Dangerous People
"That was an awful lot of... stuff... just for some map co-
ordinates."
Sharn looked up from her seat on the deck, which ran around 'The
Adventurers' scav shop. She could understand Abigail's confusion.
Between them she, Kyle and Chopper had been trying to educate Abigail on
the worth of produce and services in the wasteland, and now she was
being made to sort through used boots, broken weaponry and canned food
to find the value in the trade Sharn had made.
"Yeah, I know it's junk, Abby, but if it's junk we need? Honestly,
we did get a good price. Especially since you could provide those PipBoy
numbers."
Abigail didn't look entirely convinced, and held up the pair of
boots they had taken as part of their payment. "Sharn, these are falling
apart."
True enough the leather had already been torn, which wasn't helping
their condition as they were held up by the ankles.
"But look at the soles. They're in good condition, and my ancestors
know that *he* gets through boots fast enough. We don't need the rest,
but those soles will last a while once he cobbles them onto the boots he
has."
By 'he', Sharn meant Rathley. She had accepted that they were
breaking him out now. She didn't like it, but it was necessary. Even
Abigail had said that keeping Rathley feeling like part of the team was
sensible. After all, what would happen if they left him there and he got
free anyway? Keeping him sympathetic towards them was the safest course
of action, and Abigail had obviously convinced herself that he wasn't
irredeemably evil. There must have been something more than the bounty
notice that would make him want to kill Connor like that.
Sharn didn't agree, she knew Rathley better than that, but at the
same time she had been as shaken as everyone by Rathley's lesson when he
left them with the floater. She owed him. In the three years she had
travelled with him he had been the deciding factor in a great many life
or death situations. He deserved every slur and bullet thrown his way,
and yet if it weren't for him Kyle would not have been the talented
wanderer and gunman he was today, and Sharn herself would still be
relying on her mother's superstitious tribal teachings to keep her alive
in the desert.
Abigail broke her out of her conflicted reverie with an incredulous
question.
"He can cobble?"
Sharn nodded, annoyed at how impressed Abigail sounded. "What
*can't* the bastard do?" she asked rhetorically.
Abigail was obviously out to try and lighten Sharn's mood. "He can't
get out of his own messes without you?"
And Sharn was grateful for Abigail's levity. Whatever misgivings she
had about the girl's sexuality, Abigail was a better friend these days
that Kyle was. She seemed to go out of her way to help, even if she
didn't always succeed. "Yeah," she chuckled, "you can say that again.
Half of my job with that lot is talking them out of trouble."
She held up an ancient can of Cram processed meat. "And negotiating
our pay."
Abigail grimaced for a moment, before she looked up and focused on
the can. "Are you really going to eat that? I mean, those tins have to
be a hundred years old!"
Sharn nodded, fully intending on doing just that. "It's better than
iguana every day, Abby-girl. Chopper says it's pumped full of more
preservatives than a stimpak, so as long as it doesn't glow in the dark
you're fine!"
Abigail made a face and stuck out her tongue. "If you say so."
"Your, er, 'girlfriend' says so."
Abigail shrugged. "It's still nasty. You've got me used to real
meat, so I think I'll stick with real meat."
"You didn't have Cram in your vault?"
Abigail shook her head, as if it should have been obvious. "We
didn't have *any* packaged food in our vault by the time I was born. Not
besides chocolate bars and reconstituted potato chips. We had to grow
everything."
It sounded pretty idyllic to Sharn, but she didn't say so. She
didn't know what kind of hardships Abigail might have had underground.
"Well, I guess that gave you something to do down there," she joked, not
wanting her friend to start thinking too hard about what she had lost.
"Yeah. I guess it did." Abigail replied, smiling, but without the
jollity Sharn had hoped for. "I thought I was getting on okay, but I
still miss it, you know? My family, my friends, having a role in life."
Sharn didn't know - how could she? - but she nodded and lied for
Abigail's sake. "Of course you miss it. I would, if Kyle or my village
had been taken from me. But look at you: you're one of us now. Fuck
knows what we would have done against the Hearts without you."
Abigail looked at her, and Sharn really did see a wastelander there.
The black leather, reclaimed and sanitised from the Diamonds. The
composed look radiating from the blank shades. The confident, upright
walk she had cultivated to blend in with the mercs. Enough fearlessness
to pick a fight with raiders, or jack herself up on drugs she didn't
understand without a second thought, because that was what she needed to
do to make her kill.
And the girl could only surprise her by shattering that image with
her small, uncertain voice. "But I'm not one of you. I'm still just a
vault girl."
Sharn looked at her in incredulity. What the hell was going through
Abigail's mind to make her think that way after everything they had done
together? After the plans Abigail herself had come up with to help free
Rathley and get her caps back.
"Abby-girl, just look around you a minute," she said as she started
to stuff their miscellaneous payment into her bag.
"I know," Abigail replied, still looking the part that apparently
she didn't feel. "They're staring at us."
"Yeah. At *us*." That was Sharn's point. "*Two* scavs who were
involved in Rathley burying some kind of major mover in this town. And
you're the woman who took down the Hearts' super mutant! What part of
you isn't a wastelander, Abby-girl?"
To Sharn's satisfaction, Abigail didn't seem able to answer that.
"If you're worried, you can talk to me," Sharn added, much less
vibrantly. "That's why I'm with them, remember? I'm good at talking
things out."
Abigail took a breath, but she shook her head. "No, I think I'm
okay. But thanks, Sharn."
Then, after a moment, Abigail spoke up again. "We don't have much to
do right now, do we?"
Sharn shook her head. "Not with my gunner-man and Chopper out
setting things up." In truth she had several thing she wanted to do
while the plotters were making inquiries and testing the ground for that
night, but if Abigail had her own ideas it might make her feel better to
go with those instead. "What do you have in mind?"
"I want to know why Rathley did it. What was worth *him* almost
getting killed by the police?"
Sharn had chalked it up to Rathley being his own reprehensible self,
but now that she mentioned it, Abigail did have a valid point. Sharn
smiled. She probably didn't want to know the answer, but with their Scav
business finished it was more productive than going back to the bar.
"Then let's go and ask."
***
Finding Milla was easy, even for a pair of girls who had never
visited Micasa before. Connor had owned one of the larger watering holes
on Micasa's main street, and while the smaller bars did a better trade
in beer, 'The Dusty Wagon' seemed to be the place to go for hard liquor.
As before, enough of the patrons recognised them either by face or
reputation for the place to fall noticeably quieter. That was a bad
sign, Abigail thought, but then she'd thought the same thing at the Scav
shop, and the inn where they were staying, and pretty much everywhere
else in town. One red-faced card sharp rose to his feet, but to
Abigail's relief he didn't make a move. Someone else made a remark, but
it wasn't clear who.
"They got some real brass balls showin' up here."
That fractured, alcohol-laced air was frightening, but Abigail hid
her worry well behind her dark glasses. Sharn stood defiantly in the
doorway, daring any of them to say she wasn't allowed in, but Abigail
didn't want to tempt their patience. She ignored the faces looking their
way and strode over to the bar.
"Sipping whiskey, please. For my friend as well."
The bartender, a tall, moustached man in a well tailored waistcoat,
pulled a bottle and two glasses from the back wall. "How much will you
be trading for?"
Abigail pulled six caps from her pocket and hoped it would be
enough. "I'd also like a favour to go with it."
The barman raised an eyebrow and stopped pouring. "Such as?"
Abigail tried to look as honest as she could without taking her
shades off. "We want to speak to the owner."
By now Sharn had joined her at the bar, but if the quiet had been
worrisome when they arrived it became deafening now.
"Girl, your... companion, shot the owner two days ago."
"Then who owns this place now?" Sharn asked, taking a glass in her
fingers. It sounded like a remarkably reasonable question coming from
her. No wonder the others let her do their talking for them. "We think
that she would be willing to see us, if she has time."
The barman gave them both an unimpressed look, but it was clear that
he didn't want to get involved in matters of security. "Andus, go and
see if the mistress wants anything to do with these two."
The man who *was* obviously security gave them a dirty look, but did
as he was told.
"And why," asked the barman as they waited, "might the mistress want
to see you? You have caused an awful lot of trouble for her already. Not
to mention ending a marriage of twenty nine years."
Sharn huffed into her drink. "Not our finest hour, I can tell you."
