Chapter 1

Pain. His head throbbed with it. His eyes were closed, but that didn't really help the blistering ache in his noggin. Eventually, the pain dimmed to the point that he didn't feel like his head was going to explode. He could tell that he was horizontal on some hard, metallic surface, and that didn't help his head any.

He opened his eyes.

Directly above him was a set of bright lights, giving off a sterile white glow. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the lumens bombarding them.

"You're awake! I was starting to think maybe they'd fried your brains or something."

The voice, which was female, came from his right and below him. He looked for the source, and saw a dark-skinned woman dressed like the Wastelanders he'd met, dirty and unkempt.

He looked around, and saw that he was in some kind of cell. It seemed designed to keep people in them temporarily, as there was no toilet, bed, or other amenities one might expect in a longer term prison. She said 'they'd fried,' 'they' presumably referring to our captors. Cell lacks facilities for sustained occupation. Her surprise at my regaining consciousness indicates knowledge of prior prisoners, who were either not returned alive or returned with significant reduction in higher brain functions. Conclusion: our captors are planning use us for scientific experiments that are probably dangerous to our health, mental or physical. Will attempt to confirm hypothesis.

"They? Who's they? And who might you be, if I may ask?"

The woman helped him sit up. "My name is Somah. I've been here I don't know how long. 'They' are the things that run the experiments here. Never seen anything like 'em on Earth, so I call 'em 'Aliens.'"

He groaned. Hypothesis confirmed. Sometimes I wish I had been a less intelligent man. "My name's Goldman, Gordon Goldman. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Somah. Please tell me you are not a drug addict."

She looked insulted. "I've never had any of that foul stuff pass my lips, kid! Never!"

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "You've clearly never read Huxley. I did not mean to insult you or your self-control." She seemed to accept his apology. "Given our circumstances, it would seem that escape is in our best interest. They are keeping us alive and unharmed, thus far, clearly indicating that they want us for something. That thing is likely quite bad for us, so I would recommend that we start fighting. If they think we are trying to damage each other, they'll intervene. To do that, they'll need to open the door."

Somah thought about it, clearly torn between wanting to escape and taking orders from a thirteen year old. "OK. I'll do it."

They stood up, stretched, and generally worked out the stiffness from being sedentary. Then they put up their fists and began to hit each other. I must hold back in this fight. She is not my enemy, and if I win too quickly, it may not accomplish our goal.

Sure enough, the Aliens opened the cell and tried to break up the fight. Gordon's training kicked in, and he hurled Somah on top of one of the Alien guards so he could deal with the other. He killed it with two broken arms, repeated blunt trauma to the head, and its own weapon. Electrified police baton, now that's an interesting piece of technology. I presume that it's not designed for prolonged contact, given the stench from this one, but it would likely be more effective than a normal baton.

He then turned and slaughtered the one Somah had been holding down. "Thanks, kid. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"I would prefer it if you would use my name, Somah. Or would you prefer I start calling you 'Smelly?' He accentuated that by waving his hand in front of his face, as if to remove something malodourous.

She harrumphed, and said "I haven't had a decent bath in months. I'd like to see you go that long and smell fresh as daisies."

He shook his head. "Pick up that baton and follow me. We've got a long way to go."

***Scene Break***

Gordon Goldman was a genius. Even at a tender thirteen years of age, he knew that he was the most intelligent person in Vault 101. Most of his hours were filled with endless study and acquisition of knowledge. He enjoyed working his mind to exhaustion, often alone, simply because he could then talk circles around anyone else, whether old or young. Even if he had been born a dwarf, he would have cast a giant shadow.

Of course, his brilliant mind wasn't all fun and games. Early on, he simply didn't have the drive to exercise his body that the other kids in the Vault did, and he was frequently bullied. The worst of the lot was Butch DeLoria, a boy who very much fit his name. Encounters with him were frequent, unavoidable, and usually ended with his head stuffed in a toilet.

Needless to say, the unpleasant nature of his relationship with Butch soon instilled in the young polymath a substantial drive to improve his body. He began at the age of seven with aerobics, to strengthen his lungs and heart, and resistance exercises to build his muscles. The next year, he began scouring the old databases for knowledge of martial arts, knowing that he would never match DeLoria in a contest of pure strength.

Shortly before his tenth birthday, he was ready. His mind and body were primed for the confrontation with Butch, which he knew would take place right after school. He barely paid attention in his lessons, counting on his hours of studying ahead to carry him through the day til his hour arrived.

The bell announcing the end of the school day rang.

As expected, Butch and his gang of fellow bullies and hangers-on came after him less than two minutes past the bell. He pretended not to notice, letting his feet carry him on at the same leisurely pace he left the classroom in. "Hey, guys, what do you say we have some fun with the squirt over here?" Butch loved to taunt him, but he didn't do it as much as he used to. It's hard to enjoy something when it fails to achieve its purpose. He sneezed into his handkerchief, carrying through with his act of having a cold.

A hand spun him around; it was Butch's. "I'm glad his mom is dead. That way, she doesn't have to see him like this. If she was here, she'd be ashamed."

