Chapter Text
Kasumi Nakano.
Nineteen years old.
Runaway.
Kidnapping.
Runaway turned kidnapping?
Black hair, shoulder-length and the first thing to go if she wanted to be left alone. Short, slight build, brown eyes. Had a tiny scar on her nose. May have been factory-made in some grotesque people-printer. Two moles on her right cheek. Smart, her parents told him, really, really smart. He wondered what she’d be doing before the bombs fell. He shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it. Engineer, maybe? All those big dreams rattling around that little house. Must have seemed littler when her grandpa died.
Kenji—her father—gave her projects to work on around the place. Busywork, seemed like. Then one day she decided she was the project. Hopped on a boat and sailed into the mist, followed a soft voice on the radio.
Something about Acadia.
The national park?
Nick hoped it was a cut and run. They were easy. Help the drunk kids get home, help the beat ones get anywhere but. But this didn’t feel like a cut and run. The water churned against the hull of the boat and kicked salt into his mouth. He grimaced. Maybe a cut and sink.
The moon painted the waves white with a thick brush, a rush job before a viewing. Everything was pronounced, like bumping the contrast too high on a serial. The sea, the rocks, the starless black of the sky. You couldn’t see a damn thing for how clear it was.
He pulled out his cigarettes and looked out over the water. The pack was soaked through, the cigarettes busting out of their cases like hot dogs splitting in the pan, smearing wet tobacco in the crevices of his metal hand. He cursed and tossed them into the sea. He hoped some neurotic trout enjoyed the smoke break.
The machine that steered the ship clunked behind him, a huge metal arm welded to the wheel. Nick smelled burning plastic. For the first time, he hoped it was him.
He drummed his fingers on the metal railing and tapped out tuneless music. Paced. Reaffirmed that he’d never retire and sail for pleasure.
Nick knew Kenji.
Or, rather, Nick should have known Kenji.
But Nick didn’t know Kenji. Looked at his crumpled face and felt professional pity, empathy, but nothing else. Kenji knew the hell out of him. They’d worked a job together years back. Nick needed a boat. Kenji had a boat. Then the client screwed them over out at sea, tried to make off with everything they had. Caps, valuables, the heirloom she wanted in the first place. Even tried to make off with Nick’s cigarette case. Then the gal tried to pump Nick full of lead. Kenji caught it in his hip and kicked her into the sea. Thankfully, the bullet caught bone instead of cozying up to Kenji’s femoral artery, so he just had to deal with a little agonizing pain for the rest of his life. Kenji didn’t look mad about it. Regretful, wistful, but not mad. Nick wanted him to be something. He wasn’t sure what. Maybe mad.
Somebody in the Commonwealth was happy to take a bullet for Nick Valentine, and he didn’t even have the decency—the human decency—to remember his name. But Nakano remembered Nick on every cold day, every dull pain, every awkward step with that limp. He certainly remembered Nick when his daughter went missing. Now Nick was sailing to another state with barely enough information to fill one page of a small notepad. It just didn’t make sense. One thing to piece together a jigsaw and figure out what’s missing. Another to do it with the picture side down.
Nick knew a thing or two about lies too big to be worth telling. And even if—even if—Kenji was lying, it was a damn good one.
Taking on a client like that sounded like Nick.
Being shot at sounded like Nick.
Being double-crossed when the going got good definitely sounded like Nick.
But forgetting?
That didn’t sound like Nick at all.
Somebody here had it all wrong.
From the looks of it, it wasn’t Kenji.
Humidity cloaked the air like jellied rain. Nick spied the red cherry of a cigarette, swaying like the lure of an anglerfish in the deep, black sea. Heard a Southie twang as broad as the side of their ship.
“You overthinkin’ this, huh?”
“What gave it away, detective?”
Gloria swanned over and dropped an arm around his shoulder with the best of the hams. Her burns caught the light, caressed it and let it go with a little kiss. He got tangled up in her diamond-green eyes that made anywhere feel like home. He couldn’t call her his better half, but he sure felt better when she was around.
“You want a drag, Nicks?”
“I want a couple things.”
She shook her head like she had no idea what he was talking about. Gloria held his chin, placed her lips to his and breathed smoke into his mouth. Lingered long, long after she was spent.
“Pity,” she grunted.
She draped herself over the railing and continued smoking. Nick held his chin, brushed his fingers over the parts she touched. He stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out two clean, dry cigarettes. Either he was getting a nicotine buzz for the first time in two centuries, or he was in love.
“Anybody ever tell you that you’d make a great pickpocket?”
“Only if I kissed every mark.”
“That ain’t so bad. You can practice on me.”
She obliged him with a kiss, a real one this time. She stared at the coastline. Like she was waiting for all the lights to turn back on. The sea beat the boat like a tough whose heart just wasn’t in it anymore.
“So,” she said.
“So,” Nick replied.
“When Ellie called this one in, I didn’t think we’d be sailing to another state.”
“Tell me about it. Why do I get the feeling we’ve bitten off more than we can chew?”
“You say that every time.”
“Well, we’re two people and the Commonwealth is a lot to chew on. But you gotta admit, something about this feels…”
Nick shook his head. Gloria waited for him to finish. When it became clear he wouldn't, she said something. “Weird?”
