THE WANDERER: CHAPTER 1
Note to prospective readers:
Chapter 1 is twice as long as any of the others. Much like playing the game, I wandered around a little with these first few chapters before I got a feel for what I was trying to do. I also took some early liberties with fallout canon – which I try very hard to adhere to later (starting around chapter 10). The story is now nearly 300 thousand words and growing and – despite the "error of my ways" in the beginning – I think it presents a plausible portrayal and explanation of the Fallout III Universe – at least I hope it does. I also hope you enjoy it…
- Joules Prescott -
Joules Prescott drifted out of a sleepy fog. He detected an annoying red flash behind his eyelids and tentatively cracked one open to determine its origin. It looked like the message indicator on his Pip-Boy.
He gently rolled onto an elbow, careful not to wake Amata, and checked the time. The pale green glow of his Pip-Boy displayed 0001 and continued to indicate that he had one unread message.
Groggily Joules eased himself out of bed, glancing down at the beautiful woman sleeping next to him. She always looked so peaceful when she slept, certainly more peaceful than he felt at the moment.
Quietly he padded out into the living room, the grey tile cold on his bare feet. He grumbled as he walked, annoyed that his Pip-Boy had awakened him at midnight, annoyed that someone sent him a message so late, and especially annoyed that today he turned twenty five – a quarter century old…
His curiosity was gnawing at him, but his bladder was speaking louder. He made a quick detour to the bathroom, relieved himself, then returned to the living room and plopped down heavily on the sofa.
Staring down at his Pip-Boy, he was suddenly struck by a wave of nostalgia. His mind's eye took him back fifteen years, back to a different room, on a different sofa, on a much happier birthday.
He saw himself at ten years old, squirming on his parents' couch as they presented him his very own Pip-Boy. It was an older model "A", but that didn't matter to him. His mother had explained almost apologetically that the 3000A was, in her opinion, the most rugged and customizable model ever made – and as Vault 101's resident computer genius, she would be the one to know. All Joules knew was that the device was magnificent.
Receiving a Pip-Boy was a ceremonial rite of passage that all vault dwellers conducted at the coming of their tenth birthday. Although it was, in essence, an introduction into the Vault workforce, most children could hardly wait for the day to come.
The Pip-Boy was the epitome of vault technology, each instrument individually crafted and personally attuned to its recipient. The device was so personalized, in fact, that it could continually monitor and report the vital signs of its assigned wearer. It was the quintessential personal data assistant, complete with its own navigation system, radio receiver, holodisk player, and personal inventory tracking software. Joules had truly felt like a man the day his father had fused the souped-up PDA to his wrist.
Now here he sat, fifteen years later, staring down at that very same Pip-Boy – the only thing he had left that had come from his parents. His birthday always made him maudlin. Maybe the blinking message would cheer him up, he thought, as he finally reached down and pressed play…
"Happy Birthday, son."
Astonishingly he heard the voice of his mother as her face materialized on the screen of his Pip-Boy. She looked exactly as he remembered her from his childhood. Well…not exactly… The woman on the screen looked worried. He could see the glistening remnants of tears in her eyes despite the smile she attempted to wear. Beneath a facade of forced serenity he detected a thinly veiled nervousness she desperately attempted to hide from him.
Protecting me, he thought fondly, but from what...
Yet, with that hint of parental protection beneath her affected smile and those tear-stained eyes, Joules felt something he hadn't known for fifteen years – the warmth of a mother's love.
"Joules," she spoke again, the tension in her voice reflecting the apprehension that betrayed her face. "There is so much I wish I could tell you, but – " she paused, her voice cracking slightly. "But I have to keep this file small enough to go undetected when they search your Pip-Boy – and they will search it…" again she paused to take a hasty glance over her shoulder before continuing.
"Your father and I have uncovered some things – some unfathomable atrocities. The Vault, the Overseer, our research – nothing is as it seems. You will hear some awful things about us… They will call us traitors. Traitors to the Vault. Traitors to humankind…" She hesitated, her features melting into a mixture of disillusionment and rage. "But know this son, what we are doing, we are doing for the sake of humanity, not to betray mankind, but to save it, to prevent those atrocities that–"
She cut her self off. She seemed to realize she was rambling and regained her composure. Once again her features shifted as she struggled to control her emotions.
"No time for philosophy, Joules, just the facts, a scientist always wants the facts…"
The phrase brought a smile to the young man's face and a stream of tears to his eyes. It was something she would always say to him as a child, especially when she detected the hint of untruth coming from the boy. "Don't lie to me, Joules, just tell me the facts, a scientist always wants the facts." He had learned to stick to the facts; his mother was a human lie detector…
"Your father and I must protect the research. We must destroy the lab and leave the Vault. I wish we could take you, son, but it is just too dangerous. There are just too many unknowns, too much unpredictability in the wilds of the Wasteland for us to risk exposing you. We may not even survive ourselves, but we must try. Among the things I have discovered is a secret way out of the vault. We must leave and attempt to find a place where we can finish our research. A place where pure science does not result in genocide… The world has seen enough of that already…
"Joules, please understand that this is not the life we wished for you. It breaks our hearts to leave you. To entrust you to the Church as an orphan…" Again she threatened to break down, but again managed to gather herself together. Whatever she was struggling with, her strength and composure was impressive. "But I trust Thetan Cruz. He is a good man – a righteous man…
"Now listen closely, my son. Trust no one else. The Vault is a glut of ambition and deception. Above all else, Joules, do not trust Overseer Almodovar! His depravity runs the deepest..!
"And no matter what my dear, sweat child, know this: your father and I love you very, very much. That is a fact, and a scientist always wants the facts…"
Joules barely noticed the screen fade to black as his mind raced with a combination of memories and unanswered questions. Fifteen years of pain washed over him in an instant. Amidst it all, he tried to process the message he had just received.
But what did he really remember about his parents and their research...?
Catherine Prescott, his mother, was Chief Systems Engineer for the Vault Computer Lab. His father, James Prescott, headed the Bioengineering and Genetics Lab and was considered by most to be the smartest man in the Vault. Among a community of brilliant scientific minds, Joules was told, his gifted parents pursued avenues and produced results that were unsurpassed by all others.
James Prescott's advancements in the field of Genetic Mutations were unprecedented. As Joules understood, his father was on the verge of inventing a vaccine to prevent the effects of radiological damage to human cells. James believed that by somehow doubling the dual helical structure of a mammal's DNA, that mammal would be rendered immune to almost any known or engineered pathogen – including the mutating effects of radiation.
But all that had changed the night they destroyed the lab.
In a vault that worshipped scientific discovery, there was no greater sin than the willful destruction of knowledge. Being raised in the Church of Scientology, no one understood this better than Joules. When his parents chose to destroy the research lab, they chose to destroy everything that the inhabitants of Vault 101 stood for.
As such, the Overseer had made sure those crimes against the vault were dealt with swiftly. The Prescotts were tried posthumously for treason, and Joules had been forced to sit through it all. He'd sat through the harsh testimonies of character witnesses, vivid recounts from eye witnesses, even security footage from the night of the treasonous act.
Being subjected to the footage of his father dying as James committed his crimes against science and the church had been the hardest for the young boy.
When Almodavar learned of the Prescott's treasonous plot, The Overseer had ordered the lab flooded with radiation in an attempt to preserve some of the research before James could destroy it all. That image of James pounding on the laboratory window as an invisible death engulfed him was one Joules could never erase from his mind.
Memories haunted the boy the most. Joules loved the memories of his parents dearly, but a part of him hated them as well. He hated his parents for abandoning him. He hated them for dying. But most of all, he hated them for turning their backs on science, turning traitor and destroying all their research. He had struggled for years with forgiveness, but had been unable to come to terms with the emotion.