The barman's left eyebrow rose sharply up his tall forehead. "I can
imagine. Especially with word of your apparent heroics down south,
beyond the caravan trails. It is quite a feat to bring down a man armed
with brotherhood technology, let alone the kind of monstrosity we've
heard described. If the stories are to be believed, you are quite
proficient killers."
That felt like a knife in Abigail's stomach if anything did. She
took a sip of the fiery liquor and suppressed her reflexive choke. "I
think we've done more than enough of that," she said. She could hear how
morbid she sounded, and she hoped that wouldn't mess up her chances of
seeing Milla. "Don't you?"
The burley security man returned in his own time, but with a much
less dark expression on his face. "She'll see you. Follow me."
Abigail forced herself to finish the rest of her whiskey - god did
that burn! - while Sharn just took her glass with her, letting it hang
from her fingers.
"Don't worry," Sharn said with a smile that the barman might not
have found reassuring, but Abigail certainly did. "We'll behave."
***
In contrast Milla herself was more composed than when they had last
met, if that was possible. Abigail had thought it strange how reasonable
and calm the greying woman had been when she had visited them in prison,
but now no-one would ever have guessed that she was two days widowed.
Her eyes had a keen, hard edge to them - the same intelligent,
considering look Lilis had worn in the mercenary troupe - and she
invited them into her room without so much as a second thought. She even
dismissed the bouncer, despite his halted protests.
She sat herself down in an antique looking upholstered chair - a
luxury on the surface - and settled her skirt, before bidding them sit
in similar seats.
"I would ask what it is you want from me," she said with a knowing
look, "but I think I can already guess that."
"We're not here to ask for leniency towards the bastard, if that's
what you're guessing," Sharn replied. And she wasn't hiding her disgust
of him in the slightest.
Milla responded with a surprised look, but while Abigail was no
expert at reading people Sharn seemed to have the knack. Whatever her
reason, Milla wasn't really surprised at all, and that confused Abigail
something rotten.
"Um, it's really not that much of a shock, is it?" Abigail forced
herself to ask. "We just want to know why. What was worth someone like
Rathley and your husband trying to kill each other?"
Milla dropped her fa‡ade and sat back in her chair. "Of course, the
pair of you are such good, naive girls. Wanting to play hero and get to
the bottom of the mystery, and giving anyone in earshot plenty of reason
to think that you intend to spring Rathley yourselves, if you like what
you hear."
Abigail's mind ground to a halt. Certainly, that *was* what they had
planned - and they would be getting Rathley free regardless - but why on
earth would Milla let on that she knew their intentions so intimately.
Did she intend to blackmail them? If she called for the guard then she
and Sharn could end up back in that prison cell in the blink of an eye,
or worse.
And more to the point, *was* anyone else listening in? If she was as
transparent as that had she given the game away before they had even
begun their operation? It was pure instinct that made her look back to
the closed doorway they had come from.
Milla laughed. "Ha ha, have I worried you, dear?"
Yes, Abigail thought. Yes, you bloody well have! But to her relief
Sharn hadn't been. That was a skill and a half, and her composure
impressed Abigail enormously. Sharn was such an emotional woman, letting
her happiness or anger pour from her, but now she had reigned all that
in and returned Milla's amused gaze with a nonchalant look of her own.
"Yes, you do have us there. So, if you have the time, what story
would you like to tell us?"
Milla paused, considering for a moment, and Abigail had to wonder
whether she would spin out an elaborate lie to keep them from freeing
Rathley. The only thing was, she hadn't shown even an inch of the anger
that she was entitled to, even face to face with the man who had
murdered her husband in broad daylight. True, she would still want him
to pay for what he had done, surely, but she had seemed too honest a
person for that. Or was she as manipulative as the town guard was in the
end?
No, that wasn't fair. She would be justified in wanting Rathley
behind bars for the rest of his life, or dead, whatever she had to do to
ensure it happened. Suddenly, Abigail thought her chances of finding out
what really happened had vanished the second they had asked to see Milla
again.
But Milla surprised her, and turned away front he both of them,
towards another door. "Benjamin, come in here. There's some folk who
should meet you."
"Who are..."
The door opened to reveal a stocky young boy, about thirteen or
fourteen years old, and except for his obligatory tan he wouldn't have
looked out of place in her vault if Abigail had to tell the truth. He
was unusually clean-faced for a surfacer, like Erin Goldway in Corva had
been, but unlike her Benjamin obviously spent a reasonable amount of
time out of doors. He was blonde, like his mother was where she hadn't
greyed, but he had a strong, square face that would probably look quite
imposing when he shed his puppy fat.
His bored complaint was cut short when he saw who it was sitting in
the chairs opposite his mother. "Hey, you're the girls my Dad came in
with! Does that mean I can finally see him?"
Abigail's jaw dropped, and in the chair beside her Sharn's composure
couldn't mask her own astonishment. Sharn sputtered something that
Abigail managed to repeat a little more coherently. "*Rathley* is
your... father?"
Benjamin smiled, but only briefly before his mother cut the legs
from beneath his enthusiasm.
"No, he is not. Benjamin doesn't seem able to accept that though, no
matter how many times he's told the truth."
"It is the truth!" Benjamin said with a scowl. "That's why Da-
Connor was always so angry at me, and at my *real* father."
Milla's voice cut in like cold steel. "That's enough. And don't you
speak badly of the dead. You owe your *dead father* everything,
Benjamin. That man in jail didn't even remember you *existed* before I
reminded him, and he's not the *reason* you exist either."
Benjamin looked furious, but he didn't say anything. He just stood
there staring at his well-kept boots, tears welling in his eyes.
"Maybe when you have a child of your own you might understand why
your father was angry when you decided you'd rather have someone else
replace him. Now go back to your room and study your reading. You're
still not allowed out until tomorrow."
Abigail half expected Benjamin to start screaming at his mother, but
instead he simply clenched his fists and left, already sniffling. No
doubt the poor boy would have cried for all he was worth if he wasn't
still in the presence of his stern mother and her guests. Abigail hadn't
guessed that Milla could be so harsh, or so commanding.
Benjamin slammed the door behind him.
"And that," Milla said, "is why my husband wanted Rathley dead."
There was a stony silence while Abigail and Sharn tried to digest
it. In Abigail's mind it was seemed tragic to have a family fracture
like that, and for the recriminations to end up in the father's death.
Shan wasn't so certain.
"*Is* Rathley his father?"
Milla looked at her sharply, but instead of answering she sat down
again and sagged a little in her chair. "No. No he isn't."
"So why does your son think he is?" Abigail had to ask.
Milla looked at them, running her tongue over her teeth behind her
pursed lips. "Connor and I spent months ensuring that Benjamin wouldn't
be sharing his 'discovery' with the rest of the town. But even so,
rumour spreads quickly, and takes a long time to kill. It reinforced
itself long enough for Benjamin to believe it these last five years, and
Connor should have tried to forget it when the rest of Micasa did, but
what was left of his pride couldn't let Rathley go unpunished. And
Connor was a very proud man."
"But," Abigail asked as gently as she could, "Benjamin started those
rumours? Why did he think Rathley was his father in the first place?"
"We can be discreet, Milla," Sharn added in a soothing voice. "We
just want to know the truth about the man we're going to set loose
again."
Milla stared at them both for a very long moment. "The truth is that
he is every man your mothers ever warned you about. But we still know
better than them, don't we?"
"You *did* have an affair with him?" Sharn asked.
Milla nodded, and looked quite unhappy that she was telling them
this tale. "And I can be certain that Rathley is not Benjamin's father,
because I was already pregnant with him at the time. Connor and Rathley
were two rats in the same burrow. Ruthless bastards, but their arrogance
was charming. Except Connor lost interest while I was fat with Benjamin,
and for Rathley that prize was too tempting to pass up."
Sharn shook her head. "What an ass."
Milla didn't share her sentiment. "I was grateful at the time. It
was nice to be desired again. When Rathley came back eight years later
he couldn't resist spilling the beans, and lording it over Connor in
secret. I kept Benjamin out of Rathley's way, but Connor lost it. Ran
Rathley right out of town and would have killed him if Frank hadn't
stepped in. It didn't help that it came on the heels of the whole price
fixing scandal.
