Chapter 2- Cry For Help
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Capitol Wasteland.
Six Months After the Nuclear Option.
Sentinel Abraham Lincoln.
A slow, silent breeze floated across mountains of rubble and destroyed homes, carrying the scent of death and decay along with it.
I stood, half concealed by shadow and dust, in the fifth floor of what I imagined used to be an office building dedicated to radio communications. In my right hand I maintained a firm grip on a heavy pre-war lunchbox fitted with an antenna. On the face of the box, a red light flashed from a receiver box. Even through the thick steel plates of my T-51 power armor, I could feel a chill settle over me. On the ground below, in a span of road cleared of debris by a hundred years of foot traffic, an obstacle blocked my path.
Through my helmet, I heard a voice over the radio.
"Sentinel, orders?"
I paused for a moment, choosing my words and my plan with care.
"Leader to Lyon's Pride," I said, forcing confidence into my voice, "Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage."
There was a mutual cry of outrage across the team comms, something I had prepared for.
After the death of Elder Lyons and his daughter following the war with the Enclave, I came out of retirement temporarily and took charge of the Lyon's Pride, a special task force in Washington DC with the specific task of serving as a shock team to reinforce weak points and drive the enemy out of Brotherhood controlled areas with lightning speed and surgical precision. With Maxson in charge, all but a handful of the East Coast chapter flew North on the Prydwen, and would have abandoned the remaining Brothers to their deaths had I not convinced the majority of the Outcasts (who had been brought back into the fold as part of young Elder Maxson's campaign) to remain behind, effectively solidifying the Brotherhood's hold on the Capitol. The result was a band of sixty Scribes, Knights, and Paladins eager for trigger time, and a real shot at redemption for the Outcasts. Retreat was not an ideal that sat well in the minds of my men.
"That is a behemoth down there," I replied calmly, "And there are only seven of us. I estimate our casualties at over fifty percent, and I'm not willing to lose a single one of the Brotherhood's finest on a crusade for Three Dog without proper reinforcements. Abort mission immediately."
For a long moment, there was silence, and I gripped the mirror-chrome stock of the otherworldly Disintegrator rifle in preparation to leap to the ground below and begin assaulting the giant Super Mutant.
"You're in charge, Wanderer," one of the Paladins, a veteran from the original Lyon's Pride named Kevin Chambers, replied with a sigh.
Relieved, I clipped the rifle in its holster across my back, and the transmitter box at my waist.
"Thank you, Paladin," I said gratefully, "Return to the Citadel and regroup with Iron Fist. Get a virtibird crew and assist them in removing this monster from our city before you plant the transmitter. Only engage if the air support falls under attack, and Paladin Chambers shall lead the mission."
"Where will you be?" Chambers asked, "You have a girlfriend we don't know about, sir?"
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head.
"I've been kicking doors with you boys for a month straight. I can only handle so much testosterone."
"Negative, Sentinel," our engineer, Rowley, grunted into the mic, "There's definitely a woman. What's her name?"
Through the golden mirror plating of my helmet's visor, Rowley wouldn't have been able to notice how hard I was glaring in his direction, though there could have been no mistaking it from the inside.
"April," I replied, smiling despite myself, "The name's April."
Through the channel a flood of profane, vulgar, and somewhat encouraging language poured into my helmet.
"Right on, sir, get yourself some."
"Is she fat, or a ghoul?"
"What kind of lady gets the honor of sleeping with the Lone Wanderer?"
"Hopefully she doesn't plan on staying with him, he never stays anywhere for too long. Half the people in the Capitol aren't even sure he exists."
"My money's on ghoul, the Sent always struck me as the kind of guy who likes that freaky leather-texture shit-"
"That's enough," I said, calm despite my amusement.
The channel fell silent instantly.
"I'm not sure how long I'll be out, as you all are aware my wanderings often take at least a few weeks, so Captain Chambers is in charge until further notice. Captain Chambers."
"Yes, Sentinel?"
"Keep these fine warriors safe. Don't take risks, even when they want you to. The survival of this team, of the true Brotherhood, is the most important task on Earth. We are the thin steel line between the light and the dark, do not ever forget that."
"I understand, sir."