But now…what if things really were not as they seemed? He had never truly trusted Overseer Almodovar. He had never truly felt as if he belonged. It had been difficult for him to trust anyone – Thetan Cruz and Amata being his only confidants. What if his parents had been acting for some greater good? What if his mother were somehow still alive…?
Tears welled in his eyes as his emotions continued to race…
His vision was so blurred that, at first, he didn't notice Amata enter the room. She approached him slowly, reading from his body language that something was wrong. Silently she sat down next to him, her bare shoulder slightly brushing against his. She just sat there quietly – waiting…
It never ceased to amaze him, her innate ability to say or do just the right thing to comfort him. It hadn't changed since they were children. They both had known what it was like to lose parents. The loss of her mother had been tragic. The loss of his parents no less so… or so he had thought for almost fifteen years…
But now – now nothing made sense. The world as he thought he knew it was shattered – just as it had been so long ago when he was awakened in the middle of the night by Thetan Cruz to begin his new life as an orphan and a ward of the church.
Now, as then, he didn't know what to believe. He didn't know who to trust. He had no one. No one except the beautiful woman sitting next to him and an old priest who owed him some answers…
"Happy Birthday..?" Amata offered after a few more silent seconds.
Joules chuckled; amazed that he was even capable of the action. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand then turned toward her slightly.
"You're the second person who's said that to me tonight," he managed, his voice still thick with emotion.
"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.
He intended to reply, but for a brief instant felt conflicted. In one moment he thought he would tell her everything – recount the entire video message in excruciating detail. But the next moment he was hearing his mother's voice telling him to trust no one, especially the Overseer!
Yet, Amata was not her father. She was Joules' oldest and dearest friend, his constant companion, his lover. He refused to allow this message to make him paranoid. He vowed to tell her in his own time; but, he didn't want to discuss it with her now. He needed a few days to process it all. Maybe he would tell her after the Sublimation…
"So, where's my cake?" He asked, playfully nudging her shoulder with his.
She hesitated a moment. Joules sensed that she was gauging whether to press him for information or give him his space. He trusted her to make the right decision, and saw by the sudden change in her demeanor that she had…
"A party at midnight?" she smiled warmly, "What will the neighbors think…?"
"They'll think that we're crazy in love," Joules grinned, playfully wrestling her to the couch.
- Archthetan Mack -
Today marked the celebration of The Sublimation, the most crucial day of the year for Archthetan Allen Mack and the Church of Scientology. September was a bitter-sweet month for the Archthetan. All his preparations, every service and ceremony he had performed throughout the year, culminated on this, the 273rd day of the year.
Saint Kelvin's Cathedral was the largest structure in the vault. The cathedral's gigantic stone pillars rose over two stories high to support the ornate and intricately detailed ceilings. From the east-end entrance to the west-end ambulatory the cathedral easily spanned the length of nearly two vault ball courts.
Massive wooden doors at the east entrance led to the nave. Currently those doors were thrown wide as nearly five thousand members of the congregation – the entire population of the vault – filtered in and found their places among the pews. Thetans stood at the doors handing out the ceremonial wafers and wine while beyond the nave the voices of the choir rose above the din of the congregation and reverberated majestically off the cathedral walls.
Archthetan Mack watched all of this from his raised dais that marked the beginning of the chevet – the building's breathtaking headpiece that comprised the west end of the cathedral. The chevet consisted of the central apse and an ambulatory that arched in a half-moon around behind the dais and connected the main cathedral to a string of smaller, illustrious chapels radiating out from the ambulatory like jewels set in a crown. Each chapel was dedicated to a legendary scientist or scientific discovery, and the stained glass within these chapels was just as masterfully crafted as the glass that towered above the central apse.
The central apse, however, was the true showpiece. A curved marble staircase led up to the semi-circular structure perched above the choir. Archthetan Mack stood at the top of the elevated platform behind an intricately carved dais and an exquisite ceremonial brazier ablaze with dancing flames.
Yet, of all the wonders of Saint Kelvin's, nothing compared to the tower of stained glass that stood behind the Archthetan, its ornate panels climbing upward until they nearly touched the magnificent, vaulted half-dome ceiling of the central apse.
The canons of the Church of Scientology, as its name suggested, professed scientific discovery and the attainment of knowledge as the key to enlightenment and transcendence, and nothing captured that spirit better than the glistening, two-story tower of glass. The massive memorial paid homage to every scientist and scientific event leading up to and including The Purge, whose panels contained an immense mushroom cloud that blossomed into the heavenly stars etched into the half-dome ceiling high above.
Standing at the base of that monstrous mushroom cloud, the Archthetan knew that he exuded a god-like visage to the hordes of worshippers filtering into the nave to witness the ceremony. For them, The Sublimation was a celebration of transition and transformation. It represented the purification and exaltation of matter by its redirection. It signified the elevation of one's mind and body to a higher level through knowledge to achieve the Absolute Truth and attain equilibrium with the Universe.
For Archthetan Mack, The Sublimation was his greatest opportunity to stand before the inhabitants of Vault 101 and remind them that it was he, not Overseer Almodovar, who would deliver them to glory.
As the last of the congregation was seated, several Thetans swung the wooden doors shut and the choir reached its crescendo before casting the cathedral into a rapt, anxious silence. The hush that fell over the worshipers was so complete that the sound of the ceremonial conflagration lapping up from the brazier was the only noise to be heard.
The Archthetan let that silence linger a dramatic moment before beginning the benediction. The tall, comely man was a master at manipulating the crowd, and there was no performance more important than today's.
"From the Latin word sublimare, The Sublimation literally means "raise to a higher state." Mack's commanding voice finally shattered the silence, thundering down from the dais and rumbling through the nave like a sudden storm. "And on this sacred day, my children, it is possible to achieve spiritual sublimation and transcend directly into a state of equilibrium with the Universe!"
A smattering of "Amens" were muttered by some in the crowd, but the majority sat in silent awe of their religious leader.
"On this 273rd day, we celebrate the Holy Trinity of St. Kelvin," Mack continued. "A day when all three phases of existence – solid, liquid, and gas – coexist in Spiritualdynamic Equilibrium.
"Let this bread represent the body," Mack bellowed as he raised a wafer before the crowd. "Let it represent your solid phase in the physical world. Consume it now as the world will eventually consume your corporal shell. Prepare it for the sublimation!"
"So shall it be!" the entire congregation repeated back in unison.
"And let this wine represent the blood," the Archthetan recited, holding high a crystal chalice for all to see. "Let it represent your life's liquid phase. Consume it now and prepare for sublimation!"
"So shall it be!" intoned five-thousand voices as one.
Archthetan Mack could feel the fervor building within the cathedral. The fanaticism emanating from the congregation was palpable. It stoked his own fervor until the power and prestige he felt burned hotter than the wall of flames belching out from the brazier before him. He reached into the folds of his robe and grabbed a fist full of oblations. These offerings to the Universe were merely a mixture of chemicals carefully selected to illicit a variety of reactions from the ceremonial flames.
"And finally my children," the Archthetan declared as he cast his fist full of powder into the brazier causing a large plume of smoke to billow skyward. "Let this oblation represent the final gaseous phase of the trinity. As this smoke ascends toward the heavens, so too shall your enlightened consciousness ascend to unveil the Absolute Truth and become one with the Universe."
"So shall be the sublimation," the congregation chanted.
"Knowledge is a fire!" Mack roared, his fervor reaching its fever pitch as he reached into another fold for a different powder. "Its flames are your light in the darkness. It burns as hot as the desire to know the Absolute Truth and dispel the darkness of ignorance!"
He held his fist high for a brief moment before casting the new oblation into the flames. This time the brazier erupted with a blaze twice as tall as the first. "The Sacred Fire produced by the Great War purged the world of the wicked. Our ancestors on the surface were the Original Oblations to the Universe – offerings in sacrifice to absolve the sins of all mankind. Their sacrifice was great. We must honor it. We must remember it. We must always strive to live up to it!"
