Chapter 32 “So, how did you earn that name?” Rosie stared out of the open Velo door as it cut through the night sky. Brandon had flown out with Matt first, Rosie flew it back remotely, then Charlie flew her northwest. The engines turned upwards and the Velo settled into hover. Rosie peered down to a swaying field of crops that looked almost like water, then tossed the rope out. “Good hunting Tornado.” Rosie felt a hand on her shoulder, she checked her harness, then dove head first into the night. The rope zipped through her hand as she fell. Until Rosie slid her arm out to brake, flipping forward, detaching the harness, and drawing her sidearm in one fluid motion. She heard the rope cascade into a heap behind her and watched the sleek aircraft bank then vanish into the dark. Matt and Brandon met her on the edge of the field and she followed them to the flickering lights and square outlines on the horizon. They approached the largest square building on the row, it looked to be three times bigger than those around it. Separate square blocks of earthen walls linked by hallways and stained white. Matt rapped gently on the door and a blonde woman in a robe answered, tall and fit, with kind eyes above a warm smile. “Feather!” The woman beamed as she threw her arms around Matt. “Hello Moonstone.” Matt greeted the woman by pressing his forehead against hers. “We seek shelter from the wind and the warmth of fire.” Matt seemed to recite something from memory. “We share our fire gladly with honoured guests.” The woman seemed to return the formal greeting. Matt went inside and Brandon addressed the woman. “We bring gifts of meat and wine.” Brandon handed over a bottle of red wine, one of the old, dusty ones, and a raw stag leg from his pack. “We welcome you.” The woman pulled Brandon in and turned her attention to Rosie. “Hello…I, we…” Rosie had no idea what to say and could hear Brandon snickering. The woman reached out both hands and Rosie took them. “We welcome you.” She leant in closer. “I’m Beverly, my home is your home.” Rosie stepped inside onto wooden floorboards. A fire had gone out in the hearth on one side of the open room, leather furniture around it. A salvaged kitchen in one corner and a locker stuffed with guns in the other. She sat at the long dining table with Brandon as Matt and Beverly chatted and prepared food. “Matt’s sister.” Brandon answered before she asked. “This is a halfway house for freed slaves. A safe place and a warm bed for those in need.” Brandon had admiration in his voice. “We’ll set up here.” Beverly placed a bowl of minced meat, shot through with red corn, on the table and Matt laid out a stack of flatbreads with a green hue. Matt tore into his wrap and so did Rosie, feeling the spicy heat build with every bite. Brandon ate in a far more restrained and polite manner. Then opened the wine and set it aside to breathe, sniffing the cork then tossing it to Beverly to do the same. “Alright let me get a look at you.” Beverly stood close to Rosie as she got up, wiping her mouth on the sleeves of her duster. Beverly tapped the new chest armour Matt helped her make. Attached to the metal upper chest plate were segmented strips of Radscorpion carapace. Sawn down and wired back together, mimicking the creature's unnatural evolution. “So you’re a hunter?” “Oh you have no idea.” Brandon quipped, much to his own amusement. Beverly regarded her a moment longer, staring into her eyes. “Strong isn’t she.” Beverly didn’t so much ask as announce. “Yet a great sadness follows you. Reminds me of someone.” “Let her eat Moon.” Matt seemed to think it made Rosie uncomfortable to be assessed like this, it didn’t. Not when it was right. “How’s Frank?” Brandon asked as he poured century old wine into cloudy and irregular glasses. “He’s well. Even got to spend a weekend here last week. Him and the whole team.” Beverly tried her wine and made an approving noise. “Was John with them?” Brandon asked, Rosie’s ears pricking up at the mention of his name. She saw Beverly smile. “Yes, sweet boy. Offered us every cap in pocket when he found out about this place.” “He’s in trouble Moon. We’re here to help.” Matt spoke to his sister but looked at Rosie. “Whatever you need.” After they ate Beverly showed them to their room at the back of the house, offering Rosie a separate room she declined. Instead she walked up the wooden steps set into the wall and staked out the low walled rooftop for her own. Rosie woke with the sun and to a pleasant view. Green and brown crop fields swaying in the breeze. Neat lines of water that fed them, and hills on the horizon. She found Matt making coffee in the kitchen. “Morning…Feather.” Rosie couldn’t resist calling him by the name Beverly used, even though she wasn’t sure what it meant. “Morning.” Matt poured her coffee and sat. Rosie glared at him until he responded. “When children reach one the Tribe Mother lays out objects and whichever they pick up becomes their name.” Rosie watched as Matt’s smile faded, and she remembered why only one person called him Feather. The rest of his family lost to slavers. Before she could apologise for prying, a teenage couple entered. Fading bruises on the faces and chaffed skin around their necks. Rosie saw the look of fear in their faces and knew they were freed people. “Good morning. I’m Matt, this is Rosie. Sit with us and I’ll make breakfast.” Rosie watched the teenagers make a conscious effort to sit at the table and be served instead of serving. Rosie smiled and tried to think of something to say but couldn’t. Matt cooked and rummaged through a kitchen he wasn’t familiar with. The noises made the teenagers nervous, jumping and having to force themselves not to get involved. It made Rosie angry and she didn't know why. As Matt looked for bowls to serve breakfast he knocked a stack of brown clay plates to the floor. The shattering noise jolted the teenagers from their seats, almost as if they expected to be blamed or struck. They darted over to Matt and immediately started picking up the broken plates. Rosie wanted to scream at them, but knew better than to do that. Instead she slipped out quietly and shoved Brandon awake. “What is it?” Brandon woke and became alert in