Chapter 47 "Consider it a donation."

It had been dark for hours by the time they reached the last stretch of road before home. The damaged T-51 felt a lot heavier than John remembered, yet the truck felt lighter, which only made it harder to pull.

“I’ll wait here.” Rosie offered to save him asking, she knew what he wanted to do.

John made one last slog up to their house, dumped the damaged armour, then started loading up the Vertibird. As John hovered at treetop level, he saw Rosie knew the hand signals for slinging cargo. He didn’t seem to find that odd. What did surprise him is that she stayed in the driver’s seat for the short flight. At least Robco didn’t notice, he had his eyes fixed on the horizon, like Valkyrie had taught John to do.

John landed by the Vault, taking a minute to rest. “I’ll be as quick as I can, I’ll ask Rick if wants to come down, but I don’t think he will.” John grabbed the heavy packs of guns, books, clothes, and two dozen examples of parts that Robco said the Vault could make. As John neared the door, he found that his suggestions had been followed to the letter.

The collapsed path now ended at nothing, the cave mouth covered with rock that looked natural enough from a distance. A shadow on the rock face before the path ended turned into a carved tunnel, angled so that someone might walk past it.

Inside he saw the smooth grey he knew from his time as a slave. He hadn’t thought about that in the long months since he left. He distracted himself by looking at the metal cables on the ceiling, held in place with steel pins driven into the rock. Ahead the narrow tunnel opened, work underway on the next path, leading up.

John peaked out of the narrow tunnel exit, seeing the Vault door open, and four armed guards with stainless steel assault rifles. “Hey.” He called out, resisting the urge to punish their laxness with a mock attack, as Sara would have done to him. “It’s John, I’m here to see Rick.” He heard the quick steps and hushed voices stop.

“John, it’s Grant.” John had worked with Grant for years.

“You got safety's on those guns right?” John heard four clicks and stepped out.

Grant, a few years older than John, had let his hair and beard grow out. He looked happier and babbled at John as usual. “Grant.” John put a hand on his shoulder to get him to stop. “Call Rick, please.” John still had a long trek ahead.

Rick looked a little better than John had remembered. “Everything looks good, I’m going to need another week to confirm, but I think we’ve got a real chance.” John still couldn’t tell what Rick really thought. “How are things here?”

“Better, no changes, keeping busy.” Rick almost seemed in a bigger rush than John.

“Rifles look good.” John had inspected the copied rifles while he waited. Stainless steel that matched the walls, actions a little stiff, but the construction solid. “How many did you make?”

“Four.” John looked at the four rifles held against blue suits.

“Four in a week isn’t bad. I’ll need to take one.”

“You sure you can carry it?” Rick asked.

“Yeah I think I carry one rifle.”

“Four cases John.”

“You made sixteen of these?” John sounded surprised.

John spent longer than he wanted to talking Rick through the carbine and smg, wondering if they were too complicated. He pointed out the collection of books and games on holo tape, and the grease pencils that would write on steel walls. He made sure that half would go to the kids, along with some paper.

He gave Rick his handwritten list compiled from the full inventory of the Vault, adding whatever they used to drive steel pins into rock. He’d take it all even if he had to make three trips. They arranged an emergency contact frequency, and a meeting for next week. John took a case of rifles, which was cumbersome, and a pack of apples.

John landed the Vertibird in the middle of the settlement, waving to onlookers and apologising for the noise. He used his T-60 to help drag it back into the clearing.

John hoped to talk Rosie out of leaving tonight, when he smelt food cooking in their home thought she’d changed her mind too. Then she came in wearing black, her cloak, and her new boots.

“I packed you some things, and some stuff for you to give the others.” Rosie seemed about ready to go. John just wanted to go to bed.

As Rosie wrapped the warm roast pork, John placed a single apple on the kitchen table. He saw Rosie glance at it, then recognise it. She turned away and John went to remove the apple.

“No, don't.” She picked it up and smelt it, remembering the stolen apple from years ago.

“Everyone gets to eat them now Rosie. You did that.” John thought that it would help her to know she’d made a difference. That her act of rebellion had echoed through the Vault entire.

She silently flicked a dark bladed knife open and sliced the apple. It stayed whole for a moment, then split in two halves. Rosie offered the half to John first, like last time. He ate it with slow bites, like last time.

John had been on the go for the last fourteen hours. He felt his tiredness recede as Rosie almost skipped ahead. She’d been cagey about how long they had to walk, and made him carry the bags. She stopped in almost the exact spot John landed a week ago, by the steep rock faces.

