Brad Zaxxon's Arc

Chapter 1 of 7

Brad tightened the last wire on his pip-boy, checking the ham radio frequency one more time. The modified screen flickered green, picking up chatter from three different settlements. If he could get enough traders talking, sharing routes and safe zones, Calico Flats could become the hub he'd been planning. A place where information flowed as freely as caps, where people survived by knowing what others knew. But someone was staring at his wrist. Brad glanced up at the woman in grease-stained coveralls, her eyes fixed on the pip-boy's open casing. She nodded toward the prismatic lens he'd mounted inside, its brass housing catching the light from the coffee shop window. The layered filters rotated as the device cycled through frequencies, each calibration scratch gleaming like a tiny rainbow. She stepped closer, her voice low. "That's vault-grade optics married to civilian radio. Where'd you learn to bridge incompatible systems?" Brad closed the casing carefully, weighing his answer. She wasn't asking out of curiosity. Her hands had the calluses of someone who built things, fixed things. "Three months with a ghoul who knew prewar tech," he said. "And a lot of trial runs that didn't work." The woman pulled a thick manual from her pack, its RobCo logo faded but readable. "Small robot repair specs," she said. "Includes servo timing for securitrons. I'll trade it for your lens mounting technique. There's a security bot near the old Red Rocket that I can't crack without knowing how you filter interference." Brad took the manual, flipping through pages of circuit diagrams and repair protocols. This was exactly what his trading post needed to offer. Not just supplies, but knowledge worth trading. He explained the lens calibration, how to match vault optics with wasteland components, while she took notes on a scrap of paper. When they finished, she nodded once and walked toward the Dancing Dead's door, already studying his technique. Brad slipped the manual into his pack, his trading post suddenly feeling less like a plan and more like something real.