"That would have been the end of it, but Connor's pride was
shattered. He got too drunk one night and took it out on Benjamin and
me. He made it up to us afterwards, and we both put the matter to bed,
but after accusing me of sleeping with Rathley to have Benjamin in the
first place... Benjamin assumed it must have been true. And eight year
olds like to explain everything that happens to them. A lot."
She sighed again. "After that, everyone assumed it must be true, and
Connor couldn't take that. I killed the rumours off, but not before
Connor put out the contract. Maybe he needed to be seen doing something
about it, or maybe it was just revenge for what it did for his
credibility, but I told him it was a bad idea. However, men like that
don't listen. Either you let them be, or you leave."
"And you didn't leave," Sharn said simply.
Milla shook her head. "I loved him. And I *was* sorry I'd cheated on
him, even if it was his own damn fault for ignoring me. And I miss him,
even though he's as much to blame for being dead as Rathley is for
killing him."
Abigail didn't know what to say. Everyone involved was at fault, and
yet she couldn't point a finger at any of them because all their crimes
seemed so... petty. But then, this was a world where wasteland raiders
would kill you for the clothes on your back and a handful of bent bottle
caps. At least losing his wife to Rathley, if only for a few weeks, was
a laudable reason to want revenge. Even if it had been his own
inattentiveness that had driven her away.
"... I'm sorry."
"What for? You wanted to hear it. Now you know," Milla said. "Now,
can I get you girls a drink? I'm thirsty all of a sudden."
***
Rathley was very rarely sorry for anything he did. While he wasn't a
gambler of Kyle's calibre he could play the odds well enough that, win
or lose, the result would always be in his favour. It meant that he lost
a lot, but when the game was weighted so far in his favour he wasn't
going to complain about settling for the consolation prizes.
His current situation was a prime example. He was stuck in jail, had
yet another slowly scarring bullet wound in his leg - god that was
painful now the stimpak had worn off! - and while confident he had no
guarantee that rescue was likely, even if it was possible.
But on the flip side he was very much alive when any more enraged or
panicked man would have been killed, his wound *had* been treated, and
that jumped up bastard Conner was dead, taking his contract with him.
Similarly, Milla hadn't soured in the intervening years, so he was
likely to continue living at least, and as long as he did he would be
able to make the most of his situation. Jail was woefully bereft of
alcohol and whores, but he still got fed, and any guard attempting to
beat on him for kicks would only succeed at giving him the chance to
escape. Though not before Rathley killed whichever fool tried it.
That wasn't to say that Rathley didn't have bad days though. They
just weren't because of any mistake in his part. He had lost his little
finger because Sharn and Chopper had set him up, out of some misguided
sense of justice. As if they had treated Abigail any better. Rathley was
hard on her, but they both came out of it wiser about each other, and
Abigail that bit stronger after a lifetime of safety and soft coddling.
Connor's vindictive contract, again, hadn't exactly been down to
Rathley's actions. Connor was happy enough patronising his old brothel
instead of satisfying his wife, so what did he have to complain about
when Rathley decided to satisfy her in his stead? And the stupid
blowhard hadn't even noticed. It took him eight years to find out
Rathley had stolen Milla from him for three whole months, and he never
would have discovered it if Rathley hadn't told him to his face! And if
Connor hadn't gone beating on her, then Rathley wouldn't have fanned the
rumours that followed either. If Connor and Milla couldn't live with
their choices, that was their problem. Putting the contract out? That
had been sour grapes.
He did feel sorry for the kid though. Milla was a decent woman as
far as rich women went, but to have an arrogant, manipulative fuck like
Connor for a father? Rathley was a self-serving bastard, and he knew it,
but he hoped the kid wouldn't end up with his father's attitude. Or else
he'd probably end up dead too, sooner or later.
He was roused from his thoughts - there wasn't much else to do in
jail but think, at least not with his bullet wound throbbing like this -
when something light fell onto his vest-covered stomach. He looked down,
and smiled as he rolled away from the bored, dozing guard and opened the
folded piece of paper that had landed on him. That was why he liked it
when a cell provided him with a top bunk. It was murder to climb up to
with a busted leg, but it was always just below the window, ready for
Kyle's post run.
***
Chopper tried to affect an air of nonchalance as she went about her
business, at roughly the same time Abigail and Sharn had been going
about theirs. However remarkably she might have entered town, Chopper
was now just another visitor frittering away her caps on alcohol and
wasteland sundries. It should be no surprise that even she, with a bit
of reputation preceding her, should want to talk to the well known and
much respected greeting duo of Frank and Kana. They were more famous
that she was!
She wasn't doing a great job of making it look believable, but then
she wasn't the one who should have been going to talk to them. She
wasn't the one who should have to put herself on the front line of their
upcoming gambit either. And she certainly didn't like the fact that if
anyone was going to be caught, it would be her.
Yet she had no choice. This was the plan, and it made enough sense
that even Abigail had been more than happy with it. Hell, the girl had
been instrumental in its design. Chopper took another swig from the
bottle of beer in her hand and put it down to the inevitable growth of
Abigail's budding Scav mindset. The petite young woman was reckless and
not too bright, but she was a rare thing in the Mid Waste: educated and
adaptable. When Kyle offered her a chance to play to her strengths for
once, she had leapt at it.
The pity was that it also played to Chopper's more hidden strengths
as well.
Though not yet. Chopper liked Kana, and liked Frank even more, but
when push came to shove neither of them were people she could call
friends. True, outside her little party of Scavs she could count her
friends on one hand, and even some of them wouldn't have considered her
a friend until their consciences forced them to realise otherwise, but
Chopper would have liked to have Frank and Kana for friends.
Hell, she would have tried to bed Kana at the first opportunity if
she hadn't known better, but that was beside the point.
They were Kyle's friends, and thanks to a turn of events that she'd
never actually got to the bottom of, they were Rathley's friends to a
degree. But they weren't her friends, only acquaintances who happened to
be decent people. She had to trust that their innate good will, and
their fondness for Kyle, would be enough to obtain their aid.
Kana stood chatting with a small group who didn't appear to have any
travelling paraphernalia, so were either reckless wanderers like the
Scavs or groupies who had just come to talk. Several caravans were
loading up and waiting for their drivers and guards to show up, but they
wouldn't be leaving for a while, nor would anyone be arriving until at
least mid morning apart from the odd hiking group. That was why Frank
wasn't on duty yet, and why Chopper had chosen now to approach. She had
hoped she could get away with her brief bit of recruiting without
interruption, but she hadn't banked on anyone else coming to keep Kana
company until Frank arrived.
There was little else for her to do except make a nuisance of
herself though, so that was what she did. Several of the groupies,
friends of Kana's it seemed, did pause when Chopper arrived, but rather
than butt in Chopper simply sat herself down in the dust and took
another swig from her bottle. Then after a moment, before the
conversation above her began again, she pulled a second from her coat
pocket and offered it up.
"Want one? I'm guessing the 'vans won't be turning up for a bit."
Kana gave her a cautious look - she must have known what Chopper was
there for - but she took the drink. "Thanks."
Chopper listened in while the women beside her gossiped. As ever
there was plenty of news in a town like Micasa, not least of which was
the ownership of 'The Dusty Wagon' now that Connor was dead. Legally it
was Milla's until she passed it on to her son, but there were plenty of
other candidates who were interested in taking over, buying the place
out, or just trying to crowbar their own favourite man in there. Chopper
would have been curious to know how it turned out, had she expected to
stay in town more than twenty four hours. When they asked, Chopper put
her vote in for Milla. The greyed woman had got her out of prison after
all. She was also happy to say that she didn't care what happened to
Rathley one way or the other when the conversation turned that way.
After twenty minutes Kana's companions finally left, and Kana looked
down to Chopper. "I'd say thanks for the drink, but it came with strings
attached, didn't it?"
Chopper nodded, and motioned with her bottle to the caravan that was
appearing in the distance. "Since you'll have visitors soon I'll try and
make it quick. He's going to make an escape at the end of your watch. We
need you to let him go."
"... Shit. I've repaid my favours, Chopper."
"Then he'll owe you one."
Kana grimaced. "And he'll either be dead, or he'll never be coming
back. And he wouldn't pay up anyway."
