Ch 4 Unscientific Pursuits
Eating bland varieties of processed artificially grown foods, while cooped up claustrophobically with her fellow Vault dwellers within the confines of a small, dingy cafeteria, had never been Arta's favourite part of the day. Thank you Vault-tec. Installing something more mess hall size might have made the experience less trying. The philosophy perhaps had been to bring residents together in close proximity, while giving them some choice of tables to sit at. In practice the compromise made the formation of cliques even more likely than if there had been one huge family size table or a large number of small ones, and provided numerous opportunities to snub and exclude persons outside one's own circle.
By custom and from practical necessity, children ate first with their parents, followed by other adults, and finally teenagers. Previously Arta and Amata had found themselves sitting together in exile from the favoured youth faction, occasionally joined by other persona non grata like Freddie Gomez. They hadn't cared much, as they enjoyed each other's company, and despised most of the rest of their peers. Now a realignment had taken place. Arta was still out in the cold with the Holden twins (who formed their own separate group). Amata, on the other hand, had been invited to the 'top table', alongside Suzy Mack, her brother Wally and sidekick, Christine Kendall. Tunnel Snakes were not usually considered amongst the self-styled elite, so Wally only made the grade thanks to his sister's higher social status. If the Vault had been a high school, then Suzy would have made herself its home coming queen by the usual methods of shameless self-promotion, backstabbing and scandal mongering. Members of her 'court' tended to have the same belief in their own superiority.
As the Overseer's daughter, Amata would have almost automatically gained a place in this charmed circle, had she not absolutely disdained to join in favour of associating with known 'losers'. Now it seemed as though she'd come into her inheritance, taking a place of honour next to Suzy, while they nudged each other, giggled and cast disdainful glances in the direction of the 'lower orders'. Despite the best efforts of the Holdens to be nice, Arta couldn't help being goaded into wrathful thoughts.
Look at her sitting there as though she really is Queen of the Vault! What a turncoat! But she found the hostility difficult to maintain at a deeper level. Amata's behaviour was undoubtedly aimed at her, yet the motives behind it were harder to figure out. Several times during the meal, she came close to meeting Amata's eyes, only for the Overseer's daughter to flick them away before the point of contact. It's like we're fencing over something, something that I don't understand. And that gives her the advantage.
When Arta went to help herself to her favourite (or least disliked) food, Algae Ice cream, she suddenly found Suzy alongside her, her expression affable, blue eyes wide and innocent. Arta wasn't fooled; she knew to get ready for the stiletto in the back.
"So, Arta," Suzy began, scooping at something that resembled chocolate ice cream mostly because it was frozen. "How's it going with your new friends?"
Arta noticed Suzy had quite deliberately put this question loud and clear enough for everyone present to hear, an easy feat to achieve considering the miserable size of the diner. She responded in kind.
"Well enough. I find them more reliable than some of my old ones."
"I'm so glad to hear that." Suzy abstractedly ran her fingers through her lustrous golden locks, smoothing back her ponytail. "Because I'd heard that you'd been feeling very lonely of late."
Arta realised she was being set up for something. But she wasn't being allowed to see where the knife was coming from, and had limited room to maneuver.
"Why on earth would you think that?"
Suzy bared her perfect, white teeth like a shark ready to attack. "Oh, a little bird told me." She glanced significantly in Amata's direction. "And we all know how desperate lonely girls can get."
Where's this going? Arta thought. Surely Amata wouldn't tell her about …
"So desperate," Suzy continued, not waiting for Arta to retort, "that she might secretly get Mr Handy Andy to make her a very handy object. One that made her feel … less lonely."
Andy was the maintenance robot, but was fully capable of manufacturing complex mechanisms, usually under the direction of Stanley, the technician. He was, however, designed to be obliging to any and all requests within his capabilities.
Oh, no, Amata wouldn't have shown her … she wouldn't!