The flames soared high above the brazier, their dancing light flickering off the face of the Archthetan. He peered through the blazing inferno and continued to rain his message down upon his flock.
"Too many of us live with disillusion and denial. Too many of us fail to see the facts of life as they are, to see ourselves as we are, and to conduct ourselves in harmony with these realities. This state of denial, this failure to discover the facts that exist in the natural world around us, this ignorance is the prime cause of our self-inflicted suffering, the obstruction to our self-awareness and happiness. For it is ignorance that is the chief cause of the sufferings we impose on ourselves and others!
"In order to attain wisdom we must understand the nature of things. We must relentlessly pursue knowledge. We must adopt a scientific approach to understanding the causal relationships between the various phenomena of the Universe. We must liberate ourselves from ignorance. We must liberate ourselves from delusion. We must seek the path of knowledge, the path of awakening, the path of enlightenment!
"Then children, only then will we achieve equilibrium within ourselves, with Absolute Truth, and with the Universe!"
"Amen!" came the thunderous response.
- Joules Prescott -
As he had done so many times growing up, Joules strolled among the radiating chapels of the ambulatory allowing the history of the pre-war world to consume him in a riot of color and distract his troubled mind. The grandeur of the stained glass back-lit with artificial sunlight created an iridescent calliope that drown-out the outside world and all the struggles that came with it.
Joules had always enjoyed a strange serenity in the eye of this surrealistic storm or brilliant hues. The Cathedral was his sanctuary, a place of safety and wonder, a marvel of mankind's ingenuity and creativity, and a symbol of hope for a human race that far too often seemed bent on its own destruction.
The legends of that human race were captured with painstaking detail and magnificent splendor in the elaborate stained-glass panes of The Cathedral's chapels. Each radiating chapel depicted a different legend of the past. Each glorious display was a testament to the beauty that mankind could create when truly inspired.
Yet, the story of humankind was written in its own blood, and the sheer magnificence of the stained-glass murals belied the gory past contained in their frames. This was no mere coincidence. As the Thetans had told Joules on many occasions, there was no shame in those windows. Humans were imperfect creatures and prone to irrational behavior fueled by base instincts and emotional outbursts. But the Universe, with its infinite wisdom, had granted mankind the gift of reason; and through the miracle of science and the rigor of scientific methodology, the human race could one day achieve the enlightenment of rational behavior.
These themes, of course, were central to the vault religion of Scientology, and were repeated again and again throughout the chapel displays. When mankind was irrational, universal wrath was severe.
Nowhere was this more evident than within the awe-inspiring scenes of the central apse. Joules generally started his pensive strolls on the south end of the ambulatory at the Chapel of Madame Curie, worked his way north to the Chapel of Albert Einstein, then wrapped around to finally stand in the central apse, literally saving the best for last.
The monstrous monolith of stainless steel and stained glass, known as The Purge, rose nearly thirty feet above the high altar at the base of the apse. The sections of glass were segmented into various scenes depicting the lore of atomic development. The Manhattan Project stood six feet tall, complete with Oppenheimer, Bohr, Szilard, Fermi, and a whole host of other legendary visionaries. Fat Man and Little Boy decimated the cities of Japan. Craters in the desert depicted Project Trinity, underscored by the caption: "so death doth touch the resurrection." In the Bikini Atolls, Able and Baker launched naval vessels skyward on a plume of sea water in response to Operation Crossroads. Higher and higher the visage swirled and coalesced, culminating at its peak in the full bloom of a mushroom cloud.
The ominous hues of reds, purples, violets, grays, and royal blues radiated from The Purge, making everything in the apse appear bruised. The monstrous mushroom cloud hung like the pall of death over the mythical geniuses and their creations, expanding as it climbed towards the vaulted dome of the apse. The cloud darkened as it rose, finally blending into the blackness of the starry Universe that encompassed the dome. The infusion of cloud and space exemplified the dichotomy of man – talent for creation and a penchant for destruction. And above it all, etched amongst the starry Universe were Oppenheimer's famous words: "I am become Death, destroyer of worlds!"
The Purge, more than any other panel, always made Joules reflect upon his parents. Had they become death? Had they helped destroy the world or save it when they chose to destroy the laboratory?
He knew how the scientists of the vault would answer those questions. Joules was the product of traitors, a label he had worn for fifteen years. The Prescotts were traitors. Traitors to the vault. Traitors to science. Traitors to the very doctrine that the church held dear.
Joules had hated them most of all for that – for turning their backs on the pursuit of knowledge. For turning their backs on him with no explanation. They had stolen his ability to pursue that knowledge, to ask them why, and to learn the answers to the questions that would plague him for the rest of his life.
But suddenly he had a chance to find those answers – perhaps even find one of his parents alive. He couldn't deny himself the pursuit of that knowledge… could he..?
"He was very conflicted."
Joules didn't need to turn to identify the speaker. He recognized the voice of Thetan Cruz – the man who had helped raise him since he was ten years old.
Despite his age, the elderly Thetan's dark skin still appeared youthfully smooth. Laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and some greying at the temples and beard were the only indicators that he was getting on in years. But Cruz was an old soul, and his boundless patience and poignant wisdom made him seem ancient.
The wizened priest startled Joules when he spoke, but it was the question, not the sound that startled the young man the most. It always seemed as though the Thetan were reading his mind, or more accurately, as though he were challenging it.
This was due, in part, to the old man's habit of ambiguity. Even now, Joules couldn't be sure precisely just who the priest thought was very conflicted.
Certainly Oppenheimer was conflicted, as were all those who helped him unlock the scientific Pandora's Box behind that plume of devastation that towered over them in the apse.
Yet, perhaps the old man was referring to the boy's father, James. Thetan Cruz had known both of Joules' parents very well – probably far better than Joules did himself. The old priest had spent countless hours regaling him with stories of the two. But there was one thing even the Thetan couldn't answer for the boy – why.
Why was his father so conflicted? He was just a biologist. Sure he was brilliant, but at the end of the day, he was splitting chromosomes not atoms. His father spent his life finding cures, preventing death, saving lives not destroying them. How could a person be conflicted about that..?
But, of course, there was one more possibility for "who" the Thetan had in mind. Joules was definitely conflicted, and he knew he had been since the day his parents left him in the care of the church. He was conflicted about love, conflicted about trust, even conflicted about the beliefs of the church that raised him. He felt that his relentless thirst for answers caused him to question everything and believe in nothing. No answers were ever complete enough to satisfy the hole left by the one puzzle that he could not solve. And that had left him a lonely, isolated child who was now threatening to grow into a lonely, isolated young man.
Furthermore, he had discussed his mother's message with the Thetan in his chambers before the Sublimation ceremony. Other than Amata, Thetan Cruz was the only person in the vault he trusted with the information. Joules knew that the old priest, more than anyone, would understand his desire to discover the knowledge of his past.
"Is it worth it?" Joules replied in a cryptic fashion of his own. He continued to stare at The Purge, unable to look into the eyes of his closest friend.
"Is it worth it to live a full and knowledgeable life if you know it only ends in death?" The Thetan began, his voice taking on the stoic resolve of a seasoned speaker. "Is the pursuit of the Absolute Truth worth attaining if the result is the sublimation of your soul?
"Consider today's ceremony – the fire at the altar. That fire is the spark of knowledge, the pathway to enlightenment. Man learned to create fire. He used it to keep him warm and cook his food. He used it to temper steel and forge weapons. He used it to power engines and fire guns. He used it to produce energy and harness the very power of the Universe!
"The alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end. There is no life without death. There is no creation without destruction. This is the natural order of the Universe.
"Knowledge is fire! What you chose to create or destroy with that knowledge is up to you…"
Thetan Cruz's sermon ended as abruptly as it had started – and it was followed by a long moment of silence. Both men soundlessly gazed upon the grandeur of The Purge, both thinking their own private thoughts.
