Abel and Charon stared at the charred remains of Dukov's place. The heavy oak doors were caved in, splinters and gore stained the entrance. Supermutant effigies covered the patio and a still dripping meat sack that he presumed was composed of the old Slav's flesh adored the entryway. The women that usually accompanied Dukov were unaccounted for among the viscera. Ideally they would've escaped while Dukov faced off against the mutants, but Abel's more pragmatic side knew that they were likely enslaved and soon to be turned into food or new mutants.
"Fucking DC…" Abel muttered, clutching his crucifix.
This was an all too common occurrence. Plans would form, material would be gathered, capital would be set aside, and then a pack of mutants would eviscerate everyone involved through sheer bad luck. It was a miracle that societies like Megaton and Rivet City ever cropped up this close to the mutant nests.
Abel stole a glance towards his bodyguard. The ghoul remained alert, scanning for the area for trouble. They'd taken on a few small groups of mutants while crossing the Potomac but it seemed like the pack that torched this place left a while ago if Dukov's rotting flesh was anything to go by.
Sick of the surroundings, he pat Charon on the shoulder and motioned towards the shoreline.
"Let's go. His boat should be nearby. Muties probably left it alone."
Abel readied his rifle and moved down to the docks. Sure enough, Dukov's "pleasure cruise" was docked and more or less in shape. Other than a few shellfish scurrying near the rocks, the place seemed clear.
He turned to the ghoul. "Keep watch. I'm gonna see if I can get the engine going."
Charon nodded silently and perched himself up on a high rock to stand watch.
Abel climbed inside the vessel and inspected its condition. The hull was rusted to hell and a weird, sticky substance coated the floor, but there didn't seem to be any leaks. This was a gem by DC standards. Leaning over the engine, he flipped it on and the ship vibrated roughly before seizing up. It was to be expected. Dukov's drunk ass probably forgot to change out the batteries.
He leaned over to get a look at the battery pack and saw that it was still half charged.
"Engine's fucked then…" He sighed. So much for that idea.
A more careful inspection yielded nothing. Abel was no mechanic, at best he could perform routine maintenance on his weapons and even that would typically be outsourced to Charon's more capable hands.
Frustrated, he waved the ghoul over. "I need your help, big guy!"
The ghoul wordlessly boarded the ship with surprising grace and looked at him with his usual dead stare.
"Yes?"
Abel pointed to the engine. "You've been around a while, know anything about how to get this running."
"No," he bluntly replied.
The young man looked at him in disbelief. "Seriously? Two centuries and you never fixed an engine."
"No."
"Can you at least take a look at it…?"
The ghoul grunted and kneeled down in front of the corroded machine.
"Hm..." Charon hummed, deep in thought.
"Yes?"
The hulking ghoul stood to face his employer. "It's not working."
"Clearly…" Abel muttered.
"Alright, whatever, let's just mine the boat and go to rivet city. One of their ship techs might be able to get this thing going again." He didn't bother hiding the disappointment from his voice.
The two planted a few frag mines in and around the vessel to ward off any would-be scavengers and critters before getting back on the pier. Abel gave Dukov's estate one final look before silently muttering a prayer for the dead man. Sleazebag or not, no one deserved his fate.
The path to Rivet City was fairly clear. With project purity completed, both the city's security team and the brotherhood performed daily patrols and created a space of relative safety. Getting past the city guard was trivial. The black combat armor worn by Abel and Charon served two purposes in this area. It made the local security forces less jumpy at their movement as they could pass for fellow officers from a distance, and it kept the Talon mercs on the edges of the safe zone from taking them out as targets of opportunity the second they left the city limits.
Rivet City, even prior to the success of project purity and the Brotherhood's renewed commitment to patrolling logistical lines, was a formidable settlement. It was home to quite a few people, maybe some 300 permanent and semi-permanent residents all in all. After project purity though, it was absolutely thriving. Having reliable, cheap drinking water within a 5 minute walk was a game changer in a region where most people still had to risk a walk to the shores of the Potomac to fill jugs and then boil them to kill off the worst of the stomach bugs.
