Chapter 29 “The sixteenth at Cypress Point looks fun.” Rosie occupied herself as best could, not keen to sleep, and growing increasingly distraught. She knew, at this very moment, the Vault door would be opening and John would be waiting. Her childhood friend Dutch would have followed her instructions and opened the door with a copy of her code. If things had gone to plan it would have been John opening the door from the inside, but he’d had different ideas. Now he’d be stood in that cave thinking Rosie had left him like he left her. Or the Brotherhood would have him, and Rosie knew they would have to lock him down to come between them. Either way John will be hurt, she thought, the frustration making the narrow control room feel even smaller. “Your move.” Brandon had started his second twelve hour shift in the main core room. They’d been passing the time by playing chess. Rosie pushed her face to the glass, peering down at the chess set made from bolts and bullet casings. “Rook to queen four. Check.” Brandon moved her piece. Rosie noticed him lean forward and knew she’d caught him off guard. “What is a rook anyway?” Rosie sought to press her advantage by distracting Brandon. It didn’t work. “It’s a type of bird.” Brandon didn’t take his eyes from the board. “Doesn't look like a bird.” “It’s a mistranslation of the Persian word for chariot.” “What's a Persian?” Rosie overplayed her hand. “I know what you are doing Rosie and it won’t work.” Brandon took the rook with his queen. “Bishop to queen four. Check, and I believe, mate.” Brandon made the move and surveyed the board a moment before pushing his king over. “Well done.” Brandon sat back smiling. “Scoreboard.” Rosie tapped under her name, spelt out backwards on the glass. “I can’t find the grease pencil, I’ll mark it later.” Brandon started to reset the board. “Top pocket.” Rosie wondered if he’d put it there deliberately. Brandon put a slash through Rosie’s tally marks, making the score five two in her favour. “You know one can be a bad winner as well right.” Brandon held out his fists, holding a pawn in each. “I’m sorry, all I heard was ‘winner’.” Rosie’s bravado made them both laugh, but as they stopped the distraction began to wear thin. Rosie found herself unable to focus on anything except the size of the room, feeling it getting smaller by the minute. A rap of knuckles on glass drew her back and helped slow her breathing. “Your move.” The noise of a steel door sliding open broke Rosie’s concentration. She looked over Brandon’s shoulder to see and saw no one enter for a moment. Then Paul and Matt walked in, forced smiles and sad eyes. They hadn’t been down while she’d been awake. She pulled the large t shirt up off her bare shoulder and tried to make herself look neat. “Hey Rosie.” Paul did a much better job than Matt at behaving normally. “Are you hungry, I can make you something?” “No, I’m ok thanks.” The anti radiation medication made her sick, plus she’d prefer to wait till she had access to a flushing toilet. Matt took the handset next, trying to keep smiling. “Andrea sent you some clothes, they’re upstairs.” “Tell her thanks will you.” Rosie felt glad that someone had thought of her. “Have you got enough paper? Do you want me to bring you the good pencils?” Matt’s good pencils were treated with the utmost care. Never more than one taken from the tin at a time, never sharpened with a knife, and rightly so. Yet he didn’t hesitate to offer them to Rosie, knowing it would mean them being contaminated and thrown away after. “No, it’s a waste, I’ve got charcoal. Thanks though.” Matt smiled and nodded. “Not much longer now.” He tried to comfort her but that only made Rosie check how long she had left. Thirty nine hours. Brandon took the handset away from him. “Janey is clean, the boys are going to break her out of the foam. Is she...going to remember us?” Brandon asked, delicately. “I don’t know, but she saved me so I have to try.” Rosie looked at the cut and bruising on her wrist left by Janey's selfless act. The others understood. “Here.” Rosie stepped to the door, opening it manually to raise it an inch. She disconnected the wireless four pin and rolled it out. Brandon pulled on the riot mask mask and scanned it with a Geiger counter. The pipboy housing had kept most of the microscopic flecks of radioactive crystal from it, unlike her. “Connect it before you power her up.” Matt and Paul put on masks and began hacking away at the off white hardened foam with Rosie’s axes. It came away in chunks, revealing Janey’s limbless