"I have to find the answers…" Joules whispered, finally breaking the pensive silence.
"I know you do, my son." The Thetan replied with a hint of sorrow.
- Overseer Almodovar -
Alphonse Almodovar was a detail oriented man. This was fortunate considering that, as Overseer of Vault 101, his every waking moment was consumed by details. His grey/white hair and manicured goatee were always meticulously groomed. His vault jumpsuit was tailored to his athletic form, and impeccably embroidered with the gold leafs of office. But most of all, he prided himself on his maintenance of control. He was always in control of his emotions, his career, and his surroundings. Always, that is, except for one unfortunate evening fifteen years ago…
Today, however, he planned to rectify that situation. He couldn't remember the last time he was looking forward to contact from Head Quarters. Alphonse was certain that he would practically have been giddy with excitement – if he were the type of man to get giddy. He was hardly even the type of man to get excited for that matter! Emotions were nothing more than details, and details were made to be managed.
With details in mind, he inventoried his desk a moment before buzzing his secretary, Ellen DeLoria.
Ellen burst into the office, her light brown hair spilling out around the edges of a hastily arranged bun. This detail threatened to unsettle the Overseer's good mood, but he managed to overlook it.
Ms. DeLoria had been an inspired choice to run his office, and he had definitely been through the gamut of secretaries before finding her! His most recent failure had been with Beatrice Armstrong, the scatter-brained daughter of the Vault's lead maintenance technician, Stanley.
Alphonse thought that Beatrice's nature as a servile sycophant would be useful, but the flighty girl's proclivity to reading her co-workers fortunes and gossiping around the purified water cooler proved to be too much of a distraction. Her loyalty was admirable and her unabashed brown-nosing had been unexpectedly enjoyable, but he couldn't tolerate the gossip. His activities were not meant for public dissemination and scrutiny.
After Beatrice, he had considered one of her sisters – either Mary Kendall or Gloria Mack. Neither one appealed to him. Mary was nearly as big a chin-wagger as her sister, and Gloria was married to Archthetan Allen Mack – the overly ambitious leader of the Vault's Church of Scientology.
Mack was more a politician than a priest. His stature as the Archthetan and his prominence in the community made him the second most powerful man in the Vault. It was no secret to Alphonse that Mack's true goal was the Office of the Overseer – but that position was filled, and Alphonse intended to keep it that way. All that being considered, he did not intended to put Allen Mack's wife in a position to spy on him and his office – or give the Archthetan any more clout than he already possessed!
Fortunately, after all the trials and tribulations, the Overseer had finally discovered Ms. Ellen DeLoria. She had the unique quality of being generally competent while remaining almost blissfully ignorant. Part of that ignorance was due to a less than average intelligence, but the greater part, no doubt, was from the alcohol.
He could hardly blame her. Her alcoholic husband, Merle, had beaten her for years, and was threatening to start in on their son, Butch. Merle worked for Stanley Armstrong in the Vault Maintenance Department, but spent most of his time in the Pleasure Sector drinking away his earnings.
Normally, Alphonse would not have concerned himself with details such as these, but Ms. DeLoria had proven to be too valuable an employee to lose to a fool like Merle. Her total lack of a curious mind meant she never gossiped, never snooped, and, most importantly, never questioned a direction she was given.
Furthermore, Alphonse quickly found her son to be useful as well. Butch was a greasy punk with a chip on his shoulder caused by his abusive father and a lack of intelligence he inherited from his mother. Suffering from feelings of inadequacy and low self-esteem, Butch became a bully and a thug. Despite his lack of classroom intellect, however, the boy turned out to be street-smart and resourceful. He helped form a gang called the Tunnel Snakes that quickly gained a notorious reputation among the Vault dwellers. Publicly the Overseer denounced the Tunnel Snakes, but secretly he used them to perform certain tasks or harass residents in situations where he couldn't use his security force.
So, it was for all these reasons that Alphonse arranged for Merle DeLoria to have an "industrial accident" in the Water Purification Plant. Although he never admitted to any involvement, Ellen seemed to realize that she and her son were under Overseer Almodovar's protection.
Since that day, his secretary had become fiercely loyal. It was for just such loyalty and such unquestioning obedience that Alphonse could overlook a detail or two when it came to Ms. DeLoria.
"Your morning drink, Sir," Ellen huffed. She placed the glass down carefully onto the center of the coaster the Overseer kept at the left hand corner of his desk.
"My schedule?" Alphonse asked as he took a sip of the thick green concoction he drank every morning. He, of course, had already mentally reviewed his schedule several times on the way to work. This routine was more to ensure that Ellen knew the schedule before the day got busy. He needed to ensure she had all the details down, and had them down correctly.
"You have a ten hundred meeting with the Sanitary Workers Union Rep," she began. She ticked off the scheduled items as she read, reporting appointments in military time as the Overseer preferred. "A luncheon with the chief pharmaceutical lobbyist at eleven forty five, a meeting at thirteen fifteen with the Science Institute to discuss this year's grant –"
"Let's push the Sanitation Union to ten thirty and the luncheon to twelve hundred," he mused as he mulled over his calendar on the computer screen.
She made the adjustments on her clipboard, and then continued to read through the items. When she finished, the Overseer gave her a curt nod of his head, a sign that she had covered every detail. It was high praise indeed.
"I have a closed door session this morning and I wish not to be disturbed. Hold all my calls, no visitors, no interruptions. Is that clear Ms. DeLoria?"
He raised his eyes to meet hers, studying her reaction to this set of orders. As usual, her thin face registered no shred of curiosity at the Overseer's demands. She looked as detached and emotionless as always. Her eyes held no interest other than that which involved recording these requests on her clipboard. In a community that valued scientific discovery and the pursuit of knowledge above all else, Alphonse found Ellen Deloria to be a breath of freshly scrubbed air.
Alphonse glanced at the clock again. There was still forty two minutes before he was to establish communications with HQ. Although anxious, he forced himself to finish reading his morning message traffic and drinking his breakfast before finally locking his office door and accessing his "private office".
He punched in the password on his office terminal and experienced a sudden rush of adrenaline as the pistons hidden beneath his large curved desk slowly pushed it toward the office ceiling. The desk revealed a hidden staircase leading down into the Overseer's personal command and control center.
This multifunctional command center allowed him access to every camera feed the vault had been outfitted with – and a few extras he had secretly ordered installed. The bulk of vault monitoring was done at the Security Office, but Alphonse liked to know he could "look in" on his population when necessary.
The command center also housed an encrypted terminal on which he stored his most confidential files. This terminal tied directly into the vault's main frame and provided him access to every program and file on the network.
Furthermore, the command center provided him communications both internal and external to the vault. It even contained a passage to a secret sally port that led to the Vault Door.
At present, Alphonse's only concern was the com center. He sat in a large chair before an even larger monitor – his reflection staring back at him in the black screen. He studied himself a moment, picturing himself on the other side of that screen. He envisioned himself at Head Quarters, adorned with the aiguillette of the Prime Overseer. He could almost imagine the gold, braided cords hanging down from his right shoulder and chest as he gazed into the blank screen. He could visualize the medals dangling from the left breast of his jumpsuit, pinned there by the President himself. And most of all, he could envision the other overseer's staring at him from their vaults with envy…
But for now Alphonse would stare at the Prime Overseer from his own vault; Almodovar was a patient man. He had no doubt that he would someday attain the pinnacle of vault leadership and become the Overseer of Overseers, it was only a matter of time. And today, he thought as he adjusted his jumpsuit collar and straightened his hair, he would take one step closer to achieving that goal.
A slight static hum pervaded the room as the Overseer activated his console. His reflection melted into fuzz, then faded to white – an indication that the sender hadn't come on line yet. Alphonse knew it was still a little early to be signing on, but he also knew it was never advisable to keep the Prime waiting.