This mustn't register on an emotional level. First, distract target with handkerchief. Next, block his blind jab. Counter with cross to left cheek. Discombobulate. Dazed, will attempt wild haymaker; employ elbow block and body shot. Block feral left; weaken right jaw, now fracture. Break cracked ribs. Traumatize solar plexus. Dislocate jaw entirely. Heel kick to diaphragm. In short, ears ringing, jaw fractured, three ribs cracked, four broken, diaphragm hemorrhaging. Capacity to insult mother neutralized.

Thirty second of shocking violence later, Butch groaned on the floor. His gang stood slack-jawed at the ferocity of the resistance. Gordon watched in satisfaction as they turned tail and ran, no doubt to fetch the Overseer or a security guard. I was really getting tired of their bullying. Then he thought of the consequences. My Dad's going to kill me.

***Scene Break***

One of the benefits of being a genius, Gordon knew from experience, was the planning. Anything he could anticipate, he could counter. These Aliens were no different. He had been exploring the Capital Wasteland for around eighteen months when he found the crash site and saw the gun near it. He was travelling with another at the time, and the boy went out to grab the gun. He was snatched up in some kind of tractor beam, and not seen again. Still curious about the strange craft, he sent in one of his simple probe drones to drag the alien body to him. He studied it for six months. The Aliens were very much like humans, but given the kidnapping of his companion, he thought it best to plan hostilities. Now, he was glad he had.

"Somah, I have weapons and armor in my pack. Help me find it."

He had just smacked down his sixth Alien, and was getting rather annoyed at having to duel each of them in close quarters. Inadequate security personnel and armament in the cell block. Indicates ignorance of basic military doctrine; shall exploit at every opportunity.

Five minutes of searching containers later, they found the equipment he had packed for this little expedition. Gordon slipped into his custom-manufacture hazardous environment combat suit with a sigh of relief. He picked up his Assault Rifle, chambered for the 5.56x45mm NATO cartridge, and checked his ammo. Twelve thirty-round box magazines, check. 9mm semiautomatic pistol and twelve fifteen-round clips, check. Fragmentation grenades, check.

His armament secured, he looked over at Somah looking between one of his combat vests, and a 12-guage combat shotgun in her hand. "The big green box is loaded with shells. Red casing indicates 01 buckshot, yellow is slug. Grab a combat knife, one of the pistols, and some clips, as well. We don't know how many of these things there are."

"What are you, kid, a walking arsenal? I don't think I've ever seen so many guns in one boy's pack in my life!" She exclaimed.

Gordon chuckled. "I knew about their hostile nature six months ago, and I've been planning this boarding operation since then. I didn't want to run out of weaponry if I couldn't use any of their stuff."

Somah stared at him, her eyes wide. "You mean you planned to get abducted!?"

"Yes," Gordon nodded. "These Aliens are clearly hostile to humanity, and I judged their physiology to be weak enough that I could handle this myself." Somah picked up a canister. "Be careful with that! It contains a neurotoxin I synthesized to deal with the Aliens, and I don't know what effect, if any, it may have on humans."

Startled, she put it down gingerly. "So what do we do with it?"

"First, you put on one of those HEVC suits. It'll filter out the toxin and provide you with some protection against those things. Second, we make our way around the ship, planting these canisters in as many places as we can. Once they're in place, I detonate them. The gas should clear out the Aliens nicely. We can sweep the ship after that, kill any stragglers."

The woman grinned. "Since you're the man with the plan, I'll follow you boss."

The two armored humans made their way through the cell block, shooting Aliens and searching containers for more gear. They found some, and supplemented their armament with bulky Alien energy pistols. They fired without any projectile spread at all, and hit harder than the SIG Sauers Gordon had brought with him.

They reached a door. "Damn! It's locked," Somah said. Gordon looked around. "No obvious terminals to control access, so I can only assume that it's on the other side. Come on, let's see if there's another way."

In the next room, they met another prisoner. She had grey eyes, blond hair, and looked about ten years old. "Well, hello there, and who might you be?" Gordon asked.

"I'm Sally. The Aliens grabbed me and my sister on our way home from the park. I don't know what happened to her. I hope she's alright. Were you abducted too?"

"It's nice to meet you, Sally. My name is Gordon Goldman. You wouldn't happen to know how to get out of this cell block, would you?" He didn't really think she could help them, but she had been there longer, and he wanted to cover all of his bases.

"Sure! There's a vent system that I can crawl through to open the door. But first you need to overload the nearby power generator. It's through there," she pointed, "just push the three cylinders around it and shoot it."

Gordon shrugged, knowing that he had to help her if he wanted to get out of the cell block and to a terminal he could hack. "Come one, Somah, let's go blow up her generator."

***Scene Break***

Gordon could only describe the next several hours as anti-climactic. The Stealth Boys he had built into his HEVC suits made sneaking through the ship easy, and his access to an Alien console had pinpointed the core element of any starship life support system: the CO2 scrubbers. It took an hour to get there without showing the Aliens his intentions and plant the gas canisters, then three more hours doing the same at critical locations like the Bridge, the Death Ray control room, and the main hangers. At the end of his stealthy, yet violent trek through the impressive vessel, he pushed the button and let the neurotoxin cleanse the ship.

