Fredrick Carr's Arc

Chapter 1 of 11

Fredrick Carr took the call standing beside a rusted drum fire, three days from anywhere. Brad Zaxxon wanted him at the base. The Rangers had cracked open Vault 141, and now they needed hands to build something out of it, a trade and medical center in the ruins. Fredrick was a tuxedo cat in worn grey and rust fatigues, a former Swedish special forces soldier who never named his unit. He carried a .45 on his hip and a pack heavier than it looked. He hung up and started walking. He had gone hungry for a cause before. This was a cause. A Ranger drove him in. It was Warrant Officer Danials, the one who had shot the feral ghoul when the inner door opened. Danials said little on the road. He gripped the wheel and watched the dust for movement out of old habit. Fredrick liked that. A quiet driver was a live driver. The operations center rose ahead, brick and metal in desert camouflage. Antennas bristled from the roof. Supply crates lined the front wall. Fredrick had seen a hundred posts like it and outlived half of them. He stepped down and adjusted his belt so the 1911 sat clear of his hip. Brad met him at the door. He wore green tactical glasses and a camouflage cap, and he carried a thick bundle of files bound with battleboard straps. Fredrick knew the cat. Brad had taught him half of what he knew about the wasteland. Eight years in the Rangers had put steel and patience into him. Seeing him now, arms full of paper, Fredrick felt the old pull of a job worth doing. "You made good time," Brad said. He held up the bundle. Camouflage tape wrapped the cover. Vault 141 Medical Research Files, the label read. "Vault's open. Med-Serve's awake. We got a hospital going up and a whole lower level to clear. Heh. We got work to do." Fredrick took the files and felt their weight. Real weight, the kind that meant lives. "I live for this," he said. He grinned. "But files don't lift crates. We need recruits." Brad's smile faded. He glanced back at the crates, then at a battered tool cart parked near the door, its drawers stuffed with wrenches. "Yeah," he said. "That's the problem." He lowered his voice. "Between you and me, I've got six bodies for a job that needs thirty. Zelda spent every favor she had on the hospital. Kira's stretched thin on supply. Everybody's tapped out." Fredrick looked at the crates, the cart, the empty yard. He had signed on to build a center, and the center had no crew. "Then that's the first mission," Fredrick said. He shifted his pack. "Point me at where people gather. I'll find us hands." Brad nodded slowly. "Trade post east of here, former military and mercenary types pass through there looking for work. Most are good people but still vet everyone twice. Take Desior with you, he most of the people there.” Fredrick and Derior take the road to the trade post.