After several interminable minutes, the screen finally fuzzed again, this time fading into the gaunt, ageless features of Nyhils Listner, the man known as the Overseer of Overseers.
The Prime Overseer's jumpsuit looked baggy on his cadaverous frame. His pointed chin and angular jawline jutted out of the collar like the blade of a knife. Although he appeared old, his deeply lined face looked the same as the day Alphonse had received his communication from HQ that he had been appointed as Overseer of Vault 101.
Nyhils spoke with a cadence that was slow and deliberate, as if his skeleton-thin body couldn't waste its precious energy on excess words. His eyelids even made blinking look like a deliberate act. Everything with the Prime Overseer was timeless and methodical.
His grey eyes, however, burned with an energy that radiated from the screen. From his bald head to his thin shoulders down to his bird-like chest, nothing about the Prime Overseer was remarkable – nothing except those eyes.
"Prime Overseer." Alphonse offered in greeting, accompanying the statement with a slight nod. It was a minimalist approach that he knew Nyhils would appreciate – no words wasted.
"Overseer Almodovar," Nyhils replied, his accompanying nod nearly imperceptible. "Your report?"
"She has finally made contact." Alphonse answered, struggling to keep his voice even. There was no need to say who she was. The Prime Overseer knew exactly who they were discussing. Alphonse could detect the minutest change in the Prime's face. A look of pleasure was it – perhaps the slightest hint of satisfaction?
The two sat for a moment, studying one another through the monitors. Alponse struggled not to appear pleased with himself – and mostly succeeded. Nyhils sat motionless, but Alphonse could see the wheels turning behind those enigmatic grey eyes.
"How?" the Prime finally asked.
"A hidden message on his Pip-Boy. Timer delayed to his twenty fifth birthday."
"Three days ago?" Nyhils seemed agitated by this information.
Alphonse was surprised that the Prime Overseer knew the exact date of the boy's birthday, and had to admit that he was grudgingly impressed by such attention to detail.
"The boy has been cautious. He is making preparations to leave the vault and search for her now that he thinks there is a possibility that she is alive."
"Yes, there is that possibility," Nyhils mused, displeased that seventy two hours had already passed. "Yet, we haven't found a single trace of her existence in fifteen years."
"Well, now we can use the boy to lead us to her"
"Perhaps…" The Prime Overseer didn't seem convinced.
"Sir, who better to send to find her than her own child?" Alphonse had expected there would be the necessity to sell his plan, but he had his argument ready. "There may be other messages hidden for him. We searched his Pip-Boy, of course, but you know how talented she was with computers… Besides, if the boy is out there, struggling through the Wasteland looking for her, it may just flush her out of hiding."
The Prime mulled it over, blinking slowly, his craggy features emotionless. He stared off to the left of the monitor, as if the answer would present itself somewhere in the distance. He was clearly weighing the pros and cons of Alphonse's proposal.
"We will need some way to track him," Nyhils mumbled, still deep in thought.
"I'll have my top security officer tail him from the moment he steps into the Wasteland." Alphonse offered, proud that he had considered every detail.
"No, I've got a guy," Nyhils replied softly as if thinking aloud as he still considered the options. "But, for insurance, we'll need to plant a tracer beacon in his Pip-Boy."
"Tracer in his Pip-Boy! How do you propose I do that?" Alphonse retorted, then immediately regretted the momentary display of emotion.
"I'm sure you'll think of something, Overseer. But we must keep him under constant contact. It certainly wouldn't do to have him disappear into the Wasteland like his mother…"
Alphonse had expected this rebuke, and thus was able to keep his emotions under control when it came. The Prime liked to remind him of his failures, especially his greatest one of all. But that was precisely why today's conversation was so important. Alphonse had to convince the Prime Overseer to accept his plan – he had to redeem himself. And once he did, he would then pursue his goal of stealing Nyhils' job in earnest.
"I'll get it done." Alphonse finally stated.
"Very good, Overseer Almodovar," Nyhils replied. This time the smile on the Prime Overseer's face, all be it slight, was unmistakable. "Very good indeed."
"Thank you sir," Alphonse said as he signed off. He would have preferred to handle the entire operation with his own team, but overall he was pleased that Nyhils agreed to his plan.
As the screen once again faded to black, Overseer Almodovar noticed that he too was wearing a smile.
- Officer Stevie Mack -
Stevie Mack cradled the receiver between his ear and shoulder, listening closely to the information he was currently receiving and quickly scribbling notes in the small notebook he always carried with him. As a rookie on the force, he was eager to make a name for himself, and his copious note taking had proven valuable on more than one occasion. And the notes he was taking at the moment were certain to be especially valuable to his fledgling career.
As usual, Stevie was standing duty in the Vault Monitoring Center, colloquially known as the Fish Bowl. The Bowl was a highly secure, windowless room in the back of the security office. The room housed a metal desk covered in an array of knobs, dials, and secure telephones. The knobs and dials controlled a massive bank of monitors that consumed nearly three walls in a semi-circular arc. The images on the screens were fed from every security camera in Vault 101. From the console, Stevie could pan and zoom his way through every public square inch of the vault – as well as a couple that weren't so public…
Most officers considered duty in the Bowl a boring, tedious chore to be avoided at all costs. In fact, for almost fifteen years, old man Taylor was practically the only officer that stood the watch. Upon his retirement, that torch had apparently been passed to young Officer Mack.
Early on, Stevie had hated the job like everyone else and his disgruntled attitude threatened to ruin his career before it even began. He often considered discussing the matter with Security Chief Hannon, but Stevie felt uneasy confiding in his boss. In fact, the young man felt uneasy just being around the chief.
Stevie Mack couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but the vibe he got from Chief Hannon didn't feel quite right. The chief always seemed a little too interested in how Stevie was adjusting to the force and how he was getting on with the other officers. Several times he had offered to take the rookie "under his wing" and "show him the ropes".
Maybe, Stevie thought, the chief was looking out for him, but then again, maybe he was just looking…
Regardless, Officer Mack didn't need anyone to look out for him. As it turned out, the Fish Bowl was going to make his career.
Less than a month into his new job, Stevie was summoned to the Office of Overseer Almodovar himself. It was a high honor indeed, and if there was one thing that young Officer Mack desired, it was recognition.
Growing up the son of the beloved Archthetan Mack had not been easy. Living in his father's shadow had left Stevie with issues of profound inadequacy. Both he and his brother had rebelled in true "preacher's son" fashion. Fights at school, petty theft, and chem use had all been a part of the Mack boys' pasts.
Stevie's brother, Wally, was still caught up in that lifestyle. Currently he was the leader of the Tunnel Snakes, a gang of vault thugs that cruised the Pleasure Sector looking for trouble.
While Wally was busy finding trouble, Stevie had found the force. The Vault Security Force offered him the camaraderie and acceptance that he had longed for his whole life.
Their father had been a stoic, self-righteous man of little emotion when he wasn't pontificating on the podium or politicking with the public. Stevie knew that his and his brother's rebellion against authority had deeply wounded their father, and deep inside Stevie knew that it had been their objective all along.
Stevie's father never spoke to him, he merely preached at him as if he were just another member of the Archthetan's congregation. Yet, Stevie knew his father had been proud of him the day he graduated from the academy as Officer Steven Mack. It was the only time he could ever remember his father congratulate him.
And now the star of Officer Steven Mack was on the rise. Stevie knew his private audience with the Overseer had impressed his father as well. Even though the Archthetan and the Overseer despised one another, being recognized as a hard-charging rookie this early in his career was enough to impress anyone. The fact that the accolade came from the most powerful man in the vault, a man his father detested, somehow made it all the sweeter.