I nodded, begrudgingly allowing a sense of prideful vanity at the team I'd trained. For a long time, I'd worried that my less-than-frequent-involvement with the Brotherhood might have allowed Maxon's delusional rise to power. My father had done research with them, trusted them, and then what? Madison Li, the very woman who had assisted him in completing his life's work, had cut and run from the Brotherhood and joined the monsters down under up in Boston, the notorious Institute. My faith in the Brotherhood in question, I begun focusing more and more of my time making discoveries in the Wasteland, just me and a suit of power armor against the world.
Well, that's not exactly true, I corrected myself, Dogmeat's only been gone for about three years, give or take.
Either way, it's very easy for someone to begin to appreciate the value of being alone, and the value of good company, when choice was so cruelly taken out of the matter for so long. I had duties, oaths I would die before failing to uphold, to several factions in the Wasteland. First and foremost, my allegiance lie with humanity. Human beings and humanity are different, mind you. I had never cared much for raiders or bandits, men who had given up on treating others with base respect. To rebuild the same greedy, selfish society of moronic warmongers from the pre-war era would be foolish to the point of insanity. It didn't work then, so why would it work now? No, the Capitol would be the start of a society of people who respect not only their common man, but the world as a whole. No more nuclear weapons, there's no need for them. No more war, though war never changes anyway. No need for ruthless bloodshed over food and water, instead work together to create a means to ensure enough of both of everyone. A community, not just a population. These were the beliefs that my mother and father had sworn to, as demonstrated by my Father's selfless sacrifice to ensure clean drinking water for the entire Capitol, and I found them to be solid morals to live by.
Second, I owed an allegiance to the true architects of the human civilization, but the details are not important. Not yet, keep reading.
Third, I was a Sentinel in the Brotherhood of Steel. An unusual rank, a Sentinel is not bound by the chain of command, not in terms of protocol, at least. I answered only to the Elder of my chapter, Arthur Maxson, and the High Elder, who coincidentally also happened to be Arthur Maxson. I had been given the position by Elder Lyons, as a means to justify allowing me to travel at will and yet still assist the Brotherhood when I was able. I had the freedom to conduct operations without the permission of the Elders, so long as I did not violate the Laws of War, and I used the Lyons Pride to launch guerilla attacks on super mutant hives, deathclaw nests, and raider camps, in the name of securing the Capitol.
Proof that the team I'd trained, the Captain I'd personally ranked, would effectively uphold these ideals and help create the image of the future I saw in my head, was plain as day in the form of the new Lyon's Pride.
I switched the comms off, and leaned against the crumbling wall, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.
The Capitol will at least be a little safer with this behemoth gone, and with Three Dog's transmitter in place we can communicate with even more of the city.
"Maybe I should take some time off, some real time off," I said softly to myself, making my way to the elevator that ran off a temporary generator we had installed a few months previous to allow for a vantage point of the road below, "Maybe I'll give John a call, spend some time out west with his folk. I'm sure Elder McNamara wouldn't mind sheltering me for a week or so."
I tapped the elevator button, and the lift began to slowly descend.
Would be nice, I thought, save for the fact that I would then have no choice but to spend a week or two in the company of a man with questionable morals, a filthy mouth, and a happy trigger finger. All the while I'll be living in a bunker of bought-and-paid-for Brotherhood sellouts. They're on Cash's payroll, no doubts there. But there are many fine men and women in their ranks, even if they are owned by an egomaniac.
A buzz in my helmet shook me from my thoughts of gambling and more physical comforts, and I allowed the transmission to come through.
"Wanderer," I answered.
"Yip-yee yep yaaaa yee yee yip!"
I froze in my tracks.
"April, repeat?"
Again, the foreign and generally unintelligible language broke across my helmet. "Yip-yee yep yaaaa yee yee yip!"
To any other human being on the entire planet -quite literally, in fact- the high pitched chirps and squawks would have meant nothing. To the man who secured and liberated the alien mothership that floated in the space above America, the words were perfectly clear. Oh, there's your ticket. The thing I mentioned earlier about owing an allegiance to the "true architects of mankind", well that would be the Zetans. Little gray men, the Grays, whatever you want to refer to them as. They'd been abducting and researching human beings since the day they taught us all how to farm and build as cavemen, and now that their cruel, sadistic leadership had been annihilated (by my own hand, I must confess) the former janitors and slaves were now in charge, with the ship's original goal in mind: to monitor and study, not to harm or interfere. The abductions still happened, but the patients were no longer sliced into bits and then rematerialized over and over again for weeks. The Zetans operated on a "catch and release" policy, leaving their patients completely unharmed and normally unaware that they'd ever left their beds.
