After the Vault: Chapter 11 Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission. *** After the Vault -A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide- Chapter 11 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." *** To be continued... *** Please send any comments and constructive criticism to: nutzoide@nutzoide.net They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers. Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance. (c) Nutzoide 2009 http://www.nutzoide.net