Chapter 27 R and R

John felt better as he landed back at the outpost. Val flew him and Sara back separately. Crixus manning the other bird’s gunner seat, loaded with everything Styx and Acheron could get their hands on. Which turned out to be a lot. All of the remaining raider stash plus more besides.

John left his armour at his bench. Taking stock of the easily pounded out dents. Leaving them for now to take a shower he felt he needed despite being out less than a day.

He almost didn’t recognise the woman in his quarters as he exited the steam filled washroom. Tight leather trousers, a fitted, short sleeved shirt, and long blonde hair framing her face. Sara, dressed as a civilian. Her hair down for the first time since John met her. Also the disregard for privacy gave it away, not that it bothered John.

“Put those on, we're wheels up in fifteen.” John dressed in the outfit she’d chosen for him, over his freshly cleaned vault-suit. The rough clothing he wore didn’t bother him as much anymore. The close collar on the under armour felt quite smooth. But the impact protection panes really helped, especially in the power armour.

John wore thick, blue jeans. A garishly patterned, brightly coloured shirt that Sara convinced him looked good. Right up until they were airborne and there was nothing he could do anyway. With a jacket made of pressed, natural fibre, dyed brick red.

He wanted to bring his assault rifle. His go to for being out of the armour, along with his rose carved pistol and multi-tool. Sara wouldn’t let him, just the pistol, although he pushed to take the multi-tool as well.

Mercury and Anubis dropped them quietly outside of town. Val in the passenger seat for once, dressed in a high skirt and a low top. It felt strange being dropped in darkness, barely armed, not holding a secure perimeter. That faded as they unloaded the second bird, filled with everything Styx and Acheron brought to trade. Promising everyone their cut as they lugged the haul into Farmborough.

John couldn’t really make out much in the dark. Fields of crops, cattle sheds, and a few houses. They weren't wood but curved, organic shapes, no two alike beyond walls and a flat roof.

After a short walk they reached the gate. Manned steel watch towers either side. Set into a block wall of Brotherhood design. Fruit bearing vines grew all over it, blending it in with the colours around, softening the shape.

“Alright, there’s a thousand caps apiece.” Sara passed out pouches of the high quality counterfeit caps. “No one gets back on the birds if they’ve got a single one left. Anything goes bad, primary rv is the Castle, secondary is here, tertiary the lz, copy?” Everyone nodded. “Eat, get drunk, have fun, that’s an order."

Sara told him Farmborough wasn’t exactly Shadowtown, yet it had a charm of its own. Built around a single dirt road. Steel shacks, square homes constructed from compacted earth. People sat on flat rooftops around fires and behind low walls that provided good cover if needed.

Crixus, clean shaven and smartly dressed, left immediately to see a friend on the other side of town. Val went to make a new friend at the nearest bar. A lively looking place, made from a cut open truck trailer with seats outside. Styx and Acheron started to chase down the market traders as they packed up for the day, leaving John and Sara.

John thought he should offer to let her go off on her own. He didn’t want to be alone, but he wouldn’t have wanted to keep her from someone. “Come on, we’ll hit all the bars and street food on this side, then all the ones on that side. Just in time to get a proper meal at the Castle.” Sara linked his arm and dragged him to the Tow Bar, sharing a shot with Val before heading to the nearest food stand.

Sara pushed something fried, round, and skewered on a metal spike at him. “What is it?”

“You only get to ask that after you’ve tried it.” John watched as Sara ate the fried morsel whole, he did the same. Biting through the crisp outer layer into the succulent meat within. Releasing a rich sauce. “Pretty good right!”

“It is. What is it?” John asked, still chewing.

“Mole rat.” John stopped chewing. The image of the dead, disgusting creature that got a full pistol clip for trying to bite him fixed in his mind. Sara lasted a full thirty seconds before bursting into laughter, along with the vendor. Who handed him another skewer, topped with another ball of the, admittedly delicious, meat.

“It’s a fried pork ball son, with my own special blend of tato sauce.” John felt relived as he ate another one. Sara tossed a few caps into the jar on the cart and moved to the next bar. Then the next food cart, and off they went.

