Part 4 - The Blue Star Caps
I once had a comic when I was a kid. It was about some pretty regular guy who had something happen to him that should have killed him, but then instead it gave him superpowers. I had found myself vaguely wondering if this might have been the case with me but so far attempts at shooting eye-lasers or telekinesis had just made me feel sickeningly dizzy. It was morning in Goodsprings now and I had said my obligatory goodbye to Trudy, Mitchell and Sunny and was just heading by the local general store before I hit the trail again. I shielded my eyes with a hand as I approached.
But what if you did have superpowers I thought to myself, there being nothing much better to do.
Wouldn't it be great to just...fly off out of here? There's got to be some place better somewhere. That was just idle thinking though. No place in the country survived the bombs entirely.
The Goodsprings general store was like most around the wastes - just some beat-up shack where a nailed down drifter sold battered guns, dirty ammo and other trinkets from around the wilds. Most had a background in wandering the lands, rooting around abandoned buildings, combing over the same forsaken holes that others had gone over long before. Every now and then you got lucky and find a shiny cap that the past scavenger had overlooked. If you came across a working rifle then you'd hit the jackpot. There was somebody else in front of me at the general store, so I had to busy myself with browsing the marked, wooden wall while the storekeeper was done with the other guy.
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"You sure you wouldn't be willing to sell my friend?" I overhead the two speaking and made no great effort to not listen in. The store was no more than a mid-sized room, so there seemed little point. "I can offer you two hundred caps. Surely that's worth it."
"I'm afraid you can't budge me sir, I'm not selling for no less than four hundred a piece. I know what they are." The customer looked agitated and I could see his eyes narrow.
"Are you sure? You do know they say those things are cursed. Could be I'd be doing you a favour taking them off your hands." At this the shopkeeper riled.
"Are you threatening me you dirt-eating little weasel?" He roared, snapping out a 9mm pistol and pointing it with a steady hand. "Get the fuck out of here before I blow your brains all this gentleman. Not that it'd be much o' an inconvenience seeing as you don't have any brains worth mentioning." I saw that the customer had his hand fondling what I could only assume was his own gun hidden inside his coat.
"Well then...don't say I didn't tell you about that bad luck then" the guy said with a leer as he turned away and stomped out of the store. My eyes followed him out the shop and I took my own hand away from the handle of my pistol.
Welcome to the wasteland! I said in my head.
Bastion of crazies, thugs and shopowners who don't want to splatter brains over their customers. I guess that's probably bad for business.
"Sorry about that. Deckard aint it?" I turned to face the shopkeeper - a round faced guy who looked about my age.
"Yeah, that's right. Just here to grab some supplies before heading out." The man relaxed and set his pistol down on a shop counter that passed for polished by wasteland standards. "Err...what was that guys problem?" I asked jabbing a thumb in the direction of the door. The store-keeper took a seat on his bench behind the counter and lit a cigarette. He took a drag and stared at me for a few seconds before seeming to come to a decision.
"You ever heard of the star bottle caps?" He asked, his voice loaded with caution. Ah, that makes sense I thought. I shook my head at any rate. "A stupid wasteland myth I reckon - y'know how people like a story to go chasing when they've got nothing else...well...this is just another one of them stories. Gives people something to do - something to chase. Personally I don't believe it but there are plenty of people who do and..." The shopkeeper grinned "A fool and their money are soon parted."
"Tell me about these caps then, you've got me all intrigued Mr..." I left the sentence hanging in the air.
"Names Chet" the keeper said giving me a nod.
"Mr. Chet then. I've heard all kinds of things around the wastes but nothing about no star bottle caps. They worth much?"
"To the right man" said Chet, nodding. "People think they're treasure, or put more accurately they think they give you access to some treasure."
"They used in some kind of treasure vending machine then?" I asked. Chet laughed, but I could see that he was still being entirely serious.
"Something like that...something like that" he said nodding to the rhythm of the radio. "People think there's some guy named Festus out their somewhere guarding this horde of pre-war trinkets. Word is he'll only give you access if you got enough of these babies." Chet had been rummaging around in his inner pockets and held out a slim disc of metal in front of my face. At first glance it had just looked like a regular bottle cap. On closer inspection it looked just like the one I had in my own pocket - its shape distorted like all other wasteland caps, but the print of a star very visible on the blue, chipped paint.
"Aint that a beauty"
"A pretty lady for sure, and she's got
many suitors. I've heard of men killin' just on the suspicion that some lonely traveller is carrying one of these. Me? More sane men will pay a pretty penny for one. I found a few back before I settled down in Goodsprings. Selling ?em off has made me a pretty penny for sure.? I nodded vaguely, almost aware of the shape of my own star cap in my coat pocket. They were certainly worth a lot of currency in these parts, but in my personal experience I couldn't make up my mind whether they were quite worth the trouble.
***
Bags clanking jollily with renewed piles of ammunition I had set off from Goodsprings, going south towards Primm via the highway. I had my old 9mm pistol holstered at my hip as well as the rifle that Sunny Smiles had given me slung around my back. The broken highway stretched out into the distance, eventually becoming blurred as it wound its way among the mountains, hidden by waves of heat emitting from the ground far off. Following the road lamely were scratched and broken pylons, each jutting out from the arid earth every dozen of metres or so, each draped heavy with thick wires that no longer worked. Perhaps I should have felt a sense of ceremony walking out back into the wilderness again. Maybe if there had been some definitive dividing line between Goodsprings and The Wastes I would have stopped, looked out to the wilderness, took a breath and stepped over the dividing line sending a brief prayer to whatever deity might be passing. As it was I trucked on out of Goodsprings with barely a look back. No time to hang around and get sentimental. Stuff needed doing.
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