Edit 6/23: grammar
Edit 7/13: spelling
~(:(Chapter Seven):)~
"How you doin' down there, Sammy?" Trudy asked after I sneezed for the third time.
"Fine," I sniffed, my head shoved through a panel in the wall as I laid on the dusty floor, repairing the pre-war electric wiring. "Just about done."
Trudy was an older woman in her fifties with greying hair and a permanent frown etched on her face. She ran a trading post with her son, Patrick, out of an old Drumlin Diner, about a ten mile trek north of the dam. It had taken nearly five hours to get out here but I wasn't complaining.
The last week was spent sulking around the dam, preoccupying myself with little projects here and there. Tinkering helped me to think, something about working with my hands that allowed me to focus my thoughts, and I had a lot to think about. Not that it did any good—I still couldn't decide whether to accept Red's offer or not—but I had already wasted enough time and I needed to start gathering supplies for Goodneighbor.
When Trudy hailed me over the radio last night, saying the electricity cut out at the diner, I was almost relieved. I'd been trying to find a reason to leave my safehouse and Trudy's call was just the push I needed. It had been a while since I visited, anyway, and the diner was a good spot to make base while I scavenged the surrounding area.
I took my cutters and snipped out a length of corroded wire, trimming the ends off the protective covering. Trudy didn't mind me staying a couple of days. There was only so much I could carry back to the dam so whatever didn't fit in my pack I would trade or give to her.
The door to the diner creaked open, the little bell above the entrance that was somehow still attached giving a dull jingle. Heavy booted footsteps walked in accompanied by softer, padded ones.
"Back again, huh?" Trudy greeted in her usual dry tone.
"Hey, Trudy," a man's voice replied. He sounded familiar but I couldn't place where I'd heard him.
"So, what do you need this time?"
The man heaved a sigh. "Water, copper wire, and a torch if you have it."
"Might have one laying around," Trudy said with a hum.
I twisted the ends of the wire together, ducking my head to try and see who was there. Laying behind the counter like I was, all I could see were the backs of Trudy's legs. The pinched end poked into the tip of my finger and I cursed, sucking on it to relieve the sting.
"You okay, hun?" the older woman called.
"Yeah," I grumbled, finishing off the wire with a strip of duct tape. "I think that was the last one."
"Sam?" that familiar voice questioned.
I shimmied out of the panel, my eyes meeting steel-grey ones peering at me from over the counter. It was that newcomer, Nate, with his Stetson hat and the barrel of a rifle showing behind one brawny shoulder.
"You're Sam, from Goodneighbor," he stated. "You fixed the speaker in the bar."
I hopped to my feet, a cloud of dust falling from me as I patted myself off. Now that he was right in front of me, I could tell he was definitely the military type with that straight, solid posture. He looked to be in his thirties, his skin tanned from the sun with some paler scars that went across one side of his mouth down to his chin.
"Yeah," I frowned, crossing my arms. "How do you know my name?"
Nate looked me over, an easy smile lifting the corner of his lips. "Jack mentioned you."
"You talked to Jack?" I blinked in surprise, wondering what they could have been talking about for me to come up in conversation.
"Did some jobs around town," he offered with a nod. "Talked to him a few times."
A quiet whine drew my attention to a furry face peeking around the corner of the counter, long pointed ears perked in attention. I stiffened, my brows pinching at the sight of the big dog. There weren't many canines in the Commonwealth and the few here were either feral mongrels that traveled in packs or attack dogs kept by raiders.
"It's okay," Nate assured. "He's friendly."
I glanced at him, noting his calm expression, then slowly put out a hand. The large shepherd trotted over, sniffing the backs of my fingers. His warm, wet tongue licked and nudged my hand, prompting me for pets, and I bent to give the dog a scratch behind the ear, his thick fur both soft and coarse. He panted, that tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, and I could feel a smile stretching my face.
"Well, aren't you a handsome boy," I murmured, those chocolate brown eyes working their magic.
Trudy snorted. "Yeah, the mutt ain't half bad, either," she ribbed.
"Trudy!" I groaned, my cheeks flushing. Now that she mentioned it, he was kind of handsome—in a rugged sort of way.
The man had an amused grin then his eyes lit up, as if he just realized something.
"You're a mechanic, uh," he paused. "A tinkerer, right? How are you with generators?"
