Salvage Log - November 30 2303
I have to admit, I did not expect to still be in the New Vegas area one month later, yet here I am. Really it hasn't been so bad. The people of Goodsprings have been nice enough to put up with Dogmeat and me for the past few weeks though. When I finally got past the NCR's Mojave Outpost, they had directed me here as a good starting point. I had asked around about Vaults in the area, or if there were any old Vault-Tec offices in New Vegas. Pretty much everyone at the outpost was certain that there were a number of Vaults in the area, but that was the best they could give me. Apparently the Mojave outpost is more concerned with handling policing contraband and customs from the caravans coming into the Vegas Wasteland than they are with patrolling very wide. The major in command could only really give me two good leads: that the troops at Camp McCarren may have more information for me and that Goodsprings would be a good place to ask around from the locals.
Knowing the NCR, I figured I'd try my luck with the locals first, so after waiting four days at the Mojave for them to clear me through (thank you, caravan license, for holding me up as often as not). I'm not quite sure how a man, a dog, and a two headed brahmin with udders as big as a Mr. Handy count as a caravan, but there it is. Anyway, I came down to Goodsprings and started introducing myself around. As I walked into town from the south, I apparently managed to catch the eye of a woman sitting on a porch rail at the only "saloon" in town. She was lazily trimming pieces of some kind of meat off a skewer and tossing them to a dog that sat at her side, watching the woman's knife hand as she cut the meat and tossed into the air. She was doing a good job of obviously keeping an eye on me while not obviously watching me. It's a look I've gotten used to any time I come through one of these smaller settlements in the wastes. The easy, almost relaxed way her hands stayed close to the rifle propped against the rail was pretty common too. "Howdy, stranger," she called from the porch when I was in earshot.
"Hey there," I said. "Is this Goodsprings?"
"Yeah, you got the right place." She stood up off the rail, slung the rifle over her should and walked over to me. "You a trader?" she asked with a nod towards my loaded down brahmin.
"Nope, traveling salvager. Martin Stiles," I said, extending my hand.
She shook it heartily, and introduced herself as Sunny Smiles. "Smiles" Heh. Well, Sunny couldn't be better named. even at that first meeting she could hardly keep herself form bouncing as she explained that she had taken i upon herself to protect the town and people of Goodsprings. "They've been good to me, you see? They're good to everyone," she'd said. "I just couldn't bare the thought of everyone here being left without a decent hunter or someone to keep the raiders at bay, not that they're defenseless mind you. So don't get any ideas, huh?" She winked with this statement to make it seem like a joke, but something in her voice seemed a little too harsh. I may have chuckled a bit; I don't remember.
Sunny turned to overlook the settlement and pointed out each building, making doubly sure to point Doc Mitchell's house at the top of the hill. "You'll probably need to visit him at some point," she said. "Well, maybe you won't you do have a lot of guns afterall." She had apparently been looking me over and took note. To be fair, I did have a lot of guns on me at the time, or really all the time, but that's life in the wasteland. I generally have so many guns because I don't have much ammunition for any particular one, and I just want to make sure I have options.
"Well, I tend to do pretty ok without a Doctor," I said. "But glad to know there's doctor nearby. She finished her visual tour with the gas station on the top of the hill. All the gas has been depleted she told me, but it's still a good "local attraction." If I were ever heading back that way, I'd have to take her to the Hub. I'm sure it would blow her mind. When she finally stopped proclaiming all that was wonderful about Goodsprings and the surrounding area, I was finally able to get to the point of why I was there. I asked her about and Vaults she knew of in the area. She said she had heard of a few, and of course there was Vault 22 on the Strip, but that's more a museum than a real Vault, she explained. When I asked her if she'd be able to show me where the Vaults were, though, she said that she really hadn't ever actually been to any of them.