“Weird.”
“No weirder than you or me,” she shrugged. “First out-of-state case… This is exciting. Maine’s nice. Well, it was nice. Don't know how it's doing these days.”
She looked at Nick. Her enthusiasm peeled back a little.
“Course,” she sighed, “I walk off a boat and people know what I am. You ever been outside the Commonwealth, Nicks?”
“Had a case take me to New York once.”
"City or state?"
"City. Guess that's both."
“How’d that go?”
Nick picked at the plastic skin on his fingers. Let that silence dangle for a while before cutting it down.
“Sometimes I think about hoofing it back to Illinois. ‘Back’. Hell, you know what I mean.”
“Must feel strange. How’d Chicago hold up?”
“Schools, electricity, clean water. Hospitals and everything.”
She let out a low whistle. “They really got all that?”
“What I’ve heard. Chicago might be the biggest city in Post-War America. Just a guess, of course. Not like there’s a census these days.”
“We could go sometime.”
Nick gave her a look.
“Hell, I mean it. Close up the agency for a couple months, take a vacation. Could be fun.”
“Close the agency? After I left Ellie high and dry last time—thank you, Glori—”
“You’re welcome.”
“—She’d crucify me in the town square. A five-foot-tall Caesar with pin curls.”
“Who? Is that how you say that? Whatever, play wise-ass all you want, but I’m serious. We could catch a ride with a caravan. I’ve never been to Illinois.”
“I’d like to go too,” he said, warmly. “I’d love to go. You don’t think I’d love to go? Who d’you think got all that Pre-War infrastructure up and running, Glori? Who had the means and the know-how?”
Her face fell.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish.”
“The Brotherhood can’t… The whole place? The whole city?”
“Illinois, Indiana, Wisconsin… Hear they’re ‘nicer’ to non-humans than our trigger-happy friends on the East Coast, but I’m not gonna risk the chance that they’d welcome the Midwest’s most mechanical son with open arms just to swing ‘em shut and crush me like an empty pop can.”
She looked out at sea with dark eyes. He got the feeling she took it worse than he did. She thought about it, really thought about it, hooked her thumb on her chin and her pinky on her nose, braced her other fingers in a closed fist to her lips. An impossible situation and she was really trying to figure it out. Not because she thought she could, but because it was him.
When she turned back to face Nick, he was sporting that stupid smile.
“I got nothin’,” she said. “They’d melt you down and turn you into pens, or something.”
“Nice pens?”
She waggled her hand, laughed a little. “I’m sorry, Nicky.”
“Ah, don’t be,” he said. “I got a home now. It’s just a whim. Something I entertain now and again. A little like an acquaintance you’re fond of. Then it comes time for him to go and, honestly, you’re a little relieved.”
“How come the Commonwealth is so…”
“‘Rough ‘n ready’?” Nick offered.
“Dog shit. I mean, what the hell happened? It feels like the bombs fell yesterday. Don’t think I’m ungrateful for Diamond City but, Jesus, it’s the best we can do?”
Nick moved to light the cigarette he braced to his lips. He caught himself and stopped, let it dangle there. Held it between his fingers just to point with something.
“Now,” he said. “Let me be clear. I don’t have proof of this. All of this is speculation. Not an educated guess, either. Call the mechanic because I am about to start talking out my ass.”
She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, when don’t you?”
“If I was the head of a clandestine organization,” he said, politely ignoring that last remark, “who—for whatever reason, I don’t think the motive matters—who wanted a whole state to exploit, what would I do with the time, money and resources I have? I’d keep ‘em scattered, and I’d keep ‘em simple and, more than anything, I’d keep them shit-scared. Think about it. Stable government forming? CPG Massacre. People getting too cushy, setting up communes, farming, start putting down roots? Dump a pile of Super Mutants on top of them. Are people getting too comfortable with the idea that Diamond City might—just might—make it? Broken Mask.”
Glori made a noise of recognition. “Why work to make something for yourself and the people around you if some chump in a lab coat destroys it all in five minutes? Hell, why not have the satisfaction of doing it yourself? At least that’s yours. It's a self-propagating problem.”
“Bingo.”
“But why? That’s what I don’t get. What are they getting out of this?”
Nick shook his head. “Now that, Glori. That’s a whole other question.”
“But with the tech they have…”
“I know,” he said, bitter. “I know.”
There was a pregnant pause that needed delivering. Glo did the deed.
“You never talk about what it was like there,” she said.
“The Institute? I don’t like to talk about it,” Nick replied. “And there isn’t much to talk about.”
“But there is something.”
Nick tapped his finger on the railing again. “I don’t want to upset you.”
Gloria almost laughed. “Upset me? God, Nick, I won’t faint. I’m not some broad in the pictures.”
“No,” he said. “It’d upset you. It upsets me.”
Gloria took him at his word. Picked a little hair out of her mouth. Nick paced again and she nailed it in one.
“You don’t remember this guy? At all?”
“No. I swear to you, Glori, I’ve never met Kenji Nakano.”
“He ain’t lying, Nicky.”
“I know,” he said.
“This ain’t like you.”
“I know. Unless this is a pattern. Not like I’d notice, right?”
“I would,” she said, “and this ain’t like you. And I get why you’re worried, I do. Memories. ‘Sore subject’ would be an understatement.”