Just a quick glance at the shantytown by the shore revealed at least a hundred people hoisting nets, collecting oysters, and building new shacks. Much work had been done since his last visit to the area.
The locals had begun setting up stalls and makeshift homes around the waterfront, capitalizing on the new security. Every day a new family, a new group of scavengers, would move into this "extension" of the city's jurisdiction. With that came the infrastructure needed to support the makeshift suburb. Crude water distilleries to boiled the now rad-free potomac water, planters filled with razorgrain and tato's. A dingy brahmin pen was set up near the metro tunnels to the east of the main city entrance.
The duo weaved through the busy market stalls, their thoughts nearly drowned out by shouting vendors and the sounds of construction. Michael spared a cap for the local beggar before heading up the stairs to the main bridge. A few other beggars attempted to pursue but a quick glare from Charon made them reconsider.
Abel dropped off a few trinkets and a half-decent painting with the conservation society. They weren't particularly desirable pieces, only fetching 170 caps in total. The trip to the main market wasn't much better, they'd only found a handful of bullets and clothing on a dead waster during the journey here. The rifles they looted from dead muties were beat to shit and only worth scrap. A check up from the clinic and 50 caps later, and he was done with the mundane tasks for the day.
He bribed his way into the ship's crew quarters and asked around, eventually getting pointed to a senior mechanic by the name of "Chops" that had experience with engine repair. Abel left Charon to his own devices while he went door to door to look for the mechanic. Everyone gave him different directions. The bar, the latrine, in the lower deck, up the flight deck, regardless of where he went Mr. Chops was nowhere to be found. With the sun starting to set and the stench of his own sweat beginning to get to him, Abel decided to call it a day.
He fetched Charon (the ghoul had remained glued to the same spot he left him) and the duo booked a hotel room on the ship, sharing a single queen size bed between the both of them. It wasn't the first time they'd slept in such an arrangement, and any awkwardness of sharing a bed was long since lost after their expeditions in the DC ruins. Ghoul's ran hot and on a cold rainy night having him nearby kept him comfortable.
Abel stripped off his clothes and armor, tossing them over to Charon. The ghoul proceeded to strip himself down and take all the gear to the sink to wash. Routine washing after patrols kept the gear in good shape, reduced rashes, and kept critters from tracking them so easily.
With no pressing tasks in front of him took advantage of the downtime to enjoy a quick shower. Rivet City was one of the only places in all of DC that had on-demand "hot" water. The nuclear reactor that powered the vessel released part of its coolant supply, potomac water, back into the plumbing of the vessel, providing a near endless supply of water that ranged from lukewarm to scalding hot depending on one's proximity to the reactor room.
The Weatherly Hotel was in a sweet spot that allowed it to capitalize on perfectly warm water and charge a premium price for it. It was lovely and worth every cap. The hotel's very own sea soap did wonders to clean off the day's accumulation of blood and grime, way better than the bargain bin stuff from Moria's. The towels left much to be desired though, he thought as he dried himself with the thin, abrasive cloths.
Once clean, he changed into his backup clothes: a simple shirt and faded jeans. He took a moment to eye the ghoul. The giant of a man was nearly done with their laundry. Charon would not be taking a shower, though. He was not fond of them, and frankly he didn't smell of much unless they went trudging through the DC sewers. A lack of body odor was just another one of those unique ghoul quirks.
Abel turned to his pip-boy and idly managed his inventory to reflect the items sold and caps gained throughout the day. As he busied himself with the menial task his mind wandered once again to his lofty goal of founding a state.
