Some People Repair Machines. Others Repair People.

Date: 8/17/2224

Location: Vault 288 — Engineering Wing / Main Chow Room

There are people who explain systems.

Then there are people who become part of them.

Today I met one of the latter.

Her name is Zara Porter, though she wouldn't let me use it for very long.

Zara Porter: "Everybody calls me Zee."

She smiled when she said it, like the name had already done half the introductions for her.

I'd spent most of the last day with Samson's holotape, reading through Vault-Tec's guidebook until my eyes grew tired. Every chapter seemed to answer one question while quietly creating three more. The engineering sections fascinated me most. Water. Air. Hydroponics. The Pit. Energy. The invisible things that keep thousands of people alive without them ever thinking about it.

Naturally, I started asking questions.

Zee answered almost every one.

Not like someone showing off.

Like someone who genuinely loved understanding how things worked.

She admitted she was only twenty-eight.

Twenty-eight.

Young enough that everything I remembered belonged to history books for her.

I stopped talking for a second.

Something didn't make sense.

"I'm thi..."

The words caught.

"...wait..."

I looked at her.

"How old am I?"

She stared at me for exactly one heartbeat before laughing.

Not at me.

For me.

She reached over and took my hand.

Zee: "You're really out of this world, Marcel."

She wasn't wrong.

I tried counting backward.

Tried remembering birthdays.

Tried measuring years against memories.

Nothing lined up.

The body remembers age differently than the calendar does.

I had lived one life.

Time had lived another.

Eventually she squeezed my hand.

Zee: "Come on."

"Let's go see Lydia."

I recognized the name immediately.

Dr. Lydia Carter.

Zee spoke about her with absolute confidence.

The kind of confidence people usually reserve for mothers, pastors, or miracles.

Zee: "Dr. Carter has the tools to fix just about anything"

I couldn't help smiling.

That sounded impossible.

Not hopeful.

Impossible.

The world I'd come from didn't have people who fixed everything.

Still...

faith comes in different forms.

Some people place theirs in God.

Others place it in medicine.

As we walked toward Medical, another memory surfaced.

"I remember her."

Zee looked over.

"You do?"

"When I woke up."

"I think she was one of the first faces I saw."

She smiled.

"I figured she would be."

The visit itself was brief.

Mostly conversation.

Mostly reassurance.

By the time we left, I realized something.

The Vault had stopped treating me like an artifact.

People had started treating me like a neighbor.

That evening Zee invited me to dinner in the main Chow Room.

The smell reached us before the food did.

Mesquite.

Pepper.

Smoke.

Real barbecue.

Standing over one of the cutting blocks was a woman built like she could split a tree with her bare hands.

She worked through slabs of brisket with a cleaver that looked older than both of us.

She looked intimidating.

Until she smiled.

Then the whole room softened.

Zee: "That's Jillie."

I watched her work.

"Looks like she doesn't tolerate much."

Zee laughed.

"She actually doesn't."

Then she leaned closer.

"She used to be Brotherhood of Steel."

That surprised me.

Maybe more than it should have.

"I take it everybody knows?"

"They do."

"And?"

"They trust her."

I nodded.

People are more than the uniforms they wear.

Sometimes they're measured by the lives they choose afterward.

Dinner stretched longer than either of us planned.

We talked about Houston.

About engineering.

About music.

About things neither of us completely understood.

She asked about New Orleans.

I answered as best I could.

Though sometimes I wasn't sure whether I was describing a city...

or remembering a dream.

By the time we stood, the dining hall had emptied.

I figured I'd head back upstairs.

Back to the room they'd assigned me.

Back to another quiet night.

Instead...

Zee: "You know..."

She looked down the hallway before looking back at me.

Zee: "I've got room."

I looked at her.

For a second, I wasn't sure what to say.

Then Lydia's voice came from behind us.

Dr. Lydia Carter: "Well, if Marcel gets cold, I'm sure we can find a way to keep him warm."

I turned.

Lydia was standing in the hallway with the most innocent expression I'd ever seen on a person who was very clearly not being innocent.

I stared at her.

"Keep me warm?"

She nodded.

"Medical recommendation."

I looked at Zee.

Zee looked at Lydia.

Then back at me.

Nobody said anything.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Lydia."

She smiled.

"What?"

"You know exactly what you just said."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

She shrugged.

"I was talking about blankets."

"Sure you were."

Lydia smiled wider.

"Well, if your mind went somewhere else, Mr. Marcel, that's between you and your conscience."

Zee covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

I pointed at Lydia.

"You're trouble."

She started walking away.

Dr. Lydia Carter: "And you're alive. Try to stay that way."

I watched her disappear around the corner.

Zee finally lost the battle and laughed.

I shook my head.

One hundred and forty-eight years asleep.

Eight days awake.

And somehow the people in this Vault had already decided keeping me confused was part of my rehabilitation.

I wasn't sure whether to be grateful...

or concerned.

Probably both.

For someone who had spent nearly a century and a half asleep...

human closeness felt unfamiliar.

Not frightening.

Just unfamiliar.

Some moments belong to the people living them.

Not the pages remembering them.

I'll simply say this.

That night, Vault 288 felt less like a shelter...

and a little more like home.

Tomorrow would bring more questions.

Tonight...

I finally stopped feeling like I was walking through someone else's life.

— Big Chief Mike Marcel