"Where did his last transmission come from?" I demanded, my heart racing.
"Yepppa."
The Commonwealth.
I lowered my head, my heart beating almost audibly beneath my chest plate.
"Do you have a reading on his vitals?"
The alien captain of Mothership Zeta, Captain April, responded at once.
"Yip."
I punched the wall of the elevator in frustration, denting the cheap steel box.
After I returned from the Operation Anchorage simulation, I thought my days of reevaluating what I knew of the world were over. That was until I responded to a strange radio broadcast and was abducted by an ancient alien race and kept in captivity with other prisoners from all places in time. I broke free and led a coup against the aliens onboard, eventually taking the ship (and a host of alien workers who were treated little better than the human slaves they attended) for myself. Since, I had protected the secret of the Zetans and allowed them to peacefully study mankind without interference. One of many perks of my new position was that a tracking device would be planted on myself, my loyal companion, and later on a friend from the Mojave that monitored our vitals and location at all times, and would alert the new captain, whom I'd named April ( the "girlfriend" my strike team believed I spent all my time with), of any abnormalities. Additionally, I had several medical procedures performed on a very unique German Shepherd that had accompanied me from the day I left Vault 101. My best friend, Dogmeat.
Captain April had just informed me that his vitals had gone offline, and his last known location was in the Commonwealth, what used to be old Boston.
If Dogmeat is in trouble, I'm definitely going to get him and bring him home. But the Commonwealth is a dangerous place, even if the Institute and their army of Synths now lie in radioactive ruin. I would normally be able to slip across the land unnoticed, passing as a trader or mercenary, though with the Minutemen in power and their General more than a match for me, I'm liable to end up full of holes. I'll need help, but assistance would have to come outside the Capitol, as I can't risk revealing the Zetan's secret to the Brotherhood.
I paused for a moment, collecting my emotions and running calculations in my head.
I could ask John to come with me, I thought bitterly, I'd rather eat nails, but I doubt there's a more capable man than him in all the world to help me sneak into the Commonwealth undetected. After Maxson's defeat there I doubt the Brotherhood would be welcomed anyway.
"April," I said, forcing my voice to remain even, "What do you have on the Commonwealth?"
"Yip-yee yaaa yep yep yoo yaa yee."
My patience held, barely.
"I already know about him and his band of colonial impersonators, we've been over this. I want to know what the dangers are should I take the Lyon's Pride to Boston to get my dog."
"Yep wee Ya yoo yiiipppp yei?"
"No," I replied, my voice now strained as the elevator doors opened and I stepped out into the debris that littered the street, "I am not looking for an all out war. Fine, plan B. Send me down a travel kit, and put me through to the Lucky 38."
"Yep yaaa."
"I know he's an ass," I said, some of the frustration alleviating in the face of April's humor, "But he's the best, no doubts about it. I'll also likely need you to bring him here, to me."
I snatched the Zetan pistol from my hip, keeping a mechanical finger on the trigger just in case as I set off at a jog back towards the Citadel over three miles away.
"Yaaa yuu yip yip."
I scanned an intersection as I haphazardly pounded through it, pistol raised and ready for an ambush. "I know how the relay works, Captain. If we had fixed it when we had the chance this wouldn't have been a problem. Just send him here and we'll take a bird up north. Now patch me through, if you would."
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The Citadel
I tossed a beige cotton towel into a white hamper, ran my fingers through my hair, and hastily tamed my beard with a small comb made from scrap metal and plastic.
I shouldn't care about my appearance, I thought beseechingly, John is a wild animal.
I stepped away from the mirror in the small, well lit bathroom inside the bunker beneath the Citadel, and stepped through the doorway that would lead me to the terminal that sat on my desk. Garbed in my finest Brotherhood officer's uniform, I checked and double checked my attire, ensuring there were no rips or tears in the black nylon fabric. Satisfied with my appearance, I took a deep breath and typed my password into the terminal, ensuring that the modified camera and long range transmitter were in place.
Well, here goes nothing.
