Part II: TenPenny Tower
Chapter 1: Master Trader
TenPenny Tower loomed before Chloe and Dameon. It was larger than Chloe had pictured, nearly twenty stories of an ugly, reddish brown concrete with numerous gray patches. It must have been the tallest structure left in the desert. Dozens of windows on the tower glimmered from lights within. The whole tower seemed to be buzzing with life. As they moved closer, Chloe could hear the dull murmurs of conversation and laughter creeping over the tower's ten foot protective wall.
Dameon guided Chloe to the tower's imposing front gate. It was firmly locked shut with thick iron bars. There were no guards, only an intercom and a security screen. Dameon pushed the intercom button.
From the other end, a guard could see Dameon on the monitor. He peered at him and made a sneer to the security chief standing beside him. The chief pointed at Chloe.
Dameon pushed the button again, "Hello?"
"Keep your panties on," the guard responded.
The large metal gate made a loud beep and gradually began to open.
Dameon turned back to glance at Chloe. Her face was bright red, and her brown hair was matted to her neck and cheeks. She looked absolutely exhausted from hauling all of the cargo, but her eyes were still eager.
The security chief walked up to the gate as Dameon went to enter.
"Randy, right?" Dameon greeted him.
"Yes, Dameon. Welcome back to TenPenny Tower."
Dameon extended his hand for a shake. Randy did not reciprocate so Dameon grabbed his hand and forcibly shook it. Once he was inside of TenPenny's walls, Dameon threw down a large canvas sheet and began to display his cargo on it.
Chloe began to walk in but Randy blocked her at the gate.
"Its two hundred caps for all visitors," Randy said dryly, staring at Chloe with pitiless eyes.
"She's my assistant," Dameon called back over his shoulder, setting up shop, "she's with me."
"I don't care who she's with, its two hundred caps," Randy said, unflinching.
Dameon put down a few more pieces of cargo. People began to approach the large mat and gawk at the various items. A group of well dressed men and women shoved their way through this newly formed mob and began to inspect the items for themselves.
"A good selection this, eh?" one of the well dressed men said.
"Look," Dameon ignored the man, walking back towards Randy, "I already paid your bribe. I'm not paying it again. And I'm not carrying all this shit in by myself, so get the fuck out of her way," he spit into the dirt and rested his hand on his belt loop near his pistol, taunting Randy to make the next move.
"Look at all of this power armor," the well dressed man peered down at the canvas.
"Those are for you, Bannel," Dameon called back, "Are we done here?"
Randy looked to the other security men. They squinted at him under the late afternoon sun. It would be very tricky to attempt anything with all of TenPenny's residents milling about.
"I'm taking this up with TenPenny," Randy said.
Randy stepped aside, letting Chloe walk past him. She was weighed down by fifty pounds of cargo. She put the heavy bags down and nearly collapsed into the sand.
"If TenPenny says no, I'm coming for my money," Randy waived for one of the other guards to follow him inside.
"Add it to my tab," Dameon said, as he untied one of Chloe's sacs.
Bannel picked up a breast plate from the pile of power armor and held it up to the sky. Sunlight poured in through a conspicuous bullet hole near the heart.
"It will have to mended," Bannel bit his lip, "I'll give you fifty seven a piece"
"Fifty seven?" Dameon spat, "those are worth one hundred, at least."
Bannel examined the bullet hole closely with his fingertips.
"That's one fucking piece," Dameon spit onto the yellow soil, "not easy to find mint condition salvage around here, is it?"
"Yes, they are worth two hundred in mint condition. Maybe one hundred as they are now...but that's retail price from a vendor such as myself," Bannel put down the armor, "I've got to make a profit of my own."
"Oh look at this," one of the well dressed women who had arrived with Bannel crooned. She peeked inside a case of Spam tins, "so many."
"Plus," Bannel continued, "Not everyone can wear power armor. You need military codes, or a good hack to deactivate the security features, and you need training to be able to move around in it. . .so it's difficult for me to sell them once I've got them, limited client base."
Dameon took a pack of cigarettes from the woman for the case of Spam. "Fine, why fifty seven though? Can't we make it a round number? Sixty?"
"Fine sixty a piece for the fifteen here. Nine hundred," Bannel said, "what do you want it in?"