Just for a moment, like a conjuring trick, the long, smooth object was visible in Suzy's hand, before vanishing again. She formed her lips into an 'O', and emitted a little gasp in Arta's direction, mimicking sexual ecstasy, then smiled sweetly.
Arta was aware of her cheeks turning a fiery red, of everyone looking at her, of cruel giggles and whispers. She felt every bit as humiliated as Suzy had intended her to. Thanks to Amata, the Vault's Number One Bitch had made a proper job of crushing her self-esteem, giving her no alternative but to walk away, enduring mocking looks and sly remarks.
She left her ice cream untouched, and began the march of shame, desperately trying to avoid looking directly at anyone. And it was at that point, as her glance darted from face to face, that her eyes finally encountered Amata's. The Overseer's daughter had a curious expression on her face, a half-smile that spoke of secrets. Why? Why is she doing this? And what is she planning to do next? It's no use. I have to go talk to dad.
When Arta entered the surgery, her father was poring over a specimen slide, his grave blue eyes intent. She clattered against a stool and he turned, a little startled. His neatly trimmed grey hair, beard and air of composure gave him the appearance of a venerable sage or enlightened seer. But there was still more than a hint of the vigour and intensity he had passed on to his daughter.
As always, Arta's feelings about him were in conflict, torn by different impulses. She respected his intelligence, could relate to his freedom of thought and vision; her imagination responded to the passion which he had never successfully concealed. Yet at the same time she felt intense frustration at the self-imposed restraints and limits he had placed upon himself – and her as well. It seemed excessively cautious and – yes – even cowardly. Especially his insistence that they should outwardly conform to the Vault regime. She knew that privately he despised the Overseer as much or even more than she did. But she was his precious daughter, who must be protected and treated as though she were made of china. He had taught her to think freely, while denying her the freedom her thoughts implied.
And always appearing so mild, so unassuming. Why couldn't he see that to bring about change you had to be ready to fight, to take risks? It was all very well having ideals, but you had to find a practical way of realising them. And sometimes that meant compromising, sacrificing some values to achieve your goals.
She remembered a conversation she'd had with him when she'd been thirteen years old; mature enough to begin to wonder about the culture she'd been born into. The hacking skills she'd acquired with some help from Jonas had allowed her to access some of the Vault's oldest historical records. She hadn't really found out anything that important but, for the first and last time, she'd excitedly related her discoveries to her father. She'd thought he would be intrigued, interested – instead he'd reproved her severely for breaking the rules. She felt betrayed.
"But it's not like I've done any harm," she'd sniffled. "Why do they try to keep this stuff secret anyway?"
"That's not the point," he'd lectured. "The Overseer is his wisdom has decreed certain regulations. If you want to keep on his good side, you'd better get used to them."
"You don't even agree with his silly rules!" she'd protested.
"Maybe not. But I do agree with keeping them."
Though he'd taught her to question everything, this was the first time she'd seriously challenged his judgement.
"Why should I give a damn, especially if I can avoid getting caught?"
"Listen Arta, it's important because you need a behaviour code of some sort. One of the things which separate us from lower forms of life is that we are capable of moral judgements, we have laws and rules. Otherwise chaos reigns."
She'd been surprised at his intensity. Surely this shouldn't be a big enough issue to upset him? It was almost as if there were some hidden meaning behind his words, an agenda she knew nothing about.
She'd carried on arguing. "The famous leaders I read about in the hidden files: Abraham Lincoln and Winston Churchill. They only kept to a code when it suited them. When it was necessary for the interests of their nation, they acted ruthlessly. If we're supposed to learn from history, isn't the message that you do what you must to survive?"
Her father had shaken his head sadly. "If you lose your most precious values, then what does your survival matter? You've given up the most important part of your humanity."
"And if it's a choice between that and oblivion?"
He'd sighed deeply. "If you become a good citizen of the Vault, I doubt it'll come down to that." Casting his eyes upwards: "If any poor souls remain up there, it's for them to deal with those dilemmas. That's why here's the best place for you to be."
The argument had never been resolved. Arta wondered if it ever would be. But right now, none of this, none of her reservations was important. She simply wanted the comfort her father could provide. Weeping she flung herself into his arms.
"Honey, what is it? What's wrong?" he said, holding her, and patting her gently on the back.
She felt like a little girl again, needing to bury herself in his embrace. "Daddy, oh daddy!"
For a while he held her without saying anything more, and that was fine, that was what she wanted, secure arms around her, somewhere soft and warm to rest her head.
Eventually she looked up, and he began to brush her hair back into place with small, affectionate movements.
"So, anything you want to tell me about?"
She met his eyes, tried to speak, failed, looked down again. Not because the words weren't there. The emotion was too sharp, the hurt too much at this moment.
Finally, with an effort, she said, "Dad, was there anytime, with Mom, when … when you were afraid that she didn't love you?"
His stroking of her hair stopped abruptly, then started again more hesitantly. For a moment pain creased his eyes. He seemed to be thinking back. "I suppose there might have been a time, early on. But to be honest with you, I don't recall it. Perhaps I don't want to. As I remember, ours was like the love at first sight you read of in books. We were drawn together as though by fate. And that's how it remained until … until."
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to …"
"No, it's alright. I … I like it when you ask about her. So much of you reminds me of how she was. When I look at you now, all grown up …"
"Oh, dad!" The sigh that came from her was wrung out.
"And that's why when you hurt, it hurts me double. If there's anything I can help with … but I'm guessing that its someone else … someone important to you, that's the cause of this. Am I right?"
She nodded. Then she said, "It's Amata."
"You've quarrelled? I know how these things can happen – perhaps there's a boy that you both like and …"
"No … no! That's not the problem. As if one of those stupid jerks could cause us to split." Looking straight at her father, she said, "You see, its her. It's just her. She's the one that I …"
She could see understanding dawning on him. And he said, "Oh!" very quietly. Then he pulled her in close to him, pressed her head to his.
She had always known that he would understand, would not condemn. She hadn't talked to him about her feelings for Amata because … well, because it didn't seem the sort of thing to be talking about with her dad. Now though she was glad she could, and that he was accepting. There was no need for him to say it, but he did anyway.
"I love you … and I want you to be happy if you can. You're sure, you're quite sure, aren't you, that your feelings are genuine, that this isn't some girlish crush?"
"I am quite sure … but I don't think that she feels the same. Even though … even though we … we slept together."
"I see … it's that serious then. And you think … that she doesn't love you?"
"Yes … and … it hurts, daddy, it hurts." She began to dissolve into tears again.
"Oh, my dear! Of course, it does. But don't … don't give up hope. At least there's something there to work with, some kind of relationship."
"That's what I thought. But now it seems like she's trying to hurt me deliberately. She's started sucking up to that bitch Suzy and her crowd. And it can only be to spite me. Because she's so much better than that."
Her father stroked his beard thoughtfully. "True. Did she actually say that she didn't love you?"
"No, not in so many words. She said something about not having time to think about it, about us being too young. But dad, I don't think …"
He gripped her arm reassuringly. "Then there's still a chance that if you give her that time …"
She saw then that this would be his last word on the subject. His damned optimism again! And she couldn't tell him what had just happened. It would hurt him too much, and it might cause more trouble. She tried another approach.
"I've had enough of this stinking hole in the ground. There's nothing for me here. Somehow I've got to get out. I'll die if I don't!"
He went back to stroking her hair. "Please, honey, don't talk like that. You may feel like that now. You're at an age when … when things often seem worse than they are. I promise you, they'll get better eventually. You'll see."
The same old conversation! She felt the frustration rising in her heart, her bowels, the tears gathering, nearly choking off her words.
"They never will. So long as I'm here, things will never be right."
"Oh, Artemesia, my darling." Again he held her sobbing. It was quite some time before he was able to begin drying her tears with a medical sponge.