I pressed a key on the keyboard and then punched in the frequency for the Zeta mothership.
The screen went dark, and for a moment I wondered if I had perhaps made an incorrect adjustment when installing my video calling software.
A minute passed, then two.
And then a third.
The screen came to life with a click, and the monitor showed an image of a spacious penthouse suite with entirely undamaged and tarnish free furniture. A catwalk ran across the far wall, leading to a pair of thick steel doors flanked on either side by bulky square bodied robots with screens on their chests that displayed a cartoon image of a soldier with an army helmet and a scowl. A ring of couches formed a half circle directly in front of the camera's view, occupied by a handsome man with his feet kicked up on a coffee table. His hair was perfectly groomed to suit an old world billionaire, and his flawless black tuxedo followed suit. He was of average height with a tone muscular build, and his elegant features and joker's grin all but betrayed the lethal commando within.
"Hello John Cash," I said, a smile begrudging my lips.
Cash sat upright with a start, staring forward at the monitor that occupied an entire wall that now bore an image of my face. His hand darted towards the inside of his suit jacket, but after a split second's grin he smoothly passed the motion off as a casual reach for a pack of cigarettes in his front pocket.
"Abraham Lincoln," he said with a roughish smile, lighting a cigarette and releasing a plume of blue-gray smoke, springing to his feet and waving a hand towards me. "I hadn't expected the brave savior of the Capitol to grace me with his presence today."
His arrogance knows no bounds, I thought despite myself, and since when does he smoke cigarettes?
"How have you been, old friend?"
Cash shrugged casually, still grinning as if I was part of some hidden joke. "Ah, you know how it is Abe. Yesterday I was bouncing Elder McNamara's head off the wall of a Brotherhood bunker for ordering his Paladins to open fire on a Legion patrol, today I'm in my penthouse drinking the finest whiskey and fucking the best whores. How've you been?"
So uncivilized.
"I've been well. Are you having trouble keeping your allies in check? I warned you this might happen if you decided to put a bullet in Robert House."
Cash's face tightened and relaxed almost imperceptibly, a sign of his unmatched charisma. "Yeah well old Bob was a dick, wasn't he? A genius for sure, but a dick nonetheless. What can I do for you, sport?"
I paused for a moment, bracing myself for the blow to the pride I worked tirelessly to keep in check.
"Dogmeat went missing in the Commonwealth, and I can't take the Lyon's Pride up there to get him back."
Cash laughed, revealing his perfect teeth. "Why not? Because that vengeful jackass blew up your technological warmongers with cannons made from scrap metal?"
Silently berating myself for sharing my intel on the Commonwealth with a homicidal maniac and forcing myself to resist his goading, I nodded slowly. "Yes, because General Franklin killed a hundred good men and women that were mislead by a reckless fool. A tragedy, for sure."
Cash snorted, amused, and snubbed his cigarette out in a polished white ashtray. "Wish he'd come wax the Mojave Chapter too. They were a lot easier to handle when I wasn't the bad guy."
Against my will and years of practice at the art of self control, I gave in and fired back a retort. "That's what happens when you make the alteration from wasteland hero to self appointed executioner. There was a time when, despite hoping you'd leave House's service and join them, both the Legion and the NCR considered you a hero, an honorable man. And then, what, you just wake up one morning and decide to begin assassinating high profile targets?"
Cash's grin never faltered. "It was something like that, yeah. One day I thought to myself that life would be a lot easier, and a lot better for my people, if I put the boots to ole House. He was a dictator without a heart, you know that."
I rolled my eyes, beginning to tire of the conversation. "Cash, you hunted down and eliminated the top five most important people in both the NCR and the Legion. Politicians, Legates, Centurions, and even high ranking generals. In fact, the only way you could have made your campaign any more destructive would have been to kill Kimball and Caesar themselves."
"But I didn't," Cash said pointedly, "Instead I invited them both to dinner."
I fixed John with a steely glare. "You invited them to the Lucky 38 and proceeded to punch them both in the face."
Cash laughed again. "I did do that, didn't I? Well, what can I say? They wanted me to sign over the Strip and sentence myself to exile, to spare me from their 'wrath' or 'justice system'. I didn't agree, so they both received a black eye, gift wrapped and courtesy of yours truly. But give me some slack, will ya? You can't expect me to play bitch to a pair of tyrants like them. New Vegas and the Mojave have never prospered more than the years I've been in charge. Everyone else might hate me but my people love me. Soft Hearted Devil, they call me now."
