Chapitre 71: Vol. ll Chapter 16 “Recharge our batteries.” (Part 2 of 2)
The crowds in the night market clustered around stalls or burning barrels. Rosie followed Charlie to the hospital first. She'd insisted on going alone and only staying if they needed her. Rosie went anyway, wanting to help, but wanting to stay close more. Most of the benches in the waiting room were empty. A pair of deputies, one with a broken nose, sat nearby as Rosie waited. Charlie returned and went over to them, taking the injured man's head in her hands.
"Rachel, come over here." Rosie answered to her fake name. Charlie took her right hand and gently positioned her thumb and forefinger either side of the break. "Feel that?" Rosie nodded. "On three." The deputy braced. "One." Charlie yanked Rosie's hand down in a sharp jerk. Pushing her back as the man yelped and blood splattered onto the tile floor. Charlie checked the nose again, prompting Rosie to do the same. "Feel the difference?" Charlie waved away a fistful of caps with a smile and turned to leave.
"Hey, wait." Rosie froze, worried she'd given something away. She turned and forced a smile. "A bunch of us are getting a drink, or six, at the Chop House, north side. You should come by, so I can thank you with a beer." The deputy fidgeted, smiling awkwardly. Rosie didn't know what to say, she wasn't used to friendly faces in uniform. She looked to Charlie, who seemed to find it funny.
"We're heading out soon." Rosie turned and left, trying to resist the urge to run.
"He likes you." Charlie's amusement only seemed to grow as they walked back into the market. "And he was pretty too." Rosie hadn't noticed anything beyond the uniform. "You must have had practice turning men down, you know before." Charlie picked up on something in Rosie's abrupt manner and quickened pace.
"Not really." Rosie stopped by a nearby food vendor, bubbling and hissing pans filling the night air with hot and sour scents. "Everyone knew I was with John, and…no one really talked to me. They didn't like me." Rosie thought back to the conversations that didn't include her. Jokes she wasn't in on. Going weeks without saying more than two words to anyone but John. "Ignorant fucking morons." Charlie slipped an arm around Rosie, a grin hiding the concern in her eyes.
"Fuck 'em." Rosie knew Charlie didn't mean that, she'd risked her life for strangers. "Still, managed to spot the radio frequency they're using."
"That's why you fixed his nose." Smart Rosie thought.
"Well yeah, that and it needed fixing. Now we can listen in, send false messages."
"I can track their positions too." Rosie had already piggybacked on the channel. She thought about mentioning trying to break into the Brotherhood network, but didn't want to ruin Charlie's mood.
A walk through the night market brought them to a bustling wooden building by the west gate. Drunks staggered outside in groups, the sound of laughter rising into the dark from the balcony. "It's not the most luxurious, but it's clean. And there's something you might like inside." Charlie went in with Rosie following.
"Welcome to the Bathhouse." A striking brunette in a short red dress greeted them, curved blades sheathed on her bare thighs. "What can we do for you?" The woman stepped close to Charlie, running her hand down her arm and leading her in.
"Just a table and a room out back. For now." Charlie winked at Rosie as the woman in red summoned another woman in an equally revealing outfit. Charlie picked out a table in the corner. Clear sight lines to the exits, well within reach of the good cover behind the bar. A sharp movement drew Rosie's gaze away from the shortest outfits and longest hair she'd ever seen.
Behind the bar, mounted on rails, sat a round orb of metal. Prehensile limbs and a single eye sprouting out. Rosie smiled as the bot whirred round, plucking a bottle in each limb and pouring drinks for the people at the bar.
"I thought you'd like that." Rosie turned back to Charlie, noticing the waitress had gone. "I ordered us two specials and cocktails."
"The women here, are they…" Rosie couldn't think of a polite word.
"Working girls." Charlie picked up on Rosie's unease. "But it's not like The Grand, they're clean, well fed, and free to leave."
"They were women in the...where I used to live that did that." Rosie tried not to think of the men that visited her mother. They stopped calling as the solvents took hold, staining her teeth and skin, leaving her gaunt.
"World's oldest profession. At least here they're safe. Well, safer anyway." Charlie seemed to have a different attitude towards this place than Rosie did.
The waitress returned with thick cut meat, well charred, and fried tatos. "And for you we have a Dirty Wastelander and for you, a Hard Lemonade." The waitress lingered on the suggestive names of the drinks. "You girls need anything, let me know." Rosie tried to focus on the food, not the shortest outfits she'd ever seen. She ate and drank, the kick of the vodka hidden within the fizzing tang.
"Not bad right?" Charlie sat back, full and relaxed.
"Yeah, it's ok." The rowdy atmosphere put Rosie on edge, even though the place looked half empty. "Why don't you get us a couple of drinks and meet me out back. Same again." Charlie tossed a small pouch of caps over the table. "Pay for the food and room too." Rosie stood and forced a smile, hoping to mask her nerves.
Rosie's frustration grew as the seemingly normal surroundings unnerved her. Waitresses carried trays of food, others vied for attention, drunk men staggered around in good humour. The bot whirred to stop in front of her as she slid through a gap at the bar.
"Hard lemonade and a Dirty Watselander." The bot span plucking, pouring and returning the bottles in a few seconds. She grasped the caps tight, looking anxiously for some way of paying.
"Twenty caps, when you're ready Miss." Rosie turned to the man working an antique till at the end of the bar. Older than her, cropped hair and stubble. He smiled warmly as Rosie looked embarrassed. "Old Bob here is great at mixing drinks, not so much with money."
"It…He's still pretty neat though." Rosie admired the design. The close infantry support bot looked fit to scrap, yet it moved well enough.
