Jace stared at the rust-covered robot and, for reasons he could not quite explain, felt himself relax.
It was like walking for a long time through a completely unfamiliar city, only to suddenly spot a convenience store on the corner that he used to visit all the time.
Like getting lost and finally seeing a road sign he recognized.
But he quickly pushed that feeling back down.
No.
He could not act like he knew Codsworth.
He could not act like he already knew what Codsworth would say or do.
In the game, Codsworth was an NPC.
A program.
A robot he could talk to, command, and modify however he liked.
But here, Codsworth was a being that had survived alone in the Wasteland for two hundred years.
It had its own memories, its own experiences, its own…
judgment.
Jace could not let him think something was strange.
“…Thanks,” he said, his voice still a little dry.
“You just…
saved me.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” turned, his tone still that cheerful British butler voice.
“Oh, guest, you are far too kind.
Strictly speaking, I merely dealt with a few bits of rubbish and happened to remove you from trouble in the process.
As for myself, those pipe weapons the Raiders were using would leave no more than a scratch on me.
General Atomics International products do come with a certain guarantee of quality.”
He paused.
One of his three mechanical arms extended and pointed at the leather armor Jace was wearing.
“However, your equipment…
well, forgive my candor, but it is a little shabby.
Did you just come out of Vault 111?
I remember that Vault being built into the hill.
I passed by it several times after the war, and the door was always closed.
How did you open it?”
“I used the Pip-Boy.” Jace raised his left hand, showing the dark gray prototype.
“Found it inside.”
Codsworth’s gaze fell on the device, and all three of his “eyes” flickered at once.
“This model…” His tone carried a hint of confusion.
“I have never seen it before.
I have seen quite a few pre-War Pip-Boys, but this one…”
“What is it?”
“Nothing, guest.” Codsworth’s tone returned to normal.
“It simply seems a little different.
Perhaps it was an improved model from a later production run.
You said you just woke up?
What do you mean?”
Jace nodded.
“Yeah.
I was in a hibernation pod…
for a very long time.”
“A hibernation pod,” Codsworth repeated, curiosity entering his voice.
“So you were frozen?
That pre-War cryogenic technology?”
“Yes.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” turned, as if processing the information.
“And what about the others, guest?
Vault 111 must have had many residents.
Were they frozen like you?”
Jace was silent for a second.
He had expected this question.
“They’re all dead,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
“Most of the life-support systems in the hibernation pods were damaged during an attack sixty years ago.
Someone forced their way into the Vault.
I don’t know what they wanted, but after they left, most of the pods stopped working.”
“Most?” Codsworth caught the word.
Jace paused.
“Mine broke too,” he said.
“When I woke up, the pod door was closed, but the temperature inside hadn’t been cryogenic for a long time.
The system showed a failure.
Every indicator was red.
Theoretically…
I should already be dead.”
That much was true.
He had seen the corpses in those sleep pods.
He had seen the failure reports on the terminal screens.
Codsworth fell silent for several seconds.
His three “eyes” flickered rapidly, as if he were processing several pieces of information at once, or like a person staring off into space while thinking.
“Then you…” His voice had slowed compared to before.
“I don’t remember much,” Jace said, his own voice slower as well.
“But after I woke up, I checked some experimental records about me on the Vault terminals.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” fixed on him.
He did not interrupt.
“The records said I was…
a pre-War prisoner.
After I was captured, I was sent to Vault 111 as a test subject.” Jace’s voice was flat, as if he were talking about someone else.
“They injected me with something and tested some kind of radiation-simulation drug on me.
It didn’t work.
Later, they froze me, using me for whatever value was left, to test long-term tolerance to cryogenic hibernation.”
Codsworth was silent for several more seconds.
All three of his “eyes” stayed fixed on Jace without moving.
This silence lasted longer than any of the previous ones.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
When Codsworth finally spoke, the cheerfulness in his voice was gone.
In its place was something lower and heavier, something Jace had never heard from him before.
“You…
read all of the records?”
“I did.
On the terminal in the Overseer’s office.
The designation was ‘Test Subject 73.'”
Codsworth fell silent again.
“Then, now…” His mechanical arm lifted slightly, then lowered again, as though he were choosing his words carefully.
“What do you think?”
Jace froze for a moment.
What did he think?
He looked down at his hands.
Pale.
Whole.
Not his.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.
“Those experiments weren’t something I agreed to, but I survived.”
He raised his head and looked at Codsworth.
“All I know is that my name is Jace Tan now.
I chose it myself.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” flickered a few times.
