All was quiet at the trading post of Davenport. The merchants came out from their camps and set up their displays as per the usual morning routine. The makeshift marketplace had sprung up suddenly in recent weeks, all hands hoping to see a share of the caps coming in to the main attraction. It seemed like some were in it for the long run, builders had been commissioned from the nearby town of Creswell to construct a couple of shacks. Apart from the worn but homely old-world house that stood dead center of the quickly expanding shantytown, the only other free-standing structure was an old barn that had recently been converted into a hotel of sorts, a place for travelers to hang their hats while the maestro did his work. For indeed in that old house, miracles were being performed, miracles that brought people from all around. Miracles that had drawn young George Cantwell. He was soon to be recruited into the ranks of the OBR Riflemen and wanted to carry forward his family's legacy, so a week ago, he had set out from Elizabeth City with a caravan headed for this very trading post. Cautiously he made his way up through the row of merchant stands, and navigated around Brahmin, saddled down with goods, until he stood in front of the old house. His eyes were drawn to the sign hanging above the doorway.
Elated that his journey was over, George walked up the steps and knocked twice on the wooden frame.
"Just a minute!" He heard a voice call, seconds before the door edged open. A young looking man dressed in leather garb and a green military-style jacket peered back at him.
"Yes sir? How can I help?"
"Are you Forge?" George asked.
"Me? No, no, I work for him. My name is Brick. Were you looking to avail of his services?"
"Uhh, I guess so, yes"
"Well come on in then, take a seat at the table here" Brick stepped out of the way to allow the young soldier-to-be entry. George did as Brick said and took a seat.
"Up on the wall next to you is the list of services, we'd be here all day if we were to explain them all, and Forge is a busy man, so why don't you explain to me what you need and I'll suggest the best course of action?"
George reached to his side and tugged at his holster "This is my father's pistol. Or, I guess, it was. And his father's before that. Kind of a family heirloom. Anyway, it hasn't really been firing right, and I really wanted it at my side when I enlisted"
"Well, let me see it" Brick reached out and took the pistol from the table. he sized it up from all angles and gave it a couple of shakes "Well right away I can tell ya, your sights are off-center. I could fix those right here, but that's not it. If I was a betting man, I'd say its the barrel, could be cracked, I mean, this has been in your family for generations, no offence to you and yours, but I doubt its ever been properly serviced. Now, what we can do for you is the standard full bodywork job. Strip it down, see what's what, replace some parts, clean it all up then pop it back together, that'll be about 75 caps, that's the flat fee on servicing jobs anyway. However if you wanted to bring this weapon up to 110%, I'd suggest the premium service. I have no idea if that's even in your price range, but I will tell you, it'll be at least 200. We do the same work, but on a premium job, we use nothing but the absolute best parts. Sometimes they're even custom made for the job, like cutting a new barrel from old-world metal and the like. And we throw in a handful of bullets as a bonus. It's an expensive service, but if you chose to go for it, I guarantee you that weapon will last until your children's children walk this earth, if not longer"
"Wow. That sounds great, I definitely wanna do right by my father, so yeah, give me the premium service. 200 caps you said?"
Brick held up a hand "payment on completion of services. That's a hard-line rule here. One last question- does she have a name?"
"A name? Uh, no I don't think. I guess I never really thought about it before"
"All great weapons are named. Forge really likes that, and you seem like a decent sort. Respectful. So I'm gonna throw in a tag job on the house. Now lastly, it's gonna take a while, I'd say midday tomorrow, so what you can do...." Brick trailed off to reach off to a side table just out of George's view ".... is take this coupon over to Angie, she runs the inn over in the other building. That says you're one of Forge's customers, she gives you a bed for the night and some food in the morning for free."
George was overwhelmed as he stood up "Wow, this is great, thank you sir"
"Hey, don't mention it bud. We'll see you back here tomorrow"
"Oh, and can you tell him not to do anything about the scratches on it? Dad liked to make a mark on it whenever he killed something"
"Yeah, no problem kiddo, see you later"
George had just left when another man pushed his way in through the door. At first glance it'd be easy to call him a raider, and maybe he was, but right now, he was a paying customer known as Hardy.
"Mr. Hardy, welcome back" Brick said "You here to pick up the Tenderizer?"
"What? I come for my bat" The loud and ignorant man exclaimed.
Brick reached below the counter and placed a metal baseball bat out in plain view "You paid for a tag job, and with all the work done on this beauty, Forge decided to name it the Tenderizer. Shall we recap?"
"I just want the stupid thing, got places to be kid, how much?"
"175 caps"
"Are you friggin' for real? He didn't even really do nothing, not that I can see. Where is this Forge hack? I wanna see this guy"
The change in tone was immediate. Brick reached out and took a hold of the bat "I really think you want me to recap the work. You said, and I quote "I want this thing to be so strong that I could swing it at a rock 1000 times and it wouldn't dent" Now, if I can draw your attention to the tip here, that ring? That's from cutting it open to place a 'core' inside, a kind of infrastructure to keep the exterior shape, it also adds a bit of heft, for a little extra damage on impact. I constructed that 'core' used energy cells to cut open the bat, and then welded it back up. Then I was inspired and so I welded on this ring of crimped metalwork along the top edge, that's where the name came from. This thing can really cause damage" Brick walked out to face Hardy, gently patting the bat against his empty hand.
"Wait... you? You're Forge?"
"Correct. So before you insult me further, I have to ask. Do you want a demonstration. Maybe I can convince you its worth the 175"
"Just... hang on man" Hardy began fumbling around in his pockets. Brick didn't wait. He gripped the Tenderizer in both hands and made a huge swing, the "crown" of the bat connecting square with Hardy's jaw. The much bigger man fell over, blood streaming from his mouth, nose, and ears. He tried to speak, breathe even, and found only pain when he tried to use his dislodged jaw. Finally he managed to squeak out a "wait" between his moans of pain.
"You don't deserve this weapon" Brick spat out with pure venom "How could you? You don't respect it, care for this beautiful object. THe only way, you could ever.... EVER honor it.... is to be its first victim"
"no. please" the words were more groans than anything else.
Brick brought the bat down once more, smashing the last ounce of life from Hardy. He stood upright, drew out a scrap of cloth, then wiped off the blood from the weapon.
"Had a feeling you weren't the one meant for the Tenderizer" he told the bashed corpse matter of factly. Oh well.
Brick went to the door, and poked his head outside, he scanned to porch until he set eyes on the armed guard standing nearby.
"Hey Joe, you're workin' today? Need you to drag Mr. Hardy out of here when you get a chance. Might be some blood to clear up too, but there's Abraxo in the closet. I gotta get to work"
"No problem boss man" The guard responded.
Brick retreated inside and headed off for the workshop he had set up in the back room, George Cantwell's pistol in hand.
"I know just what I'll name you....." he said as he slapped on some gloves and got to work.
FourtyTwo