I gave the dog one last scratch and straightened. "Why?"
"There's a settlement couple miles north of here, Sanctuary. The generator broke down and we're having trouble getting it running." Nate took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, a grimace tightening his face. "I wouldn't normally ask, but it's been three days and we're almost out of clean water without power going to the purifier."
He plopped his hat back on, speaking hesitantly. "Do you think you could take a look at it? I can pay you for your time."
I chewed the inside of my cheek, debating. It wasn't the best of ideas to go wandering off with a stranger, especially one that looked like he could toss me around no problem. But he did talk to Jack, who felt comfortable enough to mention me—being the protective grump he was—and he shook Hancock's hand without a second thought. Didn't he say he was with the Minutemen? They were a good group of people, always willing to lend a helping hand to those who needed it. And Trudy seemed okay with him.
I glanced at the older woman, my eyes silently asking for her input. She pursed her lips, giving Nate a onceover before lifting a shoulder in a shrug. Well, it wasn't a no.
The shepherd dog that was now sitting in front of me whined. His big, doleful eyes looked up at me with ears wilted down in a perfect puppy pout. I scoffed weakly, turning my head to stare out the opened window.
"Sure, I can take a look," I muttered, turning back to Nate. "But I can't promise anything. Some things can't be fixed and I won't know until I see it."
"That's fine," he said, relief clear in his voice.
I checked the map on my pip-boy, my mouth flattening. I was supposed to be gathering supplies and I already wasted a week. Now, I agreed to go off with this stranger to a settlement I've never heard of. There was no telling how long it would take to fix their generator—if it could even be fixed—but if the people there really needed the help I doubt I could just walk away without giving it my best shot.
A couple miles north, he'd said. The map showed a town north of the diner, Concord. I'd never been that far before and it did look like a fairly large town. If we were going that direction, maybe I could take some time to pick through it? But if the generator was in bad shape, it could take days—
Wait a second, I thought. Wasn't I just trying to find an excuse to push back my visit to Goodneighbor? This was as good a reason as any, and I wouldn't have to come up with a lie, either.
Nate took in my expression, rubbing the back of his neck. "I have some caps if—"
"How about a trade instead?" I cut him off. Yeah, I could use this. "I'll work on your generator for a hot meal and a safe place to sleep. Deal?"
"I thought that was our deal?" Trudy said, a rare smirk lifting her mouth.
I stepped to the fuse box on the wall with a huff, flipping the circuit breaker. The lights flickered on, the neon 'open' sign buzzing as it glowed and I flashed Trudy a grin.
"Guess you'll just owe me one," I chimed.
Nate glanced at the lights, a satisfied look on his face.
"I think I can manage that," he said, offering me a hand over the counter. "You got a deal."
My brow rose at the gesture but I accepted it, shaking his hand. He had a firm grip and pumped our arms once.
"Nate Peters," he stated, introducing himself.
"Sammy Shaw," I returned, giving him Jack's last name. The pre-war ghoul was my father in the only way that mattered, so it was only right I took his name.
I gathered my tools, shoving everything back in my pack as Nate traded with Trudy. After a short good-bye, I went out the door to wait, the shepherd following on my heel. Wolfgang gave me a sideways glance, the shifty chem dealer leaning against the diner wall under the shade of the awning. His hired gun, Simone, stood next to him, the moody woman smoking a cigarette.
"Sure that's a good idea, sunshine?" Wolfgang's gravelly voice taunted. "Hancock won't be too happy hearin' you've run off with some cowboy."
I glared at the dealer. Wolfgang was contracted to Hancock, selling chems out of Goodneighbor and paying a cut back to the mayor. He made a deal with Trudy to set up at the trading post, selling his products to the caravans that came through. The older woman wasn't happy with the arrangement, but it did attract more business. I wasn't happy about it, either, but it wasn't my place to tell them what to do.
"I think Hancock will be fine," I scowled, walking away. If the ghoul had a problem he could just suck it up. He wasn't here to tell me no, and I already spent enough time brooding over him.
A bark drew my attention, the dog padding over with a stick between his large teeth. His tail was wagging and he threw his head up, chewing on the wood.
"Want to play, pup?" I smiled, reaching for the stick.
The shepherd pulled it away with a shake, prancing about. I chuckled, laughing at his antics.