John thought he heard the wind pick up, it grew louder, then nearer. “Relax.” Rosie looked up and smiled. John followed her eyes and saw a sharp black triangle above, twin engines dampened and vectoring. Something detached from the descending craft, unfolding in the air, landing in a crouch behind Rosie. John felt his hands reach for both his pistols as it stood and shone a red light in the dark.

“Good evening John.” He froze. “My designation is Janey, I’m a real bitch.”

“Not funny.” John's panic eased as Rosie hugged the killer robot.

“Which part?” Rosie laughed, turning back to him as the aircraft landed.

Sleek and low slung, the texture and colour like their pipboys. “Do you know what this is?” Rosie asked, giving nothing away.

“No.” John paced round the small and angular craft, skids instead of wheels, teardrop engine housing mounted on swept back, stub wings. “I have no idea.” Valkyrie would love this, he thought.

“Interesting.” Rosie had started saying that after asking him questions about his pipboy. John got the feeling it told her more than it did him. “It’s called a Velocibird. We call it a Velo.” The doors that looked solid hissed and slid back, revealing two empty seats.

“Where’s the pilot?”

“You’re talking to her.” Rosie looked incredibly pleased with herself.

“Show off.” John used a familiar and warm tone.

“You can do it too.” Rosie drew closer. “There’s a lot you don’t know.” John got in the rear seat.

“Do not throw up in my aircraft!” Rosie didn’t have to shout to be heard, but she shouted anyway. John sat behind her, pressed into the moulded seat by the acceleration. The Vertibird span rotors to hack and claw at the air, torque matched with power to defy gravity. The Velocibird flew like an arrow from a bow, cutting through the air with little resistance.

The moment they touched down John threw himself from the Velo, vomiting a staggered step away from the aircraft. He heard Rosie laugh. As he turned John recoiled, the matte black robot thrust and arm at him.

“Hydrate.” John took the water canteen from the steady metal hand and tried to stop his own from shaking.

“It’s not far.” Rosie dropped the heavy crate next to him and started fixing his clothes. John suddenly felt like he had an inspection to pass.

John followed Rosie to her home for the last few months. He knew nothing about it, although Rosie’s delight at the Rest told it wasn’t similar. As the trees gave way John saw a tall, round building, topped with a tarnished steel and glass room. There were holes in the wall, and the ground dropped away just beyond it. Maybe it has a nice view, he thought.

Inside a broken and rusted staircase spiralled up. Pale moonlight coming through the walls showing huge gaps between steps. He followed Rosie not up, but down, trying not to fall as Rosie skipped the stairs two at a time. At the bottom he stood in a round room, smaller than the living room of the house they’d left.

“This is...nice.” John didn’t know what else to say.

“That’s good, get all the stupid things said now.” Rosie had a sharp tone. John didn’t mind, she looked nervous, and not for herself. Rosie pushed at a seemingly rigid metal bookcase, and it opened.

John stood to attention, saying nothing and waiting to be addressed. As the very much junior officer in the room should.

A long, stone walled room, with a floor to match. Low hanging pre-war lighting, an open kitchen in one corner, curved couches round a gas firepit. At the back of the room sheets had been hung to give a little privacy.

Opposite that were workbenches, immaculate and organised. Dull green power armour and Recon frames at one end, weapons and gear stored underneath. John wondered if the robot did the cleaning, he couldn’t imagine Rosie did.

He watched Rosie embrace Sentinel Cross, both in black. They clearly had a strong bond that Rosie seemed to share with the others.

“Sir. Knight John Blake reporting. Your orders sir?” John gave the correct response, Rosie shook her head. No one else did.

“Stand easy John. Not too easy mind.” Brandon stepped forward and shook his hand, pulling him into the room. “How was the journey?”

“Fast.” John couldn’t think of another word, the roast pork Rosie took from her pack was still warm.

“Is that it?” The slim blonde man interrupted Brandon before he spoke. John turned away and safely cleared the suppressed carbine in a sand bucket by the door, handing it back to the blond man.

“Thank you sir.”

“Not that, that.” He pointed to the large crate that Rosie packed.

“John, you remember Scout Capitan Fletcher I’m sure.” Brandon seemed annoyed.

“Matt.” He shook John’s hand after saluting. He glanced to Rosie who gave him a gleeful smile.

“Show him John.”

John heaved the pack up, pulling out the steel crate. The smell told him what lay inside, he didn’t appreciate the surprise. He grabbed the Deathclaw head by both horns, dumping it on the bench.

