Give me one thing before we part: a kiss to build a dream on...
Fallout Chronicles
Chapter IV
Now that you have heard the stories of my ancestor and his journeys with the Vault-Dweller, you are ready to hear my story. I am Jardín, granddaughter of the granddaughter of Tycho the Righteous, and in my youth, I was called the Chosen One within the village of Arroyo. I was born the very hour that our tribe's leader, the great Vault-Dweller, passed on from this world, and throughout my life I heard whispers of a great destiny before me. I did not know what this destiny was to be, nor could anyone tell me. But they believed that I was their leader reborn, and for a time I believed as well. I was given special treatment in all things. Our wisest taught me to read and reason, our strongest to fight, our surest to shoot. It was as if I was being prepared for a great journey from birth, and yet no one knew where I would have to go or what I would have to face, and so they tried to prepare me for everything. I tried, but I also resented the weight being placed on my shoulders. I had grown up hearing stories of the Vault-Dweller and the founders; how could I ever measure up to such legends?
I blew off steam in the usual teenager ways. I snuck out of my aunt’s tent, consorted with boys, got into trouble. Particularly with Mynoc. Concerns about our behavior aside, the elders of the village were concerned about me forming bonds in the village that I might not be able to break from when the time came. I did not care. I was the Chosen One, and I was used to getting what I wanted, and I wanted Mynoc.
I was sixteen when my time came. The same age as the Vault-Dweller, when he left his home. Some called it portentous, but I knew that it was the elders manipulating things. The drought afflicting the village was becoming serious, and the tribe’s crops were starting to fail. The elders consulted and decided that all these things were omens. Just as the Vault-Dweller had been sent out into the world to save his people from dying of thirst, so would I. The High Elder, only daughter of the Vault-Dweller and matron of our tribe, called me to her tent to explain the quest I would undertake.
The Vaults had been built to preserve humanity, but they were never intended to house it indefinitely. Eventually the sheltered peoples would have to venture out into the Wastelands and make their own way in the world. But the great civilization which built them made sure they were properly equipped. It gave each Vault a special artifact, called the Garden of Eden Creation Kit. These GECKs would help the Vault-Dwellers reestablish a new paradise after returning to the surface. The Vault-Dweller had told the High Elder of this artifact when she was a girl, but she had forgotten about it, until she sat pondering the solution to the village’s crisis. And as soon as she remembered, she knew my destiny. Your mother even named you Jardín, she said. The GECK is your quest. Find it, and save our tribe.
All I was given was an empty water flask with the number 13 emblazoned on it, and a small bag of coins. Find the trader who brought us that flask, the High Elder said, and he can take you to Vault 13.
Mynoc met me at the bridge to see me off. He gave me a spear he had made, with a good flint head. I had always been better with bare hands than blades, but I accepted his gift because I knew it was his way of keeping me safe. I did not kiss him goodbye, because I said that I would be back soon. Of the many regrets I have collected in this life, that is one of my greatest.
I had explored the cliffs around Arroyo many times in my childhood, but never ventured as far as the village of Klamath, where I was told to find the flask trader. I found immediately that the romantic notions of adventure and travel that I had entertained were not so attractive in reality. After a week I arrived in Klamath, footsore and wind-bitten, hoping that Vault 13 would be very close.
Klamath was not what I had expected. Others of my tribe who had visited to trade returned with stories of the glory of civilization, but that was not what I saw. These great buildings were made of wood and stone, that was true, but they were dead things, the lifeless husks of a dead civilization. After the Vaults opened, people emerged and moved back into the houses of their ancestors, but they did not know how to care for and preserve them. This was a place of scavengers, but these bones had long since been picked clean. Our tents and huts might be small, but we made them, and we could make more. Excited as I had been to finally see what civilization looked like, Klamath was the first time I understood that civilization is not in the comforts enjoyed, but rather the community created. I resolved not to stay long in this place.
