Chapter 19 Much better than Vault Day.

Hung from the ceiling with tape, a bedsheet had been painted to read ‘Happy birthday Rosie!’ in large black letters. With ‘(and Charlie!)’ written smaller underneath.

“What is this?” Rosie asked, confused and delighted in equal measure.

“I don’t care how you did it before. On this day, the eighth of August, you are one year older.” Charlie took her arm and walked her over to the couches where the others stood. This is much better than Vault Day, Rosie thought, driving memories of the single day everybody used out. Brandon stood and took her hand.

“On this day, every year, you shall do as you see fit. You will gather with those who love you and celebrate. That is an order.” Brandon had dressed in a dark suit and white shirt with matching tie, everything neat, precise.

As Rosie looked around she saw that Paul wore a suit that must have been altered. The jacket cut wide and shirt collar open. Then Rosie saw what had changed, he’d shaved, looking younger. Matt had chosen a suit in grey, matching waistcoat and a black shirt. His shaggy blonde hair combed neatly and traces of paint on his hands from the banner.

She understood the effort that they’d gone to, just for her, and she had delivered terrible news to them in return. Rosie started to cry, unable to process the shifting feelings quickly enough.

“I’m sorry, thank you, I’m sorry.” Brandon embraced her to his chest, his fatherly gesture exactly what Rosie needed.

“There’s no crying at birthday parties. That’s a rule, isn’t that right Charlie.”

“It is. No rank either, Brandon.” Charlie turned as Paul came round them and lifted her up in a hug.

“Happy birthday baby!”

“Wait, it’s your birthday too? But we spent the day doing what I wanted.” Rosie felt bad for a second until Charlie laughed.

“Rosie, watching you have fun was what I wanted to do.” Charlie hugged her while Rosie broke the rule again, then headed for the bottles and fine glasses on the table.

"You look real pretty Rosie.” Matt slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her softly on the cheek. He held her for a moment and then passed her something. Green stems wrapped in paper, purple star like leaves. “Nightshade.” Rosie brought them to her nose but Matt stopped her. “They’re poisonous.” Rosie looked baffled as to why she would be given poisonous plants, beautiful as they were. “I’ll teach you how to harvest it.” Rosie smiled at the idea that never would have occurred to her.

“Good evening Admin Rosie. Many happy returns. Would you like to hear historical events of note that occurred on this day?” Rosie’s face dropped, she hadn’t remembered anything in Janey’s code about history.

“You’re not the only one who knows bots.” Brandon sounded pleased to have caught her by surprise. “Continue Janey.”

“On this day in seventeen eighty six Mont Blanc is climbed for the first time. In nineteen sixty three, armed men steal two point six million pounds in what became known as the Great Train Robbery. And it is also the birthday of Ernest Lawrence, inventor of the cyclotron.” Rosie turned to Brandon, wondering what kind of bot a cyclotron was.

“Janey and I have been spending some quality time together. Isn’t that right Janey?”

“Yes Brandon. The last few cycles have been most efficient.” The light in the centre of the robotic head blinked. “I will begin this cycle’s sweep. This party hat will not impede combat efficiency.”

“I’ll tell you later, this first.” Brandon took a bottle from the table. Green glass with a thin neck.

“Now pay attention Rosie. This is a Bollinger sixty two, a fine vintage.” Rosie already felt lost but Brandon’s excitement carried her along too. “When one finds themselves in uncouth company, they may open champagne by pushing the cork up and out. Some may even shake the bottle. At which point you are well within your rights, neigh, obligated to draw your sidearm and shoot them dead.” Everyone laughed. “In good company, the proper method is to cover with the palm and twist. However when one finds themselves in the most esteemed company.” Brandon nodded and Charlie handed Rosie her axe.

“You want me to hit glass with metal?”

