The Institute
"It's nice to make your acquaintance at last, Anne," Father said as he brought a chair over to sit by the side of the gurney, "though I could have wished it was in better circumstances."
"How... how did you know my name?" I wasn't going to call this man "Father," title or not. I had a father, and he was back home with the rest of my family.
A slight smile creased the corners of his mouth. "Ah, my associates from your world provided me with your information when they sent that little gadget to you. After all, you were supposed to have been transported directly here to our secure underground facilities as a welcome guest of the Institute, not stranded on the surface to fend for yourself. No matter, the miscalculation on such a small scale will be easy to correct once we finish our download."
Underground? No wonder no one's been able to find the entrance; there isn't one. At this point, though, I only had one question on my mind. "Why?" My voice cracked with emotion, and I fought to hold back tears of frustration. "What's going on? Why did you do this to me?"
For a long, quiet moment, broken only by the whirring of the computer banks in the wall, I thought this "Father" person was going to ignore my question. Just as I was about to give up all hope of an answer, he replied in a quiet, even voice. "Do you know the history of this place? Had you read the instruction manual, it would have given you a basic overview of our world."
If I want information from him, I better contribute to the conversation and at least pretend to go along. "I skimmed it. This was supposed to be a game, after all. I wanted to experience the Virtual reality storyline without spoilers. I remember it saying something about post nuclear-war Boston. How is it you match the game world's elements so perfectly?" As much as I tried to stay neutral, some of my feelings leaked through my voice.
"Where do you think Bethesda got the idea?" He chuckled slightly at my jaw drop of reaction. "We've been working with them for years, presenting the premise of the Wasteland to their programmers to help us research some of our own technological developments. That they took our information and turned it into a series of successful computer games is quite ingenious." The man seemed quite happy to have a new audience for his narrative, and I wasn't about to stop him from talking, though this last revelation struck me to the core.
"Bethesda?" Could that be the first word of the acronym? "I got a letter from B.I.R.D..." I mused aloud.
"Bethesda/Institute Research and Development," Father explained. "The culmination of our years of exchanging information. I admit, when we first developed molecular relay technology, we hadn't known about other realities. Once we discovered the existence of the multiverse, completely by accident of course, it was only a matter of time before we tried to communicate and, eventually, transport physically." His dark eyes sparkled with fervent emotion. "It is a truly remarkable scientific breakthrough! You're the recipient of the most amazing piece of technology created by our two organizations working together." He reached out to pat the back of my hand, stroking across the buried cathodes in a proprietary manner. "You are now a truly... fascinating specimen; the melding of our advanced technology with your own body in such a thorough, yet compatible way. That it was successfully able to bring you to our world is nothing short of phenomenal, and allows us to move ahead in our project."
Inwardly I squirmed, unnerved by his not-quite-personable fascination. He looked at me like I was some kind of precious possession, despite his earlier assurances that I would have been treated like a guest. Yeah, right. "Welcome guests" aren't usually strapped to an examination table. Well, at least he's more willing to chat than that woman doctor was. I went to hold up my arm, but the restraints prevented any movement. "But... why?" I asked again, "I'm nobody. Why did you choose me?"
Father shook his head in resignation. "Because... we need help." He stood up to pace across the room a few times before approaching the gurney. "You appeared to potentially be the best prospect in an extremely short list of, ah, applicants."
"You mean unwitting guinea pigs?" My comment was ignored.
"Mankind has fallen so far since the bombs dropped over 200 years ago. Radiation and the destruction of the world above caused humanity to devolve into little more than animals, fighting among themselves to survive. You've spent time up there, you've seen the mutations of every living organism. Surface dwellers can hardly even be called the same species anymore. The Institute has stayed deep underground, peacefully improving our technology, experimenting, protecting ourselves and our limited resources from being tainted by the pervasive radiation up there. But we can't maintain this way of life forever."
I nodded slowly, inwardly seething at his arrogance. How dare he judge the people just trying to stay alive up there? How dare he call Garvey or Deacon or MacCready less than human? He is blinded by his safe little bubble, performing who-knows-what kinds of experiments with no thought to the world outside. "Compared to my world, life here is... different" I said carefully, wanting to hear more. Maybe there's something I've overlooked. I wish MacCready was here. He's sharp. He'd catch anything I missed.