torso as if they were sculpting it. The sight made them all pensive. Not only worried for a friend they may have lost, but fearful they were about to activate a weapon of war. “Alright.” Brandon waved Paul and Matt out. “You ready?” He asked Rosie. “Aren’t you going to leave too?” Rosie asked. “Not now. Not ever.” His answer brought tears to Rosie’s eyes. Brandon paced to the Assaultron torso on the ground. “You know I’ve put down more than a few of these, don’t think I ever booted one up before.” He levered up the chest plate with one of Rosie’s axes, used the handle to push the motors apart, then slid a fusion core into place. Rosie watched data stream down her peripheral vision as a boot sequence began. There were errors here and there but nothing major. Brandon kept his eyes on Janey the whole time, leaving the axe well out of reach. “Alert! Alert!” A familiar synthesised voice filled the room at a loud volume. “Admin Rosie is in distress! Dispatch rescue to thi—” “It’s alright Janey!” Rosie’s voice stopped Janey reeling off coordinates. “I’m safe, you saved me.” “Error, unable to acquire visual. Error, limbs missing.” Brandon darted for Janey’s torso, heaving it up so Rosie could see the blinking red light. “Good morning Admin Rosie, Brandon. My combat efficiency is currently reduced to eighteen percent.” Brandon laughed and wiped tears from his eyes. Rosie wept openly from the narrow room. “Don’t worry Janey, we’ve got you covered.” Brandon laid her down gently and hit the door button. “All clear.” He shouted through and Matt appeared a moment later. He tossed down a pack with a clang, then pulled out one of Janey’s arms. “Hey Janey, what do you call a robot with no arms or legs?” Matt handed the arm to Brandon who slid it into the empty socket and began to ratchet it tight. “I do not know, what do you call a robot with no arms or legs?” Janey repeated the joke. “Mat.” Matt winked at Rosie while Brandon shook his head as he switched to the legs. “That is a well crafted joke Matthew. Limbs detected beginning diagnostics.” Whirs sent slow movements through the reattached limbs. Rosie tapped on the glass, beckoning Matt over. “Those aren’t the spares.” Rosie didn’t ask, she knew those weren’t the spare limbs. “I followed the drag marks. Can’t have my favourite robot looking like scrap.” Matt heard the words he’d just said and couldn't quite believe them. Rosie’s lip began to tremble as she saw Janey stand. “All systems are fully operational.” Janey clanked back and forth, wrists and neck turning all the way around. Brandon clapped Matt on the back, pride in his face at seeing how Matt had vanquished his fear. Rosie sobbed on the other side of the glass, just out of reach of everyone she loved. Janey saw her and clanked over, taking the handset in her claws. “Admin Rosie, would you like to hear a joke?” Janey had picked up on Rosie’s anguish, and did what she could to alleviate it. Rosie wiped her still radioactive tears away and nodded. “A proton walks into a bar and asks the serving bot for a beer. The bot asks the proton if he is sure. And the proton replies ‘I’m positive.’” Rosie burst out laughing at the stupid joke. Brandon smiled and Matt didn’t get it. That afternoon Charlie and Matt took Janey with them on their quick operation. Rosie lost the connection through Janey’s eyes almost as soon as they left. Until Brandon took the four pin and parabolic microphone to the top of the lighthouse. She’d hoped that the vicarious sensation of being outside that came with looking through Janey’s eye would help. It only made matters worse. Rosie could see the leaves move, but couldn’t feel the wind. She could see the sun, yet couldn’t feel the warmth on her skin. Paul, Brandon, and Rosie passed the time by experimenting on the chems they’d recovered. Rosie watched them set up from behind the glass. Brandon had clearly done this sort of thing before, and Paul seemed to treat it like baking. “This is Jet.” Brandon held up the inhaler. “Canisters are made from aluminium. Plastic mouthpiece looks recycled. Nothing even close to rare.” “What does it do?” Rosie asked, seeing the repulsion flash across Brandon’s face. “It’s a meta-amphetamine. Makes you feel like everything is going real slow, then revs you up like a bucket of coffee poured into your brain.” “Wait, you’ve tried it?” Rosie wondered about the chem induced slowed time for a moment, then felt disgusted with herself. “Fastest way to blow your cover is not being able to handle your chems Rosie, remember that.” Brandon got