I felt my face tighten into a scowl. "That's true, yes, but as happy as your people are you now have an enormous enemy on either side of your territory."
Cash shrugged again. "I also have control of the river, every settlement in the Mojave, a four hundred man militia, six vertibirds piloted by my own personal Enclave, the Three Families, the Boomers' artillery, a Brotherhood chapter, and thirty-five hundred upgraded Securitrons between them and me. But you didn't call to discuss my tactics as leader of the Black Hand. What do you want?"
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Like I said, Dogmeat went missing and I can only go get him back if I infiltrate the Commonwealth and track him down. You're the best commando on the planet so I figured I'd ask for your assistance."
Cash smiled mischievously, and accepted a drink from a gorgeous young woman wearing little more than a smile and a pearl necklace.
"Thank you, Cinnamon," he took a long drink before returning his attention to me, "Well Abe you're in luck, I actually already had a trip planned to Boston. I hadn't planned on leaving for a few more weeks but hey, fuck it right? I'll give Craig a shout and have him meet me here. When are you planning on leaving?"
He's actually going to help me, I thought with relief, my two hours of preparative speeches now seeming pointless.
"I'd like to leave in the next two hours."
Cash's smile vanished, replaced by a curious frown. "I know," he said, his words dripping with sarcasm, "I'm the doctor and you're the scientist, and this really isn't my field of expertise, but how in God's name do you expect me to get to the Capitol in two hours?"
Ignoring his jabs, I waved a dismissive hand. "The Zetans can teleport you and Mr. Boone to a safehouse just outside the Citadel I normally use as a point to board the ship unseen. From there we will take an unmarked virtibird North to Dogmeat's last location and begin our search. We shouldn't be gone longer than a few days at most."
Cash nodded, apparently impressed. "Having your little green friends help out, eh? Sure, I'm down. This is your show, boss, so what kind of gear can I bring?"
I shrugged. "I don't care, honestly. I'm taking a pair of alien weapons and a customized suit of T-51 Power Armor."
"Not very subtle, Wanderer."
"I know," I sighed, "But Captain April says the raider population in the Commonwealth rivals that of the Super Mutant population down here. We'll need all the help we can get."
John raised an eyebrow. "There's also that pesky General and his army. He might not look like much, but then again he did blow up the Institute and the Brotherhood back to back. House's reports say the post-war Institute had a robot-human army of their own, were next to impossible to find, and had technology that surpassed even my little lab at Big Mountain. Maybe we should shoot for stealth while we're kicking doors in someone else's backyard."
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Is that caution, Mr. Cash?"
The dapper shrugged, grinning roguishly. "Hey, no judgements. I'm just saying his story seems a bit like ours. And those two cats from long ago, too. Seems to be a recurring theme, doesn't it? Someone overcomes impossible odds and ends up a legend of the wasteland? Maybe when we encounter these sorts, we at least do it properly."
Sighing, I shook my head, unable to deny the accuracy in his words. "I'd like to hear his story, I cannot deny that. I also cannot deny theā¦similarities. I suppose it would be folly to ask for your help and then turn down your advice. I'll leave my usual gear on the Mothership."
Cash nodded again. "I'll grab some inconspicuous gear from my armory, too. I can be ready in fifteen, Boone can be here in ten. But I want my Pip-Boy and my armor on your flying saucer also, I don't need to be worried about them while I'm working. They're one of a kind, you know."
Always fawning over his precious armor and solid gold "Pimp Boy." Arrogant schmuck.
"Sounds good, John," I allowed a small smile to show beneath my beard, "I'll see you in a few."
Without a farewell, Cash waved a hand lazily and the screen went black again.
Jesus, I thought wearily, leaning back in my chair and running a hand over my face, a weekend in the Commonwealth with Johnny Cash to find my only friend sounds like I'm about to have a rough couple of days.
I rose from the chair, striding across the room to take the lift up to the ground level to fetch my armor and weapons.
At least it's not like the time I first met him, I thought, I doubt I'll have to wrestle an Alpha Deathclaw for possession of a fake plastic penis. Maybe I'll even avoid having to shoot him this time, too.
