Part 36 – A Different World
As the expedition pushed further west in the weeks following their exit from Dogtown, not much was said. Donnovan's over analytical mind, which he had managed to repress for a while, had grinded back into action with the death of the wastelanders, namely the one who was torn apart by the dogs. Why hadn't they simply protected the man? Sure, the trip from Dogtown would've taken longer, as they would've been moving more slowly with the dogs following them, but the man would still be alive.
"We have to take care of our own."
That was what Morgan had said after the expedition had left New Jerusalem those many months ago, and it seemed to apply here as well. Donnovan had protested the expedition's selfishness once they had left Dogtown, but Morgan shot him down quickly by mentioning how Donnovan hadn't raised his voice in protest at the moment they shoved the wastelander forward. He had no comeback. It was absolutely true. It seems that outside of danger, anyone could be a saint. In the heat of the moment, when the life of those one cares about is on the line, all of that goes out of the proverbial window. Still, two more people who had joined them had died, which created another thought in Donnovan's mind, one that Glade coincidentally brought up one day several weeks later.
"Yo, Don… Ever notice how a lot of people who join us ends up biting it?"
"I was kind of thinking that myself…" Donnovan nodded in agreement. He paused. "Well, except for Amata."
"Well, she knew you already, so that doesn't count." Glade frowned.
"Anna?" Donnovan queried. "She didn't get killed."
"After killing two others, yeah."
"Oh yeah..."
Through their subsequent traveling days, the terrain around them had been changing slowly, but drastically. Dried pathways, crumbling rocks, and dead trees gave way to clean canyons, vibrant trees, and beautiful, clear rivers. For the first time in his life, Donnovan had a taste of water that was unfiltered, but cleaner than any he had ever had. It was incredible. The entire expedition had taken a full day's break to bathe in the clean, beautiful waters, something they had all desperately needed, and something that helped Donnovan's now painless, but slowly healing arm wound, significantly. They eventually found themselves traveling along the edge of a massive canyon. From what they could see, it was luscious and filled with soft browns and strong greens. They did not have the time to explore it, something that nagged at Donnovan. Their destination was New Canaan, an oasis of trade, rest, and business. The expedition had been enjoying the peaceful treks and beautiful scenery. The only ammo used was for hunting, and for Donnovan's sniper rifle training, sometimes both at the same time. The group had been traveling north from the canyon for several days, and a large rock loomed in front of them, blocking their view. As they made their way forward, they were finally greeted by the first person they had seen in weeks. A man wearing a flat, black cowboy-like hat and a collared, plaid shirt was standing on a rock. He had a thick black beard and mustache to match. Though suspecting something more sinister, the expedition realized that if he was planning an ambush, there were several other places where he could've done it already. Besides, something was different about this man, despite the fact that he was clutching a very impressive looking handgun, one that Donnovan had read about in the Vault and seen pictures of.
"Greetings!" He called out in a very friendly manner.
"Greetings to you." Morrill nodded.
"It's not really my business, but would you mind if I asked who you were?" The man asked, a smile on his face.
"We are travelers from the east." Morril answered. "We have come a long way, and we wish to get to New Canaan. May I ask who you are?"
"Of course." The man nodded, still smiling. "Friends, my name is Kenneth. I live in New Canaan, and am part of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints." This man was very nice, to a slightly annoying point. Nevertheless, it was actually good to see someone who was too nice, rather than too psychotic or too evil. An overly friendly greeting was an extremely welcome change from the usual potshot or attempted mugging.
"It is nice to meet you." Morrill stated. "I do wonder though, do you greet everyone like this?"
"At the entrance to New Canaan, to some extent, yes." Kenneth nodded. "You just didn't seem like the average travelers we get. I was out here for a walk, and noticed you."
"I see." Morrill concluded. "So New Canaan is not far?"
"Just up that ridge." Kenneth nodded, pointing the way.
