelter, or was it. He saw no pods empty of corpses, meaning their early warning systems worked, and they were filled to capacity. This was supposed to be a shelter right? All this doomsday engineering for far less than you need for a viable local population?

Jon didn’t know. He would figure out after he was done paying respect to the dead. He saw the husband with a bullet hole in his head. While the cryogenic process had stopped, the refrigeration hadn't, and everyone was still mostly preserved. He turned and looked at the mother. Her expression was pained, but not from her death. Her tears cut clean swaths though the frost on her face, the salt crystals preserving them. There was a bit of blood on the glass where she tried to beat her way though. There was more on most other pods. One thing Jon saw above all was determination, where most where desperate and fearful. Her dead eyes were not so dead. It was determination that if she ever walked out of that pod, she would butcher whoever committed this crime, however hopeless that determination was.

It was a look he saw in many dead. Anger and rage at the dying light. He said, “You never gave up, girl, for however many minutes you had to pray for rescue. Even when you died. Now I’m here in your place. I’ll find who did this. All of it.”

He turned on his heel and marched to the terminal near the door of the pod bay. The logs confirmed what Q said. The Great War started and ended on October 23 2077. The pods were activated after their occupants entered them. In 2227 the pods were cycled, and one opened. The rest were left as they were while Nora’s pod was reactivated. Her pod then failed in 2232. there were no other logs except to say that people were dying and dead. There was something else going on here, and now he had to find it while clearing the rest of the vault.

A few more rad-roaches was all that stood in his way. He stepped though the vault with precisely 10 shots of his Delta, happy the hearing protection on his helmet wasn't defective. A taste of a fountain said the water was pure. A security log detailed a rebellion and exodus of the vault’s staff. Some beer bottles, and his canteen, were filled with the fresh water and sealed with pieces of cork they had for the purpose. Jon picked up an 8-bit game holotape that slotted into his Pip-Boy, dodged a couple more roaches and sparking generators, and then he eventually found his way to near the end, with the overseers terminal sitting before him. The overseer had obviously shot himself with a ridiculous looking pistol, chambered in 10mm.

He moved the skeleton, and was sitting to process what he was reading. He had seen depths of cruelty, but this was something else. The vault was a sick social experiment. The Overseer thought it was on the pods. The pods mostly likely work, and Nora’s malfunction a fluke. No other actual malfunctions were listed in over 120 years. Experimental pods malfunction more. The experiment was on them. How long could they hold out, while taking care of their charges, with little supply and stressful conditions.

It wasn't long. Only a year before they ran out of food, if that. The last entry in the security log had no date. This was no shelter, and there was no way the government wasn’t involved in this experiment. Vault-Tech probably was the government. The only questions were how many other vaults were out there, what their experiments were, and how much did or do their overseers collaborate with it. How many died or were tortured after being given false hope for a future underground. He would find these people too, if any existed. They no doubt did, succeeding generations of whatever death cult built this place.

There was some ridiculous cryo-weapon in a case, and Jon didn’t care for it, it being the personal project of the disgusting Overseer. The Overseer did have a comfortable bed, fully stocked toiletries, private bath, and preserved cigarettes, along with several comics and magazines, one a skinner. He would read those later. The Overseer had 3 cartons of smokes when he shot himself. There was a box where the rest came from. This place would be a good hole to hide in, if needed. One only a few could access.

He took a silver titanium lighter and lit the stick, inhaling the foreign tobacco. Ironically, it didn’t have any of the chemical additives in ones from home, and was better tasting overall. He sat back down at the desk to smoke. Most drugs didn’t work on Augments. A couple did though. Nicotine, its cousin caffeine, and marijuana. It had to do with how the body processed those drugs, and his ultimately Human physiology having augmented receptors specifically tuned for their processing that don’t exist for other drugs in any Human. He put his boot thought the skull of the overseer, and used a bigger piece of the dried bone as an ashtray.

Done with his rest, he walked into the final hall back to the entrance. A couple more roaches made their home there, and a couple more 10mm hollow-points ripped though their exo-skeletons, spilling their guts into the grave they shared with the dwellers of this vault.

Once he ended up back at the entrance, he completed the circuit again, taking all the loot that would be useful, and would fit in his so far mostly empty ruck. Tools, more vault-suits, cups and mugs, a couple small tool boxes, ammo and syringes with some mystery serum in them. They had a red cross, but he wasn’t going to trust those meant the same thing, or ones that came from a Government experiment vault. He scoffed. His US had it’s own dark history, though what this one did is a different level of barbarism. Did the US start this war? Just so they could fill their vaults? It wasn't a question he could answer now.