The first place I went was the tavern, because I had been told to inquire about the trader there. I learned that the trader, Vic, lived in a shack near the edge of town but hadn’t been seen for weeks. He had left to deliver something to the Den, a town farther east. I noted in the tavern that a fellow tribal was doing the lifting, and asked about him. The “civilized” woman told me that the tribal was an indentured servant, working to pay off a debt he had incurred when he got rowdy one night and smashed up the place. I sensed as she told me this that she was expecting me to object on the tribal’s behalf, but I did not feel offended. If the tribal had broken the property of another, he should fix it - that was how things worked in Arroyo. I checked Vic’s shack, restocked my supplies, and left Klamath bound for the Den.
Two weeks of walking this time, and I grew to hate the desert like a person. It seemed more and more to me that the land was spiteful and mean, and that it was making all this trouble, causing a drought in my village and hiding the trader Vic, just to be difficult. I was the Chosen One, so it was to be expected that I would have to go out into the world and save my people, but the desert was just being petty. How silly would fate seem, if I failed to find water and died in the Wastelands? And yet, I always seemed to find water. Soon enough I resigned myself to the certainty that although I was fated to save Arroyo, fate would put obstacles in my path so that my story would be greater. Heroes are defined by their trials, after all. It seemed unnecessary to me, as I did not feel like I had anything to prove, but I would play along. I just hoped that fate would hurry things up so I could go back home.
The Den was like Klamath, a graveyard inhabited by vultures. But these vultures were worse than the people of Klamath. The Den traded in slaves. That was how I found Vic. He had been taken as a slave by Metzger, the leader of the Den’s slavers. I demanded to speak to Metzger, and was taken into their husk building.
I want to buy the slave called Vic, I said. He nodded amiably, and asked how much he was worth to me. I considered trying to bargain, but I knew I was not as experienced as Metzger would be and I did not have time to waste. I offered him all the money I had left after journeying to the Den: 122 pieces of gold. Metzger just laughed. He said that for 122 gold, he would sell me a foot; the whole trader would cost 1000. I left the slavers’ warehouse, my face burning hot. I found a weapons dealer and plunked my bag of coins on the counter. I need a firearm, I said. The dealer told me it would cost me 500 gold, and I told him that I only had 122. Then I’ll sell you a spare magazine, he said. I was so angry, I took the spear off my back slowly, to scare him a little, and said, How much for this spear? The dealer snorted and waved me away.
Perhaps my destiny should have been kept secret from me. Perhaps I should have been treated more equally throughout my childhood. But having known that I was the Chosen one all my life, I was too used to getting my way. And with my village threatened by drought and my only path to saving them a trader locked away by slavers, I never considered that I could do wrong. I thrust the spear up under the dealer’s chin quickly, letting him feel the point before he could react. And then I reached over the counter and took a pistol, and I held that up and pointed it at his head. I said, Now give me three magazines. And when he had, I put away my spear and left, taking my bag of coins with me.
I went straight to the slavers’ warehouse, but this time I did not ask to see their leader. Instead I shot the door guard through the chest and burst in. The startled slavers scrambled for their guns and opened fire, but I was not afraid. I was the Chosen One; I could not fail. I shot each of them, and proceeded through to Metzger’s office. I was rather shocked when, as I opened the door, the discharge of a shotgun put several small beads in my arm. I shot Metzger dead, and shot him again, because I was angry. I had to sit down on the floor of his office and use the flint head of my spear, untied from the shaft, to dig out the beads. I took all of Metzger’s slaver money, because it had become obvious to me that I would need it. Then I went to the slave pens, and released Vic. I said, I have saved you, so now you are in my debt. I need to find Vault 13. When I have, you will be free. Vic was only too happy to accept.
After that, I carried the spear like a staff, and kept the head tucked into my belt. I felt that it would serve me better as a tool than a weapon. With my gun and my indentured servant, I was well on my way toward being civilized. Vic and I set out into the desert in search of the GECK.
