Chapter 9 Robco’s Rest
“Now I’ve been on the road with Wallace for the better part of week, so you got questions you fire away.” The men shared a laugh as Robco showed John round the settlement that bore his name. John had questions, too many questions. Instead he tried his best to listen as they walked round the back of the houses. John waved as Robco made small talk with his friends.
The new people were far from standoffish but kept their distance all the same.
“See in the old world if you wanted to build hundreds of houses, you’d build one street first. So folk could see it before they bought one. This one here had just started when the bombs fell, so when I found it, oh must be thirty years ago now, it still had a few bots, tools and such. It was well hidden, had good soil, near enough clean water nearby. Damn near perfect. So I built myself a little cabin to get away on weekends.” The older man pointed over his shoulder at his own home, far from little now. John didn’t know what weekends were.
Robco continued, enjoying telling the tale to someone who hadn’t heard it before. “My grandfather worked in a bot factory before the war. He survived in Shadowtown, underground in the Park. Like you I guess. So when it was safe up top he used what knew to help build it up. Made it into a business, had my father, taught him, he taught me. And I taught…” Robco’s expression became mixed again. “I taught my son, Wallace senior.”
John remembered Junior’s small voice, the bad guys got him. “He was the reason I moved out here full time. Shadowtown got dangerous. I didn’t want to raise my son there so me and few of the people here got together, built it up over time. Planted crops, traded for livestock, scavenged for bots or anything half useful. More folk came, Wallace married Louisa, had a son of his own, and well here we are. Robco’s Rest, population twenty three.” The pride won out on the older man’s face and rightly so. He spoke casually but the words had the weight of history to them, and the heavier weight of truth.
The bile climbed the back of John’s throat. Build for the future, he thought. That’s exactly what generations had done here. Growing, learning, evolving. Not digging ever deeper away from the real future. Outside reclaiming the old world, repurposing it to spawn new life. He wished he could have expressed this to his host but only platitudes came to mind.
“Come on, you’ll like this.” Robco led John further round the settlement of houses, outbuildings and fenced in forest. They walked to a long building, almost like a corridor.
At first John thought it had been constructed from the same canvas as the truck bed. When they entered he saw it’d been made of glass. No two pieces the same size, held in place by a different type of wood. Pale brown with segmented sections. Cut at different lengths and angles to slot around the mishmash pattern of repurposed glass.
It had no flooring, just the same soft earth as everywhere else but turned over. Fresh, deep brown soil sprouting tall crops. Some in neat rows, some in trays slid into racks. “This is our greenhouse. We got red corn, wild carrots, tato’s, all sorts. Irrigation's tied into the main filtration system.” Robco tapped the pipes that lined the walls. “And these.” The older man said in an excited tone, flicking on the central line of fluorescent bulbs.
For a brief moment the familiar buzz made John think he was about to wake up back in the Vault. Back in his cramped quarters on level six. Jolted awake by the lights he didn’t control. He shut his eyes half hoping to be right, relieved when he wasn’t.
The lights were strange. Not the dull, repetitive buzzing glow of harsh white. But dark purple bulbs that didn’t so much illuminate, more change the colours in the room. “Ultra violet, we can grow twenty four seven, even in winter. I’m guessing you had something similar in the Vault.” Robco said. John tried to think and be helpful but he’d never seen food prep. Not even close, too important for a rock breaker.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know, this is really weird.” John looked at Robco. His skin, his eyes were a sickly green, his teeth brilliant white. He looked down at his shiny blue suit. The advanced fabric still impossibly clean. Yet traces of smeared blood showed on his hands in the new light. Robco noticed the suit as well. And something else, something in John’s eyes reflecting light. Quickly he turned them off, offering kind words.
“You can take a shower, don’t worry. We can now if you want, but I saved the best for last.” Amongst the swirling waters of his mind John realised he felt intrigued. Engaged, interested in a way he hadn’t for years. Learning so much, maybe too much all at once. Yet the idea of stopping now seemed pointless, besides that the older man had a spring in his step, and more whiskey.
A few steps into the sparse, fenced in forest behind the covered greenhouse, John began to hear noises. Breathing, rustling noises. Inside of simple structures, things were moving, living creatures. “Pigs.” Robco pointed, “And goats.”
Muddy pink blobs ambled and shuffled around in the mud. Stubby legs, floppy ears, curled tails, John laughed. They weren’t in the least bit threatening, almost cartoonish. They paid no attention to John as he stared. Their ambling shuffle headed to Robco as he threw handfuls of feed to them from a nearby bucket. Mostly for his own pleasure rather than the pigs.
“The most useful thing in the world is a pig.” Robco said. John thought he misheard the owner of seemingly the only vehicle out here. That housed a grenade launching bot for good measure. “I’m serious,” Robco continued, his affection for simple creatures plain to see. “Food, leather, fertiliser, bones for putty, tallow for soap, sinew for stitching wounds. They pretty much live off leftovers, plus they’re good company.” He rubbed one of them warmly on the back as it snuffled through the dirt.
