AN: Apologies, I've been making a terrible mistake in previous chapters and have gotten my geography wrong. DC is south of Boston, not north so please, in previous chapters, reverse those directions in your mind. Thanks to the reviewer for pointing that out. My bad.
I love surprises. Not for me personally, but for others. I'm very good at them. They, on the other hand, don't tend to appreciate my particular brand surprise very much.
Alexander Blackwood, general of the Minutemen, snored. It wasn't a particularly manly sound, less chainsaw on firewood and more a gentle mewing. Cait sat on the edge of their bed in her fluffy pink pajamas watching the man she loved more than anything in the universe sleep in just a little. He had a full day ahead of him, with the dignitaries from DC and across the Commonwealth, each requiring accommodations, information, specified briefings and other various nonsense. She didn't have the heart to wake him yet, giving him a few moments more. As soon as he woke there would be problems enough to solve.
Besides all that, Cait wasn't feeling her best. Her head was throbbing and her stomach was grumbling. The night before she'd actually vomited, twice. Once upon a time she'd have passed off that response from her body as nothing but the aftereffects of a typical night. But now…she wasn't drinking anything stronger than a beer every once and awhile and she'd utterly sworn off chems save stimpaks. Maybe she was getting a cold or flu, it was that time of year after all…
"Goddamn cold," she growled to no one in particular, pulling the pajamas a little tighter around herself. After another moment of self-indulgent admiration for her boyfriend she patted him on the leg. "Alright cowboy, up and at 'em. You've got a hell of a day ahead of you."
Charles watched with anticipation as the vertibird set them down on the landing pad just inside the walls of Sanctuary Hills. The city had honestly taken his breath away. He'd heard descriptions of course, the tales of what the Minutemen built had trickled down to DC, including accounts of their well known capital of Sanctuary Hills. He'd been told that it was a city to rival Megaton or Rivet, and while it certainly wasn't the only settlement the Minutemen controlled, it was apparently the most grand. He'd heard tales of Starlight City and its arena, and of Diamond City, capital of the Commonwealth but he was astounded by what he saw before him.
It was the buildings, far more than he'd ever seen in one place, save for old pictures and vids, and though many were could only be called shacks out of pity, the sheer volume impressed him. There were fields of corn and carrots, with generators humming, electric lights flashing, even a few robots tromping around. Several flags flapped proudly in the autumn breeze, unflinching and unwavering atop their aluminum poles, their blue and white lettering proudly announcing this was Minutemen territory and that anyone who wanted it would have to take it. Alongside those flew the Gadston flag, the coiled snake against yellow warning the enemies of the United Commonwealth that treading on these seemingly simple farmers and settlers would end unpleasantly.
An artillery piece was trained towards the south, aiming past the former Red Rocket gas station that housed the town of New Sanctuary, where Charles would be staying for the next few days. The general bustle was audible even above the whirl of the vertibird blades. Smoke from cooking fires made their path snake-like towards the open sky.
"Amazing," Dave murmured, gazing out longingly towards the sprawling town scattered out before him, "Almost grand enough to rival the Republic of Dave itself."
"Uh-huh," Simms responded without obvious sarcasm, himself perhaps a little jealous of this town compared to his beloved Megaton, itself practically a paradise within the horrifying, blasted, countryside that was the Capital Wasteland. Still, the flag-flying grandeur of Sanctuary Hills was hard to beat. Harkness, the stoic Security Chief of Rivet City did his best to seem unimpressed with the humming generators and string of repurposed lights. Alexander Blackwood seemed to be quite the tinker, both by reputation and visible confirmation.
The frost coating the concrete landing pad crunched beneath the vertibird's wheels as the lead copter set itself down. Several rocket turrets swung towards the 'bird, scanned it and, after determining it was allied, spun away. As the two much larger vertibirds set down behind them and began discharging their occupants Charles dropped out the side, pulling his battered old CSA cap, still smelling a little like swamp, down around his ears to cut down on the chill.
The Power Armor clad Brotherhood of Steel Paladins descended in a storm of boots against ground, shaking the earth as they moved. Charles had worked around the Brotherhood long enough that the movement of McGraw and his squad did nothing to distract him, his focus was on General Blackwood.