It's unfortunate, but I'm still here. I've been searching the surrounding area for more clues to the Vaults' locations. I'm beginning to get frustrated, but at least Sunny, or rather Trudy, who runs the Prospector's Saloon and more or less the settlement, have let me stay in the gas station, so I have some shelter from the desert heat and cold. Man I always heard nightmare stories about the heat and dryness out here, but no one mentioned how cold it gets overnight. But anyway, the gas station has an old mattress set up from when a caravan worker was squatting here a couple of years ago to hide out from a local gang of escaped prisoners. From what Lucky Pete, an old curmudgeon of a "prospector" that spends his days in a rocking chair on the porch of the Saloon, tells me, it was a big to-do and the whole town rallied around a courier to fight back against the Powder Gangers. Just one of Pete's many, many stories. Either way, he's been really helpful with pointing me in the direction of some valuable sights and possible leads on Vaults, but nothing that's come to fruition yet. Tomorrow is another day. Maybe I'll get lucky. I just need one document, or map, anything that even hints at the location of Vault 200.
Salvage Log – December 1st 2291
Finally found something that may actually get me somewhere on the search for Vault 200. Turns out Lucky Pete may just know a bit more about the lay of the land here than I thought initially. I set out early this morning with a plan to check some of the locations he had marked down on dusty old map as possible good hauls. His maps was almost as old and crusted over as Pete himself, so odds were good that I wouldn't find much in the way of valuable salvage, but that's not my goal here anyway, right? I have plenty of caps, and quite a bit of NCR printed money too; it seems that goes a decent way around here, so money isn't a huge concern, and worst case I still have some replacement parts for laser weaponry that I could probably turn for a pretty good profit if I need to. Lucky me too. Most of the places I went were either completely picked over or there wasn't anything there to begin with.
It was late in the afternoon when I was searching an area a bit east of the Strip. Wedged between some hills and some pretty desolate area is a small valley that runs into a cavern. The opening of the cavern had been fenced up and boarded over with some pretty old looking materials. When I tried the gate, the rusted over hinges refused to budge. However, just the shaking of the gate was enough to make the rotted wood start to crumble away. That left a big enough gap between the planks that I could see through the fence and caught a glimpse of a sign in the cave with the Vault-Tec logo.
I stepped back to consider the door before leaning down and taking the prybar out of the pouch I keep it in on the harness Dogmeat wears when we are salvaging. My leather suit and and belt and pack have a ton of pouches and pockets, granted, but I still can only carry so much, so I put together a harness with seral bigger pockets and pouches for some of my tools. I have to admit, it's nice to keep my own pack a bit lighter and still be able to bring a pretty full toolkit with me. A few short minutes, and some physical exertion later, the gate was laying in the dirt.
The cavern was dark, but there was some light coming from some patches of glowing fungus growing out of small pools of water. Dogmeat's ears perked to attention and he wimpered a bit, his way of warning me of something. I took out the Geiger counter I carry with me and flicked it on. It clicked rapidly and meter shot up a bit. It certainly wasn't the worst I've ever been in, but there was some background radiation. I left the device on and strapped in to my belt, hoping there were no dangerous animals for the clicking to draw to me. Just to be safe, I injected myself and Dogmeat with a dose of Rad-X before moving further into the cave.
It wasn't long before I came across the corpses of some kind of animal, probably the over grown geckos that live in the Vegas Wastes. They certainly hadn't died naturally, but it's been a few years. The corpses were just skeletons, really. I kept moving deeper into the cave until I came to what I had hoped to find, a wide open Vault door. The giant drill-like mechanism that would move the door hung slightly a jar, as if it had been partly pulled from its mounts on the ceiling. A thin layer of dust had settled over the floor and walls, but it was disturbed by a trail of tracks. A thinner layer of dust in the tacks hinted that they were fairly old themselves. So this place had likely been picked over before, so I couldn't get my hopes up for valuable technology or salvage, but that isn't what I go to vaults for anyway.