“Don’t waste nothing out here right.” John felt like the boy of no more than eight, eager for approval.
“You’re catching on. Now these are goats.” John thought he'd misheard that too at first, but this left no doubt. Although what these mutated creatures had to do with the Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test he didn’t know. He didn’t even want to think about that damn test ever again. “You might see them wandering around, that’s ok.”
They may have been neighbours but the animals shared little more than space. Shaggy haired plump bodies supported by spindly legs. Small heads on short necks. Quizzical expressions on their faces as they chewed the harvested sickly brown green grass.
“These give us strong fibres to weave into rope, clothing, hard wearing skin that’s supple, oh and stew.” Robco smiled. John thought he might react to seeing his dinner still very, very raw, but he felt indifferent. The allure of real flavour far too tempting. “Not as useful, but good company all the same. Come on, let’s get cleaned up and eat.”
John followed his host back between the houses, seeing Louisa heading towards them. The wolf like dog, and a smaller, stockier dog at her heels. John didn’t feel concerned about the other dog. Maybe he was getting used to them, but maybe because it wasn’t very wolf like. It had a stubby face with soft eyes and seemed far more interested in the other dog than him.
“Peaches, go home.” Louisa said with a snap of her fingers, and the stockier dog ran to a nearby house. “Dinner’s almost ready if you want to clean up first. John, I left you a shirt and trousers by the showers.” She stepped closer to John. “Wallace told me about the remote override on that thing of yours. Do you think I could just try something real quick, five minutes.” Before John could answer Robco expressed something silently behind him.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Louisa offered an explanation. “If we can get Rusty and my girls talking we can target his grenades with their optics.” John thought about the surreal experience of seeing through eyes other than his own. Whatever the discomfort he’d been able to shut it off quickly. An uninvited thought entered his head. Telling him that kind of targeted firepower would give a tactical advantage to the settlement. Whatever that meant.
“Happy to help.” John turned, fearing the woman would see through his lie. Robco offered him another glug of whiskey. He threw it back, hoping it might steady his hands.
“Betsy.” One of Louisa’s girls emerged from behind the truck. Clanking towards them at a faster, steadier pace than the Protectron bots. The unearned knowledge told him what it was before Louisa did, but he focused on her instead.
“It’s an Assaultron, invader class. One of four we’ve got.” The faux feminine robot stopped before them. Armour plating mirroring the curves of suggested breasts and hips. Hiding powerful, chain driven motors. Each connected to articulated arms. Tipped with triple pronged claws that looked ready to tear flesh. But could just as easily operate simple tools.
“Good evening Louisa, Robco. John, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” It spoke. Not like the crude walking fridge, or the bone chilling low voice of Rusty. It spoke like a person. The sound came from its face. A central red light behind a complex lensing assembly. With four pieces of armour plate, opened to form a cross shape, like a crosshair.
John felt uneasy. He knew on some level the devastation just one Assaultron could cause. And there were three more out there in the dark, inside the walls.
“You can relax John, the only way Betsy could hurt you is if she fell on you.” As if to prove her point, Louisa roughly yanked the lethal looking arm. Spinning the torso round while leaving the suggested high heel shoes facing John. With a quick twist of a ratchet driver she opened a little rectangular panel between the shoulder blades. Exposing a four pin socket.
Trying not to look hesitant John connected his four pin and ran the diagnostic. Code scrolled down the pipboy screen, checking off systems. Nearly everything came up as operational, unlike Rusty. Which he should have guessed from the pristine armour, polished chrome pistons, and smooth movement of the faux feminine machine.
John flipped his screen by holding down the side wheel and showed Louisa. Her pretty hazel eyes widening as if she half expected it not to work. Rather than focusing on the green display she began asking the bot questions directly.
“Betsy, status?” The bot stood silently for a few seconds then turned back round. Moving each joint fractionally from the neck down to the whirring ankles.
“All systems operational. Admin level override found.” The bot replied.
“Begin network scan.” Louisa said, pacing. John wondered what admin level meant, it sounded better to him than level six access either way.
The more Louisa spoke to the bot, the more John understood the talking. However person like it seemed on the surface, it was really just cover for the basic operating system. Predetermined responses based on simple context. John almost felt foolish for believing otherwise.
“Network scan complete. There are eight operational assets online at this time. Asset one Assaultron Invader class.” Louisa interrupted her machine,
“Ident asset, designation Rusty.” Trepidation entered the woman’s voice, tinged with excitement. The head rotated a few degrees to the truck. Invisible signals sent back and forth from the rusted torso and the faux feminine bot with curved hips.