“Jace Tan,” he repeated, the pronunciation a little more natural this time.
“A name you chose for yourself.”
“I understand.” His tone recovered somewhat, though it was still gentler than before.
“Then that is a question we can consider later.
Right now, the most important thing is that you survived.
No matter why, no matter who you used to be, you are standing here now.
Alive, with a name.
That is enough.”
“Do you feel anything?
Any discomfort?
Or…
anything else?”
Jace paused.
What did he feel?
He looked down at his hands.
His skin was pale, but intact.
His veins were clearly visible, but there was no frostbite, no necrosis.
He moved his fingers.
They responded smoothly and easily.
“Nothing.
I just…
woke up.
Like I had a nap.”
Codsworth did not speak right away.
“Jace,” Codsworth finally said, more serious than he had been at any point so far, “may I scan your vital signs?
Using my basic medical module.”
Jace’s heart skipped a beat.
A scan.
What would it detect?
Radiation-adaptive mutations?
A half-Ghoul constitution?
Things even he had not fully figured out yet?
But could he refuse?
Refusing would only look more suspicious.
“…All right.”
Codsworth moved a little closer.
From the end of one mechanical arm, a small probe extended, one Jace had not noticed before.
A faint beam swept over his body from head to toe, lasting about five seconds.
Then Codsworth retracted the probe and fell silent.
“What is it?” Jace asked.
Codsworth’s “eyes” turned.
“Your vital signs…
are stable,” he said, his tone a little odd.
“Very stable.
Heart rate, blood pressure, body temperature, all within normal ranges.
But…”
He paused.
“Your cellular metabolism is somewhat different from that of an ordinary person.
There are certain…
indicators that I am not entirely sure how to interpret.
My medical module is a pre-War civilian model.
Some things are beyond its ability to identify.”
Jace looked at him, a little surprised.
He accepted it just like that?
Codsworth seemed to understand what he was thinking.
“Jace, I have lived in the Wasteland for two hundred years.
I have seen glowing geckos, three-meter-tall mutants, and people who could eat radioactive dust and still keep walking.
Compared with all that, your little abnormality is…
well, hardly worth mentioning.”
A trace of humor entered Codsworth’s voice.
“Besides, you’re my friend now.
Whatever is unusual about a friend is that friend’s own business.
My job is to provide service, not to study my friends.”
Jace froze for a moment.
“Friend?”
“Of course.” Codsworth’s “eyes” curved slightly.
“You came out of Vault 111, you’re wearing a Pip-Boy, you needed help, you weren’t afraid when you saw me, and you thanked me for helping you.
To me, that is the definition of a friend.
In my heart, you are already my friend.”
“And,” Codsworth continued, “it has been two hundred and ten years since I last had a proper conversation with anyone.
The fact that you were willing to listen to my joke just now…
well, that means a great deal to me.”
He did not say “lonely.” He did not say “alone.”
But Jace understood.
Jace did not know what to say.
“Then…” he began, only to stop again.
“Then what I should do now,” Codsworth finished for him, “is help you deal with the problem right in front of you.
For example…”
He floated over to the three corpses.
“These Raiders have some useful items on them.
Would you like to help?”
Jace glanced at the bodies on the ground.
“Sure.”
He crouched and started searching the first corpse.
The moment his hand touched the clothes, he paused.
The body was still warm.
It had only just died.
He took a deep breath and continued searching.
There were a few rounds in the pockets, brass casings, but the bullets were crooked and uneven.
One look was enough to tell they had been hand-reloaded.
There was also a hardened piece of bread, a few scraps of paper, and a lighter.
He pocketed the bullets and the lighter, looked at the bread, then tossed it aside.
The second corpse had a deep gash across its neck, Codsworth’s circular saw had done that.
Jace looked away and focused on searching.
He found a few bottle caps, a small bottle of water, and a dagger.
The dagger’s edge was chipped, but it was still usable.
He tucked it into his belt.
“Jace,” Codsworth said from beside him, “may I take a look at those bottle caps?”
Jace handed over the ones he had just found.
Codsworth took them with one mechanical arm, raised them before his “eyes,” and examined them carefully in the gray-white daylight.
“These are in decent condition.
They can be used as money,” he said with the calm confidence of an expert.
“This junk?
Why?” Jace asked deliberately.
Codsworth’s “eyes” turned.
“To be precise, it is because of the water merchants from the Capital Wasteland.
After the war, they obtained clean, radiation-free purified water from deep underground or through industrial water purifiers, bottled it, and sold it to various settlements.”
“Purified water?” Jace looked at the bottle caps in his hand.