"Say, boss, how long does this stuff last?"

He turned to Somah, who had helped him by keeping Alien attention focused on her. "The toxin dissipates after 24 hours. We should use this time to sweep through the ship and clear out any that managed to survive the purge."

So they did. That process was longer than planting the canisters had been, and more harrowing for both parties. After all, Aliens wearing sealed space suit could certainly survive the gas and jump out of anywhere.

Sally had proven most helpful herself. She knew the ship much better than Gordon thought a prisoner should, and she could interface with the Alien terminals more easily than he could, despite his translation software. She had disappeared a number of times during the operation, and refused to answer any questions about what she had done. Note to self: plant monitoring device on Sally. Suspected Alien interaction. Probable counterpart(s): the ones wearing red jumpsuits.

Eventually, he judged the ship secure, and announced that to his companions. "Well, it looks like we're the only things still drawing breath on this thing. Now we have to find a way back to Earth. The most likely place to find that information is on the Bridge."

Once looking out at the stars through the Bridge windows, Gordon instructed his companions to check for any teleporter signals from the planet's surface. He bent down and plucked a shiny weapon from the hands of what looked to be the Alien captain, and noticed a blinking light on one of the consoles. He pushed the illuminated button.

"Attention! To anyone who can hear my voice. I am Major William Harkin. My men and I are stranded at the Tricell Chemical factory. We request immediate assistance. I repeat: We are stranded at the Tricell Chemical factory and request immediate assistance."

Gordon looked at his Pip-Boy 3000, heavily modified for much higher processing power and storage capacity, and pinpointed the source of the distress call. "Well, this is interesting. I'm going to go check this out."

Locating a way back to Earth didn't take much longer. Gordon's Pip-Boy was more than sufficient to override the pitiful security on the Alien computer systems and launch a teleport beacon to a location of his choosing. One transport later, and he was standing very close to the freight elevator to Vault 101. He entered the garage, noted that his rover had returned to base as programmed, and hopped back in.

The drive to the source of the radio signal took him a few hours. When he arrived, he noted a heavy concentration of Super Mutants, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

Thank God I recharged the stealth systems on this suit after the Alien ship, he mused. This would have been most harrowing otherwise. He entered the factory, immediately spotting the massive Super Mutant behemoth. I didn't think I'd be facing one of those! I didn't bring any heavy ordnance! After a bit of thought, he snuck around to the console on the other side of the room and activated it, hoping to find some kind of halon-based fire suppression system. But mere seconds after touching the keyboard, the machinery exploded in miniature nuclear fireballs. Thankfully, the console itself shielded him from the blasts, and his suit rendered him much less susceptible to radiation exposure.

Gordon walked down onto the floor, among the large, green corpses. Note to self: commence experiment on Super Mutant DNA to isolate changes from human normal. Goal: cure or effective toxin for mass extermination.

A door near the back of the room had been blown off its hinges by the exploding machines, and he passed through the whole. At the end of the short corridor beyond, he opened the next door and walked into another room.

Behind a small wall of crates stood three humans, two wearing some kind of advanced combat armor, the third what looked like an officer's uniform. "Thank you stranger. You're just in the nick of time. I was beginning to worry that our ammunition would run out before a rescue could be mounted. Though you do look rather short for a soldier."

Gordon looked the man over. He seemed in his mid to late forties, with what little hair he had turning gray. The voice was familiar, however. "I am Gordon Goldman. I am no soldier, just a simple Vault dweller out for a drive. Now then, your message said you were a Major, does that mean you are a military officer? And is it connected to that insignia on your cap? I saw it once before, on a corpse, and I could only think that it looked like it was connected to the US Army or something."

Harkin looked somewhat surprised. "You saw an Enclave officer? Where?"

Within his helmet, Gordon smiled. "One answer at a time, now. I do believe you still owe me one."

The man nodded, and said "I am Major William Harkin, formerly of the Enclave Armed Forces. My men and I had irreconcilable differences with the High Command and the President, and chose to leave rather than put our skills to assignment we judged crimes against humanity. The Enclave say they are the remnants of the United States government and military, which fits your supposition. Where did you see this Enclave officer? I don't think any operations have been conducted in the Wasteland or in any Vaults."

"I saw the dead officer on board a ship, he didn't look to good, almost like he'd been tortured, then patched up roughly and dropped back in his cell. Don't bother looking for the perpetrators; they're all dead now. As you are deserters, may I assume that you're looking for a safe place to call home?"

Harkin nodded. "You assume correctly. We have been hounded by the rest of the Enclave for deserting. We even had to abandon our power armor to prevent them from tracking us down. We tried to join the Brotherhood of Steel, but they just shot at us before we could really make our case. I'm afraid that the only way for us to be safe is to vanish from the face of the Earth!"

Gordon chuckled. "Interesting way of phrasing it. That's exactly what I have to offer."

"I beg your pardon? I don't think I really follow you." Harkin asked.

"How would you like to become a god?"

A/N: If you haven't seen the first Sherlock Holmes film, with Robert Downey Jr, go watch the fight scene.