An oddly shaped bundle in the back of the room drew my eye, and to make it out, I pulled out my flashlight and aimed it that direction. A body, mostly human in shape and very decomposed was pretty well piled over itself. I absently scratched behind Dogmeat's ears as I examined it closer. Yes, very human, but many of the remaining bones were misshapen in some way. Ghouls. Great. And there was the chill in my spine that always seemed to come when I go into one of the Vaults. I don't know what it is, but they always freak me out a bit. I clicked my tongue to get Dogmeat's attention, and pulled the old hunting rifle off my shoulder. Where there's one dead ghoul, there's likely a small horde of them shambling nearby. I fixed the flashlight to a clip I had installed on the side of the rifle and started to make my way into the Vault with careful steps.
The entrance opened onto a large balcony that ran around completely around wide open atrium below. Just shining the light down to the lower level proved me half correct about the ghouls. There was a small horde of them, but they were all pretty well dead. The bodies were all pretty well decomposed, down to nothing but bone and the rags of Vault jumpsuits they had been wearing, the number "34" emblazoned in bright yellow block digits across their backs. I tried to remember if I had come across that number before in any of the notes I've come across on the Vault project. Nothing immediate came to mind, so I hoped that I got lucky and found one that was part of the control group. Man, Vault-Tec came up with some weird shit to put people through. Anyway, this many ghouls, alive or dead meant something had gone wrong, probably why my Geiger counter was still clicking away.
I moved deeper into the Vault and eventually found my way to the clinic. Dogmeat went on guard at the door, but seemed pretty relaxed at that point, so I figured if anything lived in the Vault anymore it wasn't close enough to be a concern. I set about combing through drawers, cabinets, lockers, and first aid cases. I had been right, already picked over pretty well. Nothing around to hint at what may have happened to the Vault's population either. I moved from room to room with similar results. Plenty of Ghoul corpses and tracks of two people standing out in places. I eventually made my way to lower levels, though that was difficult as some areas had flooded in the passing of time.
Eventually I managed to find the Overseer's office. The U-shaped desk was on an elevated platform which had the remains of some kind of metallic mountings on the underside. The opposite wall was pockmarked with small caliber bullet holes; something had gone down in a big way in this room. I clambered up to the platform and desk and began rooting through the drawers. In one of them, there was a small line, like the bottom of the drawer was made of separate pieces of wood. I tapped it, and it sounded a bit hollow. I took my combat knife out of its sheath on my chest and pried the false bottom up. A single black toggle switch sat in the newly revealed hole. I flicked the switch and there was a whirr in the bullet-riddled wall. After the sounds of machinery struggling to move, the wall began to shake; it cracked and the layer of concrete that had been a wall fell away. Behind it was an electronic display that lit up with a dull red glow. The display was a map, one I had seen similar versions of before in other Vaults and office buildings that had once been offices of Vault-Tec in various regions, the United States of America from before the war. Small, orange lights appeared spread across the map. I took out my notebook and began comparing locations and numbers with what I had recorded before.
This new map filled in some blanks, and I was able to mark off the other Vaults in the Vegas area, so at least I knew it wasn't close. Most of the Vaults in what was once the American Southwest and now is the NCR were marked. I had already filled in most of this, but some outside of the NCR were added to my list. All-in-all I could add 20 more Vaults to the list of one's that weren't the one I was looking for, but there was one blinking light. Looked to be near Pre-War Denver. I don't know anything about what the area is like now. I don't even know if the NCR has scouted that far east. Well, it's the only lead I have. The clicking of my Geiger counter reminded me that I needed to not stay here much longer; the Rad-X would start to wear off shortly. I double checked the information on the map with my notes and started my way out of Vault 34.
