Jace pushed open the door to the Red Rocket truck stop.
The night wind rushed in after him, scattering dust that had gathered on the floor for who knew how many years.
He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness inside.
Codsworth drifted in behind him, all three of his “eyes” lighting up at once and bathing the room in a ghastly white glow.
Jace threw the canvas bag from his shoulder onto the floor.
CLANG!
The things inside knocked together with a series of dull impacts: mines, grenades, bullets, jewelry, the sniper hunting rifle, the combat rifle, the machete…
all jumbled together.
He stood there, staring down at the pile for two seconds.
Since waking up yesterday, he had not had a real meal.
No, that was wrong.
Since crawling out of the cryopod, he had not eaten anything at all.
He touched his stomach.
It did not hurt.
It did not growl.
It was just…
empty.
A very strange kind of emptiness.
The simple emptiness of “there is nothing inside,” but he did not feel hungry at all.
His body did not seem to need food right now.
“Are you all right?” Codsworth asked, floating over.
“I feel strange.
I’m not hungry, but I still want to eat something.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” spun once.
“It has been two days since you left Vault 111, and you have not eaten a thing.”
“I will find something for you.
Let you try some Wasteland cuisine.” Codsworth drifted into the work area in the back.
Jace stood in place and removed the bandage from his right arm.
He looked down at his right forearm.
Pale, veins clearly visible, just like when he had first awakened in Vault 111.
He flexed his fingers.
They moved freely.
The wound had already healed, without even leaving a scar.
He remembered the radiation in the cave out back.
Moderate levels.
Enough to kill an ordinary person if they stayed too long.
But when he had stood there, he had felt nothing.
He needed to test it.
He turned, pushed open the door, and walked to the entrance of the cave behind the station.
The Mole Rat corpses had been cleared away, but the charred, acrid smell still lingered.
He crouched and looked inside.
Pitch black.
He could not see anything.
He did not go in.
He only leaned his head inside and took a deep breath.
Radiation level?
No idea.
What did it feel like?
Nothing.
He waited a few seconds, then took another deep breath.
Still nothing.
Jace pulled his head back, stood, and checked the Pip-Boy on his wrist.
The number in the body radiation column had not moved at all.
“Just as I thought,” he murmured.
When he returned inside, Codsworth had already floated back.
One mechanical arm was gripping several pieces of firewood, while another held some supplies.
“What’s that?” Jace asked.
“Food.
Those Mole Rats outside.
I cut off some meat, soaked it in water to remove the smell, and gathered some wild greens nearby.
There were also a few packs of compressed rations we found in the building earlier.”
He tossed the branches onto the ground outside, then arranged stones into a fire pit.
Codsworth floated over, built a frame for a pot from branches, and used his built-in flamethrower to light a strip of rag.
He set the rag burning and tucked it under the wood.
Flames leapt up with a crackle.
Codsworth floated out again, and when he returned, he had several green twigs in one mechanical arm.
“What are those?”
“Wild ‘herbs.’ I have spent two hundred years in this area.
I know which plants are edible and which can be used for seasoning.”
He skewered the meat on thin branches and set them beside the fire.
Then he dug through the backpack and pulled out several packs of compressed rations.
“Pre-war rations.
Hard as stones, but much better after boiling.”
The firelight shone across Codsworth’s metal shell, turning the rust spots a dull red.
He poured some water into the pot.
“Where did you get water?”
“The rainwater collection barrel at Sanctuary Hills.
Stored a few months ago.
This month’s rainwater is not safe to drink.”
As he spoke, he tossed the wild greens and rations into the pot, hung it steadily over the frame, then planted the skewered meat beside the fire.
Jace sat by the fire pit, watching the meat slowly change color.
Fat dripped into the flames with a hiss.
The pot bubbled and simmered.
Codsworth hovered nearby, occasionally stirring it with a mechanical arm.
Codsworth handed him a roasted skewer.
Jace took it and bit down.
The meat was tough, much leaner than pork, and hard to chew.
But the gamey smell really was gone.
Or rather, it had been covered by the smoky, scorched flavor.
There was also a faint herbal scent, probably from those “herbs.”
Edible.
“Did you used to do this?”
“What?”
“Cook.”
Codsworth was silent for a second.
“I used to do it often.
Back then, people would come.
Later…” He paused.
“Later, there was only me.”
Jace said nothing.
The food in the pot finished cooking.
Codsworth carried it over and set it on the floor in front of the sofa.
Jace looked down at the pot of mush.
The wild greens had cooked down, the rations had swollen with water, and everything had mixed into a grayish-green mess that looked terrible.
But the smell was real.
It smelled good.
He picked up the spoon he had taken from the bar and scooped up a mouthful.
Hot.
But he did not stop.
A second bite.
A third.
He wolfed it down, ignoring the heat and the choking.
The mush poured into his mouth like water, and in less than five minutes, the pot was scraped clean.
Jace set down the spoon and leaned back against the sofa.
There was food in his stomach.
That “empty” feeling was gone.
Codsworth’s “eyes” curved slightly.
“You were starving.”
“How does your first meal in two hundred years feel?” Codsworth asked.
Jace chewed the meat in his mouth and thought about it.
“Better than I expected.”
He stood, walked over to the pile of loot, rummaged through it, pulled his backpack out from underneath, emptied it, and stuffed it with some cloth.
“I’m going to sleep for a while.
Keep watch for me.”
Codsworth nodded.
Jace picked up the backpack and walked into the cave.
The radiation in the cave had no effect on him.
That had already been confirmed.
And it was warmer in the cave than inside the building.