That was true enough. Rathley repaid his debts in his own way, but
for whatever reason he still didn't consider Kana's balance paid. This
would level their playing field at best. "Then consider it an act of
good faith. We need him out, and Milla doesn't care either way."
Kana was a child of Micasa so its laws, however flexible, were hers.
If Milla was satisfied, then there was nothing else to say. Not that
Kana was convinced Chopper was telling the truth, or could even know
Milla's opinions on her husband's murderer, but Chopper knew that if
nothing else, Kana trusted Kyle's judgement.
"What did Frank say?"
Chopper smiled. "I'll ask him as soon as I find him. But Kyle says
he'll help. We need him to do more than look the other way."
Kana grimaced again on hearing that. "What do you want him to do? Do
you have to get him involved?"
"Yes," Chopper nodded. "We also need someone in the police house to
let us know where my girl's caps are, and how many trunks we'll have to
go through to find them all. Unless you'd play cards with the few decent
cops there are in town?"
Depressed, Kana shook her head. She had less contact with them than
Frank did, and Chopper knew it. "It's not just about Rathley then."
"No."
Kana took a deep breath, and her face firmed. "Fine. If Frank
agrees, I will too."
Chopper breathed an inner sigh of relief. It wasn't often that she
was so glad for a person's good nature, but Kana's obvious guilt may
have tipped the balance.
"Thanks."
But as Chopper stood to leave Kana stopped her. "Wait, Chopper. Is
Kyle still angry?"
Chopper shook her head. He might still feel disappointed in them,
which might be why he had delegated this job to her, but she could tell
Kana the truth. "No, he's not. He never stays pissed for too long."
"Yeah, thanks. I guess he's still good like that."
***
At the same time Kyle had finished his morning post run, and had
left Rathley and the prison well behind him. He'd not been seen, and he
had to hope that Rathley had been covert enough to keep their
communication away from the guards' prying eyes. Whether the guards
could read it was another matter - he and Rathley could understand each
others' scratches but they weren't nearly as literate as people like
Chopper, and presumably Abigail. However, simply letting the guards find
out that Rathley had been getting notes would probably be enough for
them to foil Kyle's plan.
Rathley had to know what was coming though, and it was in his
interests to make sure everything went as it should. Instead of dwelling
on that, Kyle turned his mind to his main decoy in their plan: her real
name was Elspeth Depree, but very few people knew her as anything other
than 'River'.
Kyle's history with River was a long one, dating back to his first
few years in Micasa as a teenager. Being a likable sort Kyle had made
friends quickly with the local boys, but when one of their group had
finally struck out and caught himself a girlfriend the remaining four of
them had, after much frustration at his frequent absences, made a bet.
They would get lucky, or lose their money.
Kyle had won the top slice of the pot, but not altogether fairly. He
was too competitive to take the time needed to woo a girl properly, so
he had walked into the 'Blue Velvet' whore house with a bag full of caps
knowing exactly what he wanted, and of the six girls in the brothel he'd
chosen River. And he'd enjoyed flaunting her in front of the other boys,
because she had been a stunning woman.
It was a perverse twist of fate that left the other teenagers
searching for new partners only a few weeks or months onwards, whereas
Kyle had become a regular customer of River's, and she eventually
started making exceptions for him; compromises with the owner of the
brothel. The other girls there didn't captivate him the way River had,
and after two years of patronage River admitted that she had tried very
hard not to fall in love with him in return. And she had failed.
Their relationship had come with more than its share of difficulties
though. Blue Velvet was not a place for prostitutes to work safely in
exchange for a stipend. Its workers, men and women alike, were hand
picked from the southern slave trade. For slaves they were treated well,
Micasa would have nothing to do with the slave trade on the surface
unless the slaves were being bought to 'free' them from the slavers, but
in reality they *were* still property. River would live and work in that
building until she was no longer an attractive option to the customers,
and Kyle had rarely been able to see her other than as a customer, even
with his benefits. It had forced them to make the most of their time
together, but had frustrated them both no end. Especially when Kyle had
to be 'fitted into her schedule'.
He had even tried to buy her outright once, but he had only been
twenty at the time, and he'd had no idea of the kind of money he would
have been asked to pay for her. That had begun the bitter-sweet end of
their relationship, but by that point he had already joined Rathley's
ailing group, and if there had ever been a time to move on, that had
been it. He'd come back to see her every now and then, between other
women, and she had welcomed him back to her room with open arms, but
Kyle never pretended that he could return to how he had felt those years
before.
And his biggest worry about their plan was that Sharn might find
out. While they might have their fights, Sharn had come to take the
place within him that had always remained a little empty since he had
forced himself to realise how impotent he had been to free River. And
Sharn was possessive of him. Past dalliances she could accept, but to
hear that he had only left a woman because he could find no way of
staying with her properly? That he wasn't so sure about. Kyle had
managed to move on years ago, becoming wiser and more cynical as the
world required, but would she believe that?
He pushed open the heavy door of Blue Velvet and pulled out a pouch
with exactly the right amount in hard caps to buy two hours of River's
time. It was just a shame he wouldn't get to use that time until that
night, if only to apologise for what he would be asking.
***
Chopper stopped in the doorway, caught off guard just for an instant
before she sighed. "Sorry to interrupt, Frank."
Frank lent up against the headboard of the tavern bed. The man next
to him blushed and grinned, his eyes groggy, but Frank seemed
unconcerned. "Chopper." He huffed. "You're not interrupting anything but
a lie in, but what the hell do you want? I'm not on duty yet."
"A little assistance, and a recommendation. But we can talk when
you've got your pants on."
Frank blinked some of the sleep away from his eyes. "Is it that
important?"
Chopper shrugged, but tried to give the impression that it was.
"Kana said she wanted your opinion too."
The greeting guard sighed and nodded. "Fine. Give me a minute and
I'll meet you downstairs."
Chopper nodded, and let out a huff and she turned. "I hope you were
using protection."
"Just wait *one minute*! And yes we were!"
***
Frank, it turned out, was more than happy to help them out now that
he was being given the chance. There was a lot less bad blood between
him and Rathley than anyone else Abigail had yet met, including Kyle or
Milla. Or so it seemed, given the way Chopper related it.
"You're seriously saying that Frank's just going to let us into the
police station, no questions asked?" Sharn said in astonishment. "I
mean, I know you guys know each other, but..."
Abigail could see the conviction in Kyle's eyes though, and Sharn
could see it too. Whatever their disagreements, Kyle trusted this man
without a second thought.
"If Frank says there'll be nobody in the back of the police house,
then that's what you'll find. Nobody."
"But it wasn't Frank saying that," Chopper reminded him. "It was his
contact."
Abigail looked up from the old device in her lap. To her it seemed
simple. "And that contact is being paid well enough, isn't he? He gets
to keep his share of what they stole, and we pilfer the difference from
the others. Besides, it'll be easier that way: there won't be as many
lockers to go through."
Kyle agreed. "And Frank and Kana both vouched for him. He'll make
sure we can get in okay, as long as we stick to the plan."
"We need to tell Rathley about Kana's offer as well then," Sharn
noted, and Kyle nodded. He'd evidently thought of that already.
"I'll give him the key and let him know what's going on when I let
him out. We'll have time, and he knows how to get there."
Sharn looked anxious, but accepted it. "Fine."
With that matter over Kyle looked to Abigail as she tinkered. "What
about you, Abby? Will you be ready?"
Abigail nodded. For the first time in goodness knew how long, she
actually felt confident about what she was doing. It felt good to have a
piece of technology, no matter how primitive, yielding to the skills
Marcus had taught her. "Yep. I'll be ready as soon as I've got this
thing to talk to my PipBoy."
"How long?"
Abigail shrugged to try and cover for the butterflies of nervous
anticipation in her stomach. "Well, uh, comm systems aren't my
speciality, but it's not like it's broken. An old transmitter like this
*should* be able to send out something on the PipBoy's frequency. Its
short wave modulation just needs tightening up."
Kyle cocked his head a little, and Abigail remembered that she might
as well have been speaking Chinese to him. "Ten minutes?"
"Plenty." He got to his feet, looking confident as he regarded
Chopper and his girlfriend. "Shall we find some dinner?"
***
River arrived bang on time, as the light was finally starting to
fade. She had dropped the magnificent swaying saunter of her workplace
for a more understated walk, but Kyle knew that wouldn't have stopped
her turning a few heads. She was as uncommonly attractive as all Velvet
Blue's 'exclusive' prostitutes, so he had asked that she try to remain
innocuous rather than attempt at going unseen.