“Up there with ‘this apartment is a fixer-upper’ and ‘I think the war might cause a couple of problems’.”
“You forgot a case. So what? You’ve had a hell of a life.”
“Had? What d’you mean, had? Good God, Glori, are you putting me down?”
“He figured,” she barreled on in that way she’d only do for him, “he could trust you, and he was right. So, whatever happened, you didn’t do him any wrong. Everybody forgets things.”
“Like ‘what time are we meeting’ and ‘where’d I put my keys’. Routine things. You don’t forget being shot at.”
She shrugged. “You do if it’s routine. Don’t worry yourself sick. I know you will. At least put it towards the case.”
“Alright,” said Nick. “Alright. The case. What d’you make of it, Roche?”
Gloria’s tone became hard and businesslike. It was a good habit. They had their work and they had their play and they happened to be good at both.
“It’s something alright. She thinks she’s a synth and she might have reason to. If the Institute were gonna poach anybody, it’d be Kasumi. Wicked smart, adaptable. Real young, too. They could wring forty, fifty years outta her.”
“That’s the motive,” said Nick, “but what about means or opportunity? How’d they ever find out about her? The Nakano family keep to themselves and after what happened to his son, Kenji isn’t gonna be broadcasting his exceptional daughter from the rooftops. Don’t you think they’d be more inclined to go after, I don’t know, the influential? Making a synth can’t be easy work, why go to all that trouble to placate two people in a house in the middle of nowhere?”
“That’s one hell of an assumption,” Gloria retorted, “who says it ain’t easy? Who says it ain’t as simple as pressing a button? If the Institute has been doin’ this for decades, they’ve had time to iron out the kinks. With that kind of tech, it could really be as simple as plugging in a picture and out falls a Nakano, ready to ship.”
“Alright. Jesus, it’s a scary thought, but it’s a fair one. But I stand by my point...”
He lit her cigarette, took a paltry drag and stubbed it out. He felt the heat on his teeth.
“... If I were some Institute pencil pusher, I’d go after someone who could pull strings, someone who’s always around people. McDonough, Hancock—”
“Vadim.”
Nick gave her the side-eye.
“What, you don’t think he overhears all kinda juicy shit?”
“No, but if word gets out you think he’s got influence, he’ll run for mayor again. Say they did grow her in a vat. If they’ve got the means to make a perfect copy of a person, then why wouldn't you fake her death? A freak accident cuts a young life short and leaves a body behind. There’d be nothing to investigate.”
“Maybe they didn’t plan for her getting jittery and bolting. Maybe it was, I don’t know, meant to be a kindness.”
“The Institute ain’t prone to those,” said Nick.
“True. Point is, we can’t do anything but speculate ‘til we get there. You don’t think she’s a synth?”
“I think she thinks she’s a synth. Death of a loved one, all those complicated feelings. You wake up one day and think ‘I’m not a human and these people aren’t my family’. That puts distance between you and what happened. Nineteen, sheltered, brother tortured and grandpa gone. I think wanting to be something else is tempting.”
“The real deal is a lot messier,” Gloria mused, gesturing to Nick.
“But the fantasy? That’s seductive. It doesn’t have to be reasonable, Gloria. It has to be tempting.”
“I agree with you,” she said, “but I think we should keep an open mind.”
Nick shrugged. “I'll do my best. I’ve worked weirder cases.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, sure. Mysteries, betrayals, marital drama like you wouldn’t believe. One time a two-hundred-year-old woman collapsed in my office.”
“You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”
Her case dragged like an anchor behind them. Nick wondered who’d be the first to break. He didn’t but she didn’t either.
“Gloria? Are you working an angle here, or do you really think she’s been swapped?”
“I think it makes sense,” she said, a little relieved.
“Lay it on me.”
“Say the Institute kills Kasumi, replaces her. Programs, or brainwashes, or… I don’t know how it works. But Kasumi—this synth—she hops on the boat to Acadia.”
“Go on…”
“Then her father hires a couple of detectives. The first man he’d turn to with a missing person case and his partner. You don’t think an ancient prototype and a two-hundred-thirty-year-old woman are worth something to the Institute?”
“It’d be a change,” he said. “If I wanted to catch us… Yeah. Shit. That’d be the play.”
They both looked warily out to sea. Nick hoped it wasn’t looking back.
“But we’ve been in open water for hours and if they’d planned something like that they’re not just gonna let us go on a pleasure cruise.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not. What’s the score if we find her?”
“When,” Nick corrected.
“If,” she insisted. “Let’s not dance around it. What’s the plan?”
Nick really wished he had that pack of cigarettes. The brand he liked, too. “If—when, damn it—when we find her, well… She’s an adult, and I’m not big on kidnapping. If she's been suckered in by some cult, and she doesn’t want to come back, we’ll just have to tell Kenji and Rei the news and leave her to it.”
“What d’you think Acadia is?”
“Lovely this time of year. Otherwise, I don’t have a damn clue.”
They passed the skeleton of a fishing boat, cut up on the shallows and scattered over the shoals. Then another, then another, three or four vessels who were once manned by people who had a hell of a lot more experience than them. They looked at one another glumly. Then Gloria looked past him. Got on her toes and braced herself against the railing.