The night wind outside could not blow in.
He walked to the deepest part of the cave, sat down against the wall, and placed the backpack behind his head.
He closed his eyes.
For some reason, the longer he slept, the warmer he felt.
He was standing on a ridge between fields.
Mud lay beneath his feet, soft enough that each step sank half an inch.
The rice in the paddies had not been harvested yet.
In the distance were mountains.
Not very tall, but green, with a few pine trees on their peaks.
Wind blew from the mountains, carrying the smell of rice stalks and a hint of cow dung.
It did not stink.
It was the kind of smell he had known for many years.
Someone was calling him.
“Come back and eat.”
It was his grandmother’s voice.
He opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out.
He wanted to run over, but his feet were stuck in the mud and would not come free.
“Hurry up, the food’s getting cold.”
The voice grew farther and farther away.
Jace struggled forward, but every step felt like stepping into glue.
The field ridge blurred, the mountains drew farther away, and that voice…
vanished.
He opened his eyes.
The cave was still dark.
Only a little moonlight seeped in through the entrance, drawing a pale edge across the ground.
Jace lay there without moving.
He stared at the black rock overhead, the images from the dream still lingering in his mind.
The field ridge, the rice stubble, the mountains in the distance, his grandmother’s voice.
Home.
He remembered the farmland in his old hometown.
When he went back during summer vacations as a child, he would follow his grandmother to the vegetable patch to pick long beans and pull radishes.
Wild grass grew along the ridges, soft underfoot.
His grandmother walked ahead, and he followed behind.
The sun beat down, cicadas cried, and heat rose from the soil.
Then he thought of the gray, ruined scenery he had seen in the Wasteland.
He thought of the Raider’s diary.
He blinked.
Cold wind poured in through the cave entrance and brushed across his face, but he did not feel cold at all.
He sat up and pulled the backpack out from under his head.
Then he stood and walked out of the cave.
The moonlight was a little brighter than before.
Codsworth floated inside the room, all three of his “eyes” watching him.
“Although you have slept for two hundred years, you really ought to sleep a little longer now.”
He glanced at the Pip-Boy.
Four in the morning.
Something was missing inside him.
He could not sleep.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“Where to?”
“Isn’t there a farm nearby?
I want to have a look.”
Before dawn had fully broken, Jace was already standing at the entrance to Abernathy Farm.
The farm was not large.
A few battered houses surrounded a small yard.
The soil in the yard had been turned over, and some crops he could not name were planted there.
Several Brahmin were lying in a corner.
When they saw him approach, they raised their heads and grunted twice.
A man walked out of the house.
He looked around forty, with a scruffy beard and a dirty work outfit.
He held a pipe rifle in his hands.
He was not raising it, but he had not lowered it either.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Passing through.”
The man’s eyes moved over him.
Leather armor, backpack, gun at his waist.
Then he glanced behind him, confirming there was no one else.
“What do you want?”
Jace thought for a moment and did not mention the diary.
“I heard you ran into Raiders before.
I came to ask whether you need help.”
The man froze for a moment.
Then he lowered the gun.
“I’m Blake.
Blake Abernathy.”
“Jace.”
Blake stared at him for a few seconds, as if trying to read something from his face.
Jace did not look away.
He just stood there.
“…Come in,” Blake finally said.
He turned and walked into the house.
Jace followed.
The inside was just as run-down as the outside.
Several farming tools hung on the wall, and a few grimy plates sat on the table.
A woman sat in the corner with her head lowered, her face hard to see.
“My daughter, Lucy.”
The woman raised her head.
Her eyes were red, as if she had just been crying.
Jace said nothing.
Blake walked to the table and sat down.
“You want to help?”
“Yeah.”
“Then listen.” Blake’s voice lowered.
“A few days ago, a group of Raiders came.
We fought them off a few times, but then…
then they stole my daughter’s necklace.”
“Necklace?”
“It was passed down from her mother’s family.
Those animals took it.”
Jace remembered the line from the diary: “They stole the necklace from around her neck.”
“Do you know who did it?”
Blake nodded.
“USAF Satellite Station Olivia.
That’s where those Raiders are holed up.
Their leader is a woman named Ack-Ack.”
Jace was silent for two seconds.
“I’ll get it back for you.”
On the road.
Jace walked ahead in the power armor, each step landing with a dull thud.
Codsworth floated behind him, his three “eyes” glowing faintly green in the dark.
After a while, Codsworth spoke first.
“You are going to storm a camp full of vicious Raiders just for that farmer?”
Jace did not answer right away.
His head was lowered.
Dawn had only just begun to brighten the sky, and as he looked at the road lit by the newly risen sun, he switched off the power armor’s searchlight.
“I’m hungry.”
Codsworth was silent for a moment.
“You just ate.”
“Not that kind of hunger.”
Jace stopped and turned to face him.
Sunlight fell across the gray-white shell of the power armor, making the unlit searchlight look like a closed eye.
“I can’t sleep,” he said softly.
“There’s a piece missing inside me.”
Codsworth did not interrupt.
“That farmer,” Jace continued, “his farm is small and broken down.
The crops in the field are withering, and the house is full of a sadness that won’t go away.”
He paused.
“My grandmother had a field once, too.”
Codsworth’s three eyes flickered softly.
Jace turned and continued forward.
The power armor’s heavy footsteps sounded steadily on the road, one after another.
“…When the soul is hungry,” Codsworth’s voice drifted gently from behind him, warm and certain, “it is indeed much harder to bear than an empty stomach.”
Jace did not look back.
“Let’s hurry.
I want to sleep properly.”