John drank and ate down one side of the main road. Biting into crunchy, sweet, syrup dipped treats. Drinking cheap vodka, neat in harsh shots or mixed with different coloured juice. Moving on to grilled meats wrapped in flat bread. Slurping down mugs of steaming, spicy, noodles, taking in the settlement around him.

In the centre stood the largest structure by far. Their primary emergency rendezvous and their accommodation for the next two nights. The Castle. It looked like someone filled a giant bucket with earth, then tipped it out on each corner. Leaving tapered, cylindrical structures, two floors high. Linked by straight walls, with an even higher central section. John could see why The Sandcastle got its name. The firing positions cut into the low wall around the flat rooftops did remind him of the pictures in his books.

They had power, not a lot, most of the light coming from burning lamps mounted on metal poles. The traders were mostly gone, stalls empty. No bots that he could see, no one heavily armed. Save for a few with long guns that walked the road, green cloth tied around their right arms.

Sara paid for the first side, John paid for the second. Getting better at pulling just enough caps from his coat pocket to pay quickly and move on. Sara ducked into The Sandcastle, leaving John holding two vodka and Nuka Cola’s. Mixed in the bottles, drank through a straw made from a thin plant, meant to be eaten afterwards.

“Got us a room, it’s not busy, but Styx and Acheron took the last two singles.” John learned to spot the current look on Sara’s face well, the look that said she’d thought of something funny. “So congratulations, we’re married.”

“Fine.” John didn’t see the funny side, not at first.

“Hey, you could do a lot worse than to marry a rich cattle woman like me.” She stepped closer, whispering as low as possible while she linked his arm, “Look, here, now, it’s an open secret who we are. They like us, we like them, good people, no filth.” John knew what that was Brotherhood code for, Ghouls. He didn’t like it. To the Brotherhood anything that wasn't human was basically the abomination. To varying degrees, all needing to be purged.

A sentient ghoul, like Virgil, or Suzie, represented a ticking bomb. Counting down as the radiation infused rot spread to their higher brain function. Turning them feral and dangerous. The simplest solution being to just put them down on the spot, quick and clean. Fortunately for the already damned people, the Brotherhood had more pressing concerns. For now at least.

“When you’re out here you need a cover, a made up story that gives you a reason to be where you are.”

“You mean like a secret identity?”

“Exactly, just like the Silver Shroud!” John thought she’d enjoy the comparison, and he saw the practically in the lesson. “We are Mr and Mrs Victor. I’m rich like I said, you’re...a labourer who got hit in the head and has never been quite right since, but I love you all same.” John held his complaints about his identity, seeing how much it amused her. John wanted to say I love you too, as a joke, yet the words stayed lodged in his throat, saved for Rosie. He did have a kind of love for Sara, in the sense of a friend, a comrade, a Brother.

After more food, and more shots, they reached the first bar again, siting on stools at the cut open truck trailer. They sat listening to music. Getting caught up on the news, on the hour every hour, live from The Tower with power. Relaxing till the table Sara, ever practical, booked became ready. Despite it not being busy. Near deserted compared to Shadowtown, quieter, winding down as it grew darker. Instead of getting seedier, menacing, like the night market.

Styx and Acheron joined them, pleased with their bartering despite arriving late. “We did pretty well considering, pistols went for a good rate. Those heavy chains and steam gauge assembly’s we found last week started them bidding against each other.” Acheron scribbled in the small note book he carried everywhere. Doing sums, crossing off items sold. Styx told John about the two best friend's own little side mission a week after they met. While also teaching him what junk would fetch a good price.

Coming up on ten years in, both of them were retiring. Not due to age, or loss of skill, they’d simply made enough out here to set up on their own. Trading, running security, whatever they wanted to do. An opportunity never available to them both till now. “Come on man, what’s the cut?” Styx had lost count, doing most of the talking for them both as they bartered.

“After the thousand we put down on a booze order and a cut for the pilots...two thousand and change.” Acheron closed his notebook and threw back a shot. “Each.”