Dabbing away, he said, "Even if that were true, which it isn't, you know what the Overseer always says …"
"Yes: 'We're born in the Vault, we die in the Vault.' Except that you don't believe that, do you, dad? Do you?"
He was unable to meet her eyes, hesitated, then gave a half-shake of the head which could have meant … anything.
"There has to be a way out. People got in once, so they can get out. There has to be."
She wished then that she could tell him. Tell him about the preparations she'd made, was still making. Training her body, training her mind. Learning skills that might help, learning anything she could about the history of the world outside, and what changes might be expected to have occurred after humanity's final worst mistake.
But he wouldn't understand. He might even try to prevent her; stop Jonas helping or make her access to information more difficult. She would carry on alone, and someday, someday soon, she would be ready. Ready to leave.
Kissing the top of her head gently, he said. "You look tired. Why don't you go and rest, maybe sleep a little. Things may seem better afterwards."
Arta threw herself down on her bed fully clothed, burying her head in her pillow, hoping thereby to inter her tormenting thoughts. But the internal chatter would not be so easily silenced.
Was Dad right about Amata? Her inner voices were uncertain. He's always thinking that if only people are sweet and reasonable, the world's gonna flow with love and sugar bombs for all, sneered Kick-arse Arta. As though that'll ever happen. He doesn't feel your pain, no-one can, complained Romantic muse. But maybe he's got a point. Amata doesn't know what she wants right now. When she does, she'll come to realise she really loves you. You shot your mouth and took her by surprise, agreed Smart Arta. Keep your own counsel, make her sweat a little and maybe things will break for you.
What can I do, what can I do? I hurt so much. Dad's advising me to give her time. That time could be agony for me. I need to try forgetting about this for a while, just get on with things. Suppose I seduced Jonas to make her jealous? But she didn't seem bothered when I told her … oh this is too confusing! I'll try to sleep, and perhaps my head will be clearer.
Eventually Arta's tired mind sank into oblivion, but not before the pillow had been well watered with her tears. When she awoke, the Vault had entered the period before the night cycle designed by its engineers to simulate twilight. The service lights were at a subtly lower level of dimness. She felt alert as a night hunting animal before the hours of darkness.
I'll go to the lab, she thought. If Jonas is there, then we'll see what happens. And if he isn't, well there's always that map data he claimed got erased. I can probably hack almost any computer in the Vault by now. I'll soon find out if he's lying. Another psychological advantage for me.
As she got closer to the lab, she habitually moved into sneak mode, a game she had played since early childhood. To move quietly, to blend into the background and make use of the shadows, to keep out of someone's line of vision. It was fun hiding from people, not letting them know you were watching or listening. And it was useful. In this case, she preferred that her entry should be undetected.
The lab door was locked. This wasn't unusual, and Arta had come prepared. She always kept a few bobby pins about her. Essential equipment for a Vault child with an acute sense of curiosity. It took a matter of seconds working the tumblers into the right position.
Once the door was sufficiently open to slip through, Arta adopted a crouch and moved quickly and quietly, immediately closing it behind her, to creep into a concealed position behind a bench. She wasn't surprised to find the lights in the lab almost as low as in the artificial twilight of the corridors. If the room was unoccupied, her task was made that much easier.
Except that it wasn't. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she heard a low groan from somewhere near. In fear, she pressed her shoulders hard against the bench, availing herself of its concealment, although this made it impossible to immediately locate the source of the noise.
It came again, heartfelt and accompanied by other smaller, softer, ominously fleshy sounds. Arta's imagination, fuelled by spending her younger years reading pulp science-fiction, conjured up a hideous array of possibilities: an illicit experiment performed on a human subject: a lab grown mutation escaping and devouring its creator: an alien embryo implanted and tearing itself from its human host.
When her thoughts had begun to cease racing, and the fierce pounding of her heart had subsided, she began to apprehend that the moaning did not seem like the sound of someone in torment. More and more the exclamations and gasps appeared to be those of extreme pleasure. Curiosity overcoming her fear, she gradually slid herself along the side of the bench, and very slowly and cautiously poked her head out to look around the side.