"I can't throw it if you don't give it up."
He stopped and tilted his head then hopped towards me, pushing the stick into my hand. I grabbed it and he jumped back, eyes glued to the makeshift toy.
"Huh, smart dog," I mumbled.
I gave the stick a wiggle and tossed it down the lot, the shepherd tearing after it in a spray of dirt and gravel.
The bell to the diner door rang, Nate walking out with his backpack over one shoulder. Wolfgang stopped him and leaned in to speak quietly. I frowned, crossing my arms as they talked for a moment, Nate's eyes darting to me then back to the dealer.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said in a flat tone.
He made his way towards me, bringing his combat rifle around to his chest as he adjusted his pack.
"You ready?" Nate asked with a friendly smile.
I shifted to the side to look around him, squinting at Wolfgang. The dealer wiggled his fingers at me, a smirk on his face. I had no doubt he was going to hail Hancock on the radio and tattle on me as soon as we left. So what? It's not like the mayor could do anything about it.
"Just waiting on you," I returned his smile. "Lead the way."
We headed out, following along the old road going north with the dog trotting ahead. Our pace was casual, allowing us to watch the surrounding area for dangers.
The first ten minutes were silent as I stayed a few steps behind Nate, still wary of the stranger. The tension in his shoulders told me it bothered him, being at his back—I was a stranger to him, too—but he didn't complain. It's not like my weapons were hidden, with the handgun displayed at my hip and the rifle across my back. He was making an effort to trust me, so… I guess I could do the same.
I lengthened my stride until I caught up, walking beside him.
"So…" I started, glancing up at him. His scarred lips curled into a smile as he stared straight ahead, the tension easing from his shoulders.
"So," he repeated when I paused. He had a nice voice, deep and smooth with a touch of humor.
"Nate," I said, looking away to scan the trees. "That short for Nathan?"
"Nathaniel," he stated. I frowned and turned back to study him.
"You don't look like a Nathaniel." And he didn't. Not that I could say why, exactly, but for some reason the name just didn't fit.
"Funny you should say that," the man chuckled softly. "It's actually my middle name."
"You go by your middle name?" I smiled when he hummed an affirmative. "Guess you don't like your first either, huh?"
Nate glanced at me, a brow raised. "Samantha, right?"
My face scrunched up in a grimace. Only my mother ever called me by my full name.
"Just Sam," I huffed, kicking a rock off the roadway. "Why don't you like it?"
"It's, uh," he muttered with a wince. "Not a very common name… for a man."
My lips twitched, slowly forming into a grin.
"You have a girl's first name?" It was like the opposite of my name, people saying it was for a boy. "What is it?"
Nate barked out a laugh. "Yeah, no."
"Aww, come on. I won't tell anyone." I gave him an honest face.
"Not a chance," he smiled, showing teeth that were unusually straight and white.
"Fine." I blew out a sigh as if disappointed, then narrowed my eyes playfully. "If that's the way you want it, Sally."
The man groaned, probably already regretting he told me as much as he did.
"That's the way it is, Samantha," he teased back.
I grimaced again. "Yeah, okay, I'll stop."
Nate gave a good-natured laugh, an amused lift to his mouth. The conversation paused for a moment and I took the opportunity to look behind us, just to be safe. The dog had circled around and was now padding past us again with his nose to the ground. When I turned back to Nate I found him eyeing me.
"What?" I asked.
He readjusted his pack with a little hitch in his step, his hands casually resting on his rifle.
"You must be a pretty important person," the man stated, facing forwards.
"Uh, not really," I blinked in confusion. "Why do you say that?"
"Because I got warned twice about making sure you come back in one piece." He sent me a sideways glance. "Something about all of Goodneighbor hunting me down if you get hurt on my watch."
"That's a bit of an exaggeration," I snorted. He turned his face towards me with brows touching the brim of his hat.
"Just a bit?"
I tried to suppress my grin but failed. "You've already met my dad, so you tell me."
"Jack," Nate said, his brows pulling into a frown.
I bristled, not liking the look on his face.