“You sticky fingered, junk rat bastards.” Sara raised her glass as Acheron divided up the cap filled pouches. Leaving two, thousand cap bags, and a pile of loose ones, in front of John.

“This is a lot right?” Sara and Styx laughed, he still didn’t really understand money, but this looked like a lot to him.

“Well that depends, what do you need, what do you want, how will you get more.” Acheron had a sharp mind, good with numbers. Yet sometimes John struggled to keep up with a mind three steps ahead.

“Spend half, save half.” Styx gave him an answer he understood, the perfect counter to his oldest friend. It’s what made them exceptional soldiers, and good company.

John realised why Sara booked a table as they were led to it by the hostess. In the back, clear lines of sight to all the exits, near enough to take cover behind the small bar. Best seats in the round restaurant from a tactical point of view. Nothing in her manner suggested she expected trouble. It simply became second nature to her to stay ready, just in case. A skill John felt grateful to have been taught.

The older hostess started to read out the day’s menu but Sara politely dismissed her. Asking simply for two specials and four beers. “Nice place right, food’s good too, fresh.” They sat in the central, tapered cylinder. Lit with a fire pit in the centre of the wide room, oil burning lamps set right into the dirt wall. All painted white, and of firm construction. The chairs were the same ones from the outpost mess, plastic, stackable, although these were wrapped in padding.

The beers arrived quickly, the first two drank almost as fast. The second tin tankard of foaming, fizzing, freshly brewed beer savoured while they waited. Before long a young waitress approached. Skinny, short hair, modestly dressed, unlike the last waitress to serve John. “Two specials for Mr and Mrs Vic—” She dropped the tray, sending steaming bowls clattering onto the wooden floor. Her eyes wide, her lip trembling.

Sara’s smooth reaction went unnoticed by the people looking at the noise, even by the shocked waitress, all except John. He saw her slide a hand under the table, shifting her weight to draw the well hidden pistol from the small of her back. He did the same, copying her position as he’d been taught to do, ready to react as she did.

“Millie, what is it?” The older hostess put her arm around the young woman, John could see the resemblance.

“I’m sorry about that, we’ll get you more food right away.” She tried to pull the young woman to the nearest empty table but she wouldn’t move, stood rigid, fixed to the spot.

“That’s ok, accidents happen. Is she alright?” Sara asked, her hand unmoved from her gun.

“She’s fine, just tired is all.” John didn’t believe the older woman, that wasn’t tiredness, it looked like fear. The young looking barman came over, coaxing the woman to sit, giving her a stiff drink. As he turned to John he had a similar reaction, but kept himself together.

“I know you, both of you.” John drew the pistol from the holster as he sensed Sara do the same. “About six weeks ago me and Millie got taken on our way home.” John relaxed, after he saw Sara do the same.

Their faces had been beaten, their expression vacant, traumatised. Yet he recognised them to be the young couple they’d saved on his first mission. “Thank you, sir.” The young man put out his hand, John smiled and went to shake it. Sara kicked him under the table as she stood to show respect, he did the same.

“Please, Mr and Mrs Victor, our finest suite is yours, on the house, follow me.” The hostess turned out to be Millie’s grateful mother. She led them up the spiral stairs into a room at the top. Taking up nearly a third of the structure. Carpeted floors, huge, comfy looking bed, leather furniture, fireplace. And best of all, a private bar, stocked well.

A box of vinyl records drew Sara’s attention right away, she flicked through them till she put something upbeat on. The hostess left, after thanking them, and being told to send Mr Rivers and Mr Lake up when they checked in.

Food began to arrive, all kinds of stuff. Stews, grilled vegetables to be dipped in sauces then eaten by hand. The best burger John ever tasted, each brought by a different relative of Millie’s. Her father, brothers, sisters, all thanking them. Toasting with fine vodka, even Millie herself.

Crying, shaking, taken back to the worst night of her life, yet determined to thank her saviours. Sara embraced her warmly. Millie asked their names so that she could name a child for her rescuers. Sara lied and told her it was Greg and Alice, to honour her friends they couldn’t save, while keeping information from her.