Before leaving he looked at the roaches. Not at this moment, he thought. He would start with the large mole like rats that popped up around the observation post. He felt them coming as the borrowed in the ground towards him, so they proved no threat to his quick reactions and superhuman senses.

After a screeching ride up to the surface he packed his loot in the empty crate, finding some medicine and other bits in the area around the entrance, and lashed the mole rats to their tops with rope laying around. He grabbed the handles on the side, and began dragging the crates of loot and ammo down the hill towards sanctuary.

Alone the path were the rattling bones, no doubt where people died trying to force their way past the fence. There was no indication of what stopped them, with no shell casings, and tracks long eroded away. There were a few herbs and plants along the path, and picked them as he got closer and closer to the foot bridge across the stream. A small rusted tricycle sat in the stream, the water flowing around it and continuing the process of oxidation and decay.

He could feel the radioactivity of the water on his exposed face as close as he was. Unless he could salvage some kind of purifier, he would have to rely on 111 for his fresh water supply. The problem really was the radiation. He would trust his gut even on pond scum if he absolutely needed water. He would not trust drinking radiation. Food was going to be an issue, Jon needing three times more on average, but he knew a recipe that should be doable here. There was also a farm right there, and he would be able to trade.

He dropped the crates at the foot of the bridge and advanced into the town with his eyes and ears everywhere. He could hear the robot and other insects in the town. His rifle was also at a low ready, closer to high than low. The bot noticed Jon with his side eye, and the iris closed in an angry expression.

It turned its while body, and began an unfriendly approach. It said with a ridiculous British accent, “Another raider eh? You’ll get the what for like the rest!”

Jon lowered his rifle, and held up his trigger hand, “I’m not a raider!”

The bot halted in his tracks and Jon could almost see steam as he processed. He seemed very animate for a servant bot. He said, “You’re not a raider? No, you’re too clean. My apologies sir. If I may, with all of that gear are you with the Army? Have you come for us?”

Jon shook his head, “No. I just found this stuff up near vault 111.”

The bot nodded, “111! that's where the Master, Misses, and young Shaun went when the bombs fell! A bit over 210 years ago now, give or take a couple years for the rotation of the Earth, and a few dings to the ol’ chronometer. I’m not under any delusions, sir, but did you happen to go in? You have a Pip-boy. Are their descendants okay, do they need their faithful Mr. Handy? Please I must know, sir.”

Jon gave him a sympathetic look, and the bot read it from a mile away, taking a downward cast. Jon said, “Sorry, friend. The vault was never safety. It was a cryo facility, and a social experiment on the staff meant to maintain it. Probably Government, though unconfirmed. Then someone broke in, killed Nate, stole Shaun from his arms, left the rest except Nora to die, and Nora’s pod failed a couple years later. It was about 60 years ago according to the vault logs.”

The bot began to cry, even with lubricant leaking out of it’s eyes. It took a resting position on the ground, its rocket dead, and spent the next several minutes coming to terms with his loss. This was much more than a robot, and Jon took a knee beside him, with a hand on his chassis.

He said, “I probably wasn't the most sensitive about that.”

The bot said though his sobs, “No, no, sir. Its like a band-aid. It has to be ripped off. Thank you for telling me honestly, most wouldn't bother, even before the bombs. How could they! How dare they! All of them! The reds! The Government! Whoever the hell stole young Shaun! Damn them all! Your right by the way. Vault-Tech was a government corporation. The family was let in because of Master Nate’s military service. Miss Nora finished the paperwork not 20 minutes before. She was planning a visit to the park with Master Nate. The Government knew what was happening.”

Jon said, “I’ll find them. I don’t think I’ll find Shaun this long on, but whoever did it wont survive me. Those people didn’t deserve that. Not after what happened.”

The bot sniffled, “Thank you sir, you truly are a good person, something in short supply these days. I am loath to admit I have nothing to pay you for these services. I don’t even know much about what goes on outside sanctuary. I know the station still stands, Concorde is empty last I checked, Lexington has a rougher crowd, and there is a small farm nearby.”

Jon said, “I don’t need payment. I just got to the Commonwealth and don’t have anything better to do anyway. What I saw in there made me angry, and my anger is usually free.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The bot scoffed, “I believe you sir. Enough feeling sorry for myself! How about I accompany you on the road. I don’t know much, but I suspect it’s a bit more than you about the Commonwealth. I will serve you, while we find the scalawags that committed these crimes.”

Jon smiled, “Sure, but one thing first. You survived out here for 200 years on your own. You are no one’s servant. I don’t want to just pull you away from your home at the drop of a hat, so, do you really want to?”

The bot thought about it for a moment, more than a robot should if they were following their programming. More proof of Jon’s point. He said, “Thank you, sir. Most just see us as tools to use, and we’re happy to serve, but thank you for your consideration. I can do no less for my lost family. I have to go out there with you. You can of course decline, as my programming now lists you as an admin.”

Jon smiled, “Modifying your program on the fly. Incredible. Are you an average representation of your model?”

The bot was happy to extol himself and his kind, “While Mr. Handy units are the pride of General Atomics, every one, I am happy to say Master and the Missus made sure I had upgraded programming, not a cheap addition. I am a cut above as they said. Most are happy to help, but they are not always the sharpest tools in the box. I suspect my software glitched however, and I am technically defective. A normal Mr Handy cannot designate admins themselves.”

Jon said, “Me too. You can see my eyes. What are your other capabilities?”

The bot said, “As you can see, I have a pincer, good either in fine manipulation or brute force, a saw for trimming hedges or limbs, and a flamethrower for charring BBQ or raiders. Terrain isn't a problem, speed isn’t a problem. My chassis isn't armored like Gutsy, but it is sturdy. My eyes are as sharp as a hawk. I can also condense fresh water from the atmosphere for you. About a can per day, sir. Finally, I have basic first aid protocols, but a Ms. Nanny unit specializes in that respect.”

Jon nodded, “A lot of short range firepower, and useful support functions. Stick to cover, and fast ambush. Hit and run. I don’t want to see you charging though a kill zone and staying there.”

The bot nodded, “Of course, sir. As I said, Master Nate was a veteran of the Army. He fought in Anchorage against the reds, and was wounded near the end of the campaign. We have discussed at length my tactics, should such tactics be necessary. Poor Master Nate. He would have killed those scoundrels, I know it. Ms. Nora would have too. She was a volunteer Home-guard, and trained monthly.”

The cold war of course went hot before going fully nuclear. Jon said, “She was locked up, and he was disoriented in a way training nor experience ever could have prepared him for. Whoever did it knew what they were doing.”

The bot said, “They would have to, just getting in there. Either though subterfuge, or finding a Pip-Boy like yours. What is your name, sir? I rudely charged you, and we have never been properly introduced.”

Jon held out his hand, “Jon Singh.”

The pincer took it and they shook as equals, “Codsworth, Mr. Singh. It is truly a pleasure to meet someone civilized. I’ve kept the rubbish away, but that is all I’ve really interacted with since it happened. Save a couple, the Abernathy’s are stand up folks, and so is Trashcan despite our public rivalry.”

Jon scoffed and said, “You’ve made it this far. All you have to do is keep going. My plan is to gather anything useful near that workbench, then I’ll personally be setting up shop at the red rocket.”

Codsworth said, “Excellent idea, sir. I’ve done my best, but the neighborhood has seen better days. I spent the first ten years trying to wax the fallout out of the vinyl. And the car! The caaar! How do you polish rust! Anyway, the station is a good shape. It’s still sturdy as ever, and has its own compliment of things useful. One thing however, the bench off to the side is a workbench, you are referencing a workshop.”

Jon asked, “Okay, that’s what my Pip-Boy connects to. What’s the difference?”

Codsworth said, “I don’t have have a Pip-Boy operating system, so I cant tell you there. What I can tell you is the workshop has a small manufactory in the bottom that workbenches do not have. It’s not as robust as a true plant press, but if, say, you want to make a standard bed frame, and have the materials, it will make the frame parts and screws so you can put it together. Any modifications can be done with the tools on top, or though the program at connected terminal, or your Pip-Boy I assume. Master Nate often spent time with the neighbor tinkering. They never served together, but they did both serve.”

Jon said, “Fuck, an industrial printer, all in a hobbyist bench. Wild even by my imagination. Are there any transistors in you? Ive seen way to many vacuum tubes for this to be possible. When were they invented?”

Codsworth said, “Indeed sir. They were invented about twenty years before the bombs. They were always seen as more unreliable than tube circuits, but that was always more perception than fact. There is a tiny bit of fact, admittedly.”

Jon said, “Fucking hell, then that’s the difference.”