Now I'm back in the gas station. I stopped by Doc Mitchell's after Sunny mentioned I looked a little pale while I was getting dinner at the Prospector's. Good thing I left when I did, he said I have come down with some minor rad poisoning. I'm going to be recovering for a few days. Luckily Doc has plenty of meds and thinks there shouldn't be much in the way of long term effects, but he also doesn't want me leaving while I recover. This gives me a few days to stock up for a longer trek. I'm not sure exactly how far of a haul this will be. But that one untagged light on the board is the only solid lead I have. It could be Vault 200. It could be another dead end. But it could be Vault 200. I'll take the few days to plan this hike, make preparations, stock up. I guess I should gather what research I can on the Denver area. Maybe getting in touch with NCR in this area, or the Crimson Caravan branch will be a good start. Either way, that's all for tomorrow. For now, I sleep.
Elliot's Journal – December 1st 2291
One long day after a long day after another. That's been my life lately. I know I've been neglecting this journal the past few months, but ever since my assignment as Tyler's Maintenance Officer – Second Class, essentially the second in command on a maintenance squad. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to be working with Tyler and definitely glad to be working on Deck 81 instead of having to head all the way down to deck 89 every morning to work with one of the support teams, but I did not realize how over-worked the lead maintenance squad for our sector is when I agreed to the assignment. It is good working with Tyler though; I'd been hoping for this assignment ever since I passed the G.O.A.T. and was told I'd be a maintenance worker. Tyler really knows his stuff, and I'm learning a lot from him. Hopefully it'll just a be a few years here and I'll be given command of my own repair support team or something at this rate.
I mentioned that possibility to Dad a few nights ago over dinner. He seemed amused that I'm aiming for a leadership role like that, though I think he's still disappointed I wasn't stronger in the sciences, I think he always wanted to have a kid working with him in the clinic. But at least he got Tori. To hear her say it, my Dad's the greatest doctor to ever doctor. I think he's pretty happy to have her around too, I mean if his own son couldn't make it in medicine, his . . . girlfriend? . . . whatever of 12 years is the next best thing, right?
I know I should really try to figure things out with Tori; she has made it more than clear that she wants something more permanent from me, but it's more complicated than all that. I just don't know if I want to agree to anything just yet. I mean, we're only twenty-five, there's still plenty of time. Right?
Anyway, it'd be hard enough to find any time for an actual relationship as-is. I'm often still on calls, or in the maintenance bay well past my so called "shift," helping Tyler with particularly important jobs or if we're lucky just getting caught up on the paperwork after hours. Today was one of the latter days, luckily. I say luckily cause the other kind of days I'm happy to make it back to my bunk and get even a short nap in before having to get up for my next shift. Today we had been working on a particularly stubborn pump from the hydroponics farm up on Deck 78. Somehow, a weld had gotten a crack and water had been leaking through for a while and rusted a few bolts to the point they had nearly disintegrated when I took a wrench to them. I think it was a small miracle that a worker had noticed the dripping water, but Tyler was half crazed over frustration. We had to crack the bolt into a couple of different pieces just to be able to get the casing open to repair the weld. All in all, it was actually a pretty simple patch job. But the loss of the bolt hurt. It's always shocking when we lose something so simple, but so so valuable with our limited raw materials in the Vault. That was the first thing I had been told when first joining a support team, always save the nuts and bolts.
Tyler had managed to scrounge up a new bolt fit the pump and finished the repair then volunteered to take the pump back up to reinstall, to save me from second all-nighter I'm sure. This left me to do the day's work logs and requisition forms and another worker, Marvin, a tall, heavy dark skinned man, just two years my junior to straighten the shop. "Drew the short straw tonight?" I asked him as he swept up the dust and detritus that would just show up on the shop floor throughout a day.
"Yeah, all me tonight, I guess," he said. The junior workers on squad had taken to drawing lots on who would end up with cleaning duty each night, as no one particularly wanted to stay even later to swing a broom around. I have to remember it's not just me putting in long days on the Sector 3 Lead Maintenance Squad.