Alexander was taller than expected, his face freshly shaved except for a crisp-well maintained beard of a dark brown, almost black in shade. His eyes were a piercing cool blue, despite being dulled behind a pair of bulky unflattering glasses. His nose was slightly lopsided, having been broken and healed improperly long ago. Numerous old scars and burns took their place over his face, yet even their grim nature couldn't hide the smattering of bright freckles across his face. He was clad in a bright blue uniform, longcoat, black tricorn hat and dark gloves. His belt bore a sword of revolutionary war design and a Remington 1875 revolver, on his back rested an old combat rifle with an oversized clip.
Beside the general stood two men in dusters and hats signifying the rank of Colonel, one a dark-skinned, clean-shaven, plain-looking man and the other taller, Caucasian, with smatterings of dirt and oil across his face and a black beard not quite as well maintained. Charles noted the McGraw and most of the other Brotherhood troops pointedly ignored Blackwood's Caucasian officer, one actually pointedly turning his back on him.
Blackwood stepped forward and offered a gloved hand to shake, "General Alexander Blackwood, United Commonwealth Minutemen. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Lone Wanderer."
It took Charles a second to realize that Alexander actually had no way of knowing that title was attached to him. Yet there wasn't another individual emerging from the 'birds dressed in a vault suit and, armored though his was, there was no missing it. "Please, just call me Charles." He shook the general's hand eagerly, "I understand congratulations are in order. The Institute was a huge threat to us all."
"No less than the Enclave." There was no false bravado in the tone, no unnecessary praise, it was simply one gentleman soldier describing another's vaunted accomplishment. After the handshake ended, Alexander turned to introduce his two subordinates, "This is Colonel Preston Garvey and Colonel Danse." Once again, Danse was pointedly ignored by the Brotherhood escort. "Colonel Ronnie Shaw is back at the Castle, the main military base of operations for the United Commonwealth Minutemen, just in case we have any last minute issues with raiders or mutants. Not that there are many of those left." Those words were accompanied by the contented sigh of a man who'd worked hard for something and finally got it.
"President Dave, of the Republic of Dave," The former mercenary interrupted, butting into the conversation, taking Alexander's hand for a forced handshake, "Looking forward to unity between our two great nations."
I doubt that.
"It's not really my country, President Dave," Alexander responded with an even, diplomatic tone that Charles wouldn't have been able to maintain. Dave amused him, that much was true, yet he couldn't speak to Dave without at least a hint of mockery. "The United Commonwealth is a land for all, a beacon of freedom, hope and old-world morality. After this treaty is hammered out I have plans to begin drafting a constitution and organizing an election cycle. If the United Commonwealth is to survive and become what I dream it must be free and independent."
"Very good sir," McGraw responded before Dave had the opportunity to continue his ramblings, "This is," in order he gestured to each as he mentioned them by name, "Chief Harkness, with Rivet City security, Mayor Lucas Simms with Megaton and Uncle Leo, Canterbury Commons. Additionally they've been followed by plenty of fellow citizens who're disembarking from the transport 'birds." Sure enough, even as introductions were being made, Charles noticed, Moria Brown stumble out of her transport, stretching her arms over her head with a large yawn. Fawkes, holding James in one hand and Theo in the other without any visible effort, his sensitive eyes blinking in the light shining through his spectacles. Gob shielding his eyes from the sun with the back of his hand while Charon simply stood frozen and stoic.
Then, something got his attention. It was towards the back of the second transport past Head Scribe Rothchild, Olin and his old friend Star Paladin Cross. A figure, a woman, blonde, tall, proud with stunning features, was being escorted quickly by a full fireteam of Brotherhood Paladins, in full Power Armor, towards a building marked, "Brotherhood Embassy." Charles recognized her as his old friend, Sarah Lyons, who, despite everything McGraw had told him, somehow still doubted was actually alive.
Obviously, Blackwood wasn't thrilled with the cloak and dagger Brotherhood of Steel internal politics but he must have been briefed about Sarah's arrival as he made no comment. Pointedly ignoring the fact that Sarah was rushed into the embassy without a solitary word to anyone, Alexander spoke, "I understand you'll want to get your people settled, comfortable and unpacked. It must have been a bit of a journey…"
"My legs are killing me," Simms admitted without flair or exaggeration, "And I'm sure my people are looking forward to exploring a bit on their own."
"Well then," Alexander clapped his hands together excitedly, "If you'll follow us over to New Sanctuary, I'll point some landmarks out along the way and we'll get your people properly billeted. Afterward we'll go over a few last minute things and prepare for the morning. Big things are coming, and I'm looking forward to seeing them finally unfold."
"General Alexander," Charles stated simply, "That makes two of us."