Overseer Almodovar had indeed praised the young man for his excellent work as a rookie. The Overseer had been cordial and gregarious, conversing with the young man on a variety of topics. Some of the Overseer's questions had seemed strange, but Stevie answered enthusiastically. There were questions about his loyalties, his family, and his ambitions as a Vault Security Officer. Overall, the Overseer seemed quite impressed with his answers, and Stevie was pleased.
Then, the interview turned suddenly conspiratorial. While discussing Stevie's duties in the Bowl, Overseer Almodovar leaned forward over his desk and began speaking in hushed tones. He asked the young man if he knew why Officer Taylor had spent so many years logging so many hours in the Vault Monitoring Center.
Stevie thought old man Taylor had done it because he wasn't cut out for Sector Patrols any longer, but as it turned out, that hadn't been the reason at all. Overseer Almodovar revealed to Stevie that Officer Taylor had been the Overseer's personal operative. The old officer had been monitoring secret, "personal" cameras and reporting back to the Overseer for years!
Now, with Taylor's departure from the force, Overseer Almodovar confided that he was looking for a new agent, and he thought Officer Steven Mack was his man.
That was the moment that had truly changed the young man's life. Stevie had accepted on the spot, and for the last year and a half he had spent more time in the Fish Bowl than all his fellow officers combined. They all thought he was crazy, but no one was complaining.
Stevie wasn't complaining either. His instructions were simple. He was to monitor the apartment of Joules Prescott, the insignificant orphan who had grown up in Stevie's father's church and graduated school with his brother, Wally. Stevie couldn't understand what made that son-of-a-traitor so interesting to the Overseer, other than the fact that he was dating his daughter, Amata.
That was another thing Stevie couldn't understand. Amata was easily the most beautiful creature in the vault. What she saw in Prescott, a mediocre and meaningless maintenance tech, Stevie couldn't possibly fathom. None the less, a part of him was almost glad that the two were dating. Spying on Prescott meant spying on Amata, and that made a day in the Fish Bowl worth every second.
Since the two practically lived together, Officer Mack had spent countless hours gazing at Amata through the hidden cameras in Prescott's apartment. Visions of her long dark hair, those beautiful green eyes, that athletic, olive-skinned figure with the perfect legs and even more perfect breasts were indelibly etched into Stevie's brain.
Just three nights ago he had watched the two of them have "birthday sex" on Prescott's sofa. Stevie had been mildly annoyed that the traitorous fool had been in the frame, but at least Prescott had managed not to block the camera.
In Stevie's view, spying on Amata was the best duty in the vault. Plus, all the perks that came from being the Overseer's personal informant made the job even better.
Stevie had hit the jackpot, and now, at this very moment he was receiving the tip of a lifetime across the secure telephone lines of the Fish Bowl. With opportunities like this, Stevie thought proudly, he might just overshadow his father after all!
"Who was that?" Chief Hannon asked, entering the Fish Bowl just as Stevie was returning the receiver to its cradle.
"Just a routine call, Chief," the young officer lied. "What's up?"
"I'm just checking in on my star rookie," Hannon replied as he placed a friendly hand on Stevie's shoulder. "Looks like we're the last two left in the office. What's say we knock off and go for a drink? I'd like to hear more about your work for the Overseer."
"Sorry, Chief," Stevie answered quickly, leaning forward for some folders in an attempt to squirm out from under his boss's hand. "I've still got a couple Surveillance Reports to complete before I punch out."
Stevie's response was half true – he did have some paperwork to finish. More importantly, he wasn't about to tell Chief Hannon about his work for the Overseer. Hannon was too by-the-book to tolerate such clandestine operations as Stevie was conducting. And, most of all, Stevie didn't want to send his boss any mixed messages…
Besides, it had been three days since Prescott's birthday. There was probably going to be another round of love making on the monitors tonight, and Stevie didn't intend to miss that – even if his creepy chief was beginning to ruin his mood.
"Such a workaholic," Hannon sighed sadly. "Maybe some other time…"
"Yeah, we'll see." Stevie unconvincingly replied.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Security Chief Hannon turned and left the room.
- Officer Patrick O'Brian -
Security Chief Hannon had been mistaken. Other than the two in the Bowl, there was one other officer left in the security office. As Chief Hannon was slinking out of the Fish Bowl, Officer Patrick "Beef" O'Brian was slipping into the Security Locker Room.
Beef took a furtive glance around the room, then stepped inside and locked the door. He was sure the locker room would be empty at this hour, but Officer O'Brian was a cautious man, especially for a junkie.
He took a quick hit of Jet from the inhaler he kept hidden in his Security Jumpsuit's utility belt, and then made his way to the row of lockers.
Beef had been addicted to chems since his school days. As lead batter and captain of his vault ball team, he was always looking for an edge. He started taking Buffout before every workout and soon became the biggest guy on the field.
The exhausting regimen at the Academy and sleepless nights as a rookie on Sector Patrol caused him to switch from Buffout to Jet. Eventually he began combining the two, using the bursts of strength and energy to become the most imposing officer on the force.
Stacking the two chemicals also caused him to suffer bouts of depression and rage. Yet, his sour disposition and outbursts of "Buffmania" merely amplified his reputation as the one officer on the force not to mess with, a reputation that resulted in more arrests than any other officer on the force.
The Pleasure Sector saw a marked decrease in crime when Beef O'Brian walked the beat, and it was for this reason that the brass would look the other way when O'Brian occasionally beat a perp a little more aggressively than was necessary.
For nearly a decade, O'Brian had enjoyed the honor of top cop on the Security Force, but his glory days were waning. The arrival of that little kiss ass, Stevie Mack, had especially been cramping Beef's style lately.
O'Brian knew Mack would still be at the office. That little brown-nosing bastard practically lived in the Bowl. The young punk was always sucking up to the Chief – probably in more ways than one…
Beef knew the Chief had it bad for that scrawny little rook. Sure, Hannon tried his best to hide his nature. Hell, he even had a wife and son, but O'Brian was no fool. Beef knew an addict when he saw one, and Chief Hannon was addicted to young men.
Damn fool just needs to get laid, Beef thought. There were plenty of places in the Pleasure Sector where a man could purchase the company of another man. O'Brian had certainly busted enough prostitutes down there to know all the hot spots. Gay, straight, young, old – hell, it didn't matter to Beef. He'd throw every asshole in the entire vault in a cell if he could – but not before he gave them all a good beating! Especially that snot-nosed Stevie Mack.
O'Brian took another hit of Jet. He was getting worked up, and he needed to keep himself under control tonight.
He was on a very special mission this evening, and he didn't intend to screw it up. This could be his ticket back to the top of the heap – his chance to prove that he wasn't washed up before he even reached forty. Tonight he would show them all that Patrick O'Brian was a team player. Just like his vault ball days – Beef O'Brian, MVP!
He could almost hear the crowds of his youth roaring in the arena as he deftly picked the lock and swung open the locker door marked with the letters M-A-C-K.
- Joules Prescott -
Joules paced back and forth across the living room of his apartment, fueled by nervous energy. He was supposed to be packing, but he was finding it hard to focus. In an effort to control his racing thoughts, he reviewed his mental checklist, going over each phase of the plan for the millionth time.
It had been a week since he received the cryptic message from his mother. In that time he and Amata had developed his exit strategy.
Based on his mother's suggestion of a "secret way out of the vault", Amata had done some snooping and discovered the implications to be true. After some digging around on her father's computer, she found a program to open a secret passage to the vault door!
This news had hit Joules hard. On the one hand, it helped verify the validity of his mother's message. If there actually was a secret way out, then maybe she really could still be alive. It was a fantasy he had tried to deny himself his whole life. Perhaps now, miraculously, it could be a reality…
On the other hand, it meant he would actually have to go through with the crazy notion of leaving the vault. That thought terrified him more than any other. The Overseer assured the public that the wasted world beyond the vault was uninhabitable; and after nearly a century, not a soul had set foot outside the protective shell of Vault 101.