It was common knowledge that ghouls couldn't have children. Since Jack was a pre-war ghoul and not someone who had become a ghoul later on, like Hancock, it was obvious I wasn't his biological daughter. Some people—the ones who didn't like ghouls—took issue with it. I've seen all the dirty looks, heard all the horrible insults, saying it wasn't right for a ghoul to raise a smooth-skinned child, that I should be with my own kind. Some would even claim Jack must have stolen me from my real parents or killed them himself. It was insufferable.
"You got a problem with that?" I snapped, anger boiling to the surface. Maybe he wasn't such a good guy, after all.
"Uh, no," Nate denied with a startled expression. "Why would I?"
He seemed genuinely confused and my anger lowered to a simmer. Did he really not know?
"Because he's a ghoul," I said pointedly.
The man's mouth parted in a silent 'ah' and he gave a shrug.
"Don't know much about ghouls, to be honest," he said, his eyes scanning around. "Met my first one only a week ago."
What? I thought. He'd never seen a ghoul before? It's not like they were rare, how was that even possible? Unless… maybe he really was from a vault. Now that I thought about it, he did have that look to him, like he was well fed. Not that he was fat—he was incredibly fit looking—but there was a thickness to his physique instead of the lean musculature that was common in the Wastes. And those straight, white teeth, like the Nuka Cola girl on the billboards…
Wait, a week ago?
"Hancock?" I gaped at him, my stride faltering. "Hancock was the first ghoul you ever met?"
He nodded with a hum, a smirk curling his mouth.
"And you shook his hand, just like that?" Right after watching him kill someone, too.
"Well, yeah," Nate said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "That's what you're supposed to do when people introduce themselves, right?"
People. Not ghouls and humans, just people.
My anger fizzled out and warmth filled my chest. Any doubts I had about the man evaporated, a goofy smile widening my face. I didn't know who he was or where he came from, but he was okay in my book.
"What?" he asked, taking in my expression. I shook my head with a laugh.
"You know, Hancock was right," I mused, gripping the straps to my pack. "I think we'll get along just fine."
~0~
Time passed quickly as Nate and I fell into easy conversation. He had a relaxed temperament, quick to smile and a good sense of humor. The more we talked the more comfortable I was around him. The man was an easy person to trust, which made me want to be suspicious of him but it was hard. He was a lot like Jack—and Hancock, in some ways.
He told me about Sanctuary and the settlers there, how they were survivors of Quincy. I had heard about the Quincy massacre. It was a pretty big settlement, about the size of Bunker Hill, until the Gunners decided they wanted it for themselves. It reminded me of Red and I wondered if he took part in it.
We talked about our pip-boys and yes, he did come from a vault, vault one-eleven. But that wasn't the crazy part.
"What do you mean, you were frozen the whole time?" I asked, completely bewildered. We were just cresting the top of a hill, the cracked and broken roadway leading into Concord.
"Since we entered the vault," Nate said, his steel-grey eyes tightening. "We just made it in as the nuke hit."
"The nuke?" I blinked at him and then it clicked. "Wait, wait, you're saying… you're pre-war?"
He nodded with a hum.
It was the most incredible thing I've ever heard, but it made sense. Everything about him—the way he looked, the outdated words he used, even his abnormally courteous manner—it was so old-school. Just like a pre-war ghoul. Just like Jack.
"I knew it!" I grinned. "You really are military."
Nate's eyes widened as he looked at me and then he laughed. "Is it that obvious?"
"Well, to anyone else, I guess not…"
"But to the daughter of a two-hundred year old veteran?" he finished, giving me a wink. I sent him a warm smile in return, glancing over him.
"You walk like him," I said, my gaze scoping out the row of houses to our left, searching for any signs of movement. "Like Jack."
"Funny, I was going to say the same about you."
I frowned, looking down at myself. The similarities were lost on me.
"He makes you run drills, doesn't he?" Nate guessed with a smirk. The memory of it made me groan.
"He's a tyrant," I complained, glad there was someone who might actually understand. "He used to have me run drills but now he's happy to throw me around the training room."
He chuckled at my pout, gently nudging me with his elbow as if we were old friends.
"He's hard on you," the man stated. "That's good."
"Is it?" I retorted with a flat tone. Nate shook his head, those pearly whites flashing.
"In the military, you don't want the instructor that goes easy on you," he explained. "You want the hard-ass. The one that pushes you to your limits, because they're the ones who will give you what you need to survive."
He shot me a pointed look. "They're tough because they care enough to make sure you come back alive."