"Okay, I can't help it anymore." Donnovan interjected. "Sorry for cutting in, but what is that pistol you have there? It looks incredible."
"This?" Kenneth smiled at his weapon, fondly. "It's something special to us New Canaanites. This is my M1911. It was created by a member of our religion many years before the great war. Learning to use this is something of a rite of passage for every New Canaanite."
"It looked like a 1911." Donnovan gaped. ".45 auto?"
"Indeed." Kenneth said, looking impressed. "You seem very taken with it."
"Taken? Are you kidding?" Donnovan asked incredulously. "I'd love to get one of those."
"We do sell them in New Canaan." Kenneth offered.
Donnovan's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."
"I am not." Kenneth gave a small chuckle. "We have everything you could need there. Gun stores, inns, markets, even a bar. We don't partake in its services, but we understand that there are many travelers and traders who do."
"This is too good to be true." Donnovan stated. "If New Canaan is as good as it sounds… I mean, the last place that awesome was New Jerusalem."
Kenneth perked up at this. "We've heard tales of the city, but never actually gone out that way."
"You should, it is incredible." Donnovan stated. "It's like some kind of weird yet idyllic version of peace. It's not like they all love each other, but they leave each other be. It's kind of freaky. You never see that kind of thing."
"The more I hear about it, the more I want to visit."
"Believe me, you'll be welcomed with open arms. Though they have security everywhere."
"Don't forget the New Jerusalem Mossad." Glade added.
"Or their heavy response teams." Dusk joined in.
"We apolgoize." Morrill put his hand up to quiet the group. "It has been a while since we've seen anyone else."
"It is no problem. I enjoy talking with anyone and everyone. Head on up to New Canaan. You can get everything you need taken care of." Kenneth smiled.
The sun shined down as the expedition rounded the rock up ahead, and the slightly downward sloping path to New Canaan came into view. The town was an oasis in an already incredible landscape. Though the New Canaan itself was incomparable to the ancient-like, urban splendor of New Jerusalem back east, the clean town and the gorgeous terrain surrounding it had its own beauty of a frontier variety. Small buildings were arranged in neat rows. A church with a bell tower poked up into the air, capped off by a neat, square, cone-shaped roof. Though the buildings still showed the wear and tear of anything from the pre-war years, it was still somehow clean.
As they neared the entrance of the town, they were greeted by two guards, both armed with well-maintained submachineguns and dressed in mostly clean, dust-free pants and shirts similar to Kenneth's. A third guard was leaning against the wall, a small, black leather-bound book open in his hands.
"Greetings!" One of the on-duty guards stated. "If you need any help, ask anybody insideThey will be glad to help."
"Thank you." Morrill nodded, motioning the Corp onward. As they entered the town, a sense of calm washed over them. Traders and travelers walked back and forth, shops were open for business. The town was bustling, but everyone seemed to be at peace.
"This place is… nice…" Morgan muttered. For the first time in his life, Donnovan heard a tone of uncertainty in her voice.
"You say that as if it is a surprise?" A passing New Canaanite smiled at her, overhearing the comment.
"Uh, right. Sorry." Morgan muttered.
" 'Sorry'?" Donnovan stared at her. "'SORRY?' You never say sorry."
"I know…" Morgan frowned. "But there's something about these people. They actually do seem… Not… Uh…"
"Not assholeish?" Glade offered.
"Uh, sure, yeah." Morgan nodded.
Donnovan was still taken aback. "Since when are you at a loss for words?"
"Oh shut the hell up…" Morgan grumbled. "I'm enjoying this. It's peaceful and not annoying me, which is strange… But nice for a change."
Donnovan laughed as Morrill, after asking directions from another very friendly New Canaanite, led them to a nice, clean looking inn with a large wooden porch. The innkeper was outside on the deck, sweeping.
"Hello there!" He smiled, resting the broom against the wall of the building and brushing his hands together to get rid of the excess dust. "What can I do for you tired travelers today?"
