Boulder City's east gate.
Beside the trade station's unloading area, crates and bundles of goods were piled into small mountains.
Standing beside a stack of grain, the bare-chested loader flung a grimy rag over his shoulder and reached out to push at the sturdy burlap sacks, surprise rising in his eyes.
"Is this yesterday's shipment?"
Henry remembered it clearly.
Yesterday morning, he had just unloaded this batch from the backs of two-headed oxen. He hadn't expected to be loading it back up again so soon.
A coworker beside him bared his teeth as he spoke.
"Yeah. Grain shipped in from the southern farms. It smells as nice as freshly dried clothes."
Ever since June began, the weather here had been getting hotter and hotter. A bottle of ice-cold Nuka-Cola would have been perfect.
But on their wages, they couldn't afford such a luxury.
"Where are these goods being shipped?" A dark-skinned youth leaned over and asked curiously.
Henry remembered his name. It seemed to be Hang. He lived in a nearby slum and was either twelve or thirteen, in any case still very young.
Unlike other places, the trade station employed quite a few people from the slums outside the giant wall.
He had heard that those people asked for even less pay than they did. One chip a day and two spoonfuls of sticky nutrient paste were enough for them.
To be honest, Henry really disliked these slum children. Because there were always people willing to endure lower living standards, their wages kept dropping again and again.
One chip might be enough to keep him alive by himself, but he had a whole family to support!
"They're being sent to our neighbors," Henry replied coldly.
One of the loaders beside him couldn't help complaining.
"Damn it... with this much