"You should see him shoot." Rosie glanced round and realised just how much havoc the ball of scrap could cause. "Was there anything else?" She paid for the food and room, throwing in the change so she wouldn't risk dropping the unfamiliar shapes. Rosie felt pleased with her simple interaction.
"I'm Rachel." She thrust out her hand like Charlie taught her.
"Billy. Your room's outback." Rosie started to head out the side door, happy with getting an introduction right. "Hey!" She froze, turning back slowly. Relief gave way to embarrassment as Billy held up the drinks she'd forgotten.
The cool night air and drop in noise came as a welcome change. Behind the wooden buildings sat six steel containers, stacked double, each one divided into two rooms. Charlie sat outside in a plastic chair, an empty one next to it. Rosie poked her head in the door of the square tin can of a room. A single bed, a small table, and a radio bolted to the wall.
"This is nice." Rosie didn't know if this felt more like a test or a joke.
"It's cheap, quiet, and near a gate." Charlie motioned to the building. "You know Paul and I love this place." She pointed to a partially steamed glass door and windows nearby. Rosie stepped closer, peering in on the people bathing in big blue tubs. The steam redirected from the kitchen and up into the rooms through steel ducting. "After three days in the field, we'd come here. Eat, drink, soak in a tub for hours."
"You sit in your own dirty water for hours?" Rosie didn't think that sounded nice at all.
"Not the point." Charlie only said that when Rosie had a point. "We used to walk miles to get here. Now we have better than this at home. And that's thanks to you." Charlie sat her down and put a drink in her hand. Rosie didn't know what to say. It seemed strange that out of everything they would like being able to sit in dirty water most.
Charlie slept first. Rosie promised to wake her in four hours and had no intention of doing so. Before telling Charlie and the others about the battery she had to be sure. That meant checking the data by hand, to rule out a sensor fault, something easily done on a terminal. Rosie didn't expect to find that, but it beat the alternative. She began copying out numbers and statistics, writing slowly, keeping things clear. She wrote page after page in the little notepad, breaking her pencil twice.
It took two more pages to find out what she already knew. Tomorrow, she thought, I'll tell them tomorrow. Cigar smoke and the outline of man brought a fleeting hope that Brandon had turned up, it wasn't him. Rosie glanced at the nearby assault carbine and her hand slid to the axe in her boot.
"Rachel? It's Billy, we met inside." She recognised the man from behind the bar, burning cigar in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.
"Yeah?" Rosie shifted her weight, ready.
"You don't need to keep watch, you and your mother are safe here." Rosie laughed, hoping Charlie heard that.
"No, I...I can't sleep." Rosie lied, she could sleep on the cold hard ground, yet the lie brought a flicker of understanding.
"Bad dreams?"
"No, well not any more. I used to have bad dreams about robots." They shared a laugh. "Not like old Bob, you know the ones that look like women." Rosie had to keep from saying Assaultron. "What are yours about?"
"You don't want to know. Shit, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Rosie believed the fear in tired eyes. "Drink?" Billy changed the subject by extending a bottle of brown liquid. Rosie shifted awkwardly, not wanting to give the wrong idea. "You met Roxy right?" Rosie nodded, guessing that meant the woman with the knives. "I don't do anything that Roxy wouldn't like." They laughed at the half joke. "It's just a drink. On the house." Rosie pulled her feet from the chair and poured herself a drink from the bottle with a red R.
"Those lady bots, Assualtrons, I know a man who has one." Billy had a fondness in his voice. "Does his gardening if you can believe that." Rosie could.
"I wonder if one could mix drinks." Like Janey. Billy chuckled and threw back the bottle.
"I think if we had one here we'd put it to work upstairs." Rosie laughed, but Billy didn't.
"Wait, you are joking right?"
"I'm serious. One of those metal bitches would rake in the caps." Billy's face stayed serious, then broke into a grin. Rosie still didn't know if he'd been joking.
"You know what's funny, all those years of nightmares about bots kept me up." Rosie threw back her drink. "And now I understand bots perfectly and it's people that keep me up." Rosie didn't know whether her fifth drink, or the man's good nature made her open up. Maybe because he's a stranger, she thought.
"People are unpredictable. I've known men turn on their oldest friend, and I've seen others risk their lives for total strangers." Billy swirled the bottle and threw back another glug, blotting out the memory that kept him awake. "Point is, you set to wondering why people do what they do, you're gonna lose a lot more sleep." Rosie took the offer of a top up, the smoky taste and quiet underlining the good advice.
"What brings you to the Shadow?" Billy asked after a moment, very much changing the subject.
"In town for work." Rosie answered casually, while technically not lying.
"Security?" Billy gestured to Rosie's carbine, wrapped in strips of sackcloth and resting within reach.
"No, nothing like that, we're just careful. We work salvage mostly, pre-war tech." Rosie had to hide a smile as she told the not quite truth.
"It's good that you're careful." Billy's eyes flashed over with fear. "Stay out of the City. Whatever they're paying, it's not worth it."
"I will." Rosie answered, wanting to ask why but knowing better.
"I have a friend, well, I know a man who sells pre-war tech. If he comes in I'll introduce you." Billy stood to leave.
"Thanks."
"You get some rest. Those beds are clean, and a lot more comfortable than they look. Goodnight Rachel." Billy walked back towards the building.
"Goodnight Billy." Rosie didn't think he'd sleep, but the whiskey had made her tired. She pulled the chair round, resting her feet on it, and drifted off. Eager to tell Charlie about another successful interaction with a stranger.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone