July 13, 2268 - Tenth Birthday
*Flash*
"Happy Birthday!"
"Jonah, you turned the lights on too fast! You blinded the poor kid."
Pain. Spots of light made it hard to see, but they slowly disappeared. The fuzz began to diminish as the blinding light was dimmed, and slowly the blurring colors solidified into recognizable shapes. People - familiar people, standing all around, watching her. The girl, blinking away the water that had welled in her eyes, took a tentative look at the watching faces and looming figures, then at her oddly changed surroundings, feeling keenly confused.
The diner was all fixed up for someone's birthday. Her birthday, she realized suddenly, then paused to mull over the idea for a moment while her eyes darted shyly around. Her chest felt tight; was it fear or happiness? A hand on her arm kept her from falling over when the adults advanced. The gentle, warm, grip was somehow more real than the world around - and it was also a whole lot less scary.
"Thanks, Amata," she mumbled before jerking her arm away. It made her uncomfortable when people noticed, even Amata.
A pause followed between them, and it was deep, somehow.
She suddenly felt bad, though, and dared a glance at the other girl out of the corner of her eye. Amata's expression made her pull a face in turn. Her friend looked hurt, and it made her feel bad, but she didn't get a chance to apologize.
A man with greying hair and a broad face set with intelligent blue eyes stepped forward. His white lab coat marked him out with what seemed to be the universal symbol for 'doctor'. His beard was salt-and-pepper stubble that belied his youth. "Hi there, kiddo. Hope we didn't scare you."
The young girl was painfully aware they didn't look much alike. He carried himself upright, confident. He didn't scuttle around like a frightened mouse. Not like his little girl always did.
"Hi, Daddy," she squeaked.
"Happy Birthday, Sweetheart!" her father said enthusiastically, kneeling down to envelop her in one of his hugs. "I'm so proud. I know your mother would -"
"Ahem. Might I have a word?"
She looked past Daddy's shoulder at the man beyond. She recognized him as Amata's father, the Overseer, but she did not think he was a particularly nice man, and she didn't really want to speak to him. So she held on more tightly to Daddy and slid almost behind him as Overseer stepped forward, addressing the girl with a firm, yet partially subdued, tone of voice.
The Overseer talked a lot about responsibility, and truthfully Connie listened. Then he clamped a Pip-boy like a handcuff around her left wrist. It was heavy, and it dragged on her arm. After that he talked some more about being a responsible, contributing adult in the Vault, and she soon lost interest, vaguely pretending to be listening this time while secretly watching Amata out of the corner of her eye. More than anything, Connie wanted to run to her friend, to get away from this towering man. But that would have to wait, so she studied her old friend instead.
Amata was a touch taller than her redheaded counterpart, pretty, slender, with a lively pair of brown eyes that spoke of mischief and a clever mind. Her dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, catching the pale light. Her face was childishly rounded and flushed with excitement, and Connie was thankful to see her friend no longer sad. Normally she carried herself lightly, sometimes even skipping when her father wasn't watching, but now she stood rooted to the spot with her hands neatly clasped at her waist.
Connie smiled at her. She knew Amata wanted to stop pretending, wanted to run and have fun, and it was funny to watch. When the Overseer finally returned to his seat and Daddy headed off to chat with the other adults, she inched closer to her friend. Amata watched her steadily, and it made Connie somehow a little nervous. She looked charmingly roguish, dressed neatly in her Vault jumpsuit and wearing such a broad grin.
A quick look around assured Connie that no one was watching. A little more confident, she leant over to murmur shyly to the taller girl, "Umm… thank you, Amata… for the party and… stuff…." I would've made a scene if you hadn't grabbed me, she added mentally.
Amata's smile softened to one that wasn't put on for show, a genuine Amata-smile, and the redhead couldn't help but smile back. "You like the party? We really surprised you didn't we? Your dad thought you were on to us, but I told him not to worry." Her smile widened. "You're so easy to fool."
"Am not! I… I just pretended not to know."
"Riiiiiight. Ok, if you're so smart, what did I get you for your birthday?"
Connie shrugged, defeated. "I dunno…"
"Who's your favorite barbarian?" The younger girl pressed a comic book into her friend's hands, then whispered, "Issue Fourteen, with no missing pages. I found it in a box of my Dad's old things. Can you believe it? I guess everybody was ten once."
"Tha-" The birthday girl did not have time to say anything more before she was suddenly and unceremoniously pushed toward the rest of the party, struggling against Amata's hands. "Hey…"
"Go mingle, okay?" Amata giggled, giving Connie one last shove that sent the girl stumbling into the smiling crowd. "Go on. It's your party, Connie."
She turned back to look at her friend pleadingly, but Amata's face left no room for argument. It was always like that, Connie realized with a tired sigh. Amata would give her a look that disarmed her completely, and even if she continued to make up excuses and fight, the end was always the same. Amata would get her way sooner or later, and sometimes, it was just easier to give in. So she did. "Okay."
Amata beamed, and suddenly, Connie didn't feel so mad anymore.
Paul Hannon Jr., a dark skinned boy who had as much trouble forming full sentences as she did, was the next to wish her a happy birthday. The conversation was short and awkward, punctuated by him stepping on her foot.
She quickly made her way to Old Lady Palmer. The old woman had a leathery face worn with age and snowy white hair. "Hello…"
"Why hello, Constance! Are you having a nice party? Ten years old, my, my, my. Seems like only yesterday your Daddy came…"
Connie stood there and listened silently, always aware of her manners, even if Old Lady Palmer did talk a little too much at times.
The old woman seemed to realize this and chuckled, pinching Connie's cheek affectionately. "Goodness, listen to me ramble! You're waiting for your present, aren't you?"
Constance Ward – she preferred Connie – gritted her teeth. She liked Old Lady Palmer a lot, almost as much as Jonas and Stanley, but that did not make it any easier to hear the name her Dad had saddled her with. "You didn't have to bring me anything... ma'am." Yes.
"Fiddlesticks! What ten-year-old doesn't like presents?" she scolded.
Connie giggled. Fiddlesticks? She'd have to tell Amata later.
"I was ten once, believe it or not! My goodness, the Vault was practically crowded back then. Not like today, so few young people now… but here I am rambling on again, and you listening so politely." The old woman smiled kindly.
Had Mrs. Palmer noticed her fidgeting? Connie always tried to pay attention, but it seemed like Mrs. Palmer talked about the 'good old days' more and more lately.
"Here you go; a nice sweetroll that I baked for you just this morning. And it's all for you – no sharing required today!"
Connie smiled, extending her hands to accept the neatly wrapped parcel, which felt pleasantly warm. "Oh, thank you, ma'am."
"Attention everyone!" interjected a loud voice, the cheery tone unhindered by it's mechanical drone. "Time to cut the cake!"
"Andy, no!"
The whirr of a buzz saw came shortly after.
Connie felt something hit the back of her head. When she touched it, her hand came away covered in white frosting. She turned slowly… then started laughing. "Oh… Amata…. Dad, you - you look so…" She couldn't breathe. Dad, Stanley, and Amata, who were the closest to the 'disaster zone' were splattered with hunks of cake and frosting.
"Shut up." Amata's annoyance didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Terribly sorry," muttered Andy, the Mister Handy robot its mechanic limbs drooping with an almost tangible air of sadness. "How clumsy of me."
Connie was still fascinated by the machine – a hovering orb equipped with three googly eyes and three arms, each tipped with a saw, hand, and flamethrower, respectively. She circled around the counter to pat his metal shell, feeling whirring mechanisms beneath. "S'okay Andy."
He turned one of his bright 'eyes' to gaze down at her, and she recognized it as a look of appreciation. "Thank you, Miss."
She giggled.
"So how do you like that Pip-boy, little lady?" A work-rough hand ruffled her hair.
Her face broke out into a grin. "It's great, Stanley. You picked it out yourself, right?"
He didn't look like an old man when he smiled. "You bet! It's a 3000A, simple, but more reliable than some of the more complicated models. You could drop a bomb on the thing and it would run a like a charm. By the way…" He tossed her a blue baseball cap. "Happy birthday."
"Thanks." Connie's voice lowered. She wanted to thank him for much more than the cap, but wasn't sure how, or even for what. She settled the hat on her head, taking the time to pull her ponytail out of the hole in the back. "It's nice." Without another word she made a beeline for Amata – she'd made her rounds, there was no need to do anything more.
She noted that Amata was talking to the preacher's son, and felt a mild flash of irritation. However, Butch had other plans which quickly drove any jealous thoughts from her mind.
He loomed in above her. Even as scrawny as he was, Butch was quite a bit bigger than Connie, and far meaner. "I'm hungry," the boy growled. "Gimmie that sweetroll you got from Old Lady Palmer."
"M-mrs. Palmer said I didn't have to share today." She meant to say it more firmly, but it came out as a whimper. Was it possible to kick yourself?
Butch's voice turned mocking. "'Mrs. Palmer said I didn't have to share'! Who's talking about sharing, moron? I want the whole thing. Now are you going to give me that sweetroll, or am I going to have to give you knuckle sandwich?"
Connie tilted her head to the side and stared, as if seriously considering his question. 'Go soak your head Butch, I'm not giving you my sweetroll,' she imagined herself saying, and it was painfully tempting to voice this thought aloud to the boy's ugly face.
The silence drew out, and Butch shifted uncomfortably. He almost looked like he wanted to abandon the idea and sit down again with his cronies, but his pride prevented him from doing so.
The truth was, Connie was frozen. She wasn't stupid, but sometimes the words got stuck in her throat, or came out jumbled and twisted.
Luckily for her, her Dad noticed the standoff. He crossed the room in a few strides and settled one hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards the door. "How about you head down to the reactor level? Jonas and I have been cooking up a little surprise present for you."
She shivered thankfully as the door slid shut behind her, and she was alone in the tunnel. For a moment she just stood there, listening to the chatter on the other side of the door. It was both alienating and comforting.
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"What's Butch's problem, anyway? I can't believe he tried to start a fight at your own birthday party! What a jerk."
Amata's room was sparse, even for a Vault dweller. The furniture was comprised of a metal dresser, bedside table, and a bed, with a few rugs scattered around. The only ornament was a photograph of her and her father. Connie thought she should do something about that.
She was sitting on Amata's bed, knees drawn to her chest and her back to the wall. The corners of her lips twitched, her eyes tracking her pacing friend. "I dunno why you're so bothered," she said mildly. "Nothing bad happened."
"But he just makes me so mad!" Amata continued her rant while Connie's mind wandered.
Normally she was perfectly happy to focus her full attention on Amata, but today… her chest felt tight. She couldn't put a name to the emotion. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cool metal wall.
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She eyed the scuttling thing.
The radroach ambled about fearlessly, its tiny claws scrabbling for purchase on the smooth floor.
True, she could shoot it as Daddy suggested, but it would be a waste of bullets. She hopped over the barricade - and hesitated. What now?
The radraoch hissed and flared its wings, her Daddy shouting in alarm.
"Connie!"
As the insect scuttled closer, she had a sudden brainwave. She spun the gun in her hands and smashed to butt into the roach, over and over again until the creature's flimsy carapace shattered with a satisfying crunch. Her heart was thundering in her chest. She felt frustrated. Angry at Butch. All the churning emotions rushed to the surface and gripped her with a manic energy. Another blow sent its innards flying over the polished tiles. Another smashed it is exoskeleton into jelly. Connie reduced the roach to a gritty brown smear on the floor.
Finally, she stopped, standing over the dead insect with brown much slowly running down her arms and the butt of her rifle.
"Connie…?"
When she looked at her Dad, he had the oddest expression on his face.
"Sweetheart, I think it's time to go home."
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December 10, 2268 - Five Months Later
A scrawny girl wavered in the doorway. Her shock of red hair was bright against the cool metal and lights, only marginally tamed into a ponytail. Large brown eyes dominated a colorless face, and while she was a handsome child to look at, she seemed timid, glancing around the room with a distant, shy expression. The ever-present 101 jumpsuit leeched what little color remained, matching the veins of blue that showed through her skin.
She was Amata's best friend: Constance "Connie" Ward. Amata couldn't figure out why she was looking so worried; Connie was usually relaxed when they were alone. Her friend just stood there for a bit, then Connie handed Amata a clumsily made paper flower, its petals spread wide.
"Happy birthday," she murmured with a nervous smile.
Amata held it gently. The flower felt so delicate in her hands, and it was so pretty. Bright red paper formed the petals, with pale green paper for the stem. It looked like a daisy – she'd seen them in a book somewhere. Were daisies even red?
Connie tugged on her long bangs, a nervous habit. Amata wondered if she even realized half the times she did it. "I'm sorry it's not perfec-"
She squeaked when Amata tackled her.
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January 5, 2272 - Four Years Later
The Vault Library was a veritable maze, spread out over an area almost the size of the entire residential floor. It was huge, espceially compared to other areas of the vault.
Connie sat cross-legged, balanced on top of one of the heavy metal shelves. She chose to sit like this, in this unusual spot, every time they came to the library, and she insisted on doing so despite Amata pointing out the dozens of tables and armchairs scattered about the space. It bewildered the Overseer's daughter to no end.
Connie didn't seem to notice, however, paging idly through a book of Homilies. Suddenly, she spoke aloud, startling Amata out of her thoughts: "If brevity is the soul of wit, why's it the longer word?"
Amata made a face. She sat in a squishy green velvet armchair – sort of. She was upside down, one foot dangled over the back of the chair, another over one of the arms. "I don't know," she said finally. And she didn't really want to know, either. Her friend was just so weird sometimes.
The silence reigned for a moment longer; Connie scanned a copy of Tumblers Today.
Amata groaned, ending it. "I'm soooooo bored."
Connie smirked behind her book. "We could go ask your Dad for something to do."
She didn't get an answer.
With a twist she half-slid down the bookcase before catching herself with one of the support beams on the ceiling. She then dropped nimbly to the ground and hid her magazine inside a copy of Grognak the Barbarian. She also ignored the guilt; her Dad was very tolerant of most of his daughter's interests, but she doubted he'd be so encouraging about lock picking.
Connie caught Amata's incredulous look. Her friend did not look excited about the idea at all.
"…Or not."
"We could go play baseball."
"No," Connie replied flatly.
"How about going visit Todd? He'll be off today, since the Sunday service is over."
"He'll probably be tired." Hell no!
Suddenly Amata sat up. She was wearing one of her wicked expressions, a mischievous smile that left Connie feeling both wary and pleasantly lightheaded. "We could explore the sealed tunnels..."
Connie's head snapped up. She knew Amata was going to suggest something rebellious, and it was her duty as the sensible of the pair to talk her out of it, even if she did so pathetically. "T-the tunnels are locked by terminals." You know we aren't supposed go there!
"You're good at hacking. And don't tell me you aren't – I saw you breaking into Stanley's supply closet last week." Amata's voice was low, almost a purr. She was being manipulative again.
"Your Dad will be angry if he finds out." Connie played her trump card. Unbeknownst to her, that was the exact reason Amata wanted to do this.
Amata leaned towards Connie, hands clasped behind her back. A conspiratorial smile danced on her lips, dark eyes bright with mischief. Her loose hair flopped over her eyes in a way Connie found absolutely charming. "Daddy doesn't have to know."
Connie felt her cheeks heat up at the proximity. There was no saying no to that face. Damn.
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As the Vault population shrank, unneeded tunnels and rooms were sealed off.
It was easier to maintain, power, and remove pests from a smaller area. They weren't that different from the used part of the Vault, except they were more dimly lit and a bit dusty. It was a bit boring for Connie, since she was used to the dim, cramped maintenance tunnels. Amata, who rarely wandered from the beaten path, jumped at every little creak and hiss in the dark. It was a whole new adventure for the girl and Connie found some enjoyment in watching her friend excitedly examine the gloom around them.
They spent almost an hour exploring the dim halls and empty rooms. Occasionally they found some interesting things. Amata found a red silk ribbon between a dresser and wall; Connie a wood handled butterfly-knife and an odd triangular crystal. Other than that, their explorations proved to be spectacularly uneventful.
Until the lights stuttered, flickered, and then promptly shut off.
Amata shrieked and latched onto Connie's arm. "What happened?"
"Hush!" I hear something. Connie found the button and snapped on her Pip-boy's light.
Clawed feet scratched on metal. A few dozen radroaches circled them, just outside the reach of the light.
She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her. "Connie…"
"On the count of three, we're going to run," she whispered back to Amata, taking her hand and squeezing it. "Think you can keep up?"
"I… I think so…"
One of the roaches, a massive creature about the length of Connie's arm, flared and hissed. Suddenly the room sounded full of malevolent teakettles.
"Three! Three!" Connie dragged Amata along by her arm, ignoring the burn when mouthparts tore at cloth and flesh. She felt a weight settle on her head, followed by a foul smell.
Amata was painting heavily and whimpering with evident terror and pain.
When they burst through the door into the harsh light of the living quarters, the radroach was digging its jaws into Connie's face. She slammed the door behind her and ripped the radroach off; slinging it against the wall with such force it dropped to the ground and did not move again.
Amata was now leaning against the door, tears running down her face. Her jumpsuit was tattered and skin littered with fine scratches. "God… oh my God…"
The bites that covered her calves, back and face stung as Connie hauled herself to the younger girl's side, pulling her into a tight hug.
They stayed silent like that for a long time.
"You alright, Amata?" Connie asked finally, pulling away to gaze into the other's eyes.
"Yeah… I think I'm okay." Amata managed a lopsided, somewhat relieved smile.
Connie felt her face grow pleasantly warm, but before she could reply a sound made her spin around to face the new threat, her muscles stiffening as she instinctively stepped in front of Amata.
But it was not a radroach, but rather, the Overseer himself, watching the two girls with stern, icy eyes.
Connie groaned. She really wished it was a giant bug trying to eat her face.
"You two…" The Overseer looked greatly displeased. "Are in a lot of trouble."
"Father," Amata spoke up softly from behind Connie's back, gently pushing her aside. "I can explain…"
"Connie!"
Her fists lowered, eyes moving past the Overseer to settle on the familiar, concerned face of Dad. Connie's face blazed and she hurriedly looked away, a glance to her left revealing Amata pale and wide-eyed, unable to speak to her own father, mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
James, otherwise known as 'Dad', stepped forward and placed a hand on Connie's shoulder. His face was stern now; his daughter felt her heart sink. "Connie… I don't think I need to tell you what kind of trouble you're in?"
She hung her head shamefully – she just couldn't meet his eyes. She'd known what she was doing was wrong, but she had done it anyway. It was just so damn hard to say no to Amata.
"No."
Beside them, a very different conversation was taking place between the Overseer and his daughter.
He stared down at Amata with cool eyes. "So, you asked the Ward girl to take you to the lower levels."
Amata kept up eye contact, looking away would look like disrespect. According to her father, anyway. "Yes."
"Knowing that it was against my wishes."
"…Yes."
"And she did as you asked." The venom in his voice stung Connie and gave Amata her voice back.
"It's not her fault! It was my idea! Connie didn't even want to, but I made her -" She had known that her friend was reluctant, but with Connie it was so easy to get what she wanted…
"Go to your room." The tone left no opportunity for argument. "We'll talk about this later."
Amata glared at him. If looks could kill! She turned on one heel and dashed away, angry tears tracing new paths down her cheeks.
The Overseer rounded on the Wards. His brown eyes – so like Amata's – were as cold as ice. "I've let your brat socialize with my daughter because she hasn't proved to be a hindrance. If she puts another toe out of line, I will personally see to it that they never speak again. I won't have my child be associated with hoodlums."
A moment passed, his harsh words sinking in.
His gaze then landed on Connie, and he addressed her alone. "Amata is the future Overseer. As her… friend… your actions reflect on her. Keep that in mind." He walked away without another word, and in the silence Connie could hear her Dad grinding his teeth.
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