A soft smile curled my mouth, my affection for the grumpy old ghoul warming me. I already knew why he was hard on me, but it was nice to hear someone else confirm it.
"So, you're saying it comes from a place of love, huh?" I said with pursed lips.
"That's right," Nate drawled, the humor evident in his voice.
"How's this," I grinned, unable to resist ribbing him. "Why don't you go a round or two with Jack, then tell me if you can feel the love."
He puffed out a laugh then grimaced. "Yeah, I think I'll pass."
The conversation broke as we walked through the heart of Concord down the main street, both of us scanning the buildings on either side for any hidden enemies. The shepherd paced in front of us calmly and I took that as a good sign. The town seemed quiet and my hands itched to start searching through it, but there was only about an hour of daylight left. Scavenging would have to wait another day.
Soon enough, we were through the town and climbing another hill. My body was getting tired and my stride slowed, the exertion making my chest tight. I cursed silently, frustrated with myself. I had walked farther distances before and it didn't wear me out like this. It must be the fatigue Dr. Amari was worried about.
"You okay?" Nate asked, turning towards me. He had stopped almost immediately, noticing me lagging behind. I stopped next to him to catch my breath. A short cough worked its way up and I turned my head away.
"Yeah, I, uh," I cleared my throat. "I already walked ten miles today getting to Trudy's. Just tired."
His face pinched in a frown. "Do you want to rest for a bit?"
"How far is Sanctuary?" I shrugged my pack off one shoulder, pulling it around to grab the water canister in the side pocket. I cracked it open and took a sip.
"Less than half a mile," the man said, glancing up the hill.
"Then let's keep going," I said, readjusting my pack.
"You sure?"
I hummed an affirmative and started up the hill again, Nate falling into step next to me. Taking another sip, I offered my water to him and he took it with a mumbled "thanks." There was a warm weight pressing into my thigh and I looked down at the dog. He was leaning against me as we walked, giving a low whine.
"What's wrong, pup?" I murmured, scratching the shepherd on his head.
"Dogmeat," came Nate's voice. The word was so random it took a few seconds to register what he said.
"What?" I squeaked, whipping my head towards him.
What the hell did that mean? Dog meat, as in…brahmin meat or radstag meat? My face paled in horror and I clutched at the dog's fur. He couldn't possibly mean to eat him, could he? I was already attached to the fluffy mutt, no way was I going to let him get eaten.
The man took in my expression and smacked a hand over his face, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain himself. He lost the battle, roaring laughter bursting from him.
"His name," Nate managed to get out between snickers. "Dogmeat is his name."
I couldn't help but smile, his laughter contagious.
"Dogmeat?" I said with a raised brow. "Really?"
"Hey, don't look at me," he grinned, putting his hands up. "I didn't name him."
We were finally at the top of the hill and passing a coolant station, the giant Red Rocket sculpture standing proudly on the roof as if it were blasting off into space.
"Thanks for agreeing to come, Sam," Nate said with a soft smile.
"I haven't done anything yet," I replied with a shrug. He shook his head, his hands tightening on his rifle.
"It's been a rough couple of months," he sighed. "I haven't laughed like that in a while. Haven't had a reason to."
A subtle blush heated my cheeks as I realized what he was thanking me for. It wasn't for helping with the generator, it was for the conversation, for making him laugh.
"Sure," I mumbled, my gaze dancing away shyly. "No problem."
A couple minutes past the station was a wooden bridge spanning over a slow-moving river. The right side of the bridge was broken, part of it tilting down towards the water. We kept to the left and I glanced at Nate to see if he was as worried about the old wood as I was. He seemed unbothered, though, confidently walking across the boards as they creaked and groaned underfoot.
Just on the other bank stood a man wearing a light-colored duster and a Stetson hat that matched Nate's, holding an odd-looking rifle. That must be the other Minuteman he told me about.
"General," the man said as we stopped before him. "Welcome back."
"Preston," Nate replied, shaking the man's outstretched hand.
"General?!" I sputtered, gawking at him. "Like, the general of the Minutemen? You didn't tell me that!"
Nate had said he was working to help rebuild the Minutemen but he never said anything about being the general. He gave me an apologetic smile.
"He's not one for boasting," the man said, his kind eyes appraising me. "Preston Garvey, at your service."
