Sinclair Feldman's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Sinclair walked through Ivanpath Village at dawn, his yellow eyes tracking the movement of traders and runners. He needed to understand the full supply chain before his communications network could protect it. Elder Mara's general store sat at the village center, its windows catching the early light. Inside, shelves held everything from canned food to salvaged tools. Sinclair pulled out his notebook and sketched the flow of goods—where they came from, where they went, who moved them. Three other traders worked the eastern routes, each one a potential node in his network. If they could all talk to each other in real time, the Scorpion Gang's interference would collapse. He closed the notebook and tucked it into his vest. The network wasn't just about towers and signals anymore. It was about the people who kept these villages alive. By mid-morning, he spotted something that made him stop. A refurbished Vault-Tec billboard glowed near the edge of the village, its vibrant lights advertising Martinez Radio with hours and directions. The thing worked even in daylight—it would be visible from the trading routes at night. Sinclair studied how the power cables ran to it and how the lights stayed steady. If the radio shop could afford a billboard like this, they had reliable power. That meant they could support communication equipment. He made a note in his book and moved on. The Camouflage Inn Depot sat ahead, its yellow and green walls bright against the desert sand. Sinclair pushed through the door and found traders clustered around tables. They swapped route information and talked about recent attacks. One trader mentioned a safe path around Devil's Canyon. Another complained about missing supply drops. Sinclair listened and took mental notes. These people already shared information—his network would just make it faster and more reliable. He bought a drink and joined a table, asking questions about who they trusted on the routes. On his way out, Sinclair passed a bronze statue mounted on an orange granite base. The Ivanpath Trader's Excellence Award showed a figure holding a detailed trade map. Someone had placed it near the inn entrance where everyone could see it. The village valued traders who connected distant communities. Sinclair touched the edge of the base and felt the rough stone. His network would do more than move goods—it would weave these outposts together into something stronger. He walked back toward Elder Mara's store, the pieces of his plan fitting together.