“The hell is that thing?”
“What thing?”
“That.”
In the distance, jutting out of the rock, was a light maybe ten feet tall. It had the unhealthy blue hue of a bug zapper. Fog swirled slowly around it. It looked to be chewing it up and spitting it out.
“What in the world…?”
“This another wasteland thing I’m not in on?”
“Might be," said Nick, "but I’ve been here a hell of a lot longer, and I ain’t in on it either.”
Slowly, like a prize for coming third, the dock revealed itself. It had everything a dock ought to have like fishing boats, wooden boards and a sullen man with a shotgun. Nick and Gloria glanced at each other. She climbed into her chest plate, drew her gun. “We going for the usual routine?”
“I was thinking we mix it up,” said Nick. “How about you be a French maid and I be the raider for hire?”
“Think we can talk this out?”
“I’d love to talk this out. But that man has a shotgun, so I figured that that ship sailed, wrecked, washed up and now all the survivors are eating each other.”
“Ready?”
“Ready. Be careful. Please?”
“Sap,” she said like an insult. Gloria braced her palm to her mouth. “We’re here to dock,” she yelled.
The voice that greeted them belonged to a man used to getting his way. “Turn around, right now, and leave. We don’t need ‘help’ and we sure as all hell don’t need freeloaders.”
“Sounds like you made your mind up. Maybe we’re neither. If you let us dock, you could find out.”
“I know what you are.”
“You sound like an asshole.”
Nick clapped a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to mutter, for all the good it’d do. “Sure, get your digs in. He’s only got a shotgun. Have we tried making fun of how he looks? Screwing his mother?”
“I’m right,” she hissed.
The man called out again.
“You here for the Children?”
“We’re here to dock,” she repeated.
“Answer the question.”
“I’m getting off the boat. I put my weapon away. Shoot me, and you’ll have to explain why there’s a dead woman at your feet.”
“Now I know you ain’t been here before.”
“My partner is coming with me. We’re detectives.” Nick thought about waving as a sign of good faith, but he didn’t have much to hand.
“And we’re both armed,” said Nick. Gloria disembarked first. “Have a name?”
“Lee,” he replied. “Allen Lee—”
Nick took a deep breath and walked out from behind her. The shotgun twitched up and Allen stepped back, whale-eyed.
“Oh no, hell no. No, no, no. Fuck no, I am not having another Institute goon poke around—”
Nick cut him off, palms aloft. “Institute goon? You think I make goon money? I’ll call that a compliment. Now you put down the shotgun and we forget this ever happened.”
Glori fixed her aim between Allen’s eyes, held her pistol with ease. She glanced at Nick for a sign. He gave her the slightest shake of the head. “Listen to him. It’s two against one, dipshit.”
“He’s not pointing a gun at me,” replied Allen.
“We make a policy of counting her for two,” Nick said. “Haven’t been corrected yet.”
Nick watched Allen come dangerously close to a rational thought and sprint to avoid it with grace and dexterity. He was a small-minded man who had to pad out the overwhelming space in his head with whatever made him feel safe. Hate made good excelsior, and it burned like it, too. Men like Allen, more than anything in the world, wanted to be taken seriously. They had big opinions that were right just ‘cause they were so big. And if they were wrong, they were the biggest and wrongest in the room. The worst thing you could do to a guy like Allen wasn’t shout, or plead, or hit him. The worst thing you could do to a guy like Allen was to treat him like a tool. Some idiot who wandered in off the street with a gun that might as well fire pinto beans for all the good it was doing him.
“Okay,” he said, quietly. “How about we all just take it easy—”
There was an ear-splitting call from the docks. Allen lowered his gun and, to Nick's surprise, Glori did too.
“That is enough! That is enough, that is enough!”
An old, short woman with all the spine in Maine came storming down the steps towards them.
“Jesus, if it ain’t the Fog, it’s my own goddamn...”
She trailed off to look at Nick, brows pressed together hard enough to crush a penny. She stood there, mid-motion. She was gesturing for Allen’s gun.
“You’re…?”
“Nick Valentine,” he cut in. He moved to reach into his coat pocket and pull out his buzzer. He played it off, straightened his lapels, and willed himself to drop that habit. “Private detective. This is Gloria, my…”
She kept giving him that look. Nick faltered.
“Have we met?”
“No,” she said. “No, I… I’m Avery. Alright, Allen. The gun.”
“Like hell,” he snarled.
“I’m not taking away your damn toys. I’m handing it over to Sandra. Captain’s orders.”
They bickered. Gloria leaned into Nick, put a rough hand on his shoulder. Something about the way Avery looked at him sent his circuits into flips, made him feel cold.
“Asshole,” Nick muttered.
“I’ll say. You good?”
“He didn’t pull the trigger so, yeah, I’ll say I’m good. Thanks, by the way.”
“Avery got us out of that one.”
“Yeah, but you scared the shit out of him. What, personal satisfaction not come into it?”
Avery beckoned them, holding the gun, while Allen sulked. “Alright, come with me. Fog Condensers aren’t as effective out here, and I don’t want to suck on rads while Allen here plays soldier.”
He spit into the sea. Avery left and Gloria followed but Nick took a minute to hang back. Tapped Allen on the shoulder.