“I’ve seen bigger.” John didn’t think that Brandon was bragging. “But not often.” He clapped John on the back.

“It’s a male.” Matt started poking at the head, measuring with knotted string.

“There was an egg and a smaller one.” John realised he didn’t know what happened to the egg.

“Then there’s a Matriarch.” Matt had an almost excited tone.

“How did you put it down?” Brandon asked with respect.

“I baited it, then fed it an explosive...cocktail.” John could see the blue flames escaping the fanged mouth still.

“Fine work Ronin.” Brandon shook his hand.

“Thank you sir.” He turned John away as Matt, Rosie and the robot huddled over the head.

“They took the tongue.” Matt sounded disappointed.

John was formally introduced to Scout Commander Briggs and his wife Major Briggs for the first time, then shown the washroom. Beige tile and a glass walled walk in shower. He spent longer in there than he should.

His clothes had been taken and replaced with dull green fatigues. He sat at the table with everyone else in black, taking the joke well.

Matt ate out of politeness, getting back to cleaning the horned head while an induction forge hummed away. Rosie caught John's eye, nodding to the pack she’d brought. He followed her lead, giving the apples to Paul, and pouring drinks from a bottle of Robco’s whiskey.

“John, with me.” Brandon finished his drink and got up, not looking back or waiting for him. His eyes fell over the benches, weapons and armour.

“Which one is Rosie’s?” John asked.

“Pretty much all of them at this point.” Brandon shook his head with amusement as John followed him below.

After a narrow hall, John came to an open Vault door, smaller, like the one he’d seen in the basement. Inside were comfortable seats and wooden wall panels. A long bar with stools, like a lounge.

“Rosie doesn't come down here does she.” John didn’t ask, he knew she would hear the same fans, the same hint of stale air.

“Not unless she has to.” John heard sorrow in Brandon’s voice. “It’s thanks to her we have this place. You understand what a place like this means to us, out here.”

“Home.” John could see that Brandon liked this place for far more than practical reasons. “For you.”

“And for you.”

John followed, looking at the long kitchen, got dragged from the gym, and shown into a luxurious bedroom. Four poster bed, soft carpets. Washrooms with sunken bathtubs and twin sinks. A preserved piece of the old world.

“I understand this may be...distasteful for you.” Brandon expressed what John felt. “But it’s here. Although I understand you have a home. Rosie seems quite taken with it.”

“She said that?” John smiled at hearing Rosie's opinions.

“I’d like to visit, I know that may be an issue, but it would ease my mind.” Brandon asked, John wondered if he could say no.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He could at least ask.

“Rosie also tells me you're planning to get people out?” Brandon led him from the room while they talked.

“Yes sir. I swore an oath.” John saw that earned him respect. “But it’s…”

“Expensive.” Brandon saw the problem right away.

He followed into what he knew would be there, dull steel and sliding doors, the luxury built atop the kind of Vault he knew all too well. He saw where Rosie had carved away the things she hated. Doors missing, mechanisms pulled out, small rooms opened up.

In a double storeroom, that still felt small, sat four wooden chests.

“Open it.” John did, standing in surprise.

“There must be fifty thousand caps in there!”

“Fifty eight. Consider it a donation.” Brandon offered him a drink of whiskey to toast, yet he hesitated.

“Forgive me sir, but is the Baron’s money?” John had to know before he could accept it.

“No.” Brandon seemed amused. “I assure you playing a criminal is far less profitable than actually being one. We took it from slavers. Seems only right to put to a proper use. There’s one for Beverly too. Should at least get the ball rolling.”

“Thank you sir.” John toasted and drank, wondering how much he would really need.

“I wish we could do more, especially after Clarke…” John saw the wound that hadn’t been inflicted on him alone. “How do you feel about that? Speak freely.”

“Part of me understands the move. And then I think about all those people, and Rosie...if he’d have set it off, that would have made the lie they told us true.” John set down the delicate glass as he felt his grip tighten. "I thought he trusted me, now I..." John trailed off, unable to pin down the swirling, conflicting thoughts.

“You want to kill him but part of you still respects him.” Brandon helped him understand. “Clarke’s the finest soldier I’ve ever known, a true leader. But it comes at a cost. Something tells me you know what it is to love someone exceptional.” He smiled with sadness and pride in his eyes.

“Yes, I do.” John let a deep sigh escape, relieved to have an ally. “What do we do next?”

“We find Vault X and make sure it stays buried.” John still didn’t know if he agreed with that. “Rosie has something you should see. We’re closer than ever John, and on my oath I will get you free of this. Both of you.” John believed him.