"Cigarettes. Easy to carry," Dameon lifted the armor.
Caps were one of the few novel inventions created in the wake of the war. Without a government, and with everyone struggling to eak out an existence, normal paper money and precious metals were worthless. To help in trade, desert merchants invented the concept of a cap. Caps did not exist in physical form; they were a measure of worth loosely tied to certain 'benchmarks.' A cigarette, sheet of paper, pencil, or round of ammunition was 'worth' about a cap. A pack of cigarettes or a clip of ammo was worth about 25 caps. Dirty water 35 caps, a good gun 50, and so on. Using the concept of caps made it much easier for merchants to keep track of debts, value inventory, travel lightly, and deal with complex transactions.
After Bannel and the well dressed crowd departed, many of the other residents of TenPenny Tower stayed to examine what was left of the spread of cargo. Several men, including a security guard, were ogling the rifles and various other weapons Dameon had placed on the mat.
"Its thirty for a hunting rifle," Dameon picked up a hunting rifle and cocked it back, "a cap a round for all ammo but the e-cells. Two caps a cell. See, good quality here."
The crowd continued to mill about around the cargo for another twenty minutes while Dameon hawked to them the price of the various wares. Chloe was feeling dizzy from the sunlight and she leaned against the outside wall, before lying down on a bench. Her head throbbed. She saw Dameon sell a teddy bear to a young woman. Chloe remembered that teddy bear, she remembered setting it up on the display rack in the Gold Ribbon. She closed her eyes. When she looked back at their makeshift market, everyone had left but Dameon who was folding up the canvas and the few unsold items. He rolled it up into a large bundle and then peered over at Chloe.
"Hey," Dameon walked up to her, "for your effort - thirty caps," he gave her a bottle of whisky.
Chloe glanced at the bottle; it was warm in her hand.
"They will allow us to stay the night, but we will have to leave early tomorrow," Dameon opened up a bag of potato crisps and crunched one with his tongue.
"Why won't they let us stay? I thought we would be safe here"
Dameon rubbed his thumb and index finger together in a gesture, "You'd have to pay to buy an apartment here to stay. Very pricey, all snobs you know. They let me stay overnight after I sell to the shopkeepers as a favor, although really it's more of a benefit to them because there's nowhere for me to sleep." Dameon clipped the bundle to his shoulder, "Can head out to MegaTon in the morning. They welcome all types there. . .try out the bar as long as your here. I believe it's called the Federalist Lounge. Whatever the fuck that means. I'll meet you by the gate in the morning," Dameon smiled and then walked towards the front door to TenPenny Tower. He nudged it open.
Chapter 2: Alistair TenPenny
Dameon stepped into TenPenny Tower with Chloe close behind him. While she hesitated in the grand marble lobby, he walked straight past the security desk to the penthouse elevator. The door slid closed behind him.
The interior of TenPenny Tower was ornately decorated with some of the finest items scavenged from the desert. The walls were marble with satin drapes, all of the fixtures were clean, and the interior smelled like carpet. There were green, fake plants set up in large urns in the halls. The dust that permeated the desert had crept into the tower over the years, slowly depositing a layer of sand on every surface.
Dameon walked out of the elevator, and down the decadent hall, approaching TenPenny's suite. The guard at the penthouse door motioned for Dameon to stop.
"He doesn't know I'm here," Dameon lit up a cigarette.
The guard spoke into an intercom and the door clicked open. Dameon walked inside the suite. The furniture was immaculate and the floor was sparkling. A radio hummed in the bedroom. Dameon walked over to the bathroom and turned on the fine porcelain sink. Clean, sparkling water flowed out. He washed off his hands and face and then drank a few mouthfuls of water before heading out onto the balcony.
"Ah," TenPenny nodded from his chair. He was an old man, nearing eighty. He had a wrinkled and wizened face and thin gray hair. His eyes were dark as coals peering over his beak of a nose. From his high perch up atop TenPenny Tower he could see for miles; from the metallic glow of the Washington Monument in the DC metro, to the Pennsylvania border. The desert was now lit up with an amber back light as the sun set behind a dusty sky.
"Mr. Rayes," TenPenny smiled.
