Chapter 25 “Like finding a Rembrandt drawn in crayon.”

Years turned decades. There were setbacks, hardships, yet life flourished. Settlements expanded, for better and worse. Virgil stayed well informed thanks to his friends in low places. He’d had reports of the new power in the west for years. Now the Brotherhood of Steel had taken up residence in the outpost to the north.

For five years they'd searched and found nothing. They could search for five hundred years and not find anything, he knew that. His longevity gave him perspective.

He’d been Virgil Nash far longer than he’d been Burton Blake. That life seemed so distant some days, almost like remembering an old movie. Today would not be one of those days.

“Virgil!” He looked up from his desk to see a man he knew.

“Robco, you filthy junk rat.” He had to think which one this was, Bill, Bill’s son, or Bill’s grandson. “What’s it going to cost me to get rid of you?” Virgil kept up the banter, trying to figure out why the young man with Robco seemed so familiar.

Robco and his new friend sat by Virgil. He still couldn’t place the young man, then he rolled up his sleeve. He saw the life’s work of the great Burton Blake. The very device he cut his own off to keep from the world. A jet black pipboy.

The realisation hit him like cold water. The eyes, his eyes of perfect blue. Like looking in a mirror a century ago. This man was his family. A descendant of the child Clara carried, raised underground for generations. And now this young man bore the curse Burton Blake’s ambition had manifested.

Virgil kept them talking while his mind raced. He talked the young man into opening an old safe, using the wireless four pin. This gave him a chance to piggyback on the signal and start pulling data. He got rid of them quickly, hammering at the terminal the moment they left.

The device still ran the Unified OS, and had been left in a mess. He managed to trip the emergency transponder and spoof the network id. Now he could track the device as long as it had a radio signal. He sat back and gulped down Robco’s very good shine to steady his nerve.

Curiosity got the better of him as the data downloaded and he began to poke around. There were some rudimentary hacks, yet one stood above the rest. “Elegant.” Mr. House spoke from over his shoulder.

“You can say that again. The kid defeated a Vault-Tec door by changing the date and running a test. All written on this Unified OS garbage. This is like finding a Rembrandt drawn in crayon.” Virgil found himself surprised, having thought this kind of intelligence lost to a savage world.

“Working late?” Suzette poked her head through the door. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.” Virgil sat back and sighed, relying on his well honed patience to calm his mind.

Virgil returned to his routine, back to his shop, back to the cut and thrust of deal making. He put thoughts of what must be his great grandson aside. He’d seen people like him outlive their children. Most of them shot themselves or gave up and went feral shortly after. He didn’t want that. And he wouldn’t do that to Suzette.

A week or so later, Robco turned up in the auditorium. They bantered, traded for this and that, then finished with a drink. “How’s your pal getting on, you know the big lad?” Virgil didn’t know why he brought it up.

“John, yeah.” Robco looked disappointed somehow. “I let him go running off, got himself mixed up with those tin pot fascists.”

“Shit.” Virgil masked his panic. “Still, he’s a smart one. I’m sure he’ll be alright.

“You mean if Maxson’s militia of fanatics doesn’t vivisect him.” Shaw chipped in, pacing behind Robco.

“Yeah, he’s sharper than he lets on that one.” Robco threw back his drink and stood. “Well I better get on the road. You should come by the Rest, bring Suzette, stay a few days.”

“You know, I just might.” Virgil shook his hand and waited for him to leave.

“We’re compromised.” Shaw snapped, leaning over the desk and getting in his face.

“No, we’re not.” Virgil stayed calm. “Less than half a regiment playing army. Even if they could find it, they’d never get inside.”

“You really want to take the chance.” Shaw nodded to the wall behind him. Virgil turned and saw the fifty calibre sniper rifle.

“Fuck you.” He snarled. “Enough innocent blood has been spilled because of me.” Virgil turned from the weaponry, back to the terminal. He forced the guilt fuelled anger down, trying to think. “I can set up a proximity alert. The device gets in range, I’ll know.”

“And when it gets in range?” Shaw demanded. Virgil didn’t answer.

Months passed, Virgil tried to focus on his work. He put in longer hours, made bigger deals, even went on a few scavenging runs. None of it helped. Least of all the day he missed an alert, although that turned out to be a false alarm.

From then on Virgil didn’t leave the shop. He barely slept, scarcely ate. He existed on caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol. For weeks he lived like that, on edge, worrying Suzette. And all for nothing, as the damn kid just walked into his shop.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Not the deer in a headlamp, skittish boy from before. A man stood tall, with vision and purpose. Virgil found himself impressed. Robco seemed brighter too, pride in his familiar face. He cut a deal with the young man and sent him on his way. Suddenly the tiredness caught up with him. Virgil closed up early, and headed home.

He’d slept for days, waking to find fresh coffee and hot broth waiting on the table. Along with a seemingly indifferent Suzette. “So you remember where we live.” She kept sketching, too angry to even look at him.

“I’m sorry.” He meant it. That earned him a look over her half rim glasses, demanding something close to an explanation. “There was something I had to do, old business.” She never asked about his former life, she knew the toll it had taken on him. He loved her for that.

“Did you do it?” She softened and revealed her concern.

“No.” Virgil let out a sigh. “I mean, I don’t think I’ll have to.”