“What a day.” Sara took off her boots, stretching out on the comfy furniture. “You did good today, did me proud, did the unit proud.”

“I just did as I was told.” John couldn’t handle anymore praise, or food.

“No, fuck that, if Recon had killed that animal without getting him to talk. If you didn’t make that throw. If we hadn’t saved Jen. We might have missed the best lead in years. And not to mention securing literal tonnes of crucial materiel, that no one else could have got.” Sara sounded almost angry with his deflection. She poured them both another drink. “Take the win John, they don’t come around all that often. You saw what it meant to those people, we did that. Days like today are why I’m a knight, we keep places like this safe.” John saw the conviction in her eyes.

John thought about what he’d done. Knocking down that wall, powering in to save people. The look on the faces of grateful family members, and here he sat, drunk, with a belly full of real food. He remembered what the elder said about the quiet life, maybe it wasn’t for him after all.

“Ad Victoriam.” John raised his glass to toast their victory, Sara joined him with a toast of her own.

“To saving lives.” They clinked the fine glasses and John got drunk for the second time in his life.

John woke at six like always, nearly naked in the soft bed, still drunk. Sara passed out cold next to him, also near naked. He tried to go back to sleep. He’d been ordered to stay in bed till at least ten, but every time he shut his eyes the round room span.

He slipped from the bed, desperate not to wake Sara, as much for her sake as his own. Styx and Acheron lay on a couch each, he vaguely recalled them arriving, and little after. John found his clothes heaped by the bed, his belt on top, pistol on the bedside table, like Sara’s opposite.

Millie’s father met him as he came down saying something about breakfast that turned John’s stomach. So he politely excused himself, heading out into the morning sun.

Farmborough turned out to be bigger than he realised. The narrow paths between square houses led to more open areas. The market traders were setting up for the day, as were the food vendors. That drew him by the nose back to where the drinking started, the Tow Bar. Serving strong smelling coffee to people gearing up for a long walk. John sat, drinking his coffee, trying to sober up. Recalling and regretting fragments of the drinking game the night before.

The man serving slid him some toasted bread, dry, told him it would help. Which it did, if only slightly, enough that he felt like taking a walk.

He headed right across the settlement, exiting the far gate. Following the paths around the edge of the crop fields. John waved back to the strangers working them as they waved to him. Watching the morning light split into different colours around the water spraying from the irrigation system. John liked it here, calm, peaceful, scenic. It reminded him of Robco’s Rest, apart from the lack of robots and good whiskey. A place worth protecting.

John walked the riverbank. Stopping at a shallow section to lay in his hand in the crystal clear, fast flowing stream. Plucking a handful of smooth pebbles from the water. He returned them to the river with overhand throws as he walked, just to hear the noise they made.

“John, up here, John!” He turned to see someone waving at him from the flat roof of a house. The silhouette gave away the identity, hard to mistake a man that size.

“Morning Cri…Frank.” John had to think of his friend’s real name.

“Breakfast is ready, come on up.” John felt better after his walk, the thought of food still didn’t appeal, although the thought of company did. He walked up to the square house, finding it to be larger than most. Lower square rooms jutting out from either side. He knocked on the steel door, despite being told he didn’t have to, and a woman opened it. Tall, fit, long blonde hair. She welcomed him in, pointing him to the wooden stairs leading to the rooftop.

Inside looked like three houses joined together. Large bedrooms, well fitted kitchen, long metal dining table with chairs. And a steel locker, packed to the brim with guns.

“I didn’t think I’d see you this early, not after the state you were in last night.” John didn’t even remember seeing Frank last night.

“I can’t really sleep past six.” With another member of the unit John would have made a joke then changed the subject, as Sara taught him. However in their quiet moments Frank talked to John about his years as a slave, a fighter. Killing to live every other day, and all for entertainment.

“It takes time to adjust, years, don’t worry about it, there’s worse things than waking up early.” Frank gestured to the view. From the roof outside the settlement wall John saw green fields. The river redirected to nourish the crops, creating straight lines of shimmering water. Hills crowding a single mountain on the horizon. Frank couldn’t know what a view like that meant to him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it.” The blonde woman joined them on the roof. Bringing a tray filled with sweetrolls, baked breads, accompnied by pot of coffee and tea.