And it depressed him that, as wonderful as she still looked, the
first thought to cross his mind was how she looked older. There were a
few more lines by her eyes, a little less firmness in her cheeks and in
the cleavage that showed above her low chemise. She had cut her auburn
curls short again since they had last met, so they tapered hard into her
neck, but even the edge of severity that gave her seemed somehow
attractive, in a matronly may.
"Kyle," she said in her soft, West Waste accent, "I'm glad you asked
me to come, but would it have hurt to ask in person? I have missed you,
you know."
Kyle gave her an apologetic look, but didn't bother to reply. He
would only have got half way before River had lifted her hands to his
cheeks and kissed him gently. As brief as it was it seemed to satisfy
her, and she gave him a soft smile before wiping at his lips. Presumably
she'd left her lipstick there.
"Is it another girl?" she asked. "Or the Rathley problems?"
"Both," Kyle replied. "You don't mind helping us out for his sake?"
River gave him a look, as if to ask how dumb he was. "It's not his
sake I'm here for."
"Thanks. Is Red treating you okay?"
River nodded, amused by his unusually awkward small talk. "He always
does. But I don't want to talk about him. I have to see him every day. I
want to talk about you, and your new girl."
Kyle could never tell whether she was just nosey and wanted news
from outside Micasa or whether she was genuinely interested in the women
who had come after her. It seemed rather self-defeating to him, but he
always indulged her, regardless.
"She's not so new now. We picked her up about three years back - met
her just after my last visit - and she's been around ever since.
She's... she still a bit naive, but she's a good woman and a damned good
shot. Helps keep the reprobates in line."
"Since when were you ever a reprobate?"
Kyle took one look at her smirk before he was forced to return it.
"Rathley and Chopper." He sighed. "We weren't planning on keeping her
around - she was a bit of a tribal still - but I think I'm in for the
long haul this time."
River looked at him a moment, and tilted her head. "That's good?"
"Yeah. Very good."
River looked a bit conflicted at that, but she smiled none the less.
"Good for you then. Is there any chance I could meet her?"
Kyle hesitated. That could be bad. "I don't think that's a good
idea, River. I'd be up for it, but she's on the territorial side. And
she wouldn't want to meet you during hours anyway, she's not big on
experimentation."
"I see. That must keep Chopper amused, from what I hear of her."
"Heh, you'd better believe it. Especially before Chopper got *her*
latest girlfriend."
They reminisced for five short minutes before the night's tasks re-
asserted themselves.
"So, since I can't entertain you tonight," River said, half-joking
in her disappointment, "who is it you *are* paying me to keep occupied."
"Rathley's guards."
River blinked at him. "... You're kidding. That's your rescue plan?"
"Not all of it. As long as the two of them are separated for a bit
it'll be fine though."
River sighed. "Kyle, you know I trust you, but could you at least
let me in on how this is going to help?"
Kyle grinned, "In his post-coital state one of the guards gets a bit
too close to Rathley's cell. Rathley knocks him out through the bars,
drags him over, and steals the keys while the other guard is too busy
with you to help do anything."
River seemed even less impressed. "Seriously?"
"Of course not," Kyle said, "but that's how the police will think it
happened. Just wear the first one out, and make sure the second isn't
looking at the door when I come in to knock his lights out."
River cottoned onto the plan. "Right. I see. And you can knock him
out in one hit? When was the last time you punched someone?"
"Well, if either of them takes a few hits no-one would be surprised
if Rathley went a bit overboard. As long as they never see what hit them
they'll have to take your word for it that it was Rathley."
"And how do you expect the man I've already dealt with not to see
you coming?"
"That's up to Rathley."
***
Meanwhile, across the street from the prison Abigail and Chopper had
been spending some proper time together, in as much as they had been
strolling around waiting for an opportune moment to disappear behind the
main police house.
Had it not been for Abigail Chopper might never have managed to slip
away unnoticed. She seemed to have an innately bad sense of timing, and
Abigail had to haul her back in the end, making it look as casual as
possible.
"Seriously," Abigail grumped in a whisper once they were safely out
of sight. "How can you be the main sneak of this operation and not be
any good at sneaking?"
Chopper seemed unimpressed. "And what part of your vault curriculum
taught *you* when to slip away into the shadows without arousing the
suspicion of the local hedonists? And," she added, "you do seem to be
very eager about this mission. You do realise that this is the most
obviously illegal thing you've done since crawling out of your vault,
right?"
Abigail did know it, but why the hell should she care? It was the
'law' in this town that was the most corrupt part of it, at least as far
as she had seen, and she had personally been a victim of that
corruption.
And of course there was the Buffout she had swallowed in secret
before they had set out. That was making the whole 'breaking into a
building full of armed police officers' thing a whole lot less
intimidating.
She'd tried not to do it. She really had. But she was only human,
and no sane human would be doing what she was doing now. She needed to
be just as mad as Chopper and Kyle were, and so there she was, nervous
as hell but itching to get started!
But before she could voice her retort Chopper added an afterthought
to her accusations.
"Not that I'm complaining. I'll need all the help I can get for
this."
Abigail blinked in surprise. That sounded awfully accepting of
Chopper.
"Hey, it's the law who are the bad guys this time. And it's not like
I have to kill them either. I'm just trying to think of it like a spy
movie," Abigail said. "And I *did* have to sneak around in the vault,
I'll have you know. How else do you think I found out for certain there
were no other gay women there? I broke into the main databank and saw
the census data."
Chopper seemed impressed. "Ballsy. Well, according to Frank's
insider friend, we should be able to get in through here without being
noticed."
She pointed to a simple wooden door sitting recessed into an alcove
in the equally wooden wall. A huge, double bolt padlock hung from the
latch.
"This would so much easier if we could just break down the door,"
Abigail said. "Or the prison walls. They're only wood after all." For
some reason, in her powered up state of mind, that actually didn't seem
like such a bad idea. Well, aside from...
"You mean aside from the dozen shotgun wielding police officers that
would follow," Chopper replied as she sat down in front of the door and
pulled a cloth roll of syringes out of her coat pocket.
"Yeah. Besides that."
Abigail watched genuinely impressed as, from the final padded holder
in the rolled cloth belt, Chopper pulled not a hypodermic but a trio of
metal prongs that looked like they belonged in a dental surgery.
Or a locksmith's shop.
"I can't believe you never said you could pick locks," Abigail said
as Chopper slipped two of the instruments into the padlock and began to
work. "I'd have thought that's a pretty major marketable talent up
here."
It would have been useless in Vault 42 - all the locks had been
electronic apart from the equipment lockers, and they were all behind
electronically locked doors - but up on the surface these chunky,
primitive contraptions seemed to be the norm.
"Necessity rather than desire," Chopper answered, without looking
away from the lock. "But being able to sew up a ruptured artery made
learning this sort of thing a bit easier. At least for me. Steady
hands."
Then after one held breath and a final twist the lock bolts were
released with a dull clunk. Chopper lifted the padlock of the latch and
popped it in her coat pocket, so that they could lock it again on the
way out. "After you, little mouse."
Abigail didn't know whether to frown or giggle at the remark, and
with the real start of their operation so close at hand she decided to
do neither. Instead she eased the door open with a minimal squeak from
its hinges and slipped inside, followed by Chopper, who closed it behind
them.
There were no windows in that back corridor, but it was lit by a
bare electric light bulb that hung by a wire from the ceiling. That just
underlined their reason for sneaking into the police house before
Rathley's escape, and with twilight falling. This building was one of
the few besides the more advanced casinos that had electric power, and
what's more it was designed to be able to withstand assault from unruly
merchants and casino owners, dating back to the town's merchant wars. It
meant that, aside from blowing the whole place to smithereens, you had
to force your way inside past those outer corridors to actually get at
the cops inside on the ground floor. Only the Brotherhood of Steel, or a
group of Super Mutants, would have been well armed enough to do that.
And they would have been sniped at from the living quarters on the
second floor.
However, it did mean that the cops were reliant on the micro-fusion
generator behind the door that Chopper now set to work on. It provided
light inside the sealed off innards of the police house, as well as
power for the two computers that stored most of their report and
records. The generator sat in the rear left corner of the building, but
if anything it was better protected from the outside than the rest of
the building, hiding behind sheets of scrap steel plate.