“Good.” She went back to her sketching, the pencil strokes less severe. “Eat your broth.” He caught the faintest hint of a smile and promised he’d make it up to her. “Oh and Gerald's been calling, some kind of alarm going off in the shop.” Suzette looked up to see him darting out the door.

Virgil took the stairs down, raced through the market, and barged his way through to the auditorium. Gerald, the self appointed building manager, blocked the door. “That sound has been going off for hours.” Gerald complained, as usual. “It’s disturbing my clients.” He ran the library, a task Virgil thought him well suited to.

“You don’t have any clients, Gerry. No one reads any more.” Virgil wanted him gone. Gerald ranted, quoted regulations only he cared about, then left.

Virgil shut off the alert he wired into the school bell and checked the terminal. “He’s headed right for it.” Shaw paced behind him. “Could have a dozen tin men with him.”

“I know.” Virgil knew what had to be done, he’d prepared for it.

“You need to move out.” Shaw gave an order, he didn’t have any way of ignoring it.

Virgil checked his gear. He pulled on the ballistic weave coat, slung his custom carbine. Grabbed an old Stealth Boy. A duffel bag with coded strobe lights, battery powered and built from scrap. And lastly, the Gatling arm from a Sentry bot, modified to connect to his prosthetic. Even a glancing hit from bullets this big would be fatal, enough to rupture organs, cause massive blood loss.

“Pity to waste a superior mind.” Mr. House chimed in as he turned to leave. “Still, empires require sacrifice.” Virgil’s rage boiled over.

“Why the fuck are you here?!” Virgil snarled. “Why is it always you? Or Shaw?” He strode over, his anger and frustration ebbing into sorrow for what was to come. “Why can’t I see Bill, or Clara.” The thought of her hurt. “Why can’t I see Clara?” He pleaded with his tormentor.

“You know the answer to that, Burton.” Mr. House looked him dead in the eye.

“Because I don’t deserve to.” Everything he’d done, everything he’d built, all the lives he’d bettered. They were a grain of sand weighed against the desert of his sins. And it could all end if he wavered now.

“You always were quite bright.” Mr. House stood and started to walk away, taking the last word for himself.

Virgil set off at a steady pace, heading west. He hadn’t walked this way in over eight decades, still he knew the way. He hadn’t been allowed to forget. The forest had grown old here. Trees he’d engineered and planted by proxy. They’d grown tall, broad trunks, wide leaves. Each one feeding on the lethal radiation and locking it away. Each one spawning seeds carried far and wide.

Burton Blake made a Faustian bargain to further his goals, all those years ago. Now the weapons and technology prepared to free a continent could be used to enslave it. If the Brotherhood found Vault X they could reign for a thousand years. He couldn’t let that happen.

Virgil marched through the night before he caught sight of them. The young man had a woman with him, and they were very much in love. It gave him pause, seeing them together. Not the columns of armoured stormtroopers he’d pictured.

“Now’s your chance.” Shaw crouched next to him.

“They’re just kids.” Virgil turned from them, trying to think.

“And when they lead the Brotherhood here? What happens when someone half bright starts poking around and tries to start over? How many kids die then?” Shaw started walking away. Virgil couldn’t find an answer, so he followed.

“Here.” Shaw stopped in a clearing near the edge of the old forest. "Kill box." Trees smothering and uprooting ruins of buildings he used to know. He hung the lights from branches at eye level and took cover nearby. Then the rains started.

Water trickled down leaves and branches, pooling on the ground. The noise of rain became the only sound he heard. “It’s for the greater good.” He told himself as voices drew near. Virgil watched them a moment longer, then they were in the kill box.

Virgil triggered the lights, pulses of red and green, lightning bright. He kept his eyes down, sliding the prosthetic claw into the Sentry arm housing. With one final resigned breath, Virgil turned the triple barrels and clunked a round into place.

Virgil peeled from cover, expecting to have two statue like figures dead in his sights. He froze as the young man bounded free of the implanted constraints, hurtling towards the woman. Dumbfounded by the impossible feat, he hesitated. “Shoot!” Shaw yelled in his ear, and he opened fire.

The triple barrel arm kicked and bucked, spitting out half inch projectiles. He sprayed in a wide arc, pulverising trees and splintering branches. Nothing moved.

Virgil collapsed to his knees, disconnecting the arm. “Forgive me Clara.” The rain on his face felt like tears. A sensation he hadn’t felt for a century.

He got to his feet when suddenly firecracker like gunshots rang out. More followed, zipping by him. Hard wired instinct took over, and he returned fire. Virgil found himself in a gunfight, bullets cracking into wood and chasing his footsteps.

The carbine clicked dry. Virgil spun into cover, immediately getting hit in the chest. The ballistic weave and his inhuman tolerance bought him time to react, and click on the stealth camouflage. He swept right, swift and silent. The man stepped out in front of him. Virgil triggered the spike in his claw and lunged for the man’s neck, only to be blocked.

Eyes he once knew burned with anger, unleashing savage body blows, driving the breath from his lungs. A sharp blow hit him in the face. Everything went quiet and bright. He heard metal rip and felt his legs go out from under him.

Virgil raged and threatened like a wounded animal. He saw what the woman wore, the prototype stealth suit he’d stolen all those years ago.

“Who are you?” The woman asked, both of them knowing the answer.

“My name is Burton Blake.”