"She's here." Kells' voice cut through the fuzz of Maxson's internalized turmoil as he struggled with everything happening within the next few hours. He missed the Prydwen, but they couldn't very well hold the talks on the airship and, if he wanted the Brotherhood of Steel to be involved in these talks, he had to be present. So he took up residence in the Brotherhood Embassy in Sanctuary Hills, dreading the conversation he was about to have wishing desperately for the comfort of his magnificent airship.
Until the talks were finished he ordered the Prydwen to remain close by but out of reach of an attack. He didn't want to risk the fate of his most important tool, not when so many Brotherhood personalities were at this particular conference.
Arthur was bent over a holographic table, one of several Alexander had liberated from the Institute during the final assault, observing the various movements of Brotherhood squads, Minutemen troops and any unknown parties. The United Commonwealth was a remarkably quiet place, far more than DC which, even now, was still war-torn and blasted, with Mutants and slaver camps plentiful as ever.
The sounds of one person entering the embassy and the door closing, suggested Kells had sent Sarah in by herself. For one painfully long moment, Elder Maxson, the highest ranking warrior within the Brotherhood of Steel, actually almost called out for Kells to return, to stand beside him as this conversation commenced. But Arthur was a Maxson and he was made of sterner stuff than that. He could, and would, handle this matter alone.
Looking up from his holographic projection his eyes fell upon Sarah Lyons for the first time in years. She remained just as beautiful, just as ethereal as ever. The woman remained unchanged by time, still tall and strong, her eyes pure blue, her hair long and golden, every line of her face in the place he remembered.
She took his breath away, her mere presence almost driving him to the ground. However his expression remained stoic through the sheerest force of will. He was about to speak but the coldness, the disdain radiating from her actually interrupted his train of thought. Instead of the prepared remarks he'd planned to initiate the dialogue with the former Sentinel, Arthur stammered out the words, "Sarah, you haven't changed." It wasn't a fantastic opening line but it was all he had.
For her part, Sarah Lyons coldly riposted, "Arthur, you have." There was something about the words that stung him. Perhaps it was the speaker.
My will is iron, my body is steel. I will remain true to the Codex. My will is iron, my body is steel. I will remain true to the Codex. My will is iron…
"Time passed. The Brotherhood needed strong leadership." He wouldn't be cowed by the attacks from the woman he still loved. He would move forward.
"They needed leadership after my father was murdered." She said it, she finally said it aloud. Sarah had always implied it, without much subtlety, but she'd never openly stated that challenge before. And, the way it was stated implied far more than merely a murder, it implied that Arthur himself had more to do with that murder than he let on.
"Sarah, Own Lyons wasn't murdered…"
"Right. He just conveniently passed away and then, when I was chosen as High Elder, within the span of a year they tried to kill me. And now you're High Elder, coincidence?" The sarcasm was palatable.
That hurt. That challenge physically hurt him, but Arthur didn't let her see it. "It doesn't matter what you choose to believe." The words were harsh, stated bluntly, "I am High Elder, I was chose by the majority of council votes, including your father's friend Head Scribe Rothchild. I didn't have anything to do with the death of your father, believe it or don't, the fact will remain unchanged."
Sarah didn't answer but her gaze spoke volumes. She hated him, and everything he stood for.
"Sarah." He said her name with a degree of softness he wasn't particularly known for. She still had him wrapped around her finger like he was his old boyhood self with his pre-teen crush. She looked at him, face unreadable. "I want you to know that I missed you. I wish you'd never vanished. I do. Believe me, if we'd know you were still alive I'd have torn DC down brick by brick to find you." He leaned forward onto the table, head tilted downward towards the holographic table, "I understand that everything must feel so strange to you. Times have changed, our enemies have changed. What we're working to achieve, right here, right now, with tomorrow's treaties and negotiations is something your father would have wanted, would have worked to achieve himself."
"I doubt that…"
"Lasting peace, Sarah! That's what this is about!" Finally, Elder Maxson raised his voice, finally, the barrier broke and he yelled at her. "I've sweated blood bringing humanity back from the brink, by preserving it from itself! I unified the Brotherhood that your father splintered! I've helped Blackwood build a thriving country here in the ruins of Boston! And now I'm working on a treaty that will ensure this stability spreads towards DC and does what your father never could, actually make a difference!"
"But the Enclave…"
"If James and Charles hadn't been there your father wouldn't have gotten ten feet! They carried the DC Brotherhood!" Finally, feeling the hoarseness in his throat and something resembling embarrassment at the emotional outburst reared its head and Arthur ceased his speaking.