“Yes I do. Right here, quick and clean.” Brandon titled the bottle forward and pointed to the neck. Rosie tightened her grip and lined up. With one quick strike she caught the glass bottle just below the rim, breaking the top clean off. Bubbling liquid escaped before being poured into long thin glasses. So delicate Rosie felt scared to hold one.

“Brothers, to Rosie. On her first real birthday.” Brandon tried to make a joke as the sadness of his words hit him, bringing a slight break to his voice. “The first of many.”

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“The first of many!” Rosie poured back the sweet and tangy fizz of the very fine vintage, savouring the feeling of family and the bubbles on her tongue.

“Sit.” Charlie took the second glass of champagne from her before she finished it. Paul slid a plastic box over to her. “Presents!” Charlie announced.

“Open it.” Paul grinned. Inside Rosie found a hot plate stripped down to bare minimum, a thin pan welded to the heating element. The rest of the box had been made into sections holding powders, a squeeze bottle, precise measuring spoons, and a fine plate and fork. Rosie didn’t understand completely till she read the writing on the lid.

“Paul’s perfect pancakes.” Below Paul had written instructions to prepare Rosie’s favourite food. “Thank you Paul.” He laid his strong hand on her shoulder.

“Use less syrup.”

“Here Rosie, this is for you.” Matt handed her a simple looking backpack. She ran her hand across the soft and clean animal fur, mottled and light brown. Slivers of bone held the shape, it felt thick and heavy. Rosie stood, pulling the supple leather straps onto her shoulders. The fur felt warm against her back. Matt adjusted the straps awkwardly and stepped back.

“Pull the cords.” Rosie hooked the tied cord loops with her thumbs and pulled.

The cord drew the straps tight under her arms as the pack unfurled into a cloak hanging past her waist. Covering her shoulders and cinching up around her neck. The top of the pack turned into a deep hood. The fur now the inner lining and black on the outside.

“It’s a hunter’s cloak. Reversible, can fold into a pack.” Matt reached out and broke some charcoal from his nearby pad with his fingers. He rubbed it into a corner of the cloak. “You can coat the stag hide with dust to blend in.” Next he took the flowers and slid them into cuts on the black side. “You can stuff this side with foliage, grass and leaves. How’s it feel?” Rosie pulled up the deep hood and walked a few paces. The slivers of bone held the shape and weighted the hem.

“It’s amazing.” Rosie let the cloak hang as Matt looked on.

“I cut the hood wide, for your suit. It doesn't make noise, windproof, waterproof. And thanks to the ballistic lining, bulletproof.” Rosie marvelled at the mix of old and new. She couldn’t have made something like it if she had a year to do it.

“There better be another one of those.” Charlie sounded semi serious.

“The glue is drying downstairs. Happy birthday Charlie.” They hugged tightly.

“Speaking of, I suppose I should unpack this gear, perhaps you can help me.” Paul took Charlie’s hand and lifted the holdall with the other.

“Subtle.” Charlie took a step and Paul heaved her over his shoulder. “Put me down!” Charlie shrieked with delight as her laugh echoed down the stairs.

“Matthew, perhaps you would like to page Janey?” Brandon suggested, motioning towards the terminal at the benches. He went over and started typing. One finger pressing one key at a time, much to Rosie’s and Brandon’s amusement. “I’m assuming you’ve ruled out sensor error?” Brandon couldn’t stop the gears of his mind turning any more than she could.

“Ran the numbers, by hand.”

“Would fresh cores help?” Rosie looked unsure for a moment. “Nearly all the cores you’ll find were primed a century ago. Safer to transport.” Rosie pulled up the schematic inside her eyes, finding the exploded view of a fusion core. The black tops acted as the charge to kick start the reaction in the yellow fuel core.

“Maybe. Yeah.”

“I’ll put the word out. Listen, it can’t be how it’s supposed to operate. We’ll find Vault X, there’ll be data.” Rosie found comfort in the sound planning. “I already crossed off a possible. Turned out to be an old factory to the north.” He squeezed Rosie’s hand and changed the subject. “Happy birthday.” Brandon laid out two books and two card folders, one stuffed to bursting and one almost flat. Rosie picked up the first book.