“Bev, this is my friend John, he’s a freed man like us.” Bev embraced him. John shifted awkwardly, too slow to avoid the hug, trying to keep the pipboy from being felt. “Freed himself, and he's going to free more, isn’t that right.” Frank had pride in his voice.

“That’s right.” Starting with Rosie.

John tried tea for the first time, ate something. Drank a revolting mixture of water, herbs and powders Frank promised would make him feel better. It did, and he enjoyed gentle conversation. “It’s nice here.” John didn’t go into the views he had growing up.

“Yeah, good soil, clean water, keeps the crops fed, lets us build.” Frank patted the wall next to his chair.

“Wait, this whole place is made from dirt?” John thought he’d misunderstood, Frank stood and beckoned him to do the same,

“See the brown shapes piled down there.” John looked and saw a neat stack of compacted plant stalks. “That’s the parts of the crops we can’t eat, dried, packed tight. Then we pile it up around a few beams. Mix the earth and clay with a little water, layer it on, let it dry. Before long you’ve got a home.”

“Don’t waste nothing out here right.” John wouldn’t have even begun to think of using dead plants and dirt to build from.

“Anything. Don’t waste anything out here.” Beverly corrected him, John didn’t mind, Frank always spoke well, now he saw why.

“What if it rains or it cracks?”

“The white washing helps, although if it cracks you just cover it with fresh earth. You can even cut through it, that’s how I built the extensions. Doesn’t burn either, packed too tight for oxygen to get in.” Frank sounded proud of his work and rightly so.

“How long does it take to build?”

“A day, maybe two, and you don’t need brawlers like us, kids can do it.” John smiled at being compared to Frank. John had always been taller than most. His well defined physique only adding to his stature. Frank made him look average. Taller, wider, stronger, faster. John admired him, not just for his abilities, more for the way he held himself. Managing to be friendly, approachable, able to hide his menace for those who deserved it.

“What, no more questions, you haven’t asked the most interesting one.” John laughed as they sat back down. He felt like Wallace, the bright boy that had to be limited to three questions. He would have asked the right one, so John tried to think like him.

“Why do you need so much space?” John got it eventually. Frank’s home looked like the largest around, outside the wall at least.

“Do you know what a halfway house is?” Bev asked, taking Frank’s hand as she did, John shook his head. “Sometimes, freed people need to adjust. Need to take time to understand they are free. That they don’t have to go back to cruel masters because they don’t know any better. That’s what this place is John, a safe place.” She had tears in her eyes as she spoke. John saw the value it could bring. He wondered what he would have done were it not for Robco, saving him, feeding him, clothing him. Showing him a life that could be his.

“I want you to have this.” John took both thousand cap pouches from his coat pockets and slid them across the table.

“You’re a good man John, but we don’t need your money. You keep it, buy something nice for your girl.” Frank gave him them back, respectfully, grateful, then he had an idea. “There is something you can do though.”

John got a crash course in building from plants and dirt. Starting by neatly stacking the bails, staggering them like brickwork. Working around the frame already up. Then mixing the dirt and water in just the right ratio before slapping it on. Layering it up, smoothing the surface with a piece of flat metal. Between the three of them the two walls and roof forming a corridor had been finished in a few hours. Shades of brown glistening as the sun dried it.

John enjoyed every second of it, messy, instinctive, no wrong or right way. Although he saw the sadness in the blonde woman’s eyes, realising why they were extending an already large building.

He could have spent the rest of the day there, and the day after, but Frank refused. Telling him to enjoy his day off to make up for all the days of twelve hour shifts underground he’d worked for no good reason.

John finished his walk round Farmborough, Frank joining him, finding Sara at the Tow Bar. Slumped in a chair, dark glasses over her eyes, a single bite taken from a piece of dry toast.

John saw the look on her face as they joined her, the same look he’d see before falling asleep in the field, profound annoyance. “How the fuck are you up and around after last night?”