caught in a memory. Rosie couldn’t tell how it made him feel, a mix of bitterness and relief in his eyes. He took his alloy flick knife and pierced the canister. Angling the hiss of vapour away, before pouring the liquid into a test tube. Using the centrifuge recovered from Burton Blake’s personal lab beneath The Grand, Brandon span the liquid jet to separate it’s compounds. “See here at the top, that’s the fuel we…” Brandon hung his head in shame for a moment, then lifted it, his eyes filled with resolute determination. “I ordered you to give to that thing.” “Would have got it somewhere else Boss.” Paul set down the pestle and mortar he’d been scrubbing. “At least we know. And now we can purge it.” Paul tried to comfort his friend and mentor. It didn’t work. “No, Charlie’s right. We’ve done enough.” Rosie saw the look on Brandon’s face, guilt. “Charlie’ll calm down, she just got scared. And you know how she gets when she’s scared for someone she loves.” Paul smiled, showing his gold tooth that had to be fitted when Rosie accidentally punched him. “Yeah. Anyway.” Brandon went back to his work, not the only one eager for a distraction. Brandon tipped the fuel into a ceramic mug and Paul took it away. The next layer in the test tube proved to be a highly acidic suspension that looked almost grey, and at the bottom, a thicker substance. Brandon scraped it out on the end of a metal rod, dark brown, glossy, sticky to the touch. He cut a little blob off with the end of his flick knife and held it in the Bunsen burner. The hot blue flame ignited the blob instantly, and it burned with flickering sparks. “What is it?” Rosie knew certain metals would give off different flames, but she couldn’t think what would give off tiny sparks. “I have no idea.” The puzzle seemed to give Brandon a boost. He held the remaining sticky blob up to the light, turning it, using a magnifying lens. Paul took the metal rod from him and sniffed it. Before either Brandon or Rosie could stop him he put it in his mouth. He winced and then laughed at the shocked faces looking at him. “You two nerds were gonna be here all day at this rate…” Paul realised what he’d just said. “Sorry Rosie, I didn’t think.” “It’s fine, are you ok?” Rosie couldn’t believe what he’d done, and cared little about what he’d said. “Yeah, it’s just sugar.” Paul rinsed his mouth with cold coffee and spat it back into the mug. “Highly refined, pre-war, and processed.” Paul’s culinary knowledge paid off and he sat back in his comfy chair from the lounge, terribly pleased with himself. “Why would there be sugar in it?” Rosie had only tasted sugar almost three months ago, and knew little of its chemical nature. “Binds to the amphetamine, helps uptake in the blood and increases potency. No wonder the Red Hand were such good customers.” Brandon began writing in his notebook, pieces falling into place, the discovery bolstering his spirit. Rosie didn’t understand why. “Sugar is pretty common though.” “Not in the quantity they’d need for this.” Brandon tapped his pencil as the wheels began to turn behind his eyes. Time passed slowly. Rosie lost a best of five chess match against Paul by one, his patience thwarting her advances. Brandon taught her how to fold paper birds, telling her they brought good luck to watch Rosie roll her eyes. “Boss.” Paul got Brandon’s attention and tapped his watch. Rosie had to force herself not to look at it, willing herself not to check the time she had left in the narrow room. I’m not alone, Rosie told herself, shutting her eyes tight and trying to break the spiralling thoughts. Not now. Not ever. “Rosie, what can we do to help?” Brandon asked, her pain hurting him also. “Nothing.” Rosie’s frustration made her tone harsh. “I mean I’m ok. Thank you for staying.” “Nowhere I’d rather be.” Brandon looked her right in eye so she knew he meant it. “How ‘bout you Paul?” He took the handset and smiled wide. “Tons of places.” Rosie burst out laughing as the tears rolled down her face. “I mean look,” Paul held up the golf book she’d bought him. “The sixteenth at Cypress Point looks fun.” He held up a faded picture of a golf hole, the tee facing deep blue water and vivid green in the distance. “You really think you could make that shot?” Rosie knew the game by now, she played it well, getting a laugh in return. “Rosie, they wouldn’t even let this bum through the front gate.” Brandon teased. “No, they would.” Rosie paused. “I’d need someone to carry my clubs.” Paul lent his broad shoulder against the glass. “Anytime Rosie, anytime.”