“‘The Art of War.’”

“Written thousands of years ago, half a world away, and more relevant than ever. Check the bookmark.” Rosie flipped the book open at the page with the scrap of paper, seeing a quote underlined. “‘Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.’” Rosie understood why the passage held meaning to Brandon. His mind like hers, always working, preparing.

“Now, I must apologise. It’s bad form to give a gift that one must share, however...” Brandon handed her the second book, but kept the stuffed folder to his chest.

“‘Unsolved The Phantom Murders.’”

“A very famous case from the twenty sixties. A serial killer who posed his victims after death.” Rosie went to read the book, but Brandon stopped her. “This is a copy of the police file I found on the train.” The stuffed folder had a case number and ‘Phantom’ scrawled across it. “I thought we could go through it together when we get chance. Perhaps not polite party conversation.”

“I’d like that.” Rosie suddenly remembered what she’d bought earlier. She darted barefoot across the stone tile floor and rummaged through her pack. “I saw this, and I thought you’d like it.” Rosie felt pleased to have guessed right as Brandon threw his head back with a warm laugh.

“Like the Detective.” Brandon took the lacquered wood and metal pipe, nearly identical to the one in the pictures in the book they both loved.

“Thank you. I love it.” Brandon held the pipe in his teeth and sat back grinning. The door swung open and Janey clanked in, still wearing the party hat they’d all taken off.

“Good evening Matthew, do you require assistance?”

“Janey and I took a little trip north.” Brandon looked pleased with himself.

“How did you get her to come with you?” Rosie didn’t see how Janey would circumvent her protocols.

“Janey?”

“Brandon posited that Principal Charlie’s emotional well being would degrade if he suffered injury or death. Thus the most efficient use of those cycles would be to accompany him.”

“You tricked her!” Rosie hadn’t even considered the verbal commands could be used like hacking.

“Tricked is a bit much. I simply created a scenario in which our interests aligned.” Brandon sat back on the couch, finishing his drink. “Talent of a misspent youth.”

“Charlie said the same thing when she picked my pocket.” Rosie wanted to ask, but hesitated just long enough for Brandon to answer anyway.

“I was a thief. I grew up in a place not unlike Shadowtown. First you steal food because you’re starving. Then you learn that it’s better to steal something shiny, trade that for enough caps to eat and get a bed for the night. Then you just steal the caps. I got good at it because I liked it. Before long you’re running a con here, a scam there. Talking your way past guard bots. Quick and clean, no blood, no mess.” Brandon’s expression of fondness slipped away as he poured a whiskey.

“One morning I had taken a particular dislike to someone in the market. Mean and fat, with a fatter pouch on his hip. I relieved him of his wealth that neither of us needed easily. Then a street kid chasing a ball bumps him, he finds his pouch missing, grabs the kid and pulls a pistol. Next thing some else pulls to stop him...someone fired.” Brandon threw back his drink and poured another. The memory painful, like a scar that never really healed, yet holding a source of conviction.

“Six dead...all for seven hundred and thirty eight caps. I turned myself in and sat in a cell waiting for them to decide whether they’d hang me, when a man came to the jail with an offer. He told me that I had taken from this world, and that he could help me give back. Two days later I found myself in a Brotherhood training camp. A month later I helped free a few slaves. Six months after that we took an ammo dump from raiders. Within a year we must have saved sixty lives, and then I stopped counting. Never really felt like enough, not for a long time.”

“If you could forget the six, would you?” Rosie wondered about the option of deleting her own memories. She doubted Brandon would guess the reason, yet saw a moment of curiosity on his face.

“Never. You can’t take back the things you did wrong. Only learn from them and strive to make them right.” Brandon put his hand on top of hers. Rosie felt better knowing that her new instinct to ask helped make sense of things.