He offered me a hand, the dark skin around his eyes crinkling with a friendly smile. He had the same good-natured energy as Nate and I found myself returning the smile.
"Sammy Shaw, at your service," I chimed, accepting his hand. "Specifically, the servicing of a generator."
Preston's grin widened, his eyes lighting up.
"You go out for tools and come back with a whole tinkerer, huh?" he said to Nate. "Well, I'm sure Sturges will appreciate the help."
The two men talked for a moment then Preston left to continue his rounds. Perimeter check, he'd said.
Nate led me up the road towards the heart of the settlement. Sanctuary Hills, as the sign stated, looked like it was a nice neighborhood. The houses that lined either side of the road were fairly large with what used to be white picket fencing and manicured lawns. As it was now, the fencing was faded and rotted and the grass was brown and overgrown. Some of the houses had collapsed into giant piles of twisted metal sheeting, but most looked to be in decent condition.
We came to what appeared to be the middle of the neighborhood with two houses facing each other across the street. They had obviously been repaired, boards and welded metal fortifying the windows and missing wall panels. The roofs were patched up, too, and the parts that weren't were covered with tarps.
In front of the house on the right was a table and chair set with a crooked umbrella providing shade. An older woman sat in one of the chairs, drinking from a coffee mug. She stood as we approached, her movements slow with age, and made a beeline for us.
"Oh, Mama Murphy," Nate said, gesturing to me. "This is—"
"Sam," the woman stated. She took one of my hands in both of hers, her skin feeling thin and fragile. "It's good to finally meet you."
I blinked, taken aback. She spoke as if she already knew about me.
"I, uh," I paused, not really sure how to respond.
Her face was drawn in wrinkles and sun spots dotted her cheeks. The way she was dressed reminded me of an old fortune teller with a blue scarf wrapped around her head and big, gaudy earrings. She had another scarf around her neck with several long necklaces that sparkled dully in the light from the setting sun, and her thin wrists were weighed down with bangles and bracelets.
"Don't worry, sweetheart." The woman had a sad smile as she gave my hand a pat. "It will all work out in the end. You'll see."
With that she ambled away, walking into the house. Huh, what a funny old lady, I thought. Her words were strange but also kind of comforting.
"Don't mind Mama Murphy," Nate murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's a little eccentric, but harmless."
I opened my mouth to reply but a loud bang interrupted. A man's voice shouting obscenities followed, coming from somewhere behind the house.
"And that would be Sturges," Nate sighed, wincing as more curses echoed. "We better get over there before he blows a fuse."
A grin stretched my face. I knew those sounds well, having made them myself back at my workshop.
"Oh, those are just power words." My grin widened at the man's confused expression. "Engines are stubborn. Sometimes you've got to cuss them out to get them to listen."
Nate huffed out a laugh, flashing those straight teeth again.
"Oh yeah," he smirked. "You and Sturges are going to be best friends by the end of the day, just you wait."
~0~
"Man, you should've seen it," Sturges reminisced as he bolted down the capacitors. "A full suit of T-60 power armor with motion-assist servos, shocks calibrated to perfection and a killer paint job."
I grinned to myself, sorting through the half empty bottles of coolant in the dim light. The sun had set hours ago and our workstation behind the main house was lit with several lanterns and my pip-boy.
Nate was right. Sturges and I hit it off immediately, bonding over our knowledge of fusion engines and love of tinkering. It was nice to talk with someone that knew all the technical jargon, something I didn't get to do often. He looked the part of handyman, too, with his utility coveralls and loaded down toolbelt.
We had jumped straight to work, talking shop the entire time. Three out of six capacitors had blown in the converted generator and the circuit board was fried. Sturges had already picked through the cars in Sanctuary so we made a quick trip to the Red Rocket station down the road. Fortunately, we found the parts we needed out of a rusted Blitz coupe.
"Hot rod flames, done by yours truly," he boasted, his voice lilting with that 'good ole boy' drawl. "Took forever to get the colors just right."
"Sounds like it was pretty sweet," I said, grabbing the two fullest bottles and walking over.
"Oh yeah," he sighed. "It's too bad I had to leave it behind, but I'll get another one."
I poured the coolant into the reservoir, tapping the funnel to get the last drops in. Sturges tightened the final bolt and stood from his crouch, wiping an arm across his forehead.