Sarah looked at him, gazed with something resembling confused agony. Her head was cocked slightly to the side, blonde eyebrow raised inquisitively. "Is that what you tell yourself at night?" The thin layer of sarcasm was blindly obvious and the pain coming from the words tore him apart, "You've gotten real good at justifying yourself, Arthur."
Arthur Maxson threw his hands up in exasperation, "I don't care, Sarah. I don't care what you believe I did or do, what matters is that you follow my instructions as High Elder." He gestured towards New Sanctuary on the holographic map, "Tomorrow morning, we begin one of the most important meetings, perhaps the most important, in the history of our post-war world. You may attend this meeting with me, you may even raise an opinion on the various developments, but you may not criticize me publicly, or try to undermine my authority. I am High Elder, and, for the purposes of this meeting, must remain unchallenged."
"But…"
"Let me finish." Arthur cut Sarah's protest short with a sharp, curt, wave of his hand. "Until these meetings are ended I must remain unchallenged. The Steel must remain strong. However," he paused momentarily, letting the word dangle, tantalizingly in the air, "After all these diplomatic formalities are done and the details of the treaty are ratified as best they can be made, I am willing to present the situation before the counsel of Elders and have a revote, giving you a fair opportunity to peacefully reclaim your seat as High Elder, assuming the council accepts you back."
Sarah looked momentarily taken aback by this. "You're willing to potentially lose your seat? Not that the council is likely to vote you out, you've got the name." It was true enough, a Maxson was the founder of the original Brotherhood of Steel, and a Maxson was typically the High Elder. Arthur had gotten plenty of support from the ranks and his feat of reunifying the Outcasts with the Brotherhood proper was further strength for his claim. Yet regardless, it was no guarantee of success.
"Yes. The stability and continuation of the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel is my primary concern. I will not have civil war and infighting. I will not watch the Prydwen come crashing down and Paladins killed by others of our order. "
"I don't intend…" Sarah began but, once again, Arthur cut her off.
"Your intentions, while admirable, might be ultimately irrelevant. Some within our order still carry a torch for your father's name and ideals. They may make the first move. Or, others may move against you in the same way. A proper ruling by the counsel will bypass most of these problems and show the rest of the Brotherhood that we do not want a power struggle. Do we?" His eyes bore down on her, dark brown furrowing as he pushed the full force of his wrath behind it. More than his own power, the most important thing was a unified Brotherhood of Steel; that alone would guarantee the future successes of the order.
"No." Sarah admitted, genuine intent in her tone for the first time since the conversation began, "We don't want a split."
"Good." Arthur turned his back to the Lyons' daughter and gazed towards the crisp and well-maintained Brotherhood of Steel standard hanging from the wall. "Now, I understand you've probably got people you want to see and want to see you. That'll be all, Sentinel Lyons."
There was a long, heavy pause, as if both individuals want to say more but wouldn't admit it. There was pain, utter agony, in that silence and Arthur wanted nothing more than for it to end.
Fortunately Sarah couldn't either and, without a word, turned and left the embassy, slamming the door behind her with emphasis.
Despite the agony of his newest interaction with his beloved Sarah, Arthur Maxson found that her absence hurt him all the more…
Piper Wright leaned forward dramatically in her chair, nibbling the eraser on the end of her pencil thoughtfully. The fire beneath the old Red Rocket's awning was crackling brilliantly, contrasting against the deep darkness of the Commonwealth night. Even as the electric lights that Blackwood had acquired and jerry-rigged blinked in the darkness, the gentle hum of the generators keeping them alive, Piper found the comforting warmth of a good fire was still vastly superior despite the efficiency of the lights. Her interviewee seemed to agree.
"So," she asked him, jotting a few thoughts down onto her notepad before diving into the interview. "For the Publick's records, your name is Abraham Finch?"
The bearded man with the old double-barreled shotgun leaned against his leather and scrap metal armor nodded, his straw hat wobbling, "That's right, Abraham, patriarch of the Finch family and proud owner of the Finch farm and surrounding community."
"And Finch farm was the first settlement to throw support behind the Minutemen?" Piper knew the answer, she was a good journalist and she did her homework.
"Absolutely." Abraham thumped his chest proudly, holding his head high, "My farm was the second building in the Commonwealth to fly the flag of Blackwood's Minutemen. In fact, the supply line we established with Sanctuary Hills is still proudly functioning today."