“What does that have to do with these?”
“Because the caravan companies do not take money.
They only accept bottle caps and food.”
“That is the key point.” Codsworth’s tone took on a faintly lecturing quality.
“The water merchants sell water, but they need people to help them collect bottle caps, because those bottle caps are their ‘raw materials.’ Their production lines require standard bottle caps to seal bottles.
The Wasteland can no longer produce new ones, so they can only use old pre-War bottle caps.
Therefore…”
He paused.
“If you bring bottle caps to them, they are willing to trade purified water for them.
And since everyone in the Wasteland needs purified water, everyone is willing to accept bottle caps.”
Jace understood.
“So the value of bottle caps…
is being propped up by the water merchants?”
“Exactly.
Without those outside water merchants, bottle caps would be nothing but rusty bits of metal.
But they need bottle caps, so bottle caps have value.
Other people accept them too, because they know that when they have no use for them, they can trade them for water.”
“These few are in good condition.
Not bent, not rusted through.
Keep them.
They will be useful later.”
Jace looked down at the bottle caps.
The Nuka-Cola logo was worn around the edges, but they were still mostly intact.
In the game, they had only been numbers, units of currency used in shops.
Now, holding them in his hand, he realized for the first time that these things actually had a history behind them.
The third corpse was the leader.
Aside from the things Codsworth had already pulled out, Jace felt something hard in an inner pocket.
A small notebook.
Classic Fallout setup.
Everyone kept a diary.
Jace opened the notebook.
The paper had yellowed, and the handwriting was crooked.
Some parts had been blurred by sweat until they were almost impossible to read.
He held it under the daylight and read.
“…Raided a farm today.
One woman dared to fight back.
Her mother begged us to let her go.
The captain cut her head off and took the necklace from her neck.”
“…The captain’s eyes are getting scarier.
Last night, while I was sleeping, he kept staring at me…”
“…What is that robot?
Why can it talk?
The boss said we’ll take it apart next time…”
The rest was unreadable, soaked through with blood.
Jace closed the notebook and was silent for a while.
“Jace?” Codsworth’s voice came from beside him.
Jace looked up.
“It’s nothing.” He put the notebook into his backpack.
“Just this guy’s diary.
What he wrote was…
something.”
“What was it about?”
“The things they did.
And…” Jace looked at Codsworth.
“You.
He wrote, ‘What is that robot?’ Said they were going to take you apart.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” flickered.
“Oh?” His tone was still cheerful, but Jace heard something else underneath it.
“Well, they cannot take me apart now, can they?”
“No.
They can’t.”
Jace stood and stretched his legs, which had gone numb from crouching.
His backpack now held a dozen or so rounds, a few bottle caps, a dagger, and a notebook.
It was not much, but in the Wasteland, every bit of supplies could mean the difference between life and death.
“Where to next?” he asked Codsworth.
“You are asking me?” Codsworth sounded a little surprised.
“Jace, you decide.
I merely provide suggestions.”
“…Do you know if there are any people nearby?” Jace decided not to think too much for now.
“Not Raiders.
Normal residents.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” turned, as if he were searching through stored information.
“Follow this road east for about half an hour, and there is a small town called Concord.
There are usually some people there.”
Jace looked east.
Under the gray-white sky, he could just make out the silhouettes of several taller buildings in the distance.
“I want to take a look.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” lit up.
“Would you like me to lead the way?”
Jace looked at the rust-covered robot.
The rust on his shell carried the marks of two hundred years.
The gray-white sky was reflected in his three “eyes,” and one mechanical arm was still stained with Raider blood.
Yet the way he asked, “Would you like me to lead the way?” sounded like a butler asking whether he should make a cup of tea.
Just now, Codsworth had scanned his body and discovered that something was wrong with him.
But he had not pressed for answers.
He had only said, “You survived.
That is enough.”
Jace did not know whether that was because Codsworth truly did not care, or because he was so lonely that as long as someone was willing to talk to him, nothing else mattered.
“All right.
Together.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” curved slightly.
This time, Jace was certain it was an expression.
“Then let us be off, Jace.
I will tell you a few more jokes along the way.
Some old pre-War ones, and some I wrote myself.
If you do not find them funny, please say so.
I will improve them.”
Jace smiled.
“Sure.”
The man and the machine threw the searched bodies farther away.
Jace took one last look at Sanctuary Hills.
The collapsed houses.
The red gas station.
The worn little bridge.
Then he turned and followed the silver robot east.
The wind passed through the ruins, carrying the smell of dust and blood.