"You need a hand?" I offered. Tyler always tried to "lead from the trenches" as he put it. I guess he always figured if he could show that the boss was just as responsible for the little stuff as the workers are he might get a little better along. It definitely beat the officers on my old squad, content as they are to just assign out tasks and use the maintenance bay's office as a clubhouse. Good for them I guess.
"Nah, Bossboy," the squad's "affectionate" nickname for me, Tyler being "Bossman" of course, "I got this. Looks like you got pile of your own to clean up." He nodded the head of the broom handle towards the stack of req forms and logs on table in front of me.
"Yeah, I suppose I do. Hey, you've got a cousin that works in the M and M down on 113, right?"
"Yes, sir. You're not gonna ask me to have him swipe some bolts off the line, are ya'?" He smirked with a small little laugh. "Cause you know, that asshole, I'd probably be ok if he got caught doing it and thrown in the stocks." He laughed again a little harder. I guess the idea of his cousin in the stocks must have been pretty humorous, though I kind of thought so at the time too. Heck, those thing haven't been used in so long, if ever, the mental image is just absurd enough to be worth a laugh.
"No, no, I was just wondering if you knew if these damned req forms were even being looked at. Shit it's been at least a week since we got anything from M and M." Ah good ole Machining and Manufacturing, always behind on their deliveries, but so ahead and in line with their paperwork. Makes the rest of the Repair Corps look bad. Well, I guess they at least have a good excuse to be the least productive branch of the corps; not like you can build more stuff with no raw materials. The Recycling and Reclamation officers swear they keep meeting their quotas on scrap and waste product turned in, but who really knows if that's enough to keep the Vault supplied.
"Oh, I'm sure they're getting read. Read and filed nicely the end of the pending orders queue all nice and neat like, I'd bet. Now whether that queue is getting any smaller is anyone's bet."
"Yeah, there may be the problem. Hey, make sure you get the cutting floor good. Ken was over there for a while and I don't want any metal shavings sneaking their way into the air vents, again," I mentioned, ducking my head over the requisition forms and looking over the notes I and the other workers had taken of the various materials used, what could be reused, what was spent and needed to be replaced. Aside from the one bolt, there were few complete loses today. Lucky me, I won't have to deal with another "waste not, want not" memo from the Reclaimers in the morning.
There was a click from the shop radio as it came on. "You don't mind do you?" Marvin asked pointing at the radio. "Hate to miss Cecil."
"You're good, I was just about to kick it on myself," I said, gesturing towards my PipBoy. The small, quiet hum of a violin started to fill the room as the intro music to "Tonight in the Vault with Baldwin" played. Cecil gave his regular intro "The Moon is Bright, The day is done, and all is well, Welcome to the Vault," and then went in to an update on the community calendar of the various Sectors. I never really have quite figured out that intro. I mean, we have internal clocks in the Vault that if they are correct, confirm that it is night outside, but no one has been outside in over 200 years to check. And how would anyone know if the Moon was full? I'm just over thinking it. Either way, Cecil's voice has been a source of comfort and an odd sense of family for most of the Vault for going on thirty years, and it is nice to have a sign that my day may be coming to a close soon in that intro.
I finished the last of the requisitions, filed them into a faded and wrinkled, yet still sturdy, envelop and placed in the outbox outside the shop's door. A courier will come by sometime in the night and take it down to M and M, where they'll be added to the queue, eventually completed (I hope), then turned over to Recycling to be broken back down to pulp and remade into paper and likely turned into more forms of some kind. Hooray bureaucracy.
With that done, I went to the work logs. These were going to take a while. Just the write-up on the water pump would take a bit, as it may have been a simple fix, but outlining everything we did to not have to destroy that damned bolt before just accepting it as a loss would be a lot of writing. Add to that translating the other shop workers' shorthand and quickly scribbled notes into the "proper and accurate language" these logs required to be turned in to the Deck Administration Offices. I could feel the evening turning into a late night as I sat back down at the desk.