“Look,” said Nick. “We got off on the wrong foot. There’s no reason for us to be at each other’s throats, we’re both—”
Nick felt something hard collide with his jaw. It sounded like wet meat and it felt like hot mulch in a thin bag.
Nick picked himself up off the dock, cradled his cheek. He felt his teeth through a new hole in his jaw. Above him stood Allen, cursing and pacing and clutching his hand. He looked at Allen’s little finger and wished he hadn’t. Nick took his time lighting up that cigarette.
“Bad weather, huh?”
He took a drag and stubbed it out, carefully, on his metal palm. Exhaled. Gave it a sec and put the coffin nail back in his pocket, smiled a little when he caught some of Glori’s perfume. It was cheap and nasty, but it was hers, so it might as well be Jean Patou.
“I said," he repeated, "bad weather, huh?”
Allen looked up at him from under dark, heavy brows, seething and clutching his hand.
“What the—shit, fuck—what the hell are you talking about?”
“The weather,” said Nick, flat. “It’s bad. Jesus, pal, you want me to dumb it down?”
“Oh, screw you. You did this,” he grunted. “You did this, and I’ll—I’ll let everybody know. The Harbor needs every single hand it can get. You’ve got no goddamn idea what you’ve just done.”
“From the way Avery came storming down that dock, you’ve got a bad habit of picking fights, don’t ya?”
“The fuck is it to you?”
“Nothing. I’m making small talk. Gives Glori a little time to… Well, I’m aware I’m not a lot to look at. A little less, now that you broke my face. Wouldn’t want the whole town giving me the welcoming party you just did.”
“I swear, when your back is turned, I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Break another finger? Miss? You just busted up your shooting hand, Lee.”
Had a couple legs to kick him into the dock, too. Nick didn’t push his luck.
“Life out here must be hard. Then some strangers show up out of nowhere. One’s armed like a tank, and the other isn’t even human. It’s normal to be afraid. We hash out the misunderstanding, and then you try and punch my lights out. That makes me think maybe it wasn’t about the misunderstanding at all. You sized us up and you picked the easy target. You were right. I like my manners. Glori doesn’t care for them. That's why we’re having this polite conversation. You and your easy target.”
“I’ll—I’ll tell—”
“Tell them what, you beat on a stranger trying to find a missing girl? You tripped and fell into my jaw? That I flew into a rage and broke your hand even after Avery watched us try and talk you down? Who d’you think she’d believe? You slipped on the dock and busted up that hand. It happens in this kind of weather.”
Allen looked up at him with small, red eyes. It clicked. If Allen was honest about what happened, Avery would haul him over the coals. If he lied and claimed Nick did it, nobody would believe him. Nick was giving him an out. An out nobody else had to know about. An out that would maim the pride of a man like Allen worse than a bullet to the face might.
“You—you manipulative son of a…”
“How’s the weather?”
“Terrible,” he squeezed through his teeth. "Terrible. Alright? The weather's bad."
"Whatever you say. Seems fine to me, but I'll take your word for it."
Nick nodded. Walked up the dock, rolled his plastic tongue against his teeth and winced at the pain. Allen lumbered behind with a little red trail. Nick raised his hand like he forgot something.
“Thinking about it, Old World manners got us where we are today. So, just between you and me, I don’t think I’d lose any sleep if Glori blew your fucking head off, you no-good son of a bitch.”
He jogged up the smooth stone steps to the town and whistled. Allen did not.
The place was a reasonably sized coastal community crammed into an unreasonable amount of space. It began at a ramshackle hut to the west and ended on the pier to the east, where they couldn’t afford ramshackle huts. The Cadillac Mountain cut a dark silhouette, even in the Fog, even when the machines chewed and chewed and didn’t stop. Its history as a tourist spot was carved into the cheerfully built attractions and repurposed signs.
‘Ice Cream’, ‘Sullivan’s Seafood & Lobsters’, ‘Souvenirs’, ‘IF YOU DIE IN THE FOG YOUR BODY WILL NOT BE COLLECTED’, ‘Tourist Info’, ‘THERE ARE FATES WORSE THAN DEATH, TURN BACK’, ‘Acadia National Park, The Largest In Maine!’
The town was nestled halfway between New Hampshire, New Brunswick and the specific circle of hell they keep for people who hate the ocean. People passed Nick and only looked a couple times. Then they went to sawing and hauling and building and staring at the boardwalk like they were praying for it to give.
“Hey!”
Gloria waved him down. Avery gave Nick another one of those looks. Nick walked over, tipped his hat a little.
“Thanks for intervening back… There…”
A wall, a tank-thick wall big enough to ward off a pack of deathclaws jutted from the concrete. It looked to be eight inches deep. It was made of metal benches, fridges, anything that wasn’t nailed down and most things that were.
“What does this keep out?”
“We lost eight people these past two weeks,” Avery said. She hauled a rifle over her shoulder and climbed the wooden ladder to the top, about nine feet high. She checked her gun again, then again, and braced it to the balistraria fashioned from reworked park benches. “So, to be honest, not a damn thing.”
“I was wondering—”
“If you don’t mind,” she said in a way that didn’t feel rude, “I’d prefer not to go over all of that again.”
Gloria gave him an OK sign.
