Brad Zaxxon's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

Brad drove northwest toward the Vault-Tec Record Storage Station, following the route Martinez had marked three days earlier. The blueprints had proven sublevel three existed. The power readings confirmed something down there was still running. Now he needed the procurement files—the orders that would tell him what kind of equipment Vault 17 was built to support. The building sat alone against the desert, its brick facade cracked but intact, yellow Vault-Tec signage still bolted above the entrance. Brad approached slowly, scanning for signs of occupation. Empty. Behind the building, he found the sorting station Martinez had mentioned—a metal framework with labeled drawers and warning stickers, most of them faded past reading. The top drawers hung open, already picked clean by scavengers who'd taken anything that looked valuable. Brad knelt by the lower cabinet and worked the rusted latch until it gave. Inside, a stack of water-stained manuals sat wedged against the back panel. He pulled the top manual free and opened it carefully. Fusion Conduit Technical Manual, the cover read, with handwritten notes filling the margins. Brad flipped through pages of equipment specifications until he found the procurement order stapled to the back—Vault 17's power system requirements, itemized and signed. The numbers stopped him cold. The reactor specifications listed capacity for standard shelter operations, but beneath that, someone had added a second section in different ink: "Supplemental draw for iterative consciousness housing, sublevel three." The power requirements matched what he'd measured at the factory. This wasn't backup systems or emergency lighting. This was something designed to run indefinitely, drawing enough juice to keep an entire research facility operational. Brad photographed every page with his pip-boy, then tucked the manual into his pack. The procurement files gave him the what—specialized equipment built to sustain something alive and aware beneath Vault 17. But they also complicated everything. If he shared this at the trading post, word would spread fast. Scavengers, factions, people desperate enough to risk whatever was down there for pre-war tech. He'd wanted the trading post to save lives through shared knowledge, but this knowledge might get people killed before they understood what they were walking into. Brad stood and looked back at the sorting station, at the empty drawers other scavengers had already cleaned out. The decision felt heavy: open the post and control how this information spread, or wait until Chen returned and they'd secured the sublevel first. He started the engine and turned back toward camp. The trading post would still happen, but now he knew exactly what kind of intelligence he'd be trading—and why some secrets needed verification before they became common knowledge.