But Joules' mother had warned him not to trust Overseer Almodovar, and if she was right about the secret passage, surely she could be right about the Overseer as well. There were just too many unknowns for Joules to make an informed decision.
But, as he had told Thetan Cruz, he had to find the answers!
Amata seemed to have known that he would chose to leave before Joules did. Sometimes he swore that she knew him better than he knew himself. Although saddened by the thought of their separation, she had been very supportive of his decision and was integral to his plans this evening.
According to his mental checklist, those plans were progressing right on track.
This morning he had gotten his Pip-Boy serviced as Amata had suggested. He had wanted Stanley to take a look at it before his journey, but the sickly technician was out with another migraine so Joules had to have a new guy check it out instead. The young man was a decent tech, but he took twice as long as Stanley would to complete the routine maintenance.
Now Joules was taking twice as long to pack as he should. Instead of pacing, he was supposed to be gathering the essentials from his apartment for his departure.
His backpack sat opened on the sofa. So far he had only been to the kitchen to gather up some food. The backpack contained four cans of Pork and Beans, a box of Blamco Mac & Cheese, half a dozen apples, and a canteen full of water. It was a meager stash, but the backpack was already feeling heavy and he still had a lot of packing to do.
He stepped into the bathroom next to raid the first aid box. Luckily his first aid box wasn't nearly as bare as the cupboards in his kitchen had been, and he managed to scrounge up some useful items including Med-X, blood packs, a splint and three Stimpaks.
Back in the living room, Joules decided it was time to address protection in the Wasteland. He started with his bb gun, of course. Then he rummaged through his desk, grabbing a container of 50 bb pellets and his vault ball bat.
He placed these with the backpack and mulled over the weaponry. After considering the pathetic collection a moment, he went back to the kitchen for the biggest knife he could find. It wasn't much, but adding the butcher knife made him feel better.
The last thing he grabbed was his lucky vault ball cap. He hadn't worn it in years, but he was certain that he was going to need all the luck he could get. Besides, vault ball was playing a huge roll in this night's activities.
Tonight was the Super Series in the Vault Ball Arena. It was the biggest sporting event all year, and the reason that he and Amata had chosen tonight to execute their escape plan.
With nearly the entire population at the game, the Vault Security Force would have their hands full. Not to mention, sneaking into the Administration Sector and into the Overseer's quarters unseen would be a lot easier. Hopefully, by the time, the Vault Security Officers realized someone was accessing the vault door, it would be too late.
Lost in thoughts of security officers and vault doors, Joules jumped when the door to his apartment burst open.
"What's with the hat?" Amata asked as she entered the room carrying a large bag and flashing her stunning smile.
Joules felt himself smile back, amazed that just her presence had an immediate calming effect on his nerves. "Didn't you hear?" he joked. "There is a ball game tonight."
"Let's hope it's a sellout," she replied more seriously. "How's the packing coming?" she asked as she took a look at his half empty backpack.
"Great," he replied sheepishly. "There's still plenty of room for you…"
"I see that," she smiled again, deftly sidestepping his implication. "I did bring you a few things to add."
She sat her bag on the sofa and pulled out a small container. "Some of Old Lady Palmer's sweet rolls," she grinned, handing the container to Joules. "For your sweet tooth when you need a treat"
Next she pulled a book from the bag. "and a Grognak the Barbarian comic for those times when your inner warrior needs a boost".
Joules accepted the comic book, embarrassed at how happy it made him that she had thought of it. He had been an avid reader as a child, immersing himself in comic book fantasies to avoid the harsh realities of his situation. He would undoubtedly need a little piece of home while he wandered the waste; and, of course, Amata had realized that as well.
"and a handful of these," she continued, handing him a dozen bobby pins.
"For my bad hair days?" he quipped.
"No, smart ass," she giggled, "to get into places you aren't supposed to get into. That silly ball cap is for bad hair days." She playfully pulled the brim down over his eyes.
Joules realized they were trying to ease their tension with stupid jokes, but he needed the relief. He had spent the last several hours pacing and working himself into a nervous wreck, and at this point humor was as good a crutch as any.
"There is one more thing in here," she said softly, all hints of playful banter gone from her voice. She reached her hand in the bag one last time, and it came out holding the grip of a 10 millimeter pistol.
"Amata!" Joules exclaimed, looking around the room as if a Vault Security SWAT Team was going to come bursting through the door. "Where did you get that?"
"Calm down, Joules," she stated harshly, still keeping her voice low. "It's my fathers. I took it from his office this afternoon, after he left for the ball game."
Joules stared at the weapon in her outstretched hand, looked up to meet her eyes a moment, and then returned his gaze to the weapon once again. He had never been this close to an actual gun, and somehow it made the danger he was about to face seem all too real.
Guns were forbidden in the vault, with the exception of the security force, of course. Even his bb gun was probably pushing the limits of what was and wasn't legal. But carrying a real gun, especially one stolen from the Overseer himself, would make Joules a fugitive. In the eyes of the citizens of the vault, he would finally be claiming his parent's infamous legacy; he too would finally become a traitor!
"Let's face it, Joules," Amata pleaded, "no one really knows what's on the other side of the vault door. Every children's story we've ever been told is full of strange and evil creatures from the Wasteland. If even one of them exists you'll need more than just a bb gun and a ball cap out there – you're not just taking down radroaches!"
He knew she was right – she always was. But he didn't know the first thing about hand guns. The first sign of trouble and he would probably panic and put a round straight into his foot! And what if the enemy were some kind of human? Could he really kill another person – even one as impure and mutated as a Wastelander?
Finally he decided he would worry about that when the time came. In the meantime, it was better to have the pistol and not need it than the other way around. If he was attacked by strange, mutated creatures, he probably would need a lot more than just an old bat and a handful of pellets!
Hesitantly he reached out and took the weapon from Amata. She seemed relieved that he accepted it, relieved that he had at least a little more protection against whatever was waiting for him.
He tucked the gun behind his back into the belt of his jumpsuit, shrugged the backpack on to help conceal it, then kissed Amata for what he hoped would not be the last time…
Finally ready, they both stepped out into the corridor and headed toward the Admin Sector.
The corridors were quiet; indeed it seemed as if the entire vault were at the arena. Amata and Joules made their way in silence, each lost in their own private thoughts. Joules tried to stay in the moment, knowing that if he thought too far ahead he would lose his nerve. He was concentrating his thoughts solely on each step as it occurred. And the one coming up next was going to be one of the riskiest.
They were currently coming up on the Security Office. With the majority of the officers patrolling the Pleasure Sector and Vault Ball Arena, Joules hadn't seen any sign of them in the corridors. If there were going to be any around, however, they were bound to be in this sector.
He held his hand up, stopping Amata at a "T" junction in the corridor. Cautiously he peered around the corner, looking south first, then north toward the Security Office. He could sense Amata approach from behind him to peer over his shoulder. Her proximity comforted him, but filled him with the overwhelming desire to protect her. Somehow the feeling both strengthened and weakened his resolve all at the same time.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and then stepped into the passageway and began walking toward the north. He forced his strides to remain casual despite the urge to sprint toward the far end of the corridor.
As they neared the large glass entrance that led to the Security Office lobby, the lobby door suddenly swung open, and a helmeted figure stepped out into the passageway, blocking further passage into the Atrium corridor!
The security officer was clad in full riot gear. He wore the standard head gear and face shield, a black padded vest encasing the bulk of his torso, and jack boots and riot gloves. One of those gloves held a police baton, the other a N99 Security Force issued 10mm pistol.
Instinctively Joules pulled the gun from the back of his belt as he stepped between the officer and Amata. His actions mimicked by his adversary, who raised his 10mm as well, pointing it directly at the middle of Joules' chest.
Despite the obscurity of the Plexiglas visor, Joules thought he recognized the face of his foe. When the officer spoke, Joules knew for certain that he was facing Stevie Mack.
