Reading the Lower Levels

Date: 8/16/2224

Location: Vault 288 — Lower Access Corridor

Curiosity has a direction.

Mine carried me downward.

The library had answered many of my questions, but every answer left another doorway slightly open. The vault was full of layers. Every hallway suggested another beneath it, every terminal hinted at files that required permissions I did not have.

So, I walked and observed.

The signs became simpler the farther down I traveled. Maintenance routes. Utility corridors. Security checkpoints. The walls changed too. Less decoration. More exposed conduit. Fewer families passing by. More people walking because they belonged there.

Eventually, I reached a reinforced security station.

A large sign read:

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

SUB-LEVEL ACCESS

Before I could study it any longer, someone cleared his throat.

Guard Marcus: "Well... that's about far enough, Chief."

I turned.

Two Vault-Tec security guards stood near the checkpoint.

Marcus was impossible to miss. Broad shoulders. Friendly face. Uniform just a little tighter than regulations probably intended. He shifted his weight, then let out an unmistakable, unapologetic fart.

The corridor echoed.

Marcus shrugged without shame.

Guard Marcus: "Hydroponic beans."

The silence lasted exactly one second before I laughed.

Even the other guard couldn't quite hide it.

She tried.

She failed.

Just barely.

Guard Mindy: "Marcus..."

He raised both hands.

Guard Marcus: "I'm just being transparent."

She sighed.

Professional.

Patient.

Clearly accustomed to this.

Guard Mindy: "Mr. Marcel, this corridor is restricted. You're welcome throughout most of the Vault, but this section requires authorization."

I looked past them.

"There another level down there?"

Mindy nodded.

Guard Mindy: "Sub-Level F."

The letter stayed with me.

"I've seen it mentioned."

She exchanged a glance with Marcus.

Guard Mindy: "It exists."

She offered nothing more.

I didn't argue.

If there's one thing life has taught me, it's that people guarding a door usually know something you don't.

Pushing rarely opens it.

So, I stepped back.

More confused than disappointed.

Marcus watched me for a second.

Then smiled.

Guard Marcus: "Tell you what... I can at least show you Sub-Level A."

Mindy crossed her arms.

He looked at her.

She looked back.

A long pause.

Finally.....

She nodded once.

"Five minutes."

Marcus grinned like he'd just negotiated world peace.

The heavy security door released with a mechanical hiss.

Beyond it wasn't what I expected.

No laboratories.

No soldiers.

No secret machinery.

Just people.

Residents.

Some recovering from injuries.

Others talking quietly.

A few reading.

Some attending counseling sessions.

The atmosphere felt less like a prison...

and more like a place where people came when life became too heavy to carry alone.

I realized something.

Not every restricted area hides a secret.

Sometimes it protects healing.

As I wandered through the rehabilitation bay, a man sitting near the windows looked up from his drink.

He studied me for a moment.

Then smiled.

Samson Reed: "You're the one who woke up."

"I suppose word travels fast."

He chuckled.

Samson Reed: "Nothing travels faster than curiosity."

He motioned toward the empty chair beside him.

I sat.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

He watched me looking around the room.

Watching the people.

Watching the walls.

Watching everything.

Finally...

He spoke.

Samson Reed: "You're reading the walls, aren't you?"

I looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

He nodded toward the corridor.

Samson Reed: "Some people read books."

He smiled.

"You read places."

That caught me off guard.

Because he was right.

I wasn't looking at concrete.

I was looking for intention.

For history.

For whatever remained beneath the surface.

"I suppose I do."

He nodded as if he'd expected that answer.

Samson Reed: "Just don't read too far."

His eyes drifted toward the secured corridor beyond the checkpoint.

"Some chapters aren't yours yet."

I followed his gaze.

"You've been down there?"

He smiled without answering.

Instead, he changed the subject.

Samson Reed: "I'm usually not here."

"No?"

He shook his head.

Samson Reed: "I'm one of the Vault's travelers."

I frowned.

"Traveler?"

Samson Reed: "Trader."

"Scavenger."

"I leave."

"I come back."

"When I return, I spend a few days down here."

"Medical screenings."

"Radiation checks."

"Quarantine."

The words hit me all at once.

I leaned forward.

"You've... been outside?"

He laughed.

A calm laugh.

Not proud.

Not dramatic.

Just ordinary.

Samson Reed: "More times than I can count."

I stared at him.

"What is it like?"

He thought about it.

Samson Reed: "Honest."

Then...

"Dangerous."

"But honest."

He reached beside his chair and picked up a small wooden box.

Inside...

Hundreds of bottle caps.

I blinked.

"What in the world..."

He smiled.

Samson Reed: "Caps."

I looked at him.

"Caps?"

He picked one up and rolled it across his fingers.

Samson Reed: "Accepted currency."

"The Wasteland runs on these."

I couldn't help laughing.

"Bottle caps?"

He nodded.

Samson Reed: "You'll get used to it."

I wasn't convinced.

Not yet.

He reached into his satchel again.

This time producing a sealed holotape.

He placed it in my hand.

Its label read:

FACILITY GUIDEBOOK & TECHNOLOGICAL OVERVIEW

Samson Reed: "Read this before you leave."

"It'll answer questions."

"And probably create a few more."

I turned the holotape over in my hands.

"This yours?"

He nodded.

"Copy's yours now."

As we stood, another familiar smell drifted through the ventilation.

Smoke.

Sweet.

Pepper.

Barbecue.

I smiled.

"So I'm not imagining it."

Samson laughed.

Samson Reed: "No."

He pointed upward.

Samson Reed: "The Pit."

"The smokers are down there."

He paused.

Then wrinkled his nose.

"...Though today..."

He glanced toward the security checkpoint.

"...Marcus isn't helping."

Somewhere beyond the doorway—

Marcus shouted.

Guard Marcus: "HEY! I HEARD THAT!"

The rehabilitation bay erupted into laughter.

Even Mindy's voice floated through.

Guard Mindy: "Drink more water, Marcus."

He groaned dramatically.

Samson shook his head.

"Good people."

He reached into a cooler beside his chair and handed me a bottle.

Fresh Gourd Juice.

Cold.

Condensation beading along the glass.

He extended his fist.

I bumped it.

Simple.

Natural.

Like we'd known each other longer than five minutes.

Samson Reed: "I'll see you around, Chief."

I nodded.

"I hope so."

As I walked back toward the upper levels, holotape in one hand and the bottle in the other, I realized something.

The Vault wasn't revealing itself all at once.

It was introducing itself.

One hallway.

One conversation.

One person at a time.

And somehow...

I had the feeling meeting Samson Reed wasn't an accident.

Not because I believed somebody had arranged it.

I just knew enough about life to recognize when a door had opened.

It was the beginning of a track I hadn't realized I was already following.

— Big Chief Mike Marcel