“One thing, mainlanders. The dock’s welcome to all. So is the town. Lord knows we can’t turn down the help, and don’t let Allen put you off. Where is he, anyway?"
"Around."
"Hm. But there’s one condition.”
She turned and looked them both in the eye. No question who was Captain.
“You hear yelling, you draw your weapon, and you get over here. You see something crawl out of the Fog, you shoot it. You see something walk out of the Fog, you shoot whoever it is they’ve got. Don’t bother trying to put down the trappers. There are more of them than there are of us.”
Gloria’s voice was wisp-thin.
“Your own people?”
“Mh-hm.”
Her rifle sounded. Nick didn’t know if she hit what she was aiming for. It didn’t look like it mattered.
“That goes for me, too. Might seem cruel to you, mainlander. I suppose it is. It’s the worst kind of cruelty there is. The kind even the sadists don’t like.”
Avery lowered the rifle. She looked down at them, bent down and shook her head.
“Where are my damn manners? Welcome to Far Harbor.”
She shook Gloria’s hand, then Nick’s. A pale woman in a beanie shot daggers at them, but as long as that was all she shot, Nick could live with it. Gloria beckoned him away to a quiet corner. People paid them little mind.
“Avery thinks Kasumi came through here. Thinks. Says she’s been too wrapped up with all the Fog to notice and, Jesus, I believe her.”
“Captain seems like a more proactive role than mayor,” said Nick, “but how old d’you think she is? Sixty-five, seventy?”
“Something like that. This place is falling apart. I don’t know if there’ll even be a Far Harbor by next month.” She shook her head. “One thing at a time. Said we’re welcome to ask around town tomorrow, but if we need a guide to Acadia, we’ll need to wait for him. Hunting trip.”
“There’s only one? In the whole place?”
“Only one still alive, yeah.”
“Any clue when he’ll be back?”
“Longfellow should be back soon. Tomorrow, day after at the latest."
“No way in hell we’ll survive marching out into that on our own,” said Nick. "Not a chance."
“Agreed. Kasumi either made it or she didn’t. Walking headfirst into danger without a plan isn’t going to do anything ‘cept kill us.”
“What is up with this goddamn island?”
“I don’t know. We ain’t gonna find out tonight. Avery said this place might have a vacancy.”
"Gotta love a dingy bar."
The Last Plank's best quality was that it was a bar, and its worst quality was everything else. The half-dozen men and women inside gave Nick a look and took it back real quick. A waitress flitted from table to table. A plump cat, unaware of the town it was in, flitted with her. An overly-pointy man in a ragged leather jacket slapped the bar, jolted them both.
“Welcome to The Last Plank! I’m Mitch, that’s Debs, that rat hogging the radiator is Tink and these fine folks wish I’d shut the hell up. What can I get’cha this evening?”
Gloria squinted at the menu behind Mitch, sounded out the letters like she didn’t know what they were. Really hammed it up.
“‘Vodka’,” said Mitch, like she was stupid. “Vod-ka, vodka, say it with me, lady. Jesus.”
“Cut me a break, the gang never taught me to read. What you got for beer?”
“Four caps for a beer, eight for one that won’t make you want to die.”
“Gimmie that first one.”
“Beer for the lady! And you, sir?”
Nick shook his head. “I don’t drink, but thanks for the offer. You’d really serve a synth like me?”
“You got caps,” exclaimed Mitch, slapping the bar a little too hard, “you got a mouth to tell your friends about our ice-cold drinks; who am I to turn you down? We’re all here for the short, brutal ride. Ain’t no point makin’ it shorter or brutaler. Leave that to Allen.”
Glori and Nick looked at each other, smiled.
“Well,” said Nick, “I’ll be. Thank you, Mitch. That’s decent of you.”
“But, ” Mitch chirped, “cards on the table, I do think every mainlander on the Island should die.”
“There it is,” muttered Glori, rubbing her temples.
“All these tourists. They hear about the Fog, and they got caps in their eyes. Imagine, a whole island for the picking. Well, it’ll pick you back, so don’t bother.”
“We ain’t looters,” said Nick.
“I don’t care what you are or what you ain’t,” he said. “I don’t want in on no Silver Shroud roleplay, or whatever the hell thing you’ve got going on. Jesus, is this a fetish thing?”
“Depends on the company,” said Nick, amiably. “For you, no.”
He snorted. Nick got the feeling Mitch was fighting to not like him. He handed Glori her lukewarm beer, and she popped the cap on her teeth, handed it back like she learned to. Mitch gave her the once-over.
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Raider?”
“Used to be,” she said. “Not enough caps in it. Too much drama. Y’know what they don’t tell you about raiders? Catty.”
“What gang?”
“Vultures. South Boston. What, accent not clue you in?”
“Never heard of ‘em,” said Mitch.
“Exactly. Rustbucket here pays better, if you can believe it. But between you ‘n me, he’s just as catty.”
Nick pretended to look exhausted. Sighed, held his chin. Mostly to hide his smile.
“Damn it, Roche, what have I told you about bothering clients? Leave it to the professionals.”
“Sorry, boss,” she drawled. “I will, boss.”
“We’re looking for Nakano. Kasumi Nakano. You remember her?”
“Haven’t heard the name. Sorry.”
“What about the face?”