With another much softer click Chopper unlocked the door, and the
pair snuck into the starkly lit 7'x7' room. The generator was small,
only three feet cubed, but then it didn't need to be big. They could
have used the normal, expendable micro-fusion cells for what they wanted
and still only charged them every year or so. But the genny was at least
more reliable.
Until Abigail got at it.
"Tools please," Abigail asked, holding out her hand, and trying not
to let the bright light from the bulb in the ceiling slip behind her
shades as she looked up at Chopper.
Chopper just looked down at her. "What's the rush? We can't do
anything until we get Sharn's signal."
Abigail gave her a deadpan stare. "This is a self-contained unit.
It's going to take a few minutes just to get the shell off, bypass the
safety switches and detach the coolant panels, and that's before I do
anything to its insides."
"And you can make this look like a technical problem?" Chopper
asked, sounding genuinely unsure.
"Sure. It'll look just like a capacitor short tripped the emergency
shutdown switch once they crack it open again."
"And that's bad?"
"Well," Abigail said as she began to unscrew the casing bolts, "if a
cyclic capacitor broke down and *didn't* trip the emergency shutdown its
associated micro-fusion cell would start pumping excess current into the
charge circuits. That would overcharge the companion cell, and blow the
whole thing sky high, along with half this building."
"Okay. I'll shut up and let you work."
Abigail tried to stifle her giggle. It was fun being useful. "Nah,
this is easy. Except I shouldn't say that, or Lady Luck will decide to
kick me in the ass again, and you have *no idea* how much she hates me."
***
Sharn lay on the roof of the 'Happy Go Lucky' caravan company,
looking down the sights of the rifle she had bought from Kirren before
they had left Corva. It had no telescopic sight, but there was a
psychological benefit looking down the clean line of the gun. It helped
her focus when she was on lookout duty. The chunky, handheld radio
transmitter that Abigail had spent the afternoon tinkering with sat
beside her.
She had to admit, at least to herself, that she didn't like this
plan much. It was too easy to get caught, even though the light was
fading. It had been bad enough for Abigail and Chopper sneaking around
behind the police house and getting in unseen. Frank's contact had said
they could do it, but it was still a very brazen approach.
Worse was Kyle's task. The prison only had one entrance on the main
street, and the reason Abigail and Chopper had been able to succeed was
because they had been *away* from that street. Kyle had to slip into the
building without drawing attention, and then he and Rathley had to get
out in the midst of the confusion that the prostitute would create soon
afterwards. In Sharn's mind it was all a bit risky.
But then, she didn't know these people. Kyle and Frank did. If they
said the police could be sent on a wild goose chase so easily, then she
had to trust that they were right. As long as Kyle wasn't noticed
loitering around before it kicked off they would be fine.
And he wasn't. After a long moment with the prostitute in one of the
houses a few doors down - far, far too long a moment in Sharn's opinion
- he had escorted her up to the prison as publicly a possible. He'd even
slapped her on the behind when he had left her to do her stuff - she
would have to talk to him about that - and the few people still
wandering around at that hour had paid an amused note to it. They also
paid note as Kyle left the way he had come. Sharn knew that he was going
to circle around behind the main street, but no-one seemed to pick up on
it. They evidently had their own business to get on with, and the hours
for sociable street talk faded faster than the light. That's what the
bars and casinos were for.
By now Kyle would be behind the building, reading his battered old
Scout Handbook and waiting for the prostitute's signal. The plot seemed
transparent to her, but she knew that the male libido was a more
powerful force than she often gave credit to. When a woman as attractive
as that whore said that she still wanted more the guard would be more
than happy to send his friend in while he recovered. Especially if it
was just to 'keep her primed' until his own second round. Would he
expect the impulsive whore to drop the first thing that came to hand out
of the back window as soon as his back was turned? Probably not, but
that would be the signal for Kyle to come in as soon as he heard her
getting going again.
And soon enough Kyle wandered around the building. He gave a cursory
look, but no-one was around to pay attention to him, so he walked
inside. Sharn counted to five. That would be one swift punch to drop the
second lustful cop. Another ten seconds, and either Kyle could surprise
the first or drop him after a quick scuffle. Rathley would be keeping
the guard occupied with perverse questions, and with Kyle's reflexes he
could probably catch him unawares. Now, if everything went to plan it
was the prostitute's turn.
And bang on cue there was a scream from inside. A second later she
emerged, clutching her clothes to herself and screaming for help.
"Someone, help!! The killer's escaped!"
Except that Rathley and Kyle were still inside, waiting for the
police to appear. Soon enough the cops did start streaming out of the
house Abigail and Chopper hid in, and the prostitute pointed up the
alley on the opposite side of the prison to the one Kyle had used.
Several cops careered off that way, while two more tried to calm the
woman, who to her credit did look genuinely distraught.
Then, bold as brass, Kyle and Rathley rushed out of the prison. They
must have been checking to see that the coast was clear, but from
Sharn's angle it looked astonishingly stupid. But the cops' attention
wasn't focused that way. They had a whore to calm down, in the hopes of
getting something else intelligible from her. Rathley ran off, wearing
Abigail's travelling cloak which the prostitute had smuggled in for him,
while Kyle actually approached the cops and the prostitute. They even
seemed pleased to see him! He was giving the cops enough of a
distraction that Rathley could escape behind the main street, then into
the side room of the house which Kyle and the whore had met in. That was
Kana's room, to which she had given Chopper the key so that they could
hide Rathley without fear of him being found outside the town limits.
But that was enough observation. A second quartet of police ran from
the station, this time wearing metal breastplate shells like Rathley's.
That was the formation Frank's informant had told them about, and now
the police house would be mostly empty.
That was Sharn's cue. She picked up the re-wired radio and twisted
the knob on its top until it clicked and gave a low electronic hum from
its speaker.
"Now. The magpie's nest is empty."
Whatever that meant. Abigail was certainly taught some strange
things in that vault of hers.
***
"Now. The magpie's nest is empty."
Chopper was glad to hear Sharn's quiet signal come from Abigail's
PipBoy speaker. She and Abigail had been waiting in the generator room
for what seemed like an age, and as the minutes had ticked away Abigail
had become steadily more agitated. Chopper had been surprised by the
girl's earlier enthusiasm, but it had been a welcome surprise. At least
that way one of them had been eager. Having Abigail's good mood give way
to nerves and hesitation was the last thing either of them needed.
But it seemed that the signal had come in time, and Abigail reached
inside the generator again, touching a freed wire to one of the more
delicate looking components. There was a sudden spark that made Abigail
recoil, and then the bare light bulb above them winked out.
"Phew, perfect!" Abigail exclaimed, louder than she probably should
have dared. "Let's rock!"
There was, however, a flaw in their plan. One that Chopper had
pointed out repeatedly throughout the day. "I would 'rock', if I could
see what I was doing."
In reply Abigail was suddenly illuminated by a dim glow, having
activated a passive, greenish light that emanated from her PipBoy's
screen. It only lit up a few feet in any direction, and poorly at that,
but Abigail seemed entirely unconcerned. She simply removed her
sunglasses and folded them so that they hung from her jumpsuit's collar.
"Here." She scampered over to the door that led into the police
house proper, and crouched down by the keyhole, illuminating it. "Let's
get cracking, Ms. Locksmith."
Chopper didn't much like that chirpy condescension, but kept her
mouth shut. It was about time Abigail was happy about something they
were doing, so she simply pulled her tools from her coat again and
started work. "Just remember there will still be two or three cops
inside."
"And they *should* be rushing down to see what just went wrong,"
Abigail replied, grinning. "They won't know what hit them."
That was the plan, at least. But Abigail wouldn't supposed to be
doing the hitting. She would be putting the generator back together so
that they could make as quick an escape as possible. It was Chopper who
had to get in there and make sure they weren't even identified, much
less caught. The police had to think that it was Rathley laying them out
after throwing off his pursuers. Tricky, considering she had to do it in
almost pitch darkness.
