Chapter 5 “It saves two lives.”
Robco had been working on what he called his famous stew for half an hour. Pouring rich, brown liquids from clear plastic containers into the pot suspended over the fire. While the boy kept the flames fed with gnarled branches. Strange circular cuts of purple vegetables. Square chunks of pink flesh. Spoonful after spoonful of coarse yellow powder. Pinches of strong smelling spices and glugs from a bottle he would drink from when he thought no one was looking. All mixing over the fire, John had never smelt anything like it.
With Robco’s attention diverted, John became the sole focus of Wallace’s curiosity. He hadn’t spent any time around children since leaving the family deck. He’d forgotten how direct and persistent they could be, especially the bright ones. Wallace fired questions out.
“How long did you live underground?”
“All my life.”
“You never went outside?”
“Not till this morning.”
“What happened when you saw the sky?”
“I felt dizzy and nearly fainted.”
“What did you do in the Vault?”
“Built more space to live in.”
“Did you like it there?”
“No.”
“Is that why you left?”
“Wallace!” Robco interjected. “The man’s had a day. Three more questions, make ‘em good ones, then let him be and John you don’t have to answer.” The boy of no more than eight sat back in his chair, weighing his allotted questions. After a pause he asked his first.
“Do you have any family there?” Wallace asked.
“Not really, not since my father died a decade ago.” John answered honestly.
“My dad died too…the bad people got him.” The boy looked down at his chest and replied, almost in a whisper. John knew who the bad people were.
“I’m sorry.” John replied, knowing nothing he could say would comfort the boy.
“Are there bad people in the Vault too?” The boy asked. John thought about his answer.
“Yes, but not like out here. The bad people in the Vault think they’re good people. They don’t understand what it’s like to work twelve hour shifts, every day, to build things we need but don’t get to use while they live in luxury.” John let slip more than he meant to. Robco stopped stirring his famous stew and looked John right in the eye.
“The more things change, the more they stay the same.” The older man sounded empathetic, but John didn’t understand. “Alright let’s eat.”
The boy retrieved three tin bowls from the wooden box of cooking supplies. He held them out one at a time for his grandfather to ladle the thick stew into. He gave the first bowl to John who held it for a moment.
John breathed in the entirely new aromas of rich, brown stew. Filled with enticing chunks of different shapes and colours. The boy held the other two bowls while Robco settled back into his folding chair, made of canvas and supported by steel pipe.
The older man fished through the box of cooking supplies by his side, retrieving three wooden spoons and something wrapped in a white cloth. The boy handed John a spoon then took his seat. “Now this is real food, dig in boys.”
“Thanks Pop Pop.” Wallace said, licking his lips.
“Thank you, Robco, Wallace, thank you.” John said, thinking of the meagre dinner he’d be eating right now if it wasn’t for the generosity of the older man. And his desire to raise a boy who would make the world better.
“You’re welcome, smells better than mushrooms I’d wager. Eat up now, long day tomorrow.” Robco stirred his stew, releasing traces of steam.
John took the wooden spoon and used the carved edge to cut a chunk of white flesh in half, while scooping up the rich brown liquid. He put it in his mouth savouring the new smoky, spicy flavours he didn’t have words for. He took another spoonful, and another, and another. Each one bringing new textures, smells, flavours that competed against each other to be tasted.
It was the finest food, the only real food, John had ever tasted. Robco unwrapped the white cloth to reveal something else. “Pass one to John, make sure he don’t take your fingers too.” He said passing the contents to the boy who giggled as he offered the small light brown shape to John. Soft, yet firm in his hand, he went to bite it until the boy stopped him.
“Dip it in the stew.” John pushed the soft light brown circle into the rich brown liquid, letting it soak for a moment. As the boy had done, biting it in half. The new texture melted in his mouth providing a nourishing taste.
“Oh wow, what is that stuff?” John asked, spraying crumbs.
“Bread. Momma made it, good right.” The boy answered, having the manners to finish chewing first.
“So good.” John finished his bowl and leant back in his chair. “That was the best thing I’ve ever eaten, thank you.” The boy and his grandfather smiled as they ate theirs.