Jonas stood less than ten feet away, his back half turned towards her. He was completely naked, and Arta could see, by the yellow light of a small lamp, little runnels of sweat trickling down his spine to follow the curve of his tight buttocks. The moaning was issuing from his own lips. becoming ever louder and more urgent,
Driven by an overwhelming fascination, Arta shifted herself yet further, in order to see more of the front of his body, still cut off from view in her hiding place. As she did so, she became aware that Jonas was looking downwards towards someone crouched at his feet.
It was Amata. Her slim, nude body was partly in shadow, but her face was clearly visible.
When Arta's shocked mind finally registered what the Overseer's daughter was doing, she felt an intense urge to vomit, and leaning forward, put her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the gag reflex. Then, instinctively jerking herself backwards to prevent discovery, her head collided with the hard metal surface.
She almost stopped breathing. The steady rhythm of the sounds continued uninterrupted. Amata and Jonas were too preoccupied to notice anything unusual. Unaware of the girl huddled in a fetal ball behind the bench, images of carnality burning on her retinas. Her mind in such turmoil that at first she hardly noticed that Amata had begun to speak.
"No, not in my mouth. Not on my breasts either. I want you to come inside me."
"Oh, babe, please, I'm almost about to come already!"
"Just do as I say. On the couch."
Arta felt herself becoming disassociated from her surroundings. The sickness and the blow to the back of her head receded. Instead she was aware of the pounding of blood in her brain, the tightness of her chest and jaw, the clenching of her fists and teeth. A tide of black sorrow flooded through her, so that she felt she must throw back her head and howl, but even as that wave passed, another followed of anger red as blood, rising and still rising until it shook her to the core. It seemed to her that the metal walls of the Vault were closing in around her, all the weight of earth between her and the outside world pressing down, as she crouched, focused only on the space inside her skull, and the murderous rage that filled it.
Hardly aware of what she was doing, she began to crawl forward. Her brain, operating on its most primitive level, kept her moving silently towards her objective. The background sighs and moans scarcely registered.
The chest was in exactly the same position on the workbench. She was forced to rise to a half-crouch to reach it. From this position, she could see the examination couch on which Jonas had mounted Amata, his buttocks pumping furiously, her white body moving beneath him.
Arta's trembling fingers searched, encountered the hilt of the gun, wrapped themselves tight around it. With her other hand she grabbed a handful of bullets. Hunkering down behind the bench again, she began to slot them methodically into the revolver's empty chambers. Finally clicking the cylinder shut, she rose to her feet. Every part of her body trembled with the insane fury which had possessed her, as if some demon of the underworld had claimed her soul.
In a corner of her mind, a voice tried to make itself heard. Stop. Stop now. You'll go mad. If you don't stop, you'll never find yourself again.
But it was drowned out by the ever louder, fiercer litany in her head: bitchbitchbitchbitchbitch. The urge to scream out loud was becoming almost unbearable. She clicked off the revolver's safety, raised the gun double-handed in front of her as Jonas had taught.
On the couch, the two bodies had thrashed themselves almost to a climax, moans and gasps commingling.
"Come on, harder. Make me come." Amata moaned in what seemed urgent, extravagant ecstasy.
Too much. Just a little too much. Not real. It's not real.
Strange how her mind, battered by the assault of emotions never before experienced, had managed to focus on this one thing out of place. A tone of voice, an outcry. Fake, not real. Why, why, why? Stop, you fool, stop before it's too late!
And it was just enough for the voice of reason to regain control, to banish the howling madness that would have made her gun them down there and then, transforming their entwined bodies into bloody corpses.
But still she had to find out why.
Jonas gave a final groan, and climaxed. His head fell forward onto Amata's shoulder. The Overseer's daughter also seemed in the throes of orgasm. Except that Arta was convinced that for some seemingly inexplicable reason she was faking it.
Amata opened her eyes. And looked straight into the gun barrel. She gave a little gasp, and clutched Jonas.