seconds. “Sorry, everything’s fine. I need to get out of here for a few hours.” Rosie couldn’t help feeling like the frightened teenagers for an instant, but she wasn’t asking permission, Brandon needed to know. He sighed and lay back on the bed. “Stay on comms, keep your head down.” As she made for the door Brandon gave her one last instruction. “Check if Beverly needs anything from the market, use our caps.” Rosie found Beverly gently coaxing the teenagers to the table with Matt serving them. Rosie declined breakfast, tipping Matt to a problem, then almost snatched the list from Beverly and headed out. The stifled scream didn’t leave Rosie till she reached the edge of town, even though she took the long way. A single dirt street extended before her, stalls and traders setting up for the day, narrower streets and alleys branching off. A wall made from blocks of mesh and filled with rubble surrounded most of the buildings. With a gate and sniper towers at either end of the main street. She regretted wearing the chest armour, duster and leg plates as the sun climbed. Not only did the heat and dust bother her, she looked better armoured than what passed for security around here. Rosie found the nearest food vendor and bought two of whatever they sold. Which turned out to be bacon wrapped cheese, deep fried. Rosie ate four in total, much to the amusement of the grey haired vendor. She purchased an ice cold Nuka Cola, served with a grass like straw that could be eaten, and set about getting the items on the list. Rosie ignored the largest building in town, tall conical shapes, linked by hallways. Too many Brotherhood haircuts. Beverly’s handwriting, while far clearer than Rosie’s, left her unsure of the items she’d need. The man selling vegetables took the list from her and filled a canvas bag with tatos, red corn in the husks, mutfruit, carrots, and a hunk of firm cheese. Then he pointed her a few stalls down for the other bits and pieces she needed. The next trader had everything on the list and Rosie headed back towards the house. The smell of strong coffee drew her to a bar made from a truck trailer. She sat on a stool and watched the young woman grind the beans by hand with a cast iron machine. Rosie practised her small talk. Commenting on the warm weather, asking how trade had been, talking without saying anything memorable. “Well met Huntress.” A burly man, dressed in a coat of charcoal black fur smiled at her. “Hello.” Rosie regretted making small talk with the woman behind the bar. “Tell me, did you buy that armour?” The man in the fur coat had spotted the material the chest plates were made from. “No.” Rosie turned on her stool, letting her high powered pistol behind the thigh plate be seen. The burly man let out a raucous laugh. “Easy Huntress, I only bring an invitation to those worthy.” He slid something along the bar to her. Rosie picked up the stone arrowhead and inspected the carvings. “Present that at the gate, and they’ll let you in.” The burly man tossed down a fistful of caps and started to leave. “Where?” Rosie didn’t know why she asked, “The Lodge.” The man spoke as his answer needed no more explanation, then left. Rosie went back to house with the shopping. Not keen to run into the teenagers, but laden with bags and too hot in her duster. Least it’s not fur, she thought to herself, thinking about the invitation her carapace armour bought her. Beverly showed her where to put the vegetables, a stoned lined cupboard in the shade that felt cool to the touch. She hung the bags on hook by the door, reminding Rosie to take them back for the five cap deposit. Brandon appeared, his arms, t shirt and jeans smeared with mud. “Can you help me change?” Rosie headed back to their room and Brandon helped her out of her chest armour. She relayed the encounter verbatim. “The Lodge are harmless. Well, unless your head looks good on a wall. Their brand of lunacy goes after beasts. Look at it this way, we ever need an introduction, we've got one.” Brandon put her mind at ease, tossing the stone arrowhead into a pack to be forgotten about. “How big is the Brotherhood presence?” Brandon asked, partly concerned but mostly testing Rosie. “Counted twenty eight.” Rosie had checked for the high and tight haircuts, while watching out for boots like hers. “It’s a Brotherhood town. You don’t have to stick around here if you don’t want. I want you relaxed, we could go tonight.” Brandon and Matt weren’t going to risk running into any old friends. At best it’d be an awkward conversation that could get back to the elder. At worst it could be a gunfight. Rosie dressed in a white t shirt and jeans, bandaging the pipboy and putting her left arm in a sling. It broke up the shape of the device, and stopped her from reaching out with her left hand by mistake. Any Brotherhood personnel would spot a pipboy, but she looked like an unlucky wanderer, not worth a second glance. As Rosie left Beverly caught sight of her arm under her open cloak. “What happened?!” “No, it’s nothing, I’m fine.” Beverly had already started shouting Matt and pulling out a tin first aid box. Matt laughed as he came in. “She’s fine Moon, it’s…” Matt had never been the best liar. “It’s ok you can tell her.” Rosie regretted her decision instantly as she thought about Beverly treating her like the freed teenagers. “I’m going for a walk.” “Be back by four, you can help me cook.” Beverly seemed to have all the help she needed, yet asked Rosie anyway. Back in Farmborough’s market Rosie pursued the stalls with a sharp eye. No robot parts, no guns that were fit for anything but scrap, no edged weapons. She did find a few good stalls selling books and bought a stack, including one on magic. Some of the clothes stalls caught her eye, and she picked up a canvas hat with a peak. The junk stalls were actually quite well stocked, lots of pipes, valves, broken pumps that were fixable. However little of it any use to Rosie. A scent she knew pulled Rosie from the main street. The air soon became thick with the smell of burning and molten steel, punctuated by the ringing of hammers. She turned from the narrow alley into an open square, stalls round the edge and a large, busy, forge in the centre.