"Going somewhere, Prescott?" Mack's whiney voice oozed with disdain and he spat Joules' name out as if it were a profanity.
There was no use lying to the man, Joules had lost the chance of talking his way out of this the moment he pulled the gun. All he could do now was threaten Officer Mack and hope Stevie didn't call his bluff.
"Get out of the way, Mack," Joules growled, trying to sound menacing but not quite pulling it off. In his defense, he was new to this sort of confrontation.
"Not gonna happen, Prescott," Mack growled back, a bit more convincingly than his foe. "I always knew it was only a matter of time before you turned traitor – all of us knew it. It's not your fault, just somethin' in that Prescott blood."
"Shut up, Mack!" Joules had meant it as a warning, though it came out more like a threat. He could feel his "Prescott blood" beginning to boil, and now was definitely not the time for him to lose control of his emotions…
"Or what?" It sounded like Joules wasn't the only one whose blood was beginning to boil.
"Just let us pass, Mack, and no one has to get hurt." Joules had regained some composure to his voice, but it wasn't nearly enough to placate his opponent.
"Oh, someone definitely has to get hurt!" Mack hissed, his voice thick with venom as he adjusted the pistol and pulled the trigger.
The shot that rang out through the corridor was deafening. It reverberated off the steel grey walls, pealing through Joules' mind louder than all the bells at St. Kelvin's combined. The vault swirled around him, colors and images blending into a kaleidoscope of chaos. He dropped the gun and staggered sideways into the wall. The corridor bulkhead and Amata were the only things keeping him on his feet.
She had rushed to him immediately, steadying him as he swirled in the tempest of a nightmare. She was saying something to him, but his ears registered nothing but the ringing aftermath of the gunshot. He shook his head to clear it, trying to shake the images out of his mind.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, her words began to get through.
"Let's go, Joules," she pleaded, "we've got to go!"
He looked down at his chest to inspect the damage and was shocked to discover there was none. Then he looked at the body of Stevie Mack lying motionless on the corridor tiles.
The security officer lay on his back, his arms and legs splayed at strange angles. A large puddle of blood was pooling beneath the mangled gore of what was left of his throat. His chest was motionless with the stillness of death.
"What…" Joules choked, his voice hoarse with shock, "What happened?"
"He tried to shoot you, Joules!" Amata spoke quickly, tears and urgency mixing in her eyes. "His gun misfired or jammed or something… but yours didn't…" She looked away from him a moment, and then asked, "How did you hit him in the neck?"
"I don't know," Joules replied weakly, shamefully. But it was the honest truth. He couldn't reconstruct the moments in his mind. All he remembered was staring down the barrel of Mack's gun and an explosion that shattered reality like glass. "I don't even remember pulling the trigger…"
She nodded, comforting him with an unspoken understanding and acceptance of the incident. There would be time for introspection later. Now there was only time to run.
They made it to the Office of the Overseer without any further trouble. They knew with each passing second that the odds of someone discovering Officer Mack's body rose exponentially, so they wasted no time accessing the terminal behind the Overseer's curved desk.
Amata typed a string of characters into the keyboard and a moment later a list of private entries appeared on the screen. The entries seemed to pertain to the Overseer's personal observations of the history of the vault and its personnel.
Joules scanned through the titles wishing he had the time to delve into the mind of Overseer Almodovar. Time, however, was not on their side, so Amata quickly highlighted the Open Overseer's Tunnel file and punched the enter key!
They both jumped backward as the Overseer's desk came to life. The desk shook with a mechanical groan, and then it rose toward the ceiling revealing a staircase underneath.
Again Joules was struck by the fact that his mother's message was proving true. Despite his fear of leaving the vault, he felt a surge of excitement welling within him. For the first time since he could remember, the answers he longed for seemed tangible.
The stairs led the two fugitives into a high-tech command center. It was clear that Overseer Almodovar was keeping his population on a short leash. A large monitor in the corner cycled through video surveillance footage of various vault cameras. A bank of terminals on the opposite side was filled with scrolling data from the heart of the vault's main frame. A huge screen in the center of the room rose from what appeared to be a communications center. And, at the farthest end of the room, a small, unmarked hatch sealed what appeared to be a passageway.
No sooner had they set foot in the command center before the vault emergency system began to sound its alarm. Obviously Officer Mack's death was no longer a secret. They had mere minutes now to get to the exit chamber of Vault 101.
Again Joules was struck by a pang of regret that he couldn't spend more time exploring the strange, secretive world of the Overseer. Amid the myriad information to be gleaned from this chamber, Joules was certain that somewhere on those encrypted terminals was the real history of his parents. But that would have to wait for another time.
He and Amata hurried over to the unmarked hatch and activated its control pad. Like a mini vault door, the hatch's network of gears and latches began to reposition, finally releasing the hatch with a grinding sigh.
With no time for second thoughts, Joules plunged into the passageway heading south, then east toward his exodus to the surface. Amata followed closely behind, the sound of their vault boots on the steel grating echoed throughout the tunnel, keeping a steady rhythm with the wailing siren of the emergency alarm.
The tunnel finally ended in a small room with no visible door leading out. Amata rushed ahead of Joules and activated a switch on the far wall the he hadn't noticed upon entering. A panel on the back wall slid upward, disappearing into the overhead and revealing a hidden passage into the entrance chamber.
Joules clambered into the chamber before the panel had even finished sliding up, his sense of urgency nearly at its maximum. Even so, the sight of the enormous blast door stopped him in his tracks.
The gearwheel door consisted of two cog-shaped layers of steel with a thick slab of lead between them. At its center, the Vault 101 blast door was designated with three four foot numbers. Radiating from the center six feet in every direction were steel "spokes" that provided structural reinforcement.
Adjacent to the immense "cog" door sat a free-standing console. Amata hurriedly began manipulating the controls of the Vault Door Control Panel while Joules stood before the massive blast door like a statue.
His mind raced with fear and adrenaline and about a million more emotions he couldn't process. A part of him felt as if he were about to pass the point of no return, but a bigger part of him knew he had already done that when he killed Stevie Mack. Whatever decisions he made from this point on would not change the fact that, in the eyes of the denizens of Vault 101, Joules Prescott was a murderer and a traitor. Soon he would add fugitive to his infamous reputation…
There was no coming back from this, he realized as yet another siren activated and a large, mechanical arm swung down from the ceiling.
After aligning itself, the gigantic piston "plugged" into the center of the blast door and began to spin. The mechanical seals noisily protested as their century-old latches grudgingly gave way. After breaking the seal, the hydraulic arm forced the door out of its pocket. Metal ground against metal as several tons of steel slowly slid inward; its deafening sound even drowning out the sirens.
Amidst the cacophony of noises and flurry of activity, Joules continued to stand motionless before the door. The bombardment of his senses had left him shell shocked. He might have stood there forever – incapable of action, unable to reason, devoid of all emotion – had it not been for the sliver of natural light.
As the hydraulic piston rolled the blast door off to the side, Joules got his first glimpse of sunlight. It was just a thin slice, a tiny ray of waning twilight filtering through the dusty cavern that led to the Wasteland. But to Joules, it was a beacon of hope – a search light that would lead him to the answers he so desired.
And suddenly, the memory of Archthetan Mack, sermonizing before the flickering firelight at the altar, flashed into Joules mind. The Archthetan's words rang true. For too long Joules had lived with disillusionment and denial. For too long his ignorance had been the prime cause of his suffering. Joules was tired of being the obstacle to his own happiness; he was sick of standing in his own way.
With the blast door rolling to a stop, and the rush of his epiphany exploding in his mind, Joules charged into a rocky tunnel leading up toward a strange, unnatural light. At the mouth of the vault tunnel, a rickety wooden door was all that stood between him and the waste.
Gathering his resolve, he burst through that wooden door into the dreamlike light of the Wasteland, and he was immediately knocked to the ground.
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