"Is this all real?" Olin whispered into Donnovan's ear. "These people seriously cannot be fighters and weapon makers, and still be this nice…"
"I'm as weirded out as you." Donnovan admitted. "Still. It's not a terrible thing that this place is run by nice people who can apparently kick some serious ass if they have to."
"Yes, we would like lodging." Morrill glanced back at the weary expedition. "For several days."
"We should have plenty of rooms open. Would you like to store your robots and brahmin as well?" The innkeeper asked politely.
"Yes, please."
"Well, let me get someone to get your carriers, and we can come inside and write up a bill. After that, you all can rest. You do look rather exhausted, if you don't mind me saying."
"That's not far from the truth." Morgan said with a smile. Her smile immediately faded as she realized how she had responded. "What the hell is wrong with me?" She hissed to Glade.
"Give me a moment." The innkeeper held his hand up. He turned his head and called into the building. "Matthew! Joseph! We have customers!"
Two young boys came jogging out through the doors of the inn. They greeted the expedition brightly before taking their pack beast and robots, and guiding them confidently around the back of the inn, Yearling and Rockfowl following them. With that, the expedition followed the innkeeper inside, and found themselves in a quiet, peaceful lobby. Clean, vintage couches were neatly arrayed against the walls. Interesting tapestries hung from the walls. The lobby looked like a recreation of one of the old western homes Donnovan had seen in pictures in the vault history archives. A small fireplace, with wood already prepared, was tucked away in a corner, surrounded by several very comfortable looking chairs.
"There you are." Morrill stated, handing over the payment for their lodging and bringing Donnovan out of his trance. Morrill turned back to the rest of the group. "We are almost out of funds from our collective pool."
"No big deal." Glade shrugged. "I'm sure we can all throw together our personal cash if we absolutely have to."
There was a murmur of agreement.
"We won't have to for a little while." Dusk said, grinning mischievously. Almost immediately, Donnovan remembered how Dusk had cleaned the Transitional Twilight Hand chapel back in New Jerusalem out of every cap. Something about Dusk's expression seemed to echo that.
"What do you mean?" Lyons asked curiously.
"I told Rockfowl to double check that extra bag on the most intact sentry bot." Dusk pretended to yawn. "He'll bring it in after everything's taken care of."
"And…?" Lyons pressed.
"Remember how all that shit was lying around in Dogtown?" Dusk told them. "Well, I'm kind of pissed that we couldn't get that AR30 for Don. Still, after that waster was torn up, I started snagging anything within reach, since the dogs weren't really following us anymore after that."
Everyone stared at her.
"Hey, I ripped off a couple thousand caps from that chapel without any of those New Jerusalem power armor guys seeing me." Dusk shrugged. "Don't feel bad that you didn't notice."
"You're incredible." Glade grunted.
"Don't sound so surprised." Dusk gloated.
"What's all in there?" Olin asked.
"A few decent AER9s, two beaten up Plasma Rifles which Olin can probably fix up pretty well." Dusk explained, glancing at Olin, who nodded. Dusk raised her eyes to the ceiling, trying to recall everything else. "A few dirty N99s… A really nice 870 that I might actually keep. Two Mp10s… Oh! And this really nice looking M4. Remember that gun that the merc, Simon, had? It looks almost exactly like that. There are also a shit ton of P-35s. I haven't seen any of those for years."
Everyone continued to gape at Dusk.
"How did you get all of that?" Lyons asked, extremely surprised.
"Just kind of picked them up as we walked. I'm serious, if small groups are fast enough, they can pick up most of that stuff during their runs to Dogtown. There's a lot of weapons there. Only thing I'm pissed about is that I couldn't get the damn rocket launcher I saw."
"Well… I guess we can sell those tomorrow." Morrill commented, looking impressed.
"Bring them out, I'll take a look and fix them up." Olin offered.