"TenPenny," Dameon sat down next to the man on a flimsy lawn chair. There was a bottle of scotch next to the men on a small end table. Dameon poured himself a drink.
"How can I help you, Mr. Rayes?" TenPenny sneered from his cushy seat.
Dameon threw back a shot of burning liquid. He then reached into a small shoulder pouch and retrieved a hand. He put the hand down on the end table and gestured to TenPenny.
"Rather macabre, Mr. Rayes," TenPenny looked at the hand. It had a large eagle tattooed on the wrist, symbol of the Talon Company mercenaries. TenPenny then noticed that the hand was 'holding' a small note. He grabbed it and unfolded the writing. It read:
Wanted Dead: Dameon 'Demon' Rayes. Last known location: MegaTon. Highly Dangerous. Old man will pay 600 caps upon termination, 1000 if able to retrieve head. Signed Littlehorn.
TenPenny finished reading the note and looked up at Dameon.
"Quite a shame, but I'm sure this is nothing new to a man such as yourself. Why are you showing me this?" TenPenny took a sip from his soda glass and put the note down.
"You're the old man. You sent those mercenaries after me," Dameon said coldly, "the fourth squad in as many weeks."
"No, Mr. Rayes," TenPenny coughed and began to light up his pipe, "Mr. Littlehorn signed that paper. He's your nefarious old man; I have nothing to do with that document."
"Bullshit, Littlehorn works for you. You gave the order to kill me."
"This may surprise you Mr. Rayes, but I have little interest in seeing your untimely demise. You're trading helps keep my tower well stocked, which keeps my tenants paying and happy. And you've eliminated several of my commercial rivals over the years," TenPenny mused, "There are many individuals that would be much higher up on what I think you would refer to as my 'list'." You're a nonentity."
Dameon sat motionless, reading the old man.
"A nonentity?"
"Yes. . .Haha," the old man strained to laugh, "and I would pay more than a 1000 caps."
Dameon stood up, "Maybe."
"Yes, well," TenPenny fiddled with his tie, "Now that I have cooled your rage to do me violence will that be all, Mr. Rayes?"
Dameon reached down into his pocket and pulled out the holotape from Fort Independence, "I thought you might want to buy this from me."
TenPenny put down his pipe, flustered, "first you make wild accusations that I am trying to have you dispatched. Now you want to trade with me as if I were some street hawker."
"Only the best for Alistair TenPenny. The most sophisticated commodity. . . Information," Dameon put the holotape on the table.
"What is it?" TenPenny huffed.
"It contains all the data on Fort Independence's computer system. I downloaded it from the mainframe. Schematics, recon and battle reports, lots of stuff... mentioned some artifact called H2. Heard anything about that?"
TenPenny reached for the holotape and then flipped it in his fingers, "No. But in light of all that you've said, why sell it to me?"
"You'd pay for it, not many others would . . .or could," Dameon smiled.
"Two thousand caps then," TenPenny held up a shot glass to Dameon. Dameon raised his own glass and they had a toast.
Chapter 3: The Federalist Lounge
Chloe watched as Dameon walked over to the elevator and waited. She had never been in a building so large. The height of the ceiling and the long glass chandelier were unnerving to her. The lobby was full of people coming and going. She was still thirsty as ever and her body ached from carrying so much weight across the desert.
She sat down on a marble bench.
"So," a woman chimed, walking over to Chloe, "who are you, traveler?"
"My name is Chloe," Chloe smiled.
"Chloe?"
"McGinty."
"Ew," the woman smiled, "such a strange name," she took a sip of her soda and sat down on the bench next to Chloe. "My name is Susan. Susan Lancaster. What are you doing here?"
Chloe's throat was very dry. She looked at Susan's bottle jealously.
Susan looked away, oblivious.
"I was captured by raiders. They took me to Fairfax. . .and a man. . .Dameon. He-"
"He saved you," Susan turned back to Chloe, smiling, "Do you want the rest of this," she handed Chloe the soda.
"Thank you so much," Chloe took a huge gulp.
"So what do you know about Demon Rayes?"
"Who?"
"Dameon Rayes, your friend. Who saved you. His name is Dameon, but out here they call him the Demon."
"Nothing," Chloe shrugged. Her skin burned. She felt like she might be getting radiation sickness.
"Is he evil?" Susan took Chloe's hot hand.
Chloe thought back to the fort, "yes."
"I knew it," Susan smiled, proudly, "Lydia and Melanie go on about him constantly, but I knew he was just an evil curse."
Chloe nodded.
"Hi Lydia," Susan smiled at a woman who had just walked in. Chloe recognized her as the woman who bought the bear from Dameon.
Lydia waived to Susan who rose to her feet.
"Come dear, talk to me in the store. I have to unload this," Lydia said, walking away with a large bag.
Susan stood up and the two women walked off to the left.
Chloe followed.
The women walked into a shop with a sign over the door that read 'Boutique le Chic' in red calligraphy. It was a nice little shop with hundreds of items handpicked from the desert. There were mini stoves, boxes of food, some ammo, furniture, posters. . .and the bear. Chloe watched as Lydia went to place it on a shelf. Their eyes met.
"Can I help you?" Lydia said dryly.
Chloe took a step forward, "the bear. I want the bear."
"You're the girl who came in with Dameon, aren't you?" Lydia said.
"She was captured by Raiders. Dameon saved her. Slaughtered them all I would guess," Susan chimed.
"Yes. That bear was mine, it wasn't Dameon's to sell."
"Well I've already bought it," Lydia laughed at the sun-scorched, dirty girl before her, "aren't you too old for teddy bears anyway?"
"It's all I have left of my mother and I WANT it," Chloe almost screamed.
Lydia was taken aback, "well like I said, I already bought it fairly. Here, just pay me what I paid. . .15 caps and we will both be happy."
Chloe decided to pay her. Her head was pounding.
(**************************************)
Chloe woke up on a lobby bench an hour later. Her head was feverishly hot. She must have fallen asleep without knowing it. She walked over to the right of the security desk where a sign pointed to the Federalist Lounge.
The bartender inside was a large robot who was busy mixing and pouring drinks for six men at the bar. A young woman was sitting at a table behind them, sipping on a martini. Chloe sat down and called to the robot.
"What can I get you mam?" it hummed.
"Do you have any water?"
"I'm sorry. We have three kinds of beer, vodka, wine, whisky, gin, pep, and nuka-cola."
"I need some water," Chloe ran her hands over her face and put her head down on the bar, "Nuka-cola then."
"Fifteen caps please."
Chloe parted with the other half of her caps. She had nothing now. She sipped on the Nuka-cola. It wouldn't help with the rad sickness – it would probably make it worse. She looked around at the bar theme. It was trying to be fancy but there just wasn't enough to scavenge. The walls had old posters and hub caps next to sumptuous drapes and fancy trim.
Dameon walked in and sat down next to Chloe.
"Hello partner," Dameon motioned over the robot barkeep, "buy you a drink?"
Chloe wiped her face and looked away, "I need water."
"I'm sorry sir but we-"
"Ah, ah" Dameon waived the robot away, "just get me a beer, Shakes. I don't care what kind," He then reached into his backpack and handed Chloe a bottle of fresh clean water.
Chloe stared at the bottle wide-eyed, "you said. . .where did you get this? How long did you have this?" her eyes filled with tears.
"I filled it up in TenPenny's suite. Bastard's got plumbing with clean water. I filled up all of my empty bottles."
Chloe began gulping down the water. It was the cleanest, most refreshing thing she had ever tasted.
"You look hot, probably have radsickness," Dameon ran his hand through his hair and then pulled a needle out of his pocket, "This is an anti-radiation xenoephederine injection. They call it Rad-X. Makes you feel better in a few hours. Give me your arm."
Chloe took a break from drinking and gave her arm to Dameon.
"Shakes!" Dameon called, "need a shot of vodka."
Dameon dipped his hand into the shot and swabbed Chloe's arm with the vodka before injecting her. She whimpered as the needle emptied.
"See, I'm not all bad," Dameon threw the needle towards a trash bin against the wall.
"You took everything," Chloe was crying, "I don't even have any more caps."
"What do you mean I took everything?" Dameon stood up, annoyed, now clutching his beer.