"Alright, let's give it a try." He took the fusion core out from his back pocket and snapped it into the dock.
Stepping back a couple of feet, I braced for the worst but hoped for the best. I had already checked the new circuit board with the maintenance program on my pip-boy, but if there was a short the capacitors could blow again.
Sturges rubbed his hands together then flipped the power switch. The beast of an engine whirred as the magnetic field charged up, holding its rotation. It was finally running and I looked towards the bare lightbulb hanging from the corner gutter of the house. We had set it there as a way to test the generator, but it remained dark with not even a flicker of light.
"Damn," the handyman cursed. I frowned, pulling the datalink cord from my pip-boy.
"Let me run another diagnostic," I said, plugging it into the control module on the side of the engine.
"Might be a better idea to just scrap the whole thing and start over from scratch," he said with a tired groan.
"Tell you what," I muttered, stifling a yawn. "If we can't get it in the next hour, I'll help you build another one."
And I meant it. Even though I had only been around for a handful of hours, I already liked the people here. They were good folks that had been through a terrible ordeal, especially the Longs, Marcy and Jun. Their eight-year-old son had died in the attack on Quincy and they were handling it about as well as you'd expect, Jun with sorrow etched on his face and Marcy snapping in anger. The anger I could relate to—it was easier to deal with than crippling depression.
After Quincy they got swarmed by feral ghouls in Lexington. Just the thought of it sent unpleasant shivers down my spine. Ferals liked to gather in large cities and it was the main reason I avoided the area, only scavenging on the outskirts. Then, they were followed by a gang of raiders all the way to Concord, where Nate found them holed up in an old museum. If he hadn't chosen to help them they probably wouldn't have made it.
"You sure?" Sturges said, surprise evident in his voice. "Project like that could take a couple days."
I gave him a grin, my eyes on the small computer screen. They needed a break and I was happy to lend a hand. Even after all they went through they were still so welcoming of a stranger. Of course, having the general of the Minutemen vouch for me might have something to do with it.
"Keep feeding me that stew and I'll stay as long as it takes," I smirked, remembering the soup we had for dinner. It was way better than Trudy's. "Besides, four hands are better than two."
Sturges chuckled softly. "Good deal."
The program finished with a quiet beep, the results flashing at the bottom of the screen.
"Huh, no continuity," I mumbled. No continuity meant there was a break in the electrical path, which is why the engine was running but had no power output.
I unplugged the datalink and switched off the generator, grabbing the multimeter from my pocket. We had changed out the fuses, so it wasn't that. The rotor and armature coils were also tested to make sure there was no corrosion on the winding. My eyes followed the circuit and landed on the slip rings encircling the rotor shaft. It was unlikely that was the problem, but…
Kneeling on the dried grass, I touched the probe to the first slip ring. The needle on the scale jumped, indicating there was a current, but when I touched it to the second ring, nothing. No current.
The corner of my mouth curled and I snatched the strap to my tool kit, dragging the bag towards me. I rummaged through it until I found the magnifying glass. There was a crack along one side but it would still work. Using the light from my pip-boy, I carefully examined the brass ring.
"Found it," I declared, a satisfied grin stretching my face.
"No kidding?" Sturges leaned over my shoulder, his cheek almost pressed to mine so he could see. And there it was, no thicker than a strand of hair.
"Fracture in the slip ring."
The handyman let out a huff in disbelief. "Well, I'll be damned."
"No one checks the slip rings," I chimed. He barked out a laugh, giving me an easy pat on the arm.
"That'll be the first thing I check from now on, I can tell you that!"
I found my torch and rare brazing wire. There was only a little bit left but it was for a good cause. Replacing slip rings was a huge pain in the ass, so it was better to try and repair them if you could. Taking my time, I brazed and polished the ring, making sure it was smooth and even.
"Okay, I think that's it," I said, blinking my tired eyes. If this didn't work, I was going to have to call it a night.
"Fingers crossed, now," Sturges drawled, flipping the power switch.
The generator hummed to life and the lightbulb flashed on instantly, as well as the lights from the two repaired houses and even an old street lamp. From down the hill towards the river, the water purifier kicked on with a rumbling gurgle.