Indistinctly he asked, "What is it, babe?" Then turning his head, he exclaimed, "What the fuck …jesus, what are you doing?"
Arta knew that she had to play out this farce or tragedy to its end. "Get up. On your feet. Now … down on your knees."
They scrambled to comply with her orders, Jonas shaking like a leaf, Amata wide-eyed but with a greater degree of control.
Almost babbling in fear, Jonas pleaded, "Arta, if I'd known you felt like this, I would never have … I mean, it would've been you here instead … oh, god, please don't shoot!"
"Shut up you fool! Do you really think I'd be bothered where you put your cock if it wasn't for her?"
"Her … what are you talking about?" Then Jonas started to laugh hysterically. "Oh, I get it now! Oh, this just about caps everything! Oh, Christ, oh heavenly Christ!"
Unexpectedly Amata snapped, "Arta's right, Jonas. You should shut the fuck up, you miserable coward!"
Arta turned her attention back to Amata. The Overseer's daughter seemed to be regaining her composure, and her light brown eyes were calm and steady.
Feeling her heart throbbing, she asked simply, "Why?"
Amata seemed to be expecting the question. She said, "Do you really want to know the truth?" Arta nodded. "Then I'll tell you."
"W, wait a minute," Jonas interjected nervously. "When she says she wants to know the truth, it doesn't have to be the whole truth, does it? I mean think carefully about what you're saying here. Or those words are gonna be your last."
"I said, shut it." Looking directly at Arta, she said, "I don't love you."
"Oh shit!" Jonas moaned in terror. "Oh holy fuck! This is good, this is nice. We are going to die!" Pleading again, "Arta, don't listen to her, she doesn't know what she's saying!"
Arta cocked the pistol, strictly unnecessary, as it was a double-action pull, and pointed it at Jonas. "Stay quiet while she speaks, or I'll blow your head off." Jonas subsided into terrified silence.
Amata continued. "I don't love you, and I will never love you. But I needed my friend back. There's no-one else here I care two shakes about." With a contemptuous nod at Jonas: "Least of all him. I wanted to kill your love. Kill it dead. That's why I've done all this. And I wanted you to find out. So that, in the end, we could become friends again. But I never thought you would or could be angry enough to kill me."
When she had finished speaking, Amata continued to look firmly at Arta. She's telling the truth. And she knows that I know.
Arta thought that she had never admired the Overseer's daughter so much as at that moment in time. She was facing death in the muzzle of the gun without flinching. But perhaps she knows, or suspects, that I can't kill her, not now, not ever. Because I love her. Oh, bitter, bitter irony! After all that she's done to stop me, I love her even more.
.
*I hope that wasn't as difficult to read as it was to write. I had in my mind the insane survivors of Vault 106. Even though (spoiler warning) the ultimate cause of their insanity was some kind of experimental drug, I still would think that the confinement and restrictions of Vault life could easily result in a tendency to psychosis amongst its inhabitants, awaiting the right trigger to set it off. Sexual jealousy is, of course, able to provoke this response in some people even without other factors.
I did find some humorous relief from the intensity in the tale of Andy's new line of 'toys' (even if the outcome was distressing for Arta). I mean, what's a girl to do when the powers that be aren't likely to approve of making such things, and there are no suitably shaped root vegetables or fruits available?
Vault food: (general spoiler warning) Assuming that Vault 101 has been isolated for considerable periods since the Apocalypse 200 years ago, it seems likely it would rely on growing its own food through some artificial means. Thus our favourite Fallout 3 foods like yum yum devilled eggs or Fancy Lads snack cakes would be rare treats, or simply unavailable, hence the 'Algae Ice cream'.
Double-action revolver: This means that a pull on the trigger will pull back the hammer, rotate the cylinder and fire (but most modern revolvers can also fire 'single action' by cocking the hammer first). Although without the speed advantage of auto-loading pistols, this kind of weapon can be more reliable.*