"Out?" Dusk asked. "Why out?"
"I wanna set up outside, and do some work." Olin explained. "I'm too tired to wander around, but this place is too nice to not take in. I'll sit outside while I fix them up. That way, we'll sell what we can tomorrow all at once."
"I'll join you after I check up on everyone." Lyons stated. "Keep you company."
"I don't know about the rest of you…" Glade said, stretching and glancing outside into the orange sky. It was evening. "But I'm gonna go sleep… then sleep some more."
"I will probably do the same." Morrill nodded in agreement.
"You guys are boring." Donnovan laughed. "I'm gonna go throw my gear in my room, then go check out the town."
"Don't kill anyone or destroy any churches this time." Glade laughed.
"Fuck you too." Donnovan grinned, throwing up a middle finger at Glade.
Donnovan carefully stowed his gear and left the inn, blinking in the bright, setting sun and rubbing his sore shoulders. As he walked through the streets of New Canaan, he felt himself relax for the first time in... Months? Weeks? He'd lost track of how long he'd been on the road. This place, this town, was a little pocket of paradise in an otherwise desolate wasteland. The people were uncharacteristically friendly for this day and age, but he didn't mind. It was a nice change from the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel, and, quite frankly, almost everyone else he'd encountered thus far. He grinned to himself. Maybe he'd get a drink or two to celebrate this lull in action.
He caught one of the locals as she passed. "Excuse me," he said. "Is there a place around here for me to get a drink?"
She pointed down the road to a dingy looking building with a sign marked "Bar". "Down there," she replied. "I'm heading there anyway. Do you want to come with?"
He eyed her, initially with suspicion, then with thinly veiled interest. She was younger than he, probably not older than twenty. She was also about a head shorter. She vaguely reminded Donnovan of one of those cowgirls who graced pre-war Western movies - one of those "bad girls" who liked guns almost as much as she loved horses, almost always Hispanic, with a penchant for gunpowder. Well, she got one thing right. She was obviously Hispanic, with long dark hair that fell almost to her waist and a dark complexion that added to the "badass bitch" look. At the same time she looked strangely frail, like
she might break if he hit her too hard. She crossed her arms and arched a slim eyebrow, waiting for his response.
"If you can't find your tongue, I'll just go myself," she remarked. "This town isn't too dangerous."
"Uh, right." He broke out of his trance and gave her a rather sheepish grin. "Sorry. Sure, let's go."
She shrugged. "Don't matter to me much," she said. "This way."
"So, uh...what's your name?"
"Adriana," she said. "Munoz. You?"
"Donnovan," he said. "Edan."
She raised an eyebrow at him but gave no other hint that she'd caught him making fun of her. "You part of the power armor troupe that showed up this afternoon?"
"Yeah," he said.
"Where you from?"
"East Coast."
"Well, senor, that's very specific."
"Okay, does Washington, D.C. ring a bell?" he asked her, his voice rimmed with
sarcasm.
"You're a bit of a smartass, aren't you, Donnovan?" Adriana remarked. "Whatever. Rings a bell, actually. Haven't been there, myself. Isn't it a bit far?"
"Yeah, you could say that," he joked. "A thousand miles or so, give or take."
"Sounds like a hell of a walk," she said. "Well, here we are. The New Canaan watering hole. It's not much to look at, but at least there's booze."
Donnovan paused at the entrance, examining the worn out building with a simple wooden sign hanging out front that read 'BAR'.
"Oh shit, sorry." Donnovan shook his head. He stepped to the side, pulled the door open for her, and waited. Adriana looked at him in surprise, her eyes widening.
"Uh… Yeah… Gracias." She muttered before walking inside. Donnovan shrugged to himself as he followed her inside.
The bar reminded him of the one in New Columbus, except cleaner and more friendly. Adriana took a seat at the bar, and figuring that they were already slightly acquainted, Donnovan took a seat next to her. She glanced at him suspiciously but said nothing.