At some point as I was working through the forms, Marvin left for the evening, having finished the cleaning, and Tyler returned from reinstalling the pump. I checked the clock on my PipBoy and realized that radio had gone from Cecil's voice to some piece of jazzy, slow music recorded more than two centuries before. Sometimes, I still am a little taken back when I realize how much we rely on the creations of some long gone civilization. Our music, what little art and few books that managed to make it into the Vault before the door closed, even most of our machines and tools, all from two-hundred years ago. I try to get those thoughts out of my mind as that way lies madness. I usually remind myself we've gotten by. Tyler has actually redesigned many different pieces of equipment and upgraded them where he can with what supplies he could free up. Tori's gotten quite good with paints that she mixes from whatever she can scrounge up. Thomas has even come up with some pretty amazing meals from his basic rations. I guess we have come up with some of our own idea of culture. Man, it must be getting late.
Anyway, Tyler saw me working at the logs and collapsed into a chair on the other side of the table I have commandeered for a desk until we're able to get Administration to approve giving me a real one. "You still here? You know, it's four hours after you're supposed to be off, right?" Tyler said.
"Of course I do, but these logs have to be done, you know that."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Wrap them up soon though," he said, pushing himself up with arms against his legs for leverage, "and you're taking tomorrow off."
I actually laughed at him. "Yeah? Have you seen that pile of work orders on your desk, and you know more are coming in the morning."
"Yes, I know, but you've been working, and long days I add, for seven days straight. I let your name show up on a work log, Admin'll have my and your hides for violating work-rest regulations, and you know it."
"I can just fudge things, have you sign off on the logs instead," I started.
"No. You're off. Nowhere near this shop, and don't make me order you officially." There was a stone to his voice that I wish I could mimic when I'm half as tired as he looked. I knew he was serious about making it an order too, and that would mean charges if I disobeyed of course, so I relented before he could. I figure I'll take the morning to sleep in, I do need it and possibly poke my head in the shop in the afternoon to make sure everything is covered, so I gave in and Tyler wished me a goodnight on his way out of the office, telling me that he'd fill in the log for the pump install tomorrow, since he technically finished it after midnight anyway. I took in the pile of logs in front of me and slumped back in the chair to finish the work. Two more hours later, here I am, making this entry just to help quiet my brain down a bit to be able to get to sleep.
Elliot's Journal – December 2nd, 2291
Today was better. I woke up, well, I think I was awake anyway, to the sound of the door to my quarters closing, maybe a bit louder than it needed to. I threw my pillow in the general direction and happily heard a muffled thump as it hit Tori in the face. "Hey!" she said just barely hiding a laugh under her breath. This has become something of a routine lately. Not every day, but some mornings, when she doesn't have to be at the clinic early she'll sneak in to my room to wake me up and get breakfast. "I never should have given you my door code," I said, rolling over to turn my back to her.
She humphed, "Well too bad. You want breakfast?"
"What time is it?"
"Seven-fifteen ish," she said.
"Pass," I said, "I got 'ordered' off today. Going to sleep more." I pulled my arms under my head, kind of regretting throwing my pillow. There were a couple of quiet clicks as Tori's shoes hit the metal grating of a floor by my door and a rustle as she took the five steps over my area rug to my bed. Tori put her on my shoulder and rolled me on to my back, and with a smile, slid the pillow back under my head.
"Ok," she said. She leaned down a little more and looked to pucker her lips, and I raised my head to give her a kiss. She quickly leaned back just before our lips met. She matched my overly dramatic hurt look with a wink and then leaned and gave me a short, sweet kiss. "Alright then, I have the evening shift tonight so I guess I can get a late breakfast," she said, unzipping her standard-issue blue and yellow jumpsuit, stepping out of it, and lying next to me in the bed with just her underclothes on. The bed's a single person sized, of course, but we're both still pretty small, she may still be taller than me, but that hardly makes her "tall," so we both can fit pretty comfortably on the bed if we're willing to get a little in each other's space. We haven't really had any shyness about that since we found the storage room down a seldom used corridor when we were eighteen. I swear, the best part of this reassignment/promotion is the private quarters that come with being an officer in the Repair Corps. Anyway, we got comfortable, and she started to run her hand up my thigh. But I had already pretty much dozed off.