"I've walked that trail," Piper admitted readjusting her hat with a little chuckle, "It's practically a highway now." She paused, pondering the exact right way to phrase her next question. "It must've taken something special to get you to sign up with this ragtag band of laser-musket toting misfits and trust your future to them. What convinced you Blackwood was for real?"
"Well," Abraham leaned back in the old rocking chair, folding his fingers and chewing his beard thoughtfully, "It was years ago. My son, Jake, was convinced he was going to become a raider, ran off to join some local crazies calling themselves 'Forged.' Stole the family sword while he was at it." He paused, glancing towards the fire, his boisterous tone shifting to one of soft contemplation. "I guess maybe I drove him away… We didn't have the best relationship…"
"The Forged," Piper mused, moving away from the awkward family dynamic, "Cait told me about that. She and Blue…er, General Blackwood, fought those lunatics for a while. They were holed up inside an old steel mill near the overpass."
"Yeah, that's right, down by The Slog, we could see the fires depending on how dark it was at night." Abraham jumped onboard the opportunity to avoid bringing up a painful past experience, "Did you know the Minutemen have got that plant running again? Sort of, we're in the process of making new steel."
"Yeah," Piper nodded, "I've been there. Some fantastic work is being done. But what about him inspired you?"
"Alexander Blackwood, and his red-headed girlfriend, not that they were together back then, went into the plant, killed a bunch of Forged and rescued my son. He convinced me to bring Jake back into my home and I honestly believed every word he said about the Minutemen's come back. He had charisma, negotiating skills and undoubtedly combat experience. Plus, have you seen some of the shit he's built at my farm? He's a smart guy. I trust him."
"How much?"
"Utterly." The farmer stated without hesitation or doubt, "He's a man I'd follow into hell, no questions."
"Do you trust his ability to negotiate terms with the Capital Wasteland?"
"Hell yes!" The farmer slammed both fists against the arms of the old chair, "The Minutemen are back and they're going to do what's best for everyone, I swear it."
"Yer nervous." Cait told him, running her hand across his chest, counting the freckles on his nose and mentally tracing the crisscross of scars across his face. He was squinting towards the ceiling, face as stony as Uncle Sam's on those old war bond posters Alexander insisted on hanging in the bedroom.
"How can you tell?" He asked quietly, hands gripping the quilt, eyes squinting as he tried to count ceiling tiles without his glasses on.
"Woman's intuition." She snorted at her own comment rolling onto her back and following her man's gaze towards the ceiling. "Besides, you're looking for patterns in the roof. And you always do that when you're nervous."
"It's a big deal, Cait," He admitted softly, "And I'm not sure I've got what it takes to pull this off."
"You're gonna do grand, sweetheart," the former cage fighter told him, kissing his forehead softly, "You always do."
He turned over to look her in the face, "As long as you've got my back."
She kissed him firmly, "I always do and I always will."
As far as repurposed boxcars went this one was nice. Proper guest beds, fine rugs and paintings of landscapes had turned the orange sheet metal box into a comfortable, albeit temporary, residence. It wasn't the accommodations that bother Charles as he stared up towards the rusty patches on the ceiling, searching the patchy bits for some kind of meaning. He was disconcerted, for multiple reasons.
Riley was curled up against him, snoring gently, a wisp of her orange hair blowing up and down with each breath. The bed a row down groaned beneath the massive bulk of Fawkes the Super Mutant, whose own snoring added to the cacophony of sound.
Still he'd slept through worse, gunfire, hangovers, bitter cold and low-level radiation poisoning and so that wasn't what affected him. He'd met the delegations from Diamond City and spoken with this legendary Nick Valentine, the flamboyant mayor of Goodneighbor Hancock, the Overseer from 81 and several farmers and small-town mayors. The quality of people was fine, the power of the Minutemen and Brotherhood was overwhelmingly impressive and yet he still felt uneasy.
He still hadn't spoken to Sarah Lyons, and that was unfortunate. He needed honesty from the Brotherhood and he wasn't sure what was happening in his old organization. His old warrior's senses were screaming in his head that something wasn't right, something of monumental consequence was right around the bend. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't put his finger on it.
The Lone Wanderer pulled his wife closer and slept as best he could, trying to convince himself that the morning would bring nothing but spirited debate and good things.
A pity he was wrong.