But the time for hesitation had long passed, and as soon as the lock
clicked the two of them sprang into action. Without the generator
running the interior was as pitch black as they had been told it would
be. A weak trickle of fading sunlight crept down the stairs from the
second floor, but as Abigail and then Chopper ran into the room their
only real light was the weak glow from Abigail's PipBoy. Almost
immediately Chopper ran into an overturned chair that the police had
left where it fell after making their hasty exit, and she bit down on
her lip to avoid crying out in surprise. In contrast her light source
leapt over the desk she headed for with effortless silence. Chopper
couldn't help but feel jealous of that youthful agility, but panic was
her more immediate impulse. She knew someone was already down in the
darkness with them, flailing around after having found the light switch
useless. After her trip there was no doubt that the remaining police
upstairs would be making their way down as well.
Clearly Abigail had noticed the man with them as well, and had
already turned off her light in order not to give them both away. But
she was hesitating. She was only supposed to be getting Chopper inside
and to the lockers, but she couldn't have failed to notice that Chopper
was next to useless in the dark.
Chopper reached blindly out to Abigail, and her hand was caught. She
crawled closer before feeling for Abigail's mouth and holding her hand
over it. Abigail did not struggle the way Chopper had expected, but that
was all for the better. It meant she could focus on listening.
The cop was trying to be cautious, but he was just as helpless as
Chopper, able to see nothing but the outline of the stairs. He walked
into something, and swore. "Fuck! Okay, I know you're in here, whoever
the fuck you are. Give it up now and I promise I won't blow your fuckin'
head off."
Chopper didn't doubt it, and wondered what on earth she was going to
do now. She had to get upstairs, and at least ambush the guy she could
hear running around up there when he came down, while she had the
darkness and the element of surprise on her side.
Then Abigail pulled Chopper's hand away from her mouth, and the girl
leaned in close to her. "He's lying," Abigail whispered. "He's dropped
his gun!"
Chopper didn't know how Abigail could know that, and she didn't
care. Whatever she'd done to her eyes to make her so day-blind, Chopper
was thankful for it now. "Take him."
Abigail left in an instant, and Chopper herself crawled over towards
the light coming down the stairs. She heard a soft tap, then a pair of
boots landing on wood. What was Abigail doing vaulting around on the
desks? Then came a dreadful 'whack', followed by another wooden thunk
and Chopper could have sworn she heard two bodies collapsing to the
floor.
What the hell had she done? Could Abigail really see at all in this
darkness? There was no way the slight girl could hit a man as heavily as
the sound she had heard, but the cop hadn't said anything at all. And
neither had Abigail. Whatever it was she'd done, she had bought Chopper
the time she needed. If Chopper ended up having to find her in the
darkness and haul her out unconscious, she could still live with that.
"Charlie!" came the voice from upstairs. "Charlie, what's going on
down there?"
This second policeman made his way slowly down the stairs, peering
onto the blackness with a shotgun raised. "Charlie! I'm not fucking
about! You got the genny keys?"
Chopper might not have been light on her feet, but she was a large
woman with respectable reflexes. In one swift motion both her hands shot
up out of the darkness. One grabbed the cop's right arm, wrenching it
away from the shotgun trigger, while the other hooked around his right
leg and pulled in exactly the same direction. She had expected the
weapon to go off, but the man's grip must have been light and instead it
just fell away in her left hand as Chopper, using every ounce of
strength she had, hauled the man clean off the stairs.
He fell to the floor flat on his face. Chopper didn't want to know
how broken his nose was now or how may teeth he had just lost. Pain she
approved of - it was the most effective teaching tool the human body had
at its disposal - but physical injury was another matter. Though he had
deserved his lesson Rathley wasn't going to grow another finger after
that stupid rat fight, and she doubted this man would be able to have
his teeth re-set, even if a broken nose would heal.
But the fall hadn't put him out. He groaned at Chopper's feet, but
as much as he might or might not have deserved it, she needed him
unconscious so that she could work. She yanked the shotgun from his
shaky, one-handed grip.
"No, wait!" he protested, but Chopper just bent down, found his head
with her left hand, and drove the butt of the weapon into his temple
with her right. He never saw a thing.
That did it, and it had been a lot quieter than she had expected. No
gunshots, and no sounds of more cops rushing down from upstairs.
Hopefully that would be it.
A hand grabbed at her arm, and Chopper panicked. She spun around,
still holding the shotgun by the barrel, only to meet Abigail's broadly
smiling face, lit green by her PipBoy once again. "Whoa, Chopper, it's
just me! It's just me."
The relief that followed was overwhelming, and Chopper dropped the
shotgun to the floor. "Thank god for your fucking eyes! I thought you
and him got each other!"
She kissed her girlfriend fiercely in thanks that Abigail wasn't
lying in a heap on the floor, until she caught that wretched taste in
Abigail's mouth. She recoiled in disgust, and frowned down at her, but
Abigail's worried look softened her instinctive revulsion. The girl
obviously knew what she'd done, and she looked as though she expected to
get flayed for it.
Really, right now it really wasn't that big a deal.
"Eagh," Chopper said, trying to suck the taste off her tongue. "You
and your bloody peppermint paste have to spoil the moment."
Thankfully Abigail seemed to see the funny side, and the smile
returned to her face. "Uh, sorry. Come on, let's finish and get out of
here before any of these guys decide to ignore our 'insider's' advice
and come back." She looked to the stairs. "Do you think there's anyone
else up there?"
Chopper shook her head and gave her another, quick kiss before
starting upstairs. "Wouldn't they have been here by now? Go fix that
machine. I'll be done soon."
After that it didn't take long. Not only had their informant told
them were the lockers were, he'd told them which specific ones to break
into to get not only their money back in caps and equipment but enough
interest to make up for their inconvenience and to pay Kyle's old whore
for her time and assistance. And that way they'd be leaving the more
scrupulous cops alone, along with the informant of course.
Despite Chopper's lingering worries there were no interruptions, and
three minutes later Abigail and Chopper left with the generator
reconstructed and the back doors locked, and a great deal of loot in
their bags. But that was hardly a cause for guilt or concern. It had
been theirs to begin with. Mostly.
***
The old and battered double bed still looked out of place in the
clean, metallic vault room. The dim 40 watt light bulb bathed Chopper's
sleeping form, as it did the three tomboys who sat cross legged on
Abigail's side of the bed. All three wore their jumpsuits with the
patriotic '42' embroidered onto the left breast, but only two were vault
dwellers any more. Though Gillian's hair was a mass of messy dreadlocks
and Alice had never ironed her jumpsuit in her life, they were still
clean and well turned out. They belonged.
Abigail did not. Her long braid of hair needed the dust washed out
of it badly, and her skin was turning dark, and still angry by
comparison. There was a slight squint in her eyes now after weeks of
life with blindness only just beyond the edges of her shades, and she
never had managed to wash the blood out of her jumpsuit's torn leg. She
also feared that the stains of sweat were becoming more permanent as the
days went on.
But strangely, she really didn't mind. The stark cleanliness of her
room and her friends had begun to seem alien. Nineteen years of her life
was beginning to seem like a foreign dream.
So then, why did she keep returning to it? Surely she didn't need to
justify herself any more. She had gone beyond that. Her friends and her
family had never believed it possible to survive on the surface. They
were no longer there to judge her. She had only ever been judging
herself.
"So why did you come back then?" Gillian asked. The poor girl looked
petulant and unhappy, and Abigail wished she knew why. "You know what
you want me to think about her."
She looked over to Chopper, sound asleep.
Yes, it satisfied Abigail to think that Gillian would be jealous.
She never would have been in reality, nothing had ever happened between
them, but Dream Gillian was another matter. As was Dream Beatrice, and
even Dream Sharn.
"I don't want you to be jealous," Abigail lied. And then came the
conflicting truth, "I don't want to be hurting you."
"Why not?" was Gillian's confused reply. "She gets off on hurting
you."
Abigail would have denied it, but Gillian had Alice to support her.
Alice was the smart one, the tomboy who could play at being as girly as
she wished, and could read a person as if they were an open book.
"I know you don't want to hear it," Alice said, "but we wouldn't be
here if you didn't know it yourself, Abigail. However considerate or
contrary she may seem, Ms. Butcher *is* a sadist. It pleases her to
inflict pain. Maybe not to you now that you are together, but you have
seen it. But more to the point, it pleases her to manipulate you. That
worries me, Abby."
Abigail dropped her gaze from the both of them. What did they know?