I woke some hours later to the green glow of my computer terminal illuminating the small room and an empty bed. I swept my legs over the edge of the bed and rested my feet on the thick, plush rug. So glad I was able to track down this rug. The first few days I lived here I'd start every day by putting my bare feet on naked metal. It's not a good start to the day, but with the rug, the couple of steps to my desk and computer are an easy and soft trod. I really like this rug, it really pulls the room together. The rest of my quarters are pretty sparse, a desk along the opposite wall from my bed, a small table next to the bed where I leave my PipBoy overnight, along the back wall a freestanding closet and pantry that has a small refrigeration unit in the bottom and holds my food and drink items, and then a dresser at the foot of the bed. The wals stay pretty bare, except for a mirror hanging over the dresser to check my hair in. No one ever said the Second Classers had the nice rooms.
The computer was lit up and a text file was open on the screen; Tori had left me a note explaining that it had gotten late in the day and she wanted to make sure she had a chance to eat and do some errands before heading in for her shift. She was going to be working late tonight and figured I'd probably not be up for much, so she'd just head to her own quarters (she still lives with her parents and likely will until she gets married) afterwards and see me when she could next. She signed with a "^.^" just like every other note she ever had left me. I grabbed my PipBoy and clicked it on to check the time. The screen flickered a bit as it came alive; I'll have to keep in mind to get a new power cell for it at the shop tomorrow. It was already well past 13:00 at that point, so I figured I'd grab a shower then a quick lunch.
At the diner I sat in a quiet back booth to my own. I always try to not take up too decent of a table when I eat on the Deck 81, just in case mom is working, so I don't get in her way. I was waiting on a simple vegetable sandwich, today consisting of tomatoes, black beans, and lettuce. Not too bad, actually. The hydroponics bays in the sector must be producing pretty well to get fresh tomatoes on a sandwich. I wouldn't have minded some meat, but I wasn't really willing to pay the extra credits required for it. Meat prices have started to go up again, which means it probably was outside the Deck's ration budget to supply the diner more than the bare minimum after the cafeteria got its stock. I guess I could have used my ration ticket for the day for lunch, but I wanted a quieter spot to sit than the cafeteria would be that time of day.
I was fiddling with my PipBoy to pass the time while I waited. I had called up one of the mysterious files that were still on the device when I received it years ago. Twelve years later and while I've gotten better with the PipBoy, I just can't figure out these files. Every time I try to check the properties of the data files, everything is blank, no creation timestamp, or last edit, file size and format, nothing. And of course, short of wiping and reformatting the entire memory of the computer, I can't delete, copy, or move the files. I'd say it were maddening if I had any amount of time available to be all that maddened by anything other than the stack of repair orders on my commandeered table-desk in my shop. I had looked at the random symbols, page after page of them in the various files, and I never have been able to get any sense of what these files may be.
I was scrolling through one of those files when a man slid into the other side of the booth across from me. "Hey Elliot," Justin Reilly said. Justin's some kind of specialist with Vault Security. I'm not really sure what it is he does, just that he's not technically a Security Officer. Really though, he'd probably make a good one. His thick shoulders look plenty muscular, and I can always pretty clearly make out the shape of his chest muscles through the jumpsuit. He had actually tied it off around his waist when I was in his office to fix the ceiling fan the other, and his arms were rather chiseled too. He has a pretty nice office in the Deck's security center though, so I guess he must be kind of important. "What have you got there?" he asked.
"Oh just some weird thing in a data file; I think it's just a glitch," I said. I still hadn't really ever told anyone about the files on the PipBoy. I initially had been paranoid that if I told someone about them when I was younger they might take it away. I was so happy with my black one, that I just couldn't bare the idea of it being taken away and replaced with a normal green and brass one. I guess I just had developed a habit of brushing off their existence or straight out lying about them.