"Adri," the bartender greeted her warmly. "The usual?"
"Sure," she said, grinning. "Gracias, Jim."
He chuckled and turned to the row of bottles on the wall. He looked at Donnovan. "That's the only word I know in Spanish," he joked. "If I were to get thrown in Mexico at any time, I'd be in pretty good shape!"
"Next you can try talking to a Super Mutant." Donnovan suggested.
Still chuckling, the bartender poured Adriana a drink with what appeared to be
rum and Nuka-Cola and pushed it towards her. At Donnovan's statement, he paused. "Say what?"
"Get high off of paint thinner, scream psychotically and incomprehensibly, and wave your arms around like a fucking broken windmill. Maybe punch yourself a few times so you get the full effect on your brain." Donnovan suggested with a grin.
The bartender chuckled appreciatively, while Adriana shot Donnovan a curious glance. "New in town?" The bartender asked.
"Is it that obvious? I wanted to put on a 10 gallon hat, but couldn't find it. Would that have made me blend in?" Donnova joked.
The bartender laughed. "What would you like?"
"Well, I was thinking beer." Donnovan said, the bottles arranged on a shelf behind the bartender catching his eye. "But I think I'll try something else. That whiskey?"
"Yep, a few different kinds. This, Barnes', is the cheapest. Small company based out of the Hub." The bartender stated, pointing out a light grey-labeled bottle.
"What about that?" Donnovan asked, pointing out a half-filled bottle. It was amber with a blue label across it.
"Good eye." The bartender grinned. "That's the most expensive, Johnnie Walker Blue. The family that makes it has been around since the pre-war years, so people say."
"No shit?" Donnovan asked.
"Yep. The family apparently survived. They come by every month or so to sell their drinks. Only have a bottle or two usually. Guess it's hard to make. But hey, if you think the Gun Runners keep their activities private? They've got nothing on the Walker family. None of them go anywhere without three or four bodyguards."
"Holy hell." Donnovan raised an eyebrow as the bartender showed him the bottle. "Know where they're located?"
"Deep in NCR territory, in a massive building surrounded by barbed-wire fences, dogs, and armed guards." The bartender explained. Donnovan was about to laugh, when the bartender went on. "I'm serious. This stuff is very well known across the West. If they've had their methods down for centuries like everyone says, they're obviously going to protect their secrets. Oh, I'm sorry, I've been blathering. Would you like some?"
"Hey, no problem." Donnovan smiled. "That's good info, I like learning about things like that. And yes, please."
"It's very, VERY expensive." The bartender warned him. "50 caps a glass."
"Better be damn good whiskey," he grumbled, counting out fifty caps.
"Wait, seriously?" sputtered the bartender, staring at the money on the bar in front of him.
"Sure," he said. "Pour me one."
The bartender slid him the drink and wandered off with the caps, looking rather bemused. Adriana burst into giggles.
"You must be a rich man, senor," she chuckled. "You really have that kind of money to spend on whiskey?"
He shrugged and took a sip of his fifty-cap drink. He was instantly taken aback by the richness of its flavor. It was very strong and very pleasing; it burned briefly in his throat. The warmth spread through his body and for a moment he wondered if he'd gone to whiskey heaven. Blinking, he set his glass
down and smiled.
"Hey, it's really, really good," he said.
She rolled her eyes. "Man, booze is booze," she said. "I don't taste the difference. If it's cold, it's okay in my book."
"You're missing out, friend," he smirked. He took another sip of his drink. "Getting trashed is one thing. Enjoying a good scotch is another."
"You're a crazy pendejo," she said. "Well, at least Jimbo's happy."
"Jimbo?"
"The bartender. For a smartass, you're pretty dense," she said.
"Thanks." Donnovan raised an eyebrow sarcastically.
"So I know your name, and where you're from… Even if I didn't, you'd stick out from the crowd here."