Chapter IV
Now that you have heard the stories of my ancestor and his journeys with the Vault-Dweller, you are ready to hear my story. I am Jardín, granddaughter of the granddaughter of Tycho the Righteous, and in my youth, I was called the Chosen One within the village of Arroyo. I was born the very hour that our tribe's leader, the great Vault-Dweller, passed on from this world, and throughout my life I heard whispers of a great destiny before me. I did not know what this destiny was to be, nor could anyone tell me. But they believed that I was their leader reborn, and for a time I believed as well. I was given special treatment in all things. Our wisest taught me to read and reason, our strongest to fight, our surest to shoot. It was as if I was being prepared for a great journey from birth, and yet no one knew where I would have to go or what I would have to face, and so they tried to prepare me for everything. I tried, but I also resented the weight being placed on my shoulders. I had grown up hearing stories of the Vault-Dweller and the founders; how could I ever measure up to such legends?
I blew off steam in the usual teenager ways. I snuck out of my aunt’s tent, consorted with boys, got into trouble. Particularly with Mynoc. Concerns about our behavior aside, the elders of the village were concerned about me forming bonds in the village that I might not be able to break from when the time came. I did not care. I was the Chosen One, and I was used to getting what I wanted, and I wanted Mynoc.
I was sixteen when my time came. The same age as the Vault-Dweller, when he left his home. Some called it portentous, but I knew that it was the elders manipulating things. The drought afflicting the village was becoming serious, and the tribe’s crops were starting to fail. The elders consulted and decided that all these things were omens. Just as the Vault-Dweller had been sent out into the world to save his people from dying of thirst, so would I. The High Elder, only daughter of the Vault-Dweller and matron of our tribe, called me to her tent to explain the quest I would undertake.
The Vaults had been built to preserve humanity, but they were never intended to house it indefinitely. Eventually the sheltered peoples would have to venture out into the Wastelands and make their own way in the world. But the great civilization which built them made sure they were properly equipped. It gave each Vault a special artifact, called the Garden of Eden Creation Kit. These GECKs would help the Vault-Dwellers reestablish a new paradise after returning to the surface. The Vault-Dweller had told the High Elder of this artifact when she was a girl, but she had forgotten about it, until she sat pondering the solution to the village’s crisis. And as soon as she remembered, she knew my destiny. Your mother even named you Jardín, she said. The GECK is your quest. Find it, and save our tribe.
All I was given was an empty water flask with the number 13 emblazoned on it, and a small bag of coins. Find the trader who brought us that flask, the High Elder said, and he can take you to Vault 13.
Mynoc met me at the bridge to see me off. He gave me a spear he had made, with a good flint head. I had always been better with bare hands than blades, but I accepted his gift because I knew it was his way of keeping me safe. I did not kiss him goodbye, because I said that I would be back soon. Of the many regrets I have collected in this life, that is one of my greatest.
I had explored the cliffs around Arroyo many times in my childhood, but never ventured as far as the village of Klamath, where I was told to find the flask trader. I found immediately that the romantic notions of adventure and travel that I had entertained were not so attractive in reality. After a week I arrived in Klamath, footsore and wind-bitten, hoping that Vault 13 would be very close.
Klamath was not what I had expected. Others of my tribe who had visited to trade returned with stories of the glory of civilization, but that was not what I saw. These great buildings were made of wood and stone, that was true, but they were dead things, the lifeless husks of a dead civilization. After the Vaults opened, people emerged and moved back into the houses of their ancestors, but they did not know how to care for and preserve them. This was a place of scavengers, but these bones had long since been picked clean. Our tents and huts might be small, but we made them, and we could make more. Excited as I had been to finally see what civilization looked like, Klamath was the first time I understood that civilization is not in the comforts enjoyed, but rather the community created. I resolved not to stay long in this place.
The first place I went was the tavern, because I had been told to inquire about the trader there. I learned that the trader, Vic, lived in a shack near the edge of town but hadn’t been seen for weeks. He had left to deliver something to the Den, a town farther east. I noted in the tavern that a fellow tribal was doing the lifting, and asked about him. The “civilized” woman told me that the tribal was an indentured servant, working to pay off a debt he had incurred when he got rowdy one night and smashed up the place. I sensed as she told me this that she was expecting me to object on the tribal’s behalf, but I did not feel offended. If the tribal had broken the property of another, he should fix it - that was how things worked in Arroyo. I checked Vic’s shack, restocked my supplies, and left Klamath bound for the Den.
Two weeks of walking this time, and I grew to hate the desert like a person. It seemed more and more to me that the land was spiteful and mean, and that it was making all this trouble, causing a drought in my village and hiding the trader Vic, just to be difficult. I was the Chosen One, so it was to be expected that I would have to go out into the world and save my people, but the desert was just being petty. How silly would fate seem, if I failed to find water and died in the Wastelands? And yet, I always seemed to find water. Soon enough I resigned myself to the certainty that although I was fated to save Arroyo, fate would put obstacles in my path so that my story would be greater. Heroes are defined by their trials, after all. It seemed unnecessary to me, as I did not feel like I had anything to prove, but I would play along. I just hoped that fate would hurry things up so I could go back home.
The Den was like Klamath, a graveyard inhabited by vultures. But these vultures were worse than the people of Klamath. The Den traded in slaves. That was how I found Vic. He had been taken as a slave by Metzger, the leader of the Den’s slavers. I demanded to speak to Metzger, and was taken into their husk building.
I want to buy the slave called Vic, I said. He nodded amiably, and asked how much he was worth to me. I considered trying to bargain, but I knew I was not as experienced as Metzger would be and I did not have time to waste. I offered him all the money I had left after journeying to the Den: 122 pieces of gold. Metzger just laughed. He said that for 122 gold, he would sell me a foot; the whole trader would cost 1000. I left the slavers’ warehouse, my face burning hot. I found a weapons dealer and plunked my bag of coins on the counter. I need a firearm, I said. The dealer told me it would cost me 500 gold, and I told him that I only had 122. Then I’ll sell you a spare magazine, he said. I was so angry, I took the spear off my back slowly, to scare him a little, and said, How much for this spear? The dealer snorted and waved me away.
Perhaps my destiny should have been kept secret from me. Perhaps I should have been treated more equally throughout my childhood. But having known that I was the Chosen one all my life, I was too used to getting my way. And with my village threatened by drought and my only path to saving them a trader locked away by slavers, I never considered that I could do wrong. I thrust the spear up under the dealer’s chin quickly, letting him feel the point before he could react. And then I reached over the counter and took a pistol, and I held that up and pointed it at his head. I said, Now give me three magazines. And when he had, I put away my spear and left, taking my bag of coins with me.
I went straight to the slavers’ warehouse, but this time I did not ask to see their leader. Instead I shot the door guard through the chest and burst in. The startled slavers scrambled for their guns and opened fire, but I was not afraid. I was the Chosen One; I could not fail. I shot each of them, and proceeded through to Metzger’s office. I was rather shocked when, as I opened the door, the discharge of a shotgun put several small beads in my arm. I shot Metzger dead, and shot him again, because I was angry. I had to sit down on the floor of his office and use the flint head of my spear, untied from the shaft, to dig out the beads. I took all of Metzger’s slaver money, because it had become obvious to me that I would need it. Then I went to the slave pens, and released Vic. I said, I have saved you, so now you are in my debt. I need to find Vault 13. When I have, you will be free. Vic was only too happy to accept.
After that, I carried the spear like a staff, and kept the head tucked into my belt. I felt that it would serve me better as a tool than a weapon. With my gun and my indentured servant, I was well on my way toward being civilized. Vic and I set out into the desert in search of the GECK.