Chapter 29 – Good Grief and Gone
The Medical team descended on the elevator as the all clear was given and once at the ground level they dispersed to tend to the injured and confirm the dead. The stealth team and the Minutemen stood together, well back from the General eyeing her almost warily. Paladin Rhys was bugged-eyed as he looked over at her. He had almost been tempted to fight with… that?
Elder Maxson was so awestruck, he was almost scared to approach her. She had torn through the remaining Institute coursers like a maelstrom and there were none alive in her wake. The courtyard was scattered with the debris of Syths, organic and mechanical alike. She was splattered with blood and worse as she hunched on the floor, cradling the body of the Synth Danse in her lap, her arms clutching him to her as if she wanted to make him a part of her.
None of the assembled Brotherhood mentioned the fact that it was Paladin Danse that she was holding on to so tightly. He was supposed to be dead, dead at the hands of the Elder and yet here he was … dead again.
Maxson cautiously advanced towards the stricken woman, his mind still trying to process what he had just seen. The Vikings may have called it berserk, he recalled from his reading, a kind of battle insanity. But when he pictured something like that, he thought of frothing and howling giant men storming battlefields swinging axes, not the silent, cold, meticulously wrathful demon he had just witnessed.
He placed his hand on her shoulder and her head snapped up towards him, her eyes dead and empty… terrifying
"Max?" He was hesitant, this wasn't a woman before him, this was a machine of death and destruction. He would have been prepared for grief in those eyes; fury, sadness… anything. He wasn't ready for so much nothing.
She kept that empty gaze turned on him for a moment, those agate hard eyes boring through him before turning her head back down towards Danses still face.
Maxson backed away from her, releasing a breath he didn't know he had been holding and casting an entreating look over at Proctor Cade who was amongst the medical team. Cade came forward and made to kneel down next to her when a low growl emitted from deep in her throat. She clutched Danses body even closer to her before slamming her fist into her pipboy and disappearing with the body. There was only one place that she could go to from here.
It was confirmed a moment later when Proctor Ingrams voice emanated from Maxsons pipboy.
"Elder… the General. She was here… gone now… By Steel, was that Danse?" Ingrams voice was strained and confused over the radio.
Maxson drew a long shuddering breath. From the relay room she could go anywhere in the commonwealth. He looked at the people… they had won the day. Or rather the General had. Now they were looking for guidance. No one really knew what had just happened. But they needed leadership and some kind of direction, they had been idle too long.
"Everyone." Maxsons voice boomed out. "Secure the facility. I want the Institutes inhabitants in this courtyard in no less than half an hour. Use force if necessary but do not kill anyone unless your own life is in danger. I want a group to help with triage and another on clean up. Let's get rid of these…" He gestured around the courtyard at the mass of Gen two synths bodies and the corpses of the Institute coursers."
The people were shaking their heads vaguely, clearing their minds of what had happened and replacing the thoughts with their new orders. They slowly began to come out of their mass trance and moved to follow Maxsons orders en masse. The Minutemen fanned out across the facility.
"Cade." Maxson turned to his Medical officer "I need to know our casualties right away. Danse… Danse was one of the incursion team… under the name of Presley."
Cade nodded, giving no indication of surprise.
"Incursion team to me." Maxson ordered and the remaining members of the stealth suited crew came forward. Those that could anyway. Preston was laid out on the floor with a Minuteman medic hovering over him worriedly. And the Merc, MacCready was being tended by Dr Sun for an injury that had painted his face with a mask of blood. The only three that could make it to his side were Rhys, MacNamara and Sturges, who had just emerged from the bowels of the reactor after restoring power and lifting the lockdown on the Institutes living quarters.
Cade was back after a few moment "From the incursion team sir. Deceased: Paladin Hudson, Paladin Brandis, Proctor Teagan and Miss Cait. Injured but stable: Preston Garvey and Robert MacCready. Missing: General Everton. Missing, Presumed Dead: Paladin Danse. And sir, you seem to be injured also." Cade was looking pointedly down at the Elders sternum which seemed to be wet with a steady stream of blood.
Maxson nodded vaguely "and the reinforcements… how many Minutemen did we lose?"
"I don't have the numbers yet, sir." Cade said hesitantly. The Brotherhood medical officer hadn't thought to check on the other Minutemen.
"Then get them!" Maxson said sharply. He was beginning to feel light headed and his sight was wavering. From the look of the many bodies sprawled on the floor of the Institute … they had lost a lot of Maxs people. He had not called for Brotherhood support... he had failed them all. He'd left others to fight Brotherhood battles, and to let others die in them as cannon fodder.
Maxson swayed on his feet suddenly and was caught by the synth, Nick Valentine, before he fell. Curie, another synth, came to him and helped lower him to the floor. He was feeling cold. He knew his body was going into shock now. He knew had lost a lot of blood, he remembered getting the injury. He watched detachedly as the two synths began to treat him.