"Oh? You know I'm pretty handy with that kind of thing; I could take a look at it," he said. "I owe you for fixing my office fan so fast the other day."
I shook my head at that. "Nah, I told you then that was an easy repair. Besides, orders from admin, any request from the security office gets rushed." I wasn't just brushing him off; these are our standing orders since as long as I've been working in the Repair Corps, always the best for the boys in black.
"Fair enough," he said. "Well the offer still stands if you change your mind." His eyes lingered on the screen of my PipBoy, only to be turned away when my mom came up to the table to drop off my sandwich. She asked if he wanted anything, but Justin waved her off, claiming he had just popped in to say hi to me and thank me for my "exceptional work." My mom blushed for me as I just started biting into my sandwich. Justin stuck around for small talk while I ate my lunch and we caught up a bit. He was absolutely enamored with his three year old daughter and just had to tell me everything she had done recently. I have to admit, she is a pretty adorable little girl. I occasionally see Justin and his family wandering around the Deck.
After lunch, I went to one of the social lounges and played some pool, listened to the juke box, and did all the various things there available to kill time until the early evening. I never really did swing by the shop, but I figured they'd have sent someone looking for me if they started to fall behind and needed me. Besides, Tyler would kick my ass if he saw me even poke my head in. In the evening I went by the gym, something I pretend I do a lot more often than I actually do it, but I didn't have the easy excuse of a late night at work tonight to keep me away, so I went for a couple mile run on the treadmills.
Having finished, the evening had started to turn into night. The radio show would be starting soon enough, and I figured that it'd be nice to sit at home and listen to it without paperwork or some late-night repair job to distract me, so I started to head back to my quarters. I wondered, briefly if I should pop up to Deck 87 and spend some time with Thomas. Sleeping until 1300 hours and Tori's visit this morning left me more energized than I had anticipated, or maybe it was the run. Either way, I decided to just head home. It'll be good to try to get to bed early when I could, or at least I was thinking that.
I was a few junctions away from the corridor my quarters are on when an arm reached out from a side corridor and pulled me back into the shadows. A middle-aged man clapped a hand over my nose and mouth and held a finger up to his lips. I panicked and wasn't sure what to do so I stayed still and quiet. I wasn't sure what he might do to me, and I have no idea who this man is. He held me against the wall for a moment before a quiet series clicks and clacks started to sound from the corridor I had been walking down and before long black suited figured came into view, passing the darkened side corridor I was being held in. I didn't catch much detail of them, other than that they were carrying standard issue shotguns of the security officers' Special Tactics team and were in all black heavy duty combat gear, much heavier than I've ever seen on any security officers I know.
When they had passed, the man poked his head around the corner. He pulled back and took his head off my mouth. "Sorry," he said. His voice was a little rough, but definitely not the deep baritone I had half expected it to be, and there was no menace behind it. I'd like to say that put me at ease, but I still didn't dare say anything to acknowledge his apology. "Trust me, you didn't want to be caught by them."
I nodded slowly, not wanting to move too much too fast and set him off.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to you, just wanted to get you out of their way. You should be ok to go on now, just maybe take a long way around this corridor if you can." I nodded again. "Well," the man said, "get going before they realize they missed me and double back."
Those two coming back around with those shotguns was enough of a thought to get me moving. I went out to the corridor and headed straight for my quarters. I guess I got lucky the man didn't attack me from behind; maybe he didn't really mean to hurt me? I mean, it's rare that Vault citizens attack one another, not like many people have more than any other, but it does happen I guess. Certainly that's why we keep the Security Officers around and well-staffed and stocked, right? Anyway, I made it back and kicked on the radio while I made this entry, and I think I'm more collected now, so hopefully I'll get to sleep soon.