"How so?" Donnovan asked, taking a sip of his scotch.
"Well for one, you're drinking some really expensive stuff." Adriana pointed out. "Plenty of others noticed that. Take a look around."
Donnovan briefly gazed across the bar. Several people were indeed looking curiously at him.
"Fair point. I suppose not many people buy that." Donnovan admitted.
"Yeah." Adriana nodded. "Also, you held the door open for me."
"Should I not have?" Donnovan asked, frowning.
"And how you talk…"
"I'm not following you."
"Only the New Canaanites talk like that, and hold doors open like that. And you're not one of them."
"Okay, fair point. But what are you getting at?"
"You're just really out of place. There's more to you than what you've said."
"I could say the same about you, or anyone in this bar, I'll bet. That's a pretty generic statement." Donnovan stated, finishing the rest of his whiskey, looking at Adriana the whole time. The conversation was now straying to Donnovan's exact point of origin. To give himself a few more moments to prepare, Donnovan lit up a cigarette.
"So… You noticed all of that… And…?"
"Where are you from in D.C.?"
"Around." Donnovan answered curtly.
"Okay, fine. But why do you talk so… so… articulately?"
"I grew up reading a lot. My town had a lot of books."
"Computers too?" Adriana asked, her face attempting to hide a smirk.
Donnovan laughed. This girl was obviously wasteland-wise. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, he was still feeling cautious, remembering the last time he had a run in with a mysterious, attractive woman.
Donnovan paused before answering her question with another, completely different question. "How about I get you another beer?"
The girl looked at him, her expression unchanged. "So you do have common sense."
"It has a tendency to leave me at inopportune times, but yes I do, for the most part." Donnovan stated, getting the attention of the bartender and ordering two beers.
"So you are pretty dense, either way." She gave a short laugh.
"Cut me some slack, I've been walking more in a span of months than you probably have your whole life," he said, shrugging.
"Might want to reconsider your words," she said, taking a sip of her rum and Nuka. "I've walked here from California and back, and I've been places you wouldn't dream of. I've done my fair share of walking, friend."
"Part of your work, huh?" he chuckled. The alcohol was making him a little silly.
"I'm a courier," she said offhandedly. "Not by choice, but whatever. The Legion won't touch couriers, anyway, and I get to see places."
"Sounds like a good setup," he said. "But I'm willing to bet I've seen some things you haven't, as well."
"Like what?" Adriana asked, a tone of disbelief in her voice.
"Well." Donnovan paused, taking an infuriatingly long drag on his cigarette. "Ever heard of the 'Richardson Re-Education Institution'?"
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Author's note: As I have mentioned before, I have been calling the weapons by their real world names for the most part. The 10 millimeter pistol, though in look resembling a Desert Eagle, cannot be one, as Desert Eagles do not fire 10 mm rounds. This being the case, I stuck with its Fallout universe name, the N99.
Also, the AER9 is the in-game name of Fallout's "Laser Rifle".
The Fallout 3 and New Vegas "Sniper Rifle" is a rather generic looking rifle, and looks similar to the Dragunov SVD, Armalite AR30, and to a lesser extent, the RAMO M600. But because the M600 fires .50 BMG, and the Dragunov fires 7.62 rounds, those are out. We know the in-game "sniper rifle" fires .308 ammo, as does the AR30, so I went with that choice.
The Mp10, which has been previously mentioned, is the real world equivalent of Fallout's 10mm Submachine gun.
FNV's "Hunting Shotgun" is the Remington 870, obviously.
FNV's "Marksman Carbine" is essentially an M4 which has had the living hell customized out of it.
The real world equivalent of FNV's "9mm Pistol" is the Browning Hi-Power, also known as the P-35.
The M1911 is just that... an M1911.
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I'd also like to thank BeGodlyBeLynn again for her help and input. She's been working with me on a certain project, the details of which might be announced soon. :D
The story is winding to a close. I thank you all again, for reading.