“You’re welcome. But no offence John, after tasting what you were gonna eat that isn’t saying much.” Robco laughed, so did the boy, so did John although he didn’t really know why.
They sat quietly for a while. The ever present, deafening silence kept at bay by the crackling of the fire. Punctuated by the rolling of gears as the bots scanning the darkness around them.
“Bedtime Junior, wash up brush your teeth, and you can read your book for a bit. Not too late though, long road ahead.” The boy headed to the back of the truck.
“Wallace,” John said. “You have one question left if you want to ask it?” The boy paused for a moment.
“The computer on your arm, what’s it called? A pipboy?” He asked.
“That’s a question.” John said with a quick smile. “Yeah it’s a pipboy, go on.”
“Will you show me how it works?” John looked around at the salvaged truck, refitted with powered metal treads. At the four clanking robots silently standing guard in the night that the boy controlled with his voice.
“Wallace, I think maybe you can show me how it works.” John was only half joking. The boy smiled and went the few feet to the back of the truck, undid the canvas and slid in to begin his bedtime routine.
“You can take the cab tonight. You might have to stick your feet through the window but you’ll be comfy. I’ll get in the back with Junior, the bots’ll wake us if there’s trouble.” John nodded, he had nothing to fear from them.
Robco handed John a metal cup then filled it from the bottle he’d been drinking from while cooking. Light brown liquid with a sharp smell. Robco threw his cup down in one gulp. John did the same, only to cough and splutter while his throat burned.
“Smooth ain’t it.” Robco said with a grin. “That’s whiskey, I make it myself.” He poured John another, “Mix it with that cola.” John did, finding once sharp edges rounded with surgery sweetness. Burning replaced with warmth in the chest and lightness in the limbs.
“So, why did you leave that Vault?” Robco asked him. John thought about lying. There didn’t seem any reason not to tell Robco, but keeping secrets had become second nature to him by now. John leant forward and clicked the radio on through his pipboy. It came through just clearly enough to make out slow music, but not much else.
“I need to get there, to access their broadcast system, the lady said it was...” John trailed off as the man seemed to know something.
“The Tower.” Robco said, “I know where that is, Shadowtown. It’s about a day and half west of here, it’s where I’m going to sell these bots.” John felt hope, real hope. He worked up the courage to ask even more of the older man who’d already saved and fed him. “I’ll give you a ride.” Robco casually offered anyway
“Thank you.” John didn’t know what to say, the older man sat back in his chair.
“It’s no bother, besides never hurts to have another set of eyes on the road. Have you seen others out here?” Robco lowered his voice. John knew what the older man meant.
“I found a place, The Grand.” He looked back the way he'd come.
“Stay away from there. It’s quiet during the day but it’s full at night.” Robco said sternly.
“I hid and saw two people walk past.” John continued, without mentioning slowed time and invisibility, “They were sick, twitching, angry. What was wrong with them?”
“Raiders.” The older man spat into the fire as if to cleanse his mouth of the word. "Broken people, consumed by chems. Makes them violent so they can’t stay no place. Then they gotta kill folk to get caps to get more chems. Too far down that road and there ain’t no coming back, they’re animals.” Robco looked John square in the eye, the flickering campfire half illuminating his face. “If one of them comes at you, kill ‘em. You kill a raider, you save two lives, yours and the next person they were gonna kill.” Robco threw back his drink, prompting John to do the same.
Robco poured another as John mixed in the last of his Nuka Cola. The older man questioned him again. “That doesn’t answer my question though, unless you’re just a big music fan.” John shifted in his chair, getting comfortable.
“My whole life they told me that I was one of the last people alive. That the surface wasn’t habitable because of the greed and laziness of those who came before. And that I was lucky to work twelve hour shifts building new floors while there is more than enough space already. All lies. They do it to keep you in line. Feed you just enough to keep going, but not enough to fight back."
"And now because of their bullshit control the main air system is failing. The recirc fans are wearing out, there are no spares and no one would listen. No one believed that the people in charge would lie to them, all of them, their whole lives. Even though the truth was right in front of them.
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"Now I’m afraid that when the air system does fail the people at the top will cut off the air to my people below. They'll die suffocating in the dark, all because they did what they were told.” John hadn’t said this many words to anyone in over a month. The whiskey loosened his tongue, which he suspected might have been Robco’s intent.
