CHAPTER 30
Atlas
Grey found Danse leaning against the lower stage. His arms were crossed, biceps straining against layers of leather. He scanned the crowd slowly, eyes dark and brow firmly drawn.
Unlike in Goodneighbor, Danse's disposition didn't have a single raider batting an eye. If anything, the intensity of his scowl was likely earning him brownie points with the locals. But what the raiders may have construed as fortitude, Grey knew was revulsion. Danse wouldn't last much longer in the Combat Zone. They needed to proceed with their plan, fast.
He straightened as she and Cait approached.
Cait sized up the Paladin and let out a whistle of appreciation. "Hmm, there's nothing quite like the smell of testosterone in the morning."
Danse frowned, seemingly confused. "The smell is rather… pungent."
Grey stifled a chuckle and turned to the redhead. "You mind giving us a minute?"
Cait flashed her a shit-eating grin and continued towards the bar.
When she was out of earshot, Danse's scowl deepened. "This place is barbaric." Disgust dripped from his words.
"Won't disagree with you there," Grey said quietly.
The raiders before them slithered around the auditorium like maggots seeking rot. They laughed and cursed, inhaled and fucked. Dirty needles slipping into vein after vein, broken glass crunching underfoot. Grey's skin crawled as she watched.
"Is this really how far society has fallen?" Danse shook his head. Slowly, he slid the weight of his gaze to Grey. "Are you all right?"
Grey turned, confronted with the concern painted across his face, the breadth of it seeping into his hazel eyes. She paused, something hot and foreign blossoming in her chest. His eyes reminded her of… she wasn't sure what. Something about hips and hands and an arm hooked beneath her knee. Pressure and weightlessness. Fingers coiled through flannel, a lamp smashing against a wall.
Grey looked away, avoiding his stare. "Cait patched me up best she could, but I'll likely need Cade to examine my shoulder once we're back."
Danse nodded. "Your performance was… above satisfactory. I was not aware of your proficiency in hand-to-hand combat."
"Wouldn't call it 'proficient'," Grey said uneasily. Which was true: she wasn't. She'd learned a few takedown techniques in basic training, one of which she'd used on Cait, but like most Army skills she'd been required to learn when she joined JAG Corps, they'd had little use up until two months ago. She'd been a lawyer after all, not a soldier, and her extracurriculars often entailed secrets and sex, not cage fighting.
"Any leads on our target?" she asked, desperate to change the subject.
"Not yet. I thought it unwise to begin without you. I also imagine these creatures," he spat, eyeing the raiders, "will be more receptive to your lines of inquiry. You having earned their respect by besting them in their barbarism."
"I'm not so sure," Grey said. "I imagine many in this crowd lost caps on my fight. Might make me a tad unpopular."
"Then we'll go for Plan B."
"Plan B?"
Danse thrust his chin in Cait's direction. "Plan B."
Grey smirked. "Roger that."
They made their way to the makeshift bar beneath the maze of wooden platforms and balconies. A tall, gaunt man with greasy black hair and a busted nose spit-shined a pint glass. Cait sat opposite him on a metal stool, nursing a beer.
"What'll it be?" the bartender asked, his voice as rough as sandpaper.
"Two Gwinnett ales," Grey said, perching herself next to Cait.
The bartender retrieved two bottles from behind the bar and deftly cracked off the caps off with his bare hands. He slid the beers across the plywood counter. "Pretty fancy moves you pulled on our girl Cait up there, new blood."
Grey took a sip. "I got lucky."
"Yes, ya did," Cait chided.
"Don't know about that," the bartender said, his narrow gaze fixed on Grey and Danse. "After all, you two seem awfully well fed for a rag-tag pair of raiders."
"We get by," Grey said nonchalantly, trying to mask the alarm bells ringing in her head.
"Right. And what gang did you guys say you were with again?"
"We didn't," Danse interjected, his tone downright threatening.
Cait pulled a face. "What's all the questions for, Stanley? Let them drink their fuckin' beer in peace. Christ."