They lived nice, simple dream lives in their safe, un-invaded dream
vault. The surface had turned Abigail into a stealthy thief and a
stylish killer. What kind of horrid people would *they* have become on
the surface? The hypocrites.
But they were still right. Abigail knew that Chopper had... issues.
How could she have failed to notice?
"I know she's insensitive when she's treating people, or she's
trying to make a point. She enjoys it too much. But I like it when she
can make me forget why I'm pissed off at her, or when the surface
doesn't make any sense. Yeah, maybe she can seduce me out of thinking
anything, but I *like* it when she does."
Gillian frowned at her. "You deserve better than that!"
"But I *need* her. Of course I hate the way she treats people
sometimes! And I hated her for beating me down about the Buffout! And I
hate her for being so unreasonable when I need her to be supporting me!
"But having her here on my terms is better than not having anyone at
all. I needed *someone* after the super mutant, just to tell me I hadn't
become a monster myself. And she did more than that! She made me feel
loved! Important! I can't walk away from that. Not when she's so eager
to make me feel that way again."
Alice nodded, but she had a sober observation to make. "And those
pills that make you feel so strong, as often as you want, when the
surface makes you feel so afraid?"
Abigail could only return Alice's sympathetic look with plain
honesty. "I won't give them up either, whatever she says. I know they're
no good for me, but I won't give them up until I can fight on my own. I
have to pull my weight. I have to be able to protect them. Right now, I
can barely protect myself."
"Then you know what you are doing," Alice said, giving Abigail a
small, accepting smile. "Just make sure you don't regret it."
"I won't," Abigail replied with conviction. "I did well this time.
I'm getting stronger. I took down a cop bare handed, and no-one will
notice I was even there. It was a success."
She smiled at the thought. "Maybe I can succeed at changing Chopper
too. She *can* be a considerate person. Maybe I can teach her that
*that* is the more rewarding choice."
Gillian looked from Abigail to Chopper and back. She still didn't
look satisfied, but she had been mollified for now. "You know, for
someone so self-conscious, you always were the ambitious one."
***
Abigail, Sharn and Chopper waited at the town entrance the next
morning, taking the place of Kana's groupies in occupying her dull
morning hours. And it was getting late enough that Frank had joined them
at his post.
"You sent him on his way this morning?" Frank asked his long time
partner, and Kana nodded.
If anything Kana looked less happy after the fact than she had when
Chopper had first asked for her help, but it was done now. "I let him
out before dawn. The asshole had the gall to thank me."
"*You* thanked *him* after the swarm, didn't you?" Chopper asked.
"He'd *better* have been grateful after all this."
"Yeah, well..."
Kana faltered, and Abigail noticed her holding her left arm. Now
that she thought of it, it was strange that the woman's shirt had
sleeves. That was a rarity. Kana was obviously putting up a front, and
not doing it too well. "He owes *me* now. He'd better remember that."
Abigail smiled at her. "Don't worry. We won't let him forget it."
Frank was far more matter of fact about it. "Just don't bring him
back to pay up for a while. He's not done himself any favours with the
police after all this."
"Don't worry," Chopper said. "We've got plenty of other places to
screw up next."
While Kana might have seemed quietly conflicted, Sharn was simply
quiet. It worried Abigail because Sharn would usually have been the
first one to reassure Kana that even if they were doing the wrong
things, it was for a good reason. It helped the town to have Rathley
gone, and it helped their group to have him and his skills on board.
Abigail wasn't 100 percent satisfied about setting him free either. It
had all come part and parcel of the same plan, and on this backwards
surface world breaking him out actually seemed to be a logical thing to
do, and to hell with the local law.
But on top of those feelings was the man who walked up towards them
far later than they had planned. It was as plain as the shades on
Abigail's nose that Sharn adored Kyle, but she'd already seen them go
through one fight when they had first found her coming out of the Cobalt
Line, and it seemed as though another might be brewing.
Kyle was brushing off the cop's thanks for his assistance the night
before. It seemed absurd, but this town trusted Kyle to the extent that,
after he had helped set the police house right, they were happy to
believe that he was genuinely on their side. The fact that he and his
prostitute decoy had been stalling them while Abigail and Chopper did
their part never entered into it.
He'd had Frank's insider to help, but for all his apparent honesty
and forthrightness Kyle had played them all for fools. Perhaps that was
his way of taking revenge for his disillusionment.
"Where have you been?" Sharn accused, though without much of the
venom that Abigail remembered hearing from her before.
Kyle looked as innocent as a puppy dog. "I had a few friends to say
goodbye to."
The fact that he hadn't been too careful disguising which direction
he had set off in didn't help him though. Abigail guessed he had been to
at least talk to his prostitute friend again, and Sharn must have
reached the same conclusion. While Kyle had been out with the police
that night Sharn had been quite vocal about what she had seen of them
both.
However, to Sharn's credit she did leave it at that for the moment.
She simply took Kyle's hand, looking strangely like a possessive
schoolgirl as she did.
Frank shook his other hand warmly. "While I don't know about your
friend, *you'd* better come back in decent time," Frank said with a
grin. "I've still got to give you a whipping over a deck of cards."
"Oh, I'll bet I've learned more tricks out there than you have
cooped up here," Kyle taunted back. "Next time we sit down your wallet's
mine."
Frank just laughed. "You said that last time too. Then you ran away
for three years!"
Kyle didn't answer that, but seemed amused at the thought.
While he probably would have hugged Kana when it came time to say
goodbye, Sharn still had his left hand, so he settled for another shake.
"Thanks, Kana. I'll see you."
Kana wasn't going to settle for so little though, and instead
grabbed him as best she could from his other side. "Take care, Montanya.
And come back in one piece."
Sharn might not have liked it, but it was too brief for her to
object to before Kana let him go.
Leaving, Abigail was glad to have the town behind her. If they did
go back at some point she might have to leave them to it and spend her
time elsewhere. Between being stolen from and made to feel like a circus
curiosity under all the stares, the place had entirely failed to enamour
itself to her. "I don't know, but if what Frank and Milla and everyone
said is true, I think that town actually might have deserved Rathley. I
hate to say it, but he seems a lot more normal next to them."
Sharn huffed in what might have been either annoyance or amusement.
Maybe a bit of both. "This is probably the first mess I've helped get
him out of where he *wasn't* the only one to blame."
"No, it's not the first," Kyle said. "But it would always be a hell
of a lot easier, and maybe less bloody, if he'd learn to let shit like
this go."
Sharn looked at him sceptically. "Oh, you mean like the time you
ended up in prison for starting a riot over a game of poker?"
"That punk accused me of cheating."
"You *were* cheating!"
Kyle rolled his eyes. "We were *all* cheating. He was stupid enough
to call me on it because I'd out-cheated him."
"And you couldn't let it drop."
Then, a few minutes away from the town, Sharn fell quiet again, and
she gripped Kyle's hand tighter. Evidently there were times, very rare
times, when she couldn't let it drop either.
"Kyle? Who the hell was that whore?"
***
From the upper floor reception room of her bar, Milla stared out at
the desert skyline. Perhaps it was just as well that she could not see
the town entrance from there, because she knew what must have been
happening.
And if his sudden, beaming appearance meant anything, Benjamin must
have known as well.
"Mom! He escaped! It's all over town! He broke out of prison and
fought through the whole police house!"
Milla turned away from the window and, not looking at her son, sat
back down in her favourite upholstered chair.
"Mom? Aren't you glad?"
In all honesty, she really didn't know.
"No, Benjamin," she lied with practiced ease. "No, I'm not. A killer
just escaped. Why would I be glad of that?"
Benjamin frowned at her, but at the same time his energy faded and
he lost his steam. "You're lying. That's not what you used to say."
True enough, Milla thought with wry self-deprecation. There had been
a time when she had genuinely loved that provocative bastard. But then,
there had also been a time when she had genuinely loved her late husband
as well.
"You know he's not your father, Benjamin. He's not the kind of man
you should want to be."
Connor looked at her unhappily. "Why would I want to be like my
'real' dad either?"
Milla had several answers ready in an instant. His moneymaking
skills, his ease at making contacts, his ability to sway staff, family
and the law alike.
She decided not to use any of them. "... Because he was a bastard
too, but at least he was the bastard that loved you."
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