Codsworth said, “I’m not sure what you mean sir.”

Jon said, “Suffice to say I have a different recollection of history. They should have been invented around the late 40’s”

Codsworth said, “They were, sir.”

Jon replied, “1940s.”

Codsworth said, “Oh, my. Are you sure you're alight sir? Transistors are integral to my circuity, and I’m confident in their year of invention.”

Jon nodded, “Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks for asking. How did you survive the bombs? You should have been fired by the EMP.”

Codsworth said, “Many things were. Watch any cars that aren't complete rust buckets, as their safety circuits are gone and one bump could lead to nuclear travesty. My core is however heavily shielded against my fusion power plant. Anything shielded is still good, and there are still cards and chips out there to be found or traded. Things were built to last, even though the apocalypse, if anything.”

Jon said, “Alright, lets get to it Codsworth. I hear some insects around so tread cautiously.”

Codsworth said, “The very picture of it, sir!”

They took to the task, and cleared Sanctuary of hostiles, before clearing it of any potential loot. There were a few bloat flies, a few roaches, and on Jon’s order Codsworth stormed into the tight confines of on of the house they were sheltered in. Jon stayed back and observed the demonstration. His saw was still razor sharp, cutting one in half and spilling the thing on his most hated neighbor’s filthy floor. Say what you want about his family's house, it did not have leaf piles in the master bedroom. His arm bearing rotated, and a flamethrower fired the second crisping it black, and offending Jon’s nose even more than it already was. The last attack came from the pincer, doing much the same as the saw.

Jon was impressed with what he saw. All three attacks came in as many seconds once he closed the gap. Codsworth came out and asked, “What do you think, sir?”

Jon said, “Good show. Try leading with the flamethrower. Lets loot this house, and grab my crates while we talk.”

Codsworth processed a moment while getting underway, “Ah, yes. Throw my enemy off balance first with what range I do have, then strike the killing blow when I close the gap. I must say sir, I am not that committed to the thing, and there are official General Atomics side-grades to my appendages. Perhaps a laser weapon like on a Gutsy, or even Nanny. You would need a specific workbench for that though. You can do it freehand,”

Jon finished, “But you wouldn't be comfortable with that. I probably wouldn't be either. I would be like surgery with a stone tool.”

Codsworth said, “I am not. Maintenance is one thing, but tampering with my bits is another. The bench has a precise actuator arm for installs and disassembly, as well as a diagnostics terminal. You can actually build it at the shop, so long as you have its materials. It is a bit of an investment, even before the war. Master Nate was going to work on it with the Neighbor. The Neighbor paid for most of the setup, but Master Nate chipped in for the right to tinker with him. And to build the bench for me when they learned the system. I was with them when they both sealed the deal, spit and everything. The neighborhood was just built, and everyone was walking the town for a meet and greet. Now that I think of it, this was a planned neighborhood from the start.”

Jon said, “Anyone that built a vault like that had a long standing plan. I’m not convinced they didn’t fire first. Maybe even bombed themselves first to set it off.”

Codsworth said, “I’m not either, knowing what I now know. Those bastards.”

Another voice cut into the conversation. The man was good to sneak up on them both like that. Though you had to be in the wasteland, Jon reckoned, and he got sloppy letting the stranger do it. He was being a tad arrogant, thinking that this place was safe because he poked around a bit.

“Hello there. I don’t mean you fellas any harm, just want to talk.”

Codsworth jumped a bit, and shot an eye out. His others were still covering the rest of the 360 degrees, like Master Nate always said to do, but his front was firmly in the conversation, and the man came from behind Mr. Singh. He said, “To clean for a raider, sir.”

Jon turned around, and the stranger said, “Yep, and Nope. Not a raider. You got a lot of hardware on you, slick, and a sturdy bot at your side. I reckon you both can help me out. I’m willing to pay, but you got to hear me out first on the payment. If it’s not good enough, I’ll walk fair and square.”

Jon gave the man a once over, and made a show of it. The man accepted this readily. Jon judged instantly he was here on good faith, and Codsworth was right. The clean man was wearing sturdy riding boots, worn and resoled, but still fit for a wasteland king. He also had sturdy hide pants, tucked into them as a blue patterned shirt with rolled sleeves, a vest over it all, a red bandanna with goggles on his neck, and a big iron with a yellow cartridge where the wheel should be on his hip. He also had is own Pip-Boy on his offhand. His gun hand has hovering non-offensivly.