Elation ran through me and I jumped to my feet with a whoop, throwing my hands in the air. It was the best feeling, being able to fix something with your hands that was once broken. The only thing I could compare it to was hitting an impossible bullseye.
Sturges gave his own shout of triumph and suddenly I was lifted into the air, his beefy arms around my middle.
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Sturges yelled as he spun us around, a wild grin on his face. "You little tinkering genius!"
It was so ridiculous a loud giggle escaped me and I choked it back down, embarrassment heating my skin.
"Sturges!" I laughed, kicking my feet. He set me down with a chuckle, looking completely unapologetic.
"You could give my old man a run for his money, no doubt about it," he praised and I beamed back at him. It sounded like a high compliment.
"—you shut up!" came Marcy's voice from inside the house, followed by more incoherent shouting.
I winced. Guess I forgot what time it was in all the excitement.
"You're welcome!" Sturges yelled back with an irritated grunt. His hazel eyes softened as he smirked at me. "Don't pay attention to Marcy. I'm sure she'll be more grateful in the morning."
I glanced at my pip-boy. It read 2:17 a.m. and I grimaced.
"It is morning," I grumbled.
A low groan sounded behind me and I turned to see Nate walking towards us, his hat in his hand.
"Please, don't remind me." He combed his fingers through his hair, giving me a tired half-smile.
"We didn't wake you up, did we?" I asked.
"Nah," Sturges answered. "He's going to go relieve Preston from his guard duties, isn't that right?"
Nate nodded with a hum, setting his hat back on.
"Just until we get some turrets set up," he explained. The general gestured to the generator quietly whirring away. "Looks like you fixed the generator."
"Hairline fracture in the slip ring," I told him happily. "Caused a break in continuity, which probably overcharged the capacitors and the rapid expenditure of electrical current that shorted the circuit board."
Nate blinked at me then glanced at Sturges. "Was any of that English?"
The handyman snickered as I blew out an exasperated breath.
"Yes, Nate, we fixed it," I sighed, lips pursed in a pout. He chuckled lightly at my expression.
"Thanks for your help, Sam," Nate said warmly. "We really appreciate it."
I smiled shyly, not used to all the praise. It took a lot of work to get Jack's approval and sometimes it seemed like my best wasn't enough for him. I knew the old ghoul was just trying to push me to be better, but a little recognition every now and then was nice. And Nate, who I had just met, thanked me twice in one day for barely anything… it was almost too easy in comparison.
"Any time," I returned, trying to stifle another yawn but failing. "Now, about that bed you promised."
"There's one in the house across the street you can use," he said with a jerk of his head. "Down the hall, second room on the left."
I nodded then looked to grab my things. Tools were scattered all around, mine and Sturges' mixed together, and I groaned. It was going to take a while to pick everything up.
"Just leave it," Nate smirked. "You look dead on your feet."
"You and me both," Sturges added, covering his own yawn with the back of his hand. "We'll clean up tomorrow."
"Good deal," I smiled, repeating the handyman's words from earlier.
Sturges sent me a wink. "Night, darlin'."
"Night," I said to the two men, making my way towards the street.
Behind me, I could hear Nate mutter Sturges' name lowly, the handyman replying with an innocuous "what?" It made me smile and even though I was tired I was also satisfied with the day's events. It felt good, using my knowhow to help others, even if it wasn't as important as other skills. It was just the boost I needed to turn my sullen mood into something a bit more positive.
Now, if only it could last.
A/N: Ugh, this chapter was hard to finish. My ADHD kicked my butt these last couple of weeks but I'm still writing at least a little bit every day.
Thanks for reading, and please let me know if you catch any mistakes so I can fix them :)
Side note: My husband and I had a long debate about the generators you see in the game—he's a diesel mechanic and trying to get him to apply his technical knowledge in a futuristic setting is, well, frustrating to say the least. I won't bore you with the details, but basically, the generators you can build in the settlements are very obviously combustion engines that run off of a liquid fuel, and yes, the settlers could make their own fuel by distilling alcohol made from like corn or something. But! Almost everything runs off fusion power (fusion cores), so why would they scour the Wastes looking for that specific type of engine when there are thousands of cars they could pick from, that also might have fusion cores still in them (that's why the cars explode in a mushroom cloud and give off radiation). I honestly think the designs of the generators was a mistake, it just doesn't make sense :P