“So I escaped. I can use the broadcast tower to scan for miles, see if there’s anything like what we need out there. Or at the very least, go back with proof that we don’t need to live underground.”
“You escaped, are they gonna send folk looking to bring you back?” The older man rubbed his brow.
“No, they’ll tell people I had an accident and no one will question it.” John knew that. Robco exhaled, shaking his head. Curiosity satisfied he sat quietly staring into the dying flames.
“If I could help you, I would, but I got to put the boy first. You understand that right?” John did. “You’re a brave lad to come out into this dangerous place. Not too bright, but brave.” They laughed, John understood why this time.
John finished his drink and said goodnight to Robco, still poking at the crackling embers of the fire. He crawled into the cab of the truck, finding the boy had laid out blankets for him.
His last thoughts before he drifted off, carried by the whiskey, were of Rosie as they almost always were. She would have listened to the holo he’d given her this morning. She’d hate him by now. She’d be in pain because of him. If he’d of known just how much pain she was in that very moment he wouldn’t have slept at all.
John woke with a start. Jolted back to consciousness by the clanking of robots mixed with the fear those children’s stories had instilled in him. “At least it’s not wolves.” He said to himself.
John slid from the cab of the salvaged truck to find Robco and his grandson Wallace breaking down the camp. Sliding away the chairs and cooking equipment under the truck. Both still subtly trying to keep the cargo bed contents from John who still didn’t care.
“Morning John, how’d you sleep?” The boy’s mood seemed too bright for the hour.
“I slept well, thank you for the blankets.” John saw Robco smile, pleased with the consideration the boy had shown without being asked. “Did you sleep well?”
“No, I had a bad dream about a giant monster climbing in the truck making gross noises.” Wallace mimicked loud, exaggerated, snoring sounds, getting a muffled laugh from his grandfather.
“Alright wise guy, get the bots hooked up. Let’s get the truck on the road.” Robco got to work.
John felt like a spare part, in a way he hadn’t for years, as the pair set to their well practised routine. The boy connected cables to the bots, then started tapping away on his terminal in the cab. Instructing the bots to walk in unison pushing the truck backwards.
The older man sat on his bench mounted to the roof of the truck cab, working the motorised rear treads with simple levers. Running them alternately to turn the truck towards the exit of the courtyard.
It wasn’t quick, but before long the truck faced out toward the eight lane blacktop. Seeing an opportunity to be of use, however slight, John noticed the bots start to take their formation in front of the truck. Ready to pull it along. He jogged over to the wooden frame they were waiting for.
He looked at the simple square shape with a longer, thicker branch running through the centre. Machine cut, held together with steel pins to allow movement. Back straight and lifting with his knees John picked up the wooden frame, carrying it over to the truck.
It felt heavy, awkward to manoeuvre. The relatively straight gnarled branches were tough to grab. His muscles tensed and flexed under the tight fitting, shiny blue suit. John would have carried double the weight, twice as far if it meant being helpful. Besides this would probably be the heaviest thing he lifted all day.
“Lay it out in front John.” Robco shouted, surprised to see him doing something that normally took help from at least one bot. John laid the heavy, wooden frame out in front of the stationary bots. He stood back as they stepped into place. The boy came out from the cab, double checking the cable. Then fitting each bot with woven leather harnesses, buckled tightly in place.
Up close in the morning light, John saw the bots for what they were, tools. Each the same design, oval shaped torsos sprouting stubby hinged arms and legs. Each altered to fit a distinct purpose.
The front pair matched. Chipped, faded yellow paint, smashed lights. Both missing the crude orb like hands. Not broken, designed to be removed. At the rear, the walking refrigerator and a bot that seemed to have been designed purely to carry square crates. Arms longer, hands sturdier, its chest flatter than the others.
John lifted the front beam of the frame smoothly as the boy attached the hooked steel pins to smaller hooks on the harnesses. Next he lifted the longer end, roughly trimmed to a dull point with a neat hole through it. He slotted it onto a peg on the bumper.