Stanley kissed his teeth. "Whatever. As long as you two follow the rules." He returned to wiping down the glassware, but Grey could feel the occasional press of his stare.
Determined to ignore it, she held out her beer to Cait. "To drinking in peace."
Cait clanked their bottles. "Cheers to that."
They mindlessly chatted for a while, exchanging Commonwealth gossip. Cait mentioned the rumours drifting in from Goodneighbor about Quincey's demise. Some raiders had also made a fuss about an airship flying overhead a week or so ago, but no one in the Combat Zone could decide if it was real or a Jet-induced hallucination. Grey played the fool. She was more interested in Cait's take on things than setting any records straight.
"You always fight raiders?" Grey asked as they began to talk shop.
"Ya hear that, Stanley?" Cait said, drawing the bartender back into their conversation. "Another one ignorant to our history."
"Damn shame that is," he replied.
Grey took another swig of beer. "By all means then, enlighten me."
Cait leaned back on her stool. "We used to have legit clientele here back in the day. Actual fighters, too. Professional types. We didn't have to fight to the death either."
"That ended when the raiders moved in about two years back," Stanley said. "Place changed pretty quickly after that."
Grey frowned. "So neither of you are actual raiders then?"
Stanley leaned in and lowered his rough drawl to a whisper. "From one non-raider to another, keep your voice down, doll."
He was perceptive, Grey thought, feeling equal parts amused and uneasy. Stanley was smarter than he looked; made sense considering he'd survived the Combat Zone's transition to raider dive. Which suddenly had Grey wondering if his knowledge matched his wit. Their target technically wasn't a raider either, so there was a chance Stanley had also clocked him when he'd arrived.
"Either of you know an Atlas?"
Cait shook her head, but Stanley froze, blood draining from his face. He tried to recover quickly, busying himself with glasses he'd already cleaned, but Grey was on to him.
"Well?" she asked, tapping her fingers on the bar top.
"There's no Atlas around here," he stressed, "so don't go asking."
Danse said, "We mean him no harm. We're just looking for his help."
"Help with what?" Stanley asked.
"With his trade," Grey replied.
"That being?"
Grey simpered. "Don't play coy. Just tell me where he is."
"Jesus, Stanley," Cait snapped. "Help her out would ya."
Stanley pressed his lips, eyes sliding from Danse to Grey to the backstage exit. Grey shifted her weight, preparing to sprint after him if need be. But instead he sighed and rested his hands on the bar.
"What do you need from me?"
The pieces slotted into place and a smirk crept across Grey's face.
Cait was a tad more animated by Stanley's reveal. "How many goddamn names you have?"
"As many as I need," he muttered.
Danse cleared his throat. "We understand the Brotherhood of Steel made contact with you back in 2284."
"What of it?" Stanley demanded.
"They'd requested maps of the Commonwealth, yes?"
Stanley nodded, waiting for the punchline.
"We need them," Grey said. "Namely anything charting terrain near Foxborough, Mansfield, or Easton."
"You mean the Glowing Sea."
Bingo, Grey thought, fighting the flood of adrenaline now coursing through her veins.
After escaping Vault 111, she'd quickly learned many town and county names had been forgotten or changed. Very few wastelanders, other than scholars or pre-war ghouls, knew the towns and neighbourhoods lost to the chaos now known as the Glowing Sea. Which meant Stanley was the real deal: an actual cartographer. Brandis's cartographer.
"We'll pay for anything you have," she said.
"Generously," Danse stressed, throwing a plush bag of caps onto the bar.
Stanley's gaze latched onto the caps the way a starving man's may have on a morsel of bread. He chewed his bottom lip, giving it great consideration.
"So you just want the maps?" he asked sheepishly.
"Just the maps," Grey reinforced, although a part of her was curious what other services he was referencing.
"Alright," he said after what felt like a lifetime of silence. "I should have them stored backstage in my lockbox. Just give me a minute."