“I feel fine, got up early, went for a long walk. Frank showed me how to build with dirt, it's pretty fun.” John hoped to pass on his excitement, it didn’t work.

“Here boss, drink this.” Frank made another mixture that Sara forced down.

“Thanks Frank, don’t let us keep you, Bev hardly gets to see you as is.”

“Yeah she’s a good one. Speaking of, dinner, twenty hundred hours. I’ll find Vera, can you tell Sam and Cliff?” Sara nodded and Frank left to buy more whitewash, ready to expand the home that helped those in need.

“Who’s Vera?” He knew Styx and Acheron by name, and judging from the look, even with the glasses, he should have known the other. “Valkyrie.”

“She doesn’t like it, thinks it’s old fashioned, besides I think we can both agree her other name suits her better.” Sara had a point. “Listen I just want to sit till I feel ready to eat. Why don’t you check out the market, I’ll catch up.”

The first stall to catch John’s eye sold books. None of the blueprints or technical manuals he’d been trained to watch out for, but plenty besides. John did as Robco showed him, looking at various other items, despite having no interest in them. Knowing a good trader would offer a favourable price on the things he did want in the hopes of making another sale.

He picked up a book on animals, filled with hand drawn pictures. It looked to be for kids, which only made him more interested because he knew it'd be easy to read. He found two more in the same ‘Big Book of’ series. One about science and one with a giant beast on the cover called a dinosaur. He saw a book called ‘The Art of War’, it didn’t have any pictures but he added it to his pile anyway. Thinking it might make a nice gift for the elder, and then picked up a thick stack of comics. Mainly because he recognised the one on top, the one Wallace lent him, just in case it hadn’t made it back.

John didn’t even haggle over the price, as he’d been shown, he just gave the trader two hundred caps and thought that more than fair. She even threw in the carrier bag for free. Next John browsed the clothing and junk stalls. His garish shirt had actually grown on him. Plus he recognised bits of the salvage as things he’d brought in, so he didn’t buy anything.

John stopped for more street food, washing down syrup dipped sweets with a strong coffee. Watching the people go about their day. He found a stall selling booze, no bottles with a red R, so of little interest. He saw Sara making her way through the sparse crowds. Frank’s revolting mixture had taken effect. She held his hand as they walked, in a manner that caught him off guard. “Relax, we’re ‘married’ remember, and after last night…”

“I don’t remember much from last night.”

“You don’t remember telling me you loved me and we would be together forever?!” Sara stopped dead in the street as John froze. “Wait are you breaking up with me?!” Sara looked like she was about to cry.

“No, I mean yes, I mean, I...”

“Leaving me, a poor, weak, defenceless woman out in the world alone.” She put her hand to her head in a mock fainting motion like the women in the movies. John felt relieved, he knew as soon as she said weak. Sara was many things, weak wasn’t anywhere close.

“Not funny.”

“Sure it was.”

“What did you get?” Sara asked as they sat so she could eat a bowl of spicy noodles. John showed her the books, knowing she had little interest, knowing she would be far more interested in the comics. “No way! ‘Grognak and the Dungeon of Despair’ that’s a good find, rare. Been waiting years to find out how he beats the draugr deathlord.” She pushed the noodles aside, wiped her hands clean and started reading.

John thought about Wallace, the boy who gave it to him, the boy who saw him like the shirtless hero. He missed him, and couldn’t wait to show him his new warhammer.

Sara reached the final page, the one that gave John the idea to tie lanyards to his tools. Under the table he slipped the multi-tool knotted lanyard around his wrist. Watching as Sara saw the hero knock the undead monster’s head clean off. Albeit using an axe tied with enchanted rope. “Pretty good, you should read it.” She closed the comic and slid it to him.

“I have, see.” John raised his arm, letting the multi-tool dangle, the heavy bladed hammerhead attached as usual. Sara laughed, not at him, with him.

“Did you see anything else? You can save the caps we made on the salvage if you want, but the thousand I gave you is getting spent.”

“No, not much.” John thought he should just leave them for Beverly, hidden just well enough so she wouldn’t find them till they were back on base or in the field.

“Did you go to the Iron Square yet?”