Nick gave him the description. Black hair, shoulder-length. Short, slight build, brown eyes. Had a tiny scar on her nose. Runaway, kidnapping, maybe runaway turned kidnapping. Mitch tried to look like he was thinking very hard.
“It’s a missing person case,” said Nick, in his detective coat and detective hat and detective socks. “I think she might be in trouble.”
Mitch tried to look like he cared about that. Mitch tried to look like he was doing a lot of things without the worry of doing them.
“I can’t remember,” he shrugged. “Sorry.”
Nick let out a big detective sigh. “Alright, well, come get me if you remember anything. Avery said Longfellow might have seen her. This is the only bar in town, right? Would he have met her here?”
That seemed to jog Mitch’s memory, and he looked none too happy about it. “Yeah. But I let Longfellow come and go whenever he feels like it.”
“Got him a key made,” added Debby.
“Staff here is just me and Debs, but Longfellow is part of the furniture. Older than the bar. He feeds that stupid cat.”
“Be nice to Tink, she works harder than you.”
“So you’re saying,” said Nick, “there’s every chance Kasumi passed through your bar, and you wouldn’t have a clue?”
“Yeah. Longfellow leads the new synths to Acadia. Some of ‘em. Others try their luck alone.”
Gloria leaned forward, gesturing with the bottle.
“What is the Fog?”
“Hell,” said Mitch. “It’s hell. The Island made manifest. The Fog knows every bad thing you ever did and everything you’ll ever do. It’s hell. It’s going to kill us all.”
The patrons grunted in agreement, like Mitch was making a comment on disagreeable weather.
“Radioactive?”
“Oh, yeah. You got your Fog and your Deep Fog. You can walk through the Fog and live. Need to suck on some RadAway, mind, and you’ll get a little burnt up, but you’ll live. Shirley—”
Debby cut in. “Damn it all to hell, Mitch, they’ve barely had time to dry their shoes, and you’re already telling ‘em about Shirley. You know she wouldn’t want that.”
“If she cared so much about what I wanted, she wouldn’t have died. If they’re heading out, they’ve got a right to know. Deep Fog sucked her in, took a bite and spit her out. Burned from head to toe. Good Doctor Wright, Teddy Wright, hits her with the RadAway. Then she started—now what was it—Wright said her white blood cells just upped and gone. So Wright did some kinda transplant with her brother. Bad, bad move. Mm, bad move.”
Glori winced. “How come?”
“You’d have to ask Teddy for the details, but from what I gather, the radiation in Shirley’s body mutated her leuko… Somethings. Y’know, from the transplant? So her guts started chewin’ at themselves ‘til she was put out of her misery. Poor Shirley. Poor Shirley. Poor, poor Shirley. Did nothing but shit blood. Lived three weeks like that. D'you want a room for the night? Only ten caps.”
Gloria quietly gave him the money.
“Much obliged,” chirped Mitch. “Now, the room’s a double. Hope that’s not a problem for you.”
Nick bristled. “I don’t sleep.”
“Ever? Jesus, buddy, when d’you take breaks?”
“Now seems like a good time,” he said, pushing himself away from the bar.
“I’m sure you can snoop out which is yours, detective. Or do I need to pay you to do that?”
“I’m sure I’ll figure it out. Roche? I’d feel better with my bodyguard.”
“I’m gonna have a couple drinks,” she said, with a knowing look. “Thirsty, y’know?”
“Right. Don't drink too much.”
"Nag, nag..."
He went to their room. It had four walls, a floor and a ceiling. It sufficed as a room. The rat staring at him agreed. He kicked his shoes off, hung his coat and shirt up to dry. Felt his bad arm. It seemed no worse than usual. A half-hour later, Glori followed.
“Heading to bed, old man?”
Nick smiled. “How’d the shakedown go?”
“He thinks I’m fuckin’ dumb.”
She grinned.
“You believe that still works? How ‘bout next time you play moron and I get to wear the hat?”
“Play? Glori, I live that dream every moment of every day. What did you get on Kasumi?”
“Mitch didn’t see her in the bar, but he saw somebody who just happened to look like her in the general store, buying supplies. Just enough for a one-way trip."
"So she was heading to Acadia and didn’t seem interested in coming back. Did he say if this Longfellow was with her?”
“No, she was alone.”
“Hm.” Nick pursed his lips. “Doesn’t mean anything, they could have met up later. Why was he so cagey? Hardly incriminating info. God forbid, he goes to the store.”
Gloria rubbed her hands. “Kasumi was trying to offload her grandpa’s boat. Brooks, the guy who owns the store, said he didn’t need one, but she could ask around town.”
“You think Mitch might have bought the boat?”
“No,” she said. “Mitch is an upbeat guy, and she’d be desperate for a friendly face. I think Mitch has a racket. He'd see every newcomer in town. I think Mitch stole the boat.”
“And suddenly things make sense,” Nick smiled. “But one thing at a time. Nakano first, grand larceny later. You, Glori, are a miracle worker. How in the hell did I go it alone on cases?”
“I know,” she said with a little hand gesture, “I know. Please, it wouldn’t work if you didn’t go along with it.”
“You’re sure this doesn’t grate on you? You’re a smart cookie. Makes me feel bad to see these people treat you like your average, run-of-the-mill tack. Me included. Sorry.”