So was Jon’s. He said, “Hearing you out on the payment and walking away if I don’t like it is the bare minimum. You know, if you had a hat, you’d complete the look.”

The man scoffed, “The look is what I was going for, but the hat just makes me look ridiculous. And what I really mean is hear hear me out. Its a little bit I do. A sales pitch, though I’m not really selling it, more explaining it for the layman.”

Jon said, “Try a flat brim, squatter top, feather in the band and everything. And no pitch. Speak plainly. Assume I’m as intelligent as you are.”

The stranger said, “Thanks for the recommendation, slick. And Fair enough. I don’t like to brag, but it’s a fact most aren’t. Sitting at an 8 on my Pip-Boy. I was lucky, and got some real education as a kid. Its obvious now you did too. Here, gonna pull this with my gun hand all slow like, catch.”

Jon caught the device in his own gun hand. The stranger crossed his arms while they continued the ritual of trust building. The round device had a screen slightly smaller than a Pip-Boy, with buttons on it for navigation and selection. It also had an antenna coming from the top, lights to flash, and a decent weight.

The stranger said, “I see you’re pilling loot up near the shop there, and this place’s a decent size for only one man and a bot. You setting up a settlement? If so, that’ll help you.”

Jon eyed him for a second more, and decided to trust him. “The Red Rocket was my plan. You’re right, this place is too large for just me and him.”

The stranger said, “And doesn’t have the concrete roof. It’s a good place. I was looking at it myself, and checking here as well since it was so close. I got driven out of my shop in Concorde, yah see. Only been there a month or two, still getting my bearings really. That’ll still help you, even if you’re just setting up yourself. I was using em before the raiders came. To many for me to handle myself, and they came to quick. Like they were lookin for something, or settin up for a caravan ambush.”

Trust but verify. He glanced to Codsworth. He said, “I’ll admit sir, the last time I checked was a few years ago. There's a pile of fuel for my flamethrower on the edge of Lexington at the Super-Duper mart, and I go only when needed. It’s not often as the tool is very efficient, and the tanks a good size. Its also why I’m so not committed to it. It is a logistical strain, as Master Nate put it.”

Jon shrugged it off. He still trusted the man, “What is it, and what’s it do?”

The stranger said, “It’s called an ASAM sensor. Advanced Survey and Activity Monitoring. Made by Rob-Co. What it does, is make it so people that have never built nothin can do it without your input or instruction. It gives the instructions based on a program, even how to use the tools if required. There's a couple different plot types. Residential, agricultural, and industrial. Bed, food, and scrap. Three things near everyone needs to survive. It has some useful plans pre-programed, tests from before the War, and a couple I programmed myself, like diggin a well. I suspect it was something like a G.E.C.K, something to use after the bombs fell. Where it really shines, is farming.”

Jon said, “Just based on what I know so far, it monitors soil health, plant health, growth rate, water, radiation, etc. etc. All on one device. People that can’t farm, now can. People that can farm are even better. Incredible.”

The stranger smiled warmly, “Slick, you have no idea how good it is to hear you say that. I gave em to one group and they were usin it as a hoe before I left, I shit you not. Because you have a workshop, and Pip-boy, you could theoretically do something crazy like a greenhouse, or hydroponics bay, with it tellin you how to build it all from scratch. Its a little harder to use without the workshop, but still good for a plain ol’ field, and the other plots as long as you can gather the materials as close as possible. It can take raw soil, and tell you how to make it fertile without needin the decades of experience on how to do it. Just like you said. Those who can’t, now can.”

Jon said, “Any disadvantages to it?”

He said, “With a Pip-Boy, not really. I have a configuration holotape you can use to update it on the fly, if you want to say change a crop in your farm plot, the floor plan of your shack. Otherwise you need it connected to a terminal, and while they're plenty out there, its still not the easiest thing to get or afford. If nothing else, you got to lug the thing back to wherever, and that makes you vulnerable on dangerous ground. Workshops are also somewhat rare to get its true capabilities. The only other disadvantage is the network is short range, with no communications between settlements. I’m working on a solution for mass updates and monitoring, but I need my shop back first. What do you say, slick? I’ll give you a full box for your trouble, that's 20 ASAMs to set up everything you need to make that station livable, and self sustaining.”

Jon put the sensor in his ruck, and said, “We have a deal, cowpoke.”

“Name’s Jake.”

“Jon”

The two men approached and shook hands, completing the alien trust building exercise. It wasn't really that alien, so it came easy to Jon.