As he stepped out from behind the bar, Grey motioned for Danse to follow him. It would be too easy for Stanley or Atlas or whatever his name was to pocket the caps and run. This was his sanctuary after all. Grey and Danse had only managed to corner him there. But like any cornered rat, he'd know every sewer pipe and exit drain. And Grey wasn't about to risk that.
With Stanley's departure backstage, Cait reached behind the bar and grabbed an open bottle of bourbon. She knocked back a shot before offering some to Grey. Grey shook her head and continued to nurse her beer.
"So you're mercenaries then?"
"Something like that," Grey replied.
Cait shook her head. "Just my luck. I wouldn't tell Tommy though. He'd probably take back some of that advance, call it an unfair advantage."
"Thanks for the tip."
Cait took another swig of bourbon. "Can I ask why you need maps of the Glowing Sea?"
Grey thought about lying, saying they were for a client, but then thought better of it. She didn't know Cait from Atom, but she liked what little she saw. She'd also helped Grey not once but twice in the past hour. That was currency for Grey, meaning Cait was owed something in return.
"We're tracking someone who's likely hiding out there."
"One hell of a hiding place," Cait mused. "Though I've heard there's one of those Children of Atom compounds out there. He might be hiding with them."
Grey smiled. "That's helpful, thanks."
"Can I ask what he did?" Cait's voice was suddenly quiet, giving Grey pause.
"Nothing. At least, I don't think anything."
Cait knit her brow, clearly confused.
"He may have information we need," Grey clarified.
"Damn. That's one hell of a journey for some scrap of info."
Grey had never thought of it that way. Yes, she knew the Sea was lethal, but that's why she'd cozied up with the Brotherhood. The lethality was just an obstacle, not a deterrent. As long as she was methodical and prepared, the risks were tolerable. She'd made a promise after all, even if it was to a corpse.
"You should come with me," Grey found herself saying.
Cait sputtered a laugh. "To the Glowing Sea? Fuck no."
Grey shook her head. "I didn't mean now. I meant in the future." She looked at Cait, lean muscle on a near-starved frame, bruises and burst blood vessels scarring freckled, ivory skin, track marks hidden in the crook of her arm, veins angry and collapsing. The Combat Zone wasn't for Cait. It was killing her. Would kill her if she didn't get out in time.
"You don't belong here."
Cait snorted at that. "Then where the hell do I belong?"
"Where people won't treat you like an animal in a cage."
Cait's face darkened. "What the hell do you know."
Grey shrugged. "Call me a bitch if you like, but the offer still stands. Just… think about it."
A part of her expected Cait to fob her off at that point, storm away even, but the redhead just looked down at her hands, a quiet settling over her.
"Maybe," she mouthed after a few minutes.
Grey sipped at her beer, the faintest of smiles pulling at her mouth.
Danse returned shortly after and gave Grey a nod. Stanley was nowhere to be seen, but Grey imagined he was holed up backstage, counting his caps.
Grey pushed to her feet and gave the redhead a final look. "Thanks, Cait. For everything."
Cait didn't reply, but Grey was fine with that. She'd planted a seed; now it needed time to grow.
She and Danse didn't speak until they exited the old theatre. Dogmeat leapt to his feet and raced over. Grey dropped to her knee and gave his ears a good scratch.
"So what now?" she asked, looking up at the Paladin.
"Atlas provided us with a number of holotapes. I verified them; they're genuine. Once we return to the Prydwen, I'll have the Scribes examine and compile the data. Hopefully they'll be able to narrow down some points of interest, maybe even put together an overlay for my suit and your Pip-Boy."
Grey stood, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. Dusk would soon fall and they had a long journey back. Not just to the Prydwen, but beyond that. Because they finally had direction. An actual plan. One that maybe, just maybe, they could actually pull off.
"Lets move out, Knight," Danse commanded.
And despite Grey's better judgement, she found herself snapping to attention.
"Yes, sir."