“It’s part of the gag, Nicks.”
“I know.” He kissed her hand, brought her knuckles to rest at his cheek and felt the warmth of her body. “Still.”
“It’s not like we do it all the time. Besides, if this was pissing me off—”
“You’d let me know,” he chuckled, “right. You’d have to conquer your shy and retiring nature, but you’d let me know."
She brought her lips to his and Nick tasted a little sea spray on them, made warm and inviting on her skin. She shed her chest plate, then her boots, then nearly everything else. Thumbed the buckle of Nick’s belt, tossed her red hair back. Let it slip from her hands as she thudded against the mattress with a sigh.
He kissed her neck. “Too tired?”
“Too tired.”
“Walls are a little thin to knock boots, anyways.”
“Good to see you don’t let a little thing like ‘being held at gunpoint’ kill the mood.”
“Jesus, Glori, if I let a little thing like that put me off, I’d never have sex again. You need anything for when you wake up?”
“A bubble bath, toast and eggs, and Gilda Broscoe on a velvet pillow. But water and cigarettes will do just fine.”
“Over Vera Keyes? Now that’s a woman.”
“Please, like we’re in a position to turn down either.”
Nick chuckled. “Well, maybe I’ve got high standards.”
Gloria’s expression changed. She seemed very awake.
“Look right.”
He did. She gasped.
“How are you down a whole inch of face? Jesus, Nicky, I can see your teeth.”
“The palooka on the dock gave me a love tap.”
“How many fingers?”
“Just the pinky this time.”
“Some bodyguard I am,” she sighed.
“You’re pretending to be my bodyguard. Don’t beat yourself up too bad.”
“Some pretend bodyguard I am. You think anybody would mind if I pretend-killed and pretend-buried that guy at sea?”
“No. But it’s resolved now. We talked it out. And we’ve only been here a day.”
“Y’think sea burials are a day three thing?”
Nick gave her a sore look.
“Kidding,” she said, “kidding.”
“You ain’t.”
“I ain’t, but I don’t want to upset you. We’ll keep this clean. This might shock you, Nicks, but I don’t like getting violent.”
“That doesn’t shock me.”
“Well, maybe it should.”
That dangled between them like a dying bird in a fishing net.
“Another goon,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Allen. Another Institute goon. What d’you think he meant by that?”
“There’s a commune of synths here,” she said.
“Fleeing the Institute. Avery acted funny, too.”
“Funny how?”
“Funny… Funny. I don’t know. But funny. Everyone, everyone on the docks, the bar, everyone’s acting…”
Nick spun his wrist, tried to spool for the right word.
“Funny. That’s not much to go on.”
“Hell, you’ve done more with less. You think something’s up here?”
“No. Maybe? Damn it, I don’t know. My skin’s crawling.”
She looked at him. Got serious.
“Y’think we should go? Find this Longfellow guy. Leave.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Nick thought about that. He gave it more thought than it deserved.
“Not a chance. You’re exhausted. Take the night off.”
Nick got the feeling it came off a little meaner than she meant. “Lucky me, a whole six hours…”
She turned over. She turned back. Then she decided against it and turned away from Nick again, kissed his plastic hand like she was finally settling in.
“If I didn’t know any better, Glori, that’s the look of a woman who was about to play devil’s advocate and decided against it.”
“Damn it, you’re good.”
“I’m not,” he said, “I just know you.”
“If you ain’t used to how Gen 2s look, you…”
She shook her head, tapping her fingers on the bed frame.
“Get scared 'cause a guy who looks a little like a plastic corpse walked into town?” Nick offered.
“You know I don’t mean to make you feel bad about it.”
“Hell, it’s not your fault. You’re just stating the obvious. Y’think that’s why people never assume we’re an item? ‘Cause they think I’m… Well. An item.”
“I think that’s part of it. Maybe they’re just hoping you’re an eligible bachelor.”
“Glori, I’d blush if I could. Get some shut-eye. I’ll be here if you need me.”
She gave in. She careened into the mattress, and it was gonna take a road crew with a jackhammer to dig her out in the morning.
He pulled out a book from his dry pocket and started to read. He didn’t know a lot about Anne Sexton, but Glori did, so he figured he ought to know her at least a little. He glanced at her. She was an ugly sleeper who was a beautiful sleeper. The burns that carved her muscle into marble-tight bands softened to a screaming red mark on her head that itched when the weather got hot and seethed when the weather got cold. She missed Nathan and he missed Jenny but they missed them honestly and together. There was nobody he trusted more. She shot a young couple and left them for the birds two and a half years ago.
Nick put the book down.
It didn’t feel right to throw it.
Every life has value. Human, synth, whatever Nick was. Sometimes a life is the most precious thing in the world. Sometimes a life is worth two bottles of water and a fistful of jerky. Sometimes two don’t even hit that. Nick untangled himself from her body. Put his shirt and shoes back on, even his coat. It was good for them, she said. Healthy. He took walks, she wrote poems. Laughed and said maybe she’d even let him read one someday.
He went outside and picked a table and stared at the black water. It kept being water and Nick kept being Nick. And he kept staring because if he went back in and looked at Gloria any longer he’d do the unthinkable and forgive her.