The sun was shining brightly overhead, chasing away the chill of the late season and warming his skin. The birds were chirping happily and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was a picture-perfect day, the kind of morning that made life worth living, that brought joy to the average being's existence. It was a day, Gage thought to himself, that seemed utterly unfit for the slaughter that was about to unfold.
He crept through the tall grass, homemade rifle slung over his shoulder, moving as silently as he could considering how many other raiders were alongside him. The Pack members moved with an animalistic cunning, a litheness that none of the other raiders could match. The Talon Company mercs held stoic professionalism, at least the company that followed his group. He'd watched most of the armored warriors slip away towards Sanctuary Hills, accompanied by the suited man and X6-88. They would wait until the attack began and the EMP bomb detonated, then the chaos would begin.
His gang of raiders, like most of the others, carried any heavy weapons they'd find. The rocket launcher in his hands was more a tube with a grenade shoved into it than a properly manufactured weapon, still, he only needed to make one good shot.
The forest around him fell away as they approached the bluff, the two Institute Coursers moving forward under the cover of Stealth Boys, clearing the way of any lingering threat. Armitage however stayed close to Doctor Zimmer, the elderly man clutching the glowing bomb tightly against his chest and swearing under his breath. Despite his relatively frail frame and small nature it seemed the scientist was sturdier than he appeared.
Gage was unsure exactly where they were when he heard the whistle from ahead, a signal from the Coursers that he was needed up front. Careful not to jostle the homemade rocket launcher unessessarily Gage hustled up the slight bluff that blocked his vision and when he reached the top got a good look around. Atop the hill was a small radio, set to that bloody freedom station the Minutemen used for their broadcast, a small folding chair and a body. That body belonged to a Minuteman soldier, his neck snapped and laser musket lying on the ground fully charged but unlikely to be every fired again.
Far below the bluff, about a mile away was New Sanctuary, the hum of generators and turrets audible from even their great distance. What became immediately apparent was the sheer number of people gathered below. From this distance he could see Brotherhood of Steel soldiers in full power armor, Minutemen in their freshly cleaned uniforms, Ghouls from the Slog and Vault Dwellers. He saw who he assumed was Nick Valentine, two Super Mutants and a few men and women in green armor. It was an impressive force and, for a moment, Porter Gage was afraid he'd bitten off more than he could chew when he signed up.
His forehead began to sweat, but with a quick wipe of the back of his hand he cleared it away. The nearest Courser whispered, "Get ready, line up your explosives and be quick about it. As soon as the EMP detonates we'll hit them with a barrage and charge in, guns blazing." Even as Zimmer moved towards the bluff, huffing and puffing all the way, keeping the EMP wrapped in his arms tightly, the various rocket launchers, grenade launchers and miniguns and their owners made their way up the bluff.
The second Courser began assembling his anti-matter rifle, slowly locking each 50 caliber round into place with machine-like precision. Gage was overwhelmingly glad he wouldn't be on the other end of that scope. Taking his rocket-tube and bracing it against his shoulder, Gage waited, and waited for the instruction to go.
Behind him, Skinny Malone grumbled, "Come on, come on! I wanna get stuck in!" Double checking that the safety on his submachine gun was disabled, the leader of the Triggerman stamped his feet and waited. A Gunner, freshly arrived that previous day, lit up a cigarette while a raider from the Rust Devils took one last hit of Jet.
Zimmer took a knee in the front planting the bomb before him, his hand on the detonator, waiting for the signal. One of the Coursers continued to watch the gathering below, this time through the scope of his rifle, observing the numerous individuals moving around the large table, signing, debating and discussing.
Gage watched, aiming as best he could with his one good eye and he noticed something unusual. Staggering up the road towards the gathering was a hunched over figure stumbling forward determinedly.
That seemed to shape the response from the Courser with the rifle.
"Doctor," he told Zimmer firmly, "Go now."
It was firm and steady but there was a degree of hurriedness to the new order. Zimmer didn't hesitate, slamming his hand down onto the detonator without hesitation. There was a loud crackling and a wave of blue energy rushed outward from the silver cylinder, rushing past his skin, raising the hair on his arms and sending a tingling sensation throughout his form.
The humming of the generators ceased as the blue ring passed by, the buzzing of the turrets ended as the automatic weapons were forced to shut down. As soon as the EMP pulse ended Gage's response was automatic, he'd been ready for that moment, he knew what he had to do.
He took aim with his rocket tube towards the man in the biggest hat, the man he assumed was Blackwood and he pulled the trigger.
Alexander Blackwood's Journal
(On that day the general wrote nothing.)