To John’s surprise he saw the once huge engine had been completely removed, replaced with a storage section that John thought better than to look in. He stepped back as the truck rolled and clanked the main road, turning bit by bit, in the direction of The Tower.
The truck stopped as John walked towards it. The older man climbed down and the boy exited the cab holding John’s improvised backpack. For a moment he feared they’d changed their minds and were going to send him on his way, alone. But as the boy handed him his backpack, he saw the older man lay out a worn, tattered canvas map on the faded blacktop. Securing it in place with the empty cola bottles from the night before.
“Alright.” Robco said in a tone that demanded attention, “We’re here.” He pointed to a placed bottle cap, “We’re going here.” Placing another cap a couple of inches further along, “And we need to stop here.” He placed a final cap lower and slightly between the two. John tried to read the map but it was hand drawn, not to scale. Filled with scribbles, odd symbols he didn’t understand.
Robco continued, “We’re gonna take the Eight most of the day, then turn off to drop you home.” Robco raised his hand before the boy could start his inevitable protests. “With luck, we should reach Shadowtown by nightfall. Any questions...anyone need to use the leaves?” The boy shook his head, John looked on blankly. “Go to the toilet.” Robco clarified, John did.
As he stood contemplating how that would work out here, the boy retrieved a small folding shovel and a clear plastic container. Half full of the blood red leaves that surrounded them. John understood. He took the shovel with the leaves and headed a short distance into the woods.
Well off the road he dug a small hole, undid his vault-suit at the waist and squatted. He found it no worse than being forced to shit in a bucket, feet from a flushing toilet because of some jobsworth supervisor. It was actually kind of nice not to have someone else banging on the steel door to hurry you up.
Leaves used, he headed back to the truck. “Did you cover it up?” Robco asked, John nodded. “Can’t be too careful out here, fresh shit draws pests.” The older man prompted John to put his hands under a light steel rectangle mounted to the inside of the truck door. It whirred, spitting blobs of cold gel that smelt like last night’s whiskey onto his hands. “Disease can get you just as easy as a bullet out here, remember that.” Robco said to John as he rubbed his hands clean.
“Disease was a big fear in the Vault too, coughs and sneezes would get you a week in isolation.” Before the men could continue their conversation the boy’s small voice shouted.
“It’s ready!” John approached the back of the truck to find the canvas cover still firmly tied down, with the wooden truck gate laid flat. A pot of water being heated by a hot plate, powered by some unknown source in the bed of the truck.
Around the pot were three tin cups. Three more bread rolls. And square bars of something. Not gelatinous matter, but different shapes held together by a shiny, sticky, substance. Robco sprinkled another coarse powder from another pouch into the cups, and used a ladle to fill them with boiling water.
“I’ve got protein bars in my pack, I can’t take any more of your food, you’ve already been so kind.” John said, his eyes drawn to the soft bread.
“Nonsense. Long road ahead, we gotta keep all our strength up.” Robco replied, putting the warm cup in John’s hand. “Besides the boy don’t drink coffee so it’ll only get wasted. Don’t waste nothing out here John, remember that.”
They sat on the truck gate, eating as the sun climbed higher into the endless blue. Bathing the red forest and the rotting remains of the buildings in soft light. John enjoyed the sunrise, the food, and the company most of all. The coffee tasted bitter, without being unpleasant. The bread soft, and the shiny sticky bars sweet and crunchy.
“Syrup and nut bars.” The boy mumbled through a full mouth. “Momma made 'em.” They sat a while longer, chewing and drinking. The boy took the last of the now cold water and poured it into his cup. As he did it triggered an audible burst of clicks from the pipboy’s Geiger counter. “Cool!” said the boy, bringing the still dirty water to his lips.
“No, wait.” John mumbled, his mouth equally full.
“It’s ok John, a few rads here and there ain’t bad, we got rad-x.” Robco said, the only one able to speak clearly. John fumbled through his pack to find the empty water can. He rotated the lid to propel the straw out then pushed it all the way round to remove the top completely. He poured the water into the empty can, sealed it up and gave it to the boy.
“It’s got filters that clean the water inside.” John said. With an approving nod from his grandfather Wallace gulped down the water and went to hand the can back to John. “Keep it, I’ve got spares.” They’d given him so much already, it seemed only right. He didn’t like the idea of the boy drinking irradiated water.