“Asset ‘Rusty’ found. Sentry bot, moderate damage, propulsion offline.” After a deep, hopeful breath she issued a final command.
“Initiate handshake.” No one breathed, as somehow the ever present, deafening silence cut through the settlement like the wind. The complex lensing assembly shifted. Tiny motors whirred inside, focusing the glowing red eye that held potentially devastating power. In the same polite monotone voice the bot answered.
“Handshake protocol complete. Remote targeting online. Would you like to designate a target Louisa?” It sounded routine to the bot. Simply passing out information with no real understanding of context. Or the meaning behind the extra havoc it could now wreak.
The pretty woman with the brown hair didn’t look excited, she looked relieved. John started to understand how she could relate to the killing machines as people. Her ‘girls’ and her ‘baby’ kept them safe, kept them all safe out here in the old world.
She removed the four pin and checked once more with a verbal command that the handshake protocol held, which it did. Then she gave the connector back to John. With a look on her face that made him think he may have to fend off questions from everyone except the wolf like dog.
“Thank you.” She shook John’s calloused hand with her slender one as she talked. “Took me a year to get the girls outta their damn boxes. About the same again to get them talking to each other. You get full Admin access in seconds!” John wished he could take credit, he couldn’t, it was the jet black pipboy that did the work. Robco slapped him on the back,
“More fine work John, keep this up and you might get a promotion.” The older man clearly joked. But it didn’t stop John’s ears pricking up at the ever just out of reach chance of promotion. They dangled promotion before him, and everyone else, for years.
“Now you see one of these out in the world, you run like hell. These bitches are vicious, cut you clean in half with a look.” Robco’s flat, even tone began issuing instructions once again. “But enough about pretty girls, back to the bots.” John laughed, Louisa didn’t. She had an expression like she’d heard that joke one too many times already. She sent Betsy back on patrol then showed John to the showers, leaving Robco at the truck.
“There’s plenty of hot water left, even after Wallace finished. Robco will take a bath later for his back so you take as long as you want, ok.” By the side of the house hung a riveted steel canister. Mounted in a wooden frame, above simple stalls on a raised platform. Designed for the water to run through and down metal guttering underneath, to reach a fragrant garden of herbs near the porch.
On the wooden pegs by the stalls hung a bright red towel, some beige trousers, and a check shirt. The blue squares too similar to the vault-suit colour for it to be chance. “I borrowed these from Big Mike so they should fit.” She looked down at John’s broad chest, toned arms, little else left to the imagination in the tight blue suit. “I’m going to go check Jenny’s curtains are drawn.” She had an embarrassed, slightly immature tone as she went into the house next door.
John stripped completely enjoying the new sensations of soft earth between his toes, cool night air along his back. His skin freed for the first time since leaving the Vault, two days and a lifetime ago. The water wasn’t exactly hot, but it wasn’t cold either.
John did as he’d done since he was a boy. Frantically rubbing himself clean before the five minute water allowance ran out. He finished his routine only then realising the water still flowed. He laughed to himself, rubbing his hands through closely cropped dark hair repeatedly. Cleaning his whole body with the waxy block he recognised as soap from the smell.
John turned the valve, shutting off the water himself for the first time ever. Then he grabbed the rough towel and dried himself. Standing naked in the bracing air. He felt clean, body and mind.
Cold water washed the lingering whiskey effects away. Control over something as simple as a shower watered the seeds of freedom in his heart. Not even the sight of yet another dog milling around bothered him. He thought he heard noises from next door, looking up to see the curtains of Jenny’s side window very much open. He didn’t care. The entire twenty three strong population of Robco’s Rest could have walked by, and it still would have been the most private shower he’d had in years.
John took the check shirt from the peg. It felt stiff, itchy, almost abrasive. He slid his arm in and instantly knew he couldn’t wear it against his skin. He rubbed his hands on the beige pants, still on the peg. They felt worse, coarse, no give to the woven fabric. He’d begun to free his mind, but his somatic senses were still resisting the new, old world.
John didn’t even bother with the fresh socks or underwear his thoughtful host left for him. Suddenly embarrassed, he took his Vault issued advanced fabric socks and underwear back into the shower. The smooth, dirt resistant material washed clean in less than a minute.
Tears swelled in his eyes as he hid in the shower putting on the same thing he wore every day of his life. The same thing everyone he’d ever known had worn everyday of their lives. The form fitting, familiar material sliding on easily, zipping up neatly.
Determined to show the Vault’s grip on him had at least weakened, if only to himself, John pulled on the beige pants and blue check shirt. He fumbled with fiddly buttons. Trying to strike enough of a balance between hiding the shiny blue vault-suit and keeping the itchy cloth from his skin. He pulled on his heavy, black work boots, they already blended in, and fitted perfectly. Then he headed for the front door, dressed for dinner for the first time.