"All of the food, all of the toys, all of the caps, everything. It was all from my mother's store. They were hers and mine, and you took them and sold them all and left me with nothing," Chloe tried to hide her face from everyone else in the bar.
Dameon looked around. No one had taken notice.
"Those things were shit," Dameon spat, "All the caps I made were from selling the cargo we took from the fort. Your mom's teddy bears and Spam were worth nothing."
"Fuck you," Chloe looked up at Dameon and wiped her eyes, "She was so much better than you."
"After all, what did I ever do for you?" Dameon shrugged.
An old man walked into the bar and smiled at Dameon. Dameon smiled back and took a swig of his beer. He then walked over to the old man and sat down next to him.
"Herbert Dashwood. How are you?"
"Fine, fine," the old man chuckled, "Buy you a drink, Dameon?"
Dameon held up his beer, "already got one."
"And does the mighty desert demon, the modern day Azazel, get tipsy off one beer?" Dashwood laughed.
"Modern day Azazel, what is that crap?"
"You know," Dashwood continued, "the wilderness demon of the desert. From the bible."
Dameon pounded down his entire beer, "yeah, you sound like a fucking ghoul when you go on about ancient history like that."
"I forgot how much you hate ghouls. . .and history," Dashwood chuckled.
"What's a ghoul?" Chloe had walked over. She stood behind the men. Dameon didn't move but Dashwood pulled up a chair for her.
"Name's Dashwood, Herbert Dashwood."
"Herbert Daring Dashwood . . .from the radio show?" Chloe was in awe, she had spent her childhood listing to the Daring Dashwood Radio Show at 8 P.M. every night. When she was very little, her father would tell her stories about the great desert hero Daring Dashwood and his formidable sidekick Argyle every night before she went to bed.
"The radio show," Dameon muttered sarcastically as he got up to get another drink.
"Yes, but don't believe most of what you heard on that show. I told my story to a man years and years ago and. . .well, I can't remember his name. . .but he did embellish it quite a bit. . ." Dashwood took a drink, "Yes, well anyway, to answer your question, a ghoul is man who has been exposed to lots of radiation. His body will blister and crack, and look hideous, but somehow ghouls don't die from cancer or anything in the process. Damned if I understand it. You see the radiation actually extends their lives. Some were born before the nuclear war, two hundred years ago. Most live underground now, something about the sunlight."
Dameon sat back down in his seat, "when they get too old, their brains rot and they attack anything on sight, like a mindless zombie."
"Yes," Dashwood sipped on his drink, "but before they go feral they are every bit as human as you and I."
"Like your sidekick from the show. . .Argyle?" Chloe's headache was clearing.
"Yes, saved my ass quite a few times," Dashwood chuckled.
"Bunch of abominations," Dameon muttered.
"Come on now friend," Dashwood said seriously, "Argyle was a good man."
"Why don't you like them?" Chloe asked Dameon.
"Because," Dameon worked on his fresh beer, "They are the ones responsible for this. For the tingle every time I drink this irradiated shit. For the giant insects, the dust storms. For the war. They lived in the society that started the war. They elected the government. We eat shit and ash because of them, their patriotism. . .their war. They wrecked everything. And now they get to live like worms hiding from the sun, how fitting. I think they were cursed with long life so they could wander this wasteland to see what was created by their own hand."
"And I went too far with my biblical allusions," Dashwood made a wry smile to Chloe.
Chloe zoned out for much of the conversation. She was still very tired. An hour of sleep on the uncomfortable bench was not enough.
Two hours later, Dashwood was red-faced from drinking and was bawling with laughter, "And I said to her, who do you think you are? Vault Dweller?"
Dameon chuckled. A fake laugh.
"No sense of humor in you," Dashwood drunkenly proclaimed, "Such dry humor it's amazing you don't choke. Hehe. . .all about the caps and the adventure with you. Caps and adventure," Dashwood sucked on his bottle.
"You know me, always. . . fishing," Dameon sat back. He glanced at Chloe as she slept, head leaning against the bar wall.
"Yeah well, you keep in mind what I learned a long time ago," Dashwood said seriously.
Dameon leaned in, "What's that?"
"You're not bullet proof," Dashwood put down his bottle.
"Yeah," Dameon smiled, "but I am bullet resistant."