“Are you sure?” asked Robco, however little they had it was more than John.
“I’m sure.” John said with a smile. Robco smiled back, prompting his grandson.
“What do you say Junior?” The bright boy had already taken apart the water can, inspecting the inner workings and putting it back together.
“Thanks John.” They sat a while longer, eating, watching the sun rise into the endless blue.
Robco gathered the three empty glass Nuka bottles and placed them on the wall along the road. “Alright, best of three, winner gets the caps.” Announced Robco as he jangled the bottle caps in his closed fist. John thought he picked on some hesitation in the older man’s face, like he forced a smile, as John had done for years.
The older man reached into his coat pocket. He produced something small, heavy, wrapped leather straps and passed it to the boy. John watched as the boy unwound the leather straps. Putting them around his narrow shoulders to support a small pistol under his arm. The holster looked like the only thing that actually fit him.
Robco, sensing John’s unease, slowly drew his pistol. He unloaded it and laid it out flat on the truck bed gate. “Did you shoot a gun before John?” His tone flat and even, the same way he instructed the boy. Far from feeling like he was being talked down to, John felt calmed by it.
“Do rivet guns count?” John asked, forcing his own smile.
“They’re both tools for moving metal, this one just moves them faster.” Robco began pointing at different parts of the tool.
John looked at the dull, grey steel object as uninvited, impossible thoughts told him things before Robco did. Ten millimetre, semi auto, fifteen round capacity. With an under barrel recoil diffuser. Pushing the intruding thoughts out of his head, John tried to focus on how it looked kind of like a power drill.
The more the older man reeled of words like front sight, magazine, muzzle. The more he said, the more John already knew. Words he didn’t know he knew until he heard them for the first time. “Slide, muzzle, and most important your number two safety.”
“Where’s number one?” John asked the older man, keen to look like he’d been paying attention. Instead of drowning out unearned knowledge in his head, telling him things he couldn’t possibly know.
“Junior?” Robco prompted his grandson. John turned to see the boy raising his index finger in the air, mimicking the motion of pulling a trigger.
“This is your number one safety.” Wallace had a sternness to him.
“Normally I’d flip a cap, but what say you show us how it’s done boy.” Robco stepped back.
Wallace shifted in his boots that were too big, planting his feet. “Draw, safety, aim, squeeze.” He said to himself taking longer to say it than fire at one of the bottles.
A small pop, followed instantly by breaking glass, rang out in the deafening ever present silence. The boy hit the bottle dead centre, shattering it. Leaving the jagged edged base on the wall. With a nod from his grandfather he holstered the small pistol and stepped back.
Robco handed John the empty pistol and the magazine. He took his place where the boy had stood and listened to Robco, trying to ignore the instincts telling him the same thing.
“Don’t worry about drawing, just push the magazine into the grip until it clicks, then pull back the slide.” John did as Robco instructed. Almost the entire back half of the pistol slid back and forward into place with a heavy clunk. “Alright, now keep the muzzle pointed away from anything you don’t want to kill. Line up the sights, and squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it.” John listened as the older man told him things he already knew, somehow. He clicked the safety off, extended his arms, and squeezed.
The pistol let out a louder, fuller, pop. Followed by a metallic chunk as the slide snapped back and forth. John felt pleased with himself that he actually hit the bottle. Even if it struck low and off centre, sending it spinning off the wall and smashing to the road below.
“Good, real good.” Robco said as he took the pistol from John, securing it in the holster on his thigh. “Junior, you’re up.” The boy took another shot, smashing the bottle in a nearly identical manner. “And we have a winner!” Robco feigned more enthusiasm for the boy as he handed him the three bottle caps. Wallace smiled, running the clinking caps from one hand to another.
“Here John, you need these more than I do.” The boy handed the caps to John.
“Thanks.” Replied John, slightly confused.
“It’s money.” Wallace clarified.
“What’s money?” Asked John, to laughter from the boy and his grandfather.
“It’s gonna be a long day ain’t it.” Said the older man through a smile. “Come on John, ride up top with me.” And with that the three began rolling and clanking further into the new, old world.