The first immediate challenge he faced was capital. He had built a considerable fortune from months of very grueling, very dangerous expeditions into the heart of DC. Abel was no amateur, not anymore at least. He could handle a mutant or two, a team of doped up raiders, even the odd giant radscorpion, but he was still unfit for the rigor that deeper expeditions would demand. Entire packs of mutants, squads of Talon mercenaries, raider clans, swarms of feral ghouls and their fearsome reavers, there was no shortage of threats that he could not reliably handle. He needed to grow his team, and doing so would reduce his profits and spike his overhead. There was no future in salvage. Hardly a profound conclusion but it was one worth repeating to himself.
The boat idea was on the backburner for now. Fishing would bring him income and perhaps a bit of extra muscle should Kwang's crew prove loyal. The little razorgrain venture he was building up would help in due time, but he'd need far more land to make any significant return, and land was a rare commodity within the city. So naturally he'd need to raise crops outside the city walls. And he'd need to spend a fortune on security to keep the ants, molerats, raiders, and all other myriad of pests away from his crops. The more he considered the work needed to make even a rump state possible, the more dread filled his stomach.
Who the hell was he to even take on this challenge? A sheltered vault dweller with less than a full year of experience in the wastes, unable to even save his own father, now vying for a nation-state? He laughed at the shitty little "Republic of Dave" in the past, but now that he had time to consider the logistics of even the tiniest settlement, Dave had his complete respect.
Looking to escape this train of thought, Abel called out to Charon.
"Hey, been thinking, ah… what's the best way to deal with deathclaws? Heard there might be some in the northern ruins."
"Landmines." The ghoul answered in his usual monotone voice.
"Any type?"
"The exploding type," Charon said flatly as he hung up their clothes to dry.
"So you do have a sense of humor…" Abel chided.
The ghoul merely grunted.
Abel chuckled at the absurdity of his situation. A young upstart wanting to become king of the wasteland, with a borderline mute ghoul and a junkyard mutt as his enforcers.
The duo found themselves wining and dining the reclusive mechanic after cornering him in the staff restrooms. Chops dug into fried mirelurk cakes and wasteland ramen as Abel regaled the situation to him.
"Mm, so, you just need me to get the engine workin' again? No hull repair, electronics, nothin' else?" The mechanic asked between mouthfuls.
"Yeah. If you spot something critical then we can discuss further repairs, but for now I can only cover the cost of the engine repair."
"Uh-huh, alright. So where's the boat?"
"By Dukov's place, the big bachelor pad not too far south from the Jefferson Memorial."
"How far south is 'not too far south' to you?" Chops asked, arms crossed.
Abel took a look at his pipboy and eyeballed the distance. "About a half-mile."
"Half a mile? That's not covered by the brotherhood and city patrols then, is it?"
"It's not terribly far from the main roads they take, but I'd be lying if I said it was next to them."
"That's mutie territory, kid. Now I see you and your pal there have some nice armor and a bit of firepower, but I don't feel comfortable going that far out of the safety zone."
"It's 800 caps for a simple repair job. Hell, I can round it up to a grand. You'll be fairly compensated, and I can get Harkness, Doctor Li, and Flak to vouch for me. I always pay as promised."
"Look, it's not chump change, I'm not saying that, but I'm a valued asset in this city. I earn two hundred caps a month working in this nice, safe environment. You're asking me to risk enslavement or death for half a year's pay."
"What if we get more muscle then?"
"I suppose it would depend how much more muscle you could gather."
"If we stick to the 800 payout I can probably hire another four mercs to escort you there and back. I might be able to call in a favor with the brotherhood to have some of their knights tag along."
"Shoot, if you can get us some of those tin cans to watch my back then you can forget the other guys. I'd feel safe enough with just them."
Abel sighed and nodded.
"Alright. I'll speak with my contacts in the brotherhood and see if we can work something out. Do we have a deal?" He asked.
"Sure. 800 caps and a team of knights to keep me safe. Though, I'm booking it back to the city if things go south."
The two shook on it before parting. Abel counted out caps and paid the canteen's owner before heading out to the wastes.