Curie peeled off the Elders stealth suit exposing a deep gushing wound in his abdomen. She administered a stimpak and then another and pumped him full of Med-ex. Maxson felt his eyes grow heavy as the chems took over his system.
He worried over who would take charge… Max, where was Max? and then he was out cold
Max was gone.
Work moved forward. The Institute was secured and occupied by the Brotherhood of Steel and the Commonwealth Minutemen, the scientists and synths had been rounded up, debriefed and either reassigned or incarcerated. The SRB had been destroyed along with any remaining data on the Data Bank, much to Proctor Quinlans chagrin. He had wanted to look over the science behind the Synths, but had been overruled by his peers. The Synth Programme was dead.
Maxson was confined to the infirmary for some time with his injuries, but he kept abreast of every facet of the operation, with debriefings every morning and evening. He was a bad patient and kept on leaving the infirmary and had been found twice at the Institute conferring with Preston Garvey.
Preston and Ronnie Shaw had assumed the mantle of General jointly. Garvey was still weak from his own injuries but he was a goldmine of organisational and communication skills. Shaw was an old battleaxe. She didn't take crap from anyone including the surly Elder Maxson. They were good folks and they cared about their people and fought for every possible inch. Maxson bore the guilt of the deaths of so many of their people jadedly and gave into many of their requests. Why had he not thought to call in Brotherhood support?
In spite of their progress and great victory, everyone was a little bit lost, a little bit empty. Max was gone and no one knew where she had disappeared to.
After the Institute was taken, the Minutemen had found the body of Danse laid out peacefully next to the grave of Nate Everton on the hill above Sanctuary with a scrawled note 'Paladin Major Richard Alexander Danse, Brotherhood of Steel and the Commonwealth Minutemen. Died 2288. A Human Being'. He was buried there and a stone erected and the words 'and A Hero' were added by someone later.
But there was no sign of the Minutemen General.
She had been in her quarters that day. Her leathers, armour and her weapons were gone. She had taken a duffle from the supply cage. Food, water, stims, radiation protection, ammo and caps were taken and even noted on the appropriate clipboards in her tidy hand.
They had reports that someone that may have been her passed near the coastal cottage outpost in the east, but the settlers hadn't been sure. As soon as he was able, MacCready had gone out to see if she could be tracked. He was gone for weeks but came back resignedly and alone. No Sign… She was just gone.
Three months passed before they had any word of her.
A lone man approached the gate near dusk on a hot dusty evening. He was an older man, had the grizzled look of a tracker. He was wearing an old oilskin coat and too many layers for the hot Commonwealth day. Slung over his shoulder was a worn lever action rifle. His shoulders were slumped and he was drained. He walked with his head lowered as he dragged his feet over the bridge, his battered Stetson low over his eyes.
Preston came down the hill to meet him as he slumped in a patio chair outside the visitors house by the gate. He had a can of water hanging loosely from one hand and half a stogie charring away in the other. The old man didn't look up as Preston approached.
"Welcome to Sanctuary." Preston greeted him, talking to the top of his hat.
"Yep." The old man grunted.
"The guards said that you were sent here?"
"Yep."
Preston frowned and took the seat next to the old guy.
"Can I ask who sent you?"
"You can… the lady sent me." The old man grunted and peeked out from under his hat. "The lady with the big gun."
Preston felt a surge of hope.
"Did she give you a name?"
"Nope." He took a sip of his water and made a face, "Listen Lad, she shows up on the Island says she needs a guide… she raises all hell and then she's gone… never got no name, called her lady." The man put the cigar between his teeth and began puffing on it thoughtfully.
"She says that you all could use someone like me, so she says I should come by and make myself known. Here I am"
Preston leaned towards the old man. "Island… What Island?"
"Far Harbour." The old man supplied shortly. "Bit quiet, your girl… surly & brooding type... good in a fight though."
"Can you describe what she looked like?" Preston asked, he was sure it was her.
"Tall, dark hair, pretty as hell. Got herself a pair of eyes that'll haunt your dreams." The man tipped his hat back, looked down at his water and then looked up at Preston. "She can't drink worth a damn. I'm partial to whiskey myself."
Preston got the not so subtle hint and motioned to one of the guards to find a bottle of whiskey.
The man nodded his head "She talks in her sleep though, must like to dance… talked about dancing?"
Preston nodded. Poor Max.
"Anyhow. She went after some radio signal we picked up when we landed on the coast, told me to come here. Names Longfellow."
Preston took the old mans offered hand, "So, she's back in the commonwealth?"
"Yep, for now." Longfellow took up the whiskey bottle that had arrived on the table, nodding thanks to the gate guard who had bought it and took a long, long tug at it.
"Thanks Longfellow." Preston said. "Like I said welcome to Sanctuary. Take a few days to get acquainted with the place then we'll put you to work." Preston patted him on the shoulder and left him to his whiskey.
Max was back… but where was she now?