"I know. That is why we are so committed to creating a better world for ourselves here. You're used to a much more civilized way of life, compatible with how we conduct ourselves in the Institute. We would have treated you much better than anyone up there can. You've seen the fighting, the mistrust, the terrible violence of even the most benevolent organizations and people on the surface. I hope you can see that, rationally, the Institute is the only thing left in the world that's worth being part of, untainted by the chaos above."
"Last time I checked, I'm being restrained against my will. Why should I cooperate?" I hedged, "and you're the ones sending Synths up to the surface to kidnap and kill people. If you're so peaceful," I asked him, digging deep for the courage to be so blunt, "why is it your Synths have laser rifles? They attacked me and my companions on more than one occasion." Well, until they noticed my Pip-Boy, anyway, but I won't mention that part.
"An unfortunate occurrence. Those Synths were acting on our orders, trying to secure the same scarce resources you were. Fighting was the inevitable result. In truth, none of us have any real claim to nobility in this world. Those days are gone. But we are not the monsters in the darkness those up on the surface think we are. We really do have humanity's best interest at heart. The Institute has a plan to bring back civilization, and prevent the further decline of humanity as a whole. But we can't do it alone." He looked me in the eyes. "That's where you come in."
Almost humble words, I thought bitterly, keeping my expression passive, but at the same time he dodged the issue of violence. And the Institute doesn't really consider anyone on the surface fully human anymore. I wonder if he realizes I caught on to that distinction. Do I also fall under that definition of "not-quite-human" since I'm from another reality? "What do you need from me? Like I said, I'm no one." I just don't trust him, or an organization willing to dismiss so many people as inferior. It positively reeks of eugenics. He's also ignoring my not-so-subtle request to be released. I really wish MacCready was here. I miss him.
"You were in the military. Those experiences are valuable to us, memories from a combat-trained veteran, with access to the higher echelons of command. Information like that is priceless." He clasped his hands on the rail of the gurney, pointing to my Pip-Boy and indicating the cable attached to the computers.
I laughed, slightly hysterically. "I was a musician! I never saw real combat. If you want memories of being bored to death by endless speeches in brutally hot, sweaty conditions when you're not allowed to move to even scratch your nose, you're welcome to them!" I hope Tom's blocking program is as good as he says. Enough of my memories have been exposed as it is. "Technically, I was close to the higher ranking officers, but only in a ceremonial role."
The hopeful expression on his face disappeared, and he took in a deep breath, glancing at the bank of computers. "Even if your memories are useless, you are not. You are the key, the focus, the link to your own world, and we're extremely fortunate we found you when we did. Every day spent out in the Wasteland makes it harder for us to recalibrate." He stepped away from me suddenly, but I could just barely hear him muttering under his breath about string theory.
"What do you mean?" I need to find out as much as I can while he's willing to talk. And...focus? Mama Murphy said something about a focus.
"Whenever your cells divide and replenish, they use the elements at hand to do so. Every bite of food, drink of water, even those miraculous stimpaks... anything not of your own reality that has been introduced into your body is changing who you are. And with the amount of radiation prevalent on the surface, decimating your cells, your body is working overtime just to keep you alive. Ever so slowly, you're becoming more and more a part of this world, weakening the connection to your own."
I gasped in realization, "You mean, if I stay long enough, I may not be able to return?"
"Essentially, yes. It takes several years for all the cells in your body to completely change over, so it's not an immediate danger. But our dual programming with Bethesda needs to use you and the connection to your world to guide our relay, and it needs to be properly powered and calibrated." He reached over to tilt my Pip-Boy's screen into view, flicking the selector to the MAP screen. "You were supposed to come here directly, but got stranded randomly on the surface instead. It could have so easily been much, much worse. We now realize the dire importance of proper and minutely precise calibration." He paused, staring at the filled screen almost admiringly. "You really have been all over the Commonwealth, haven't you?"
"Trying to get home," I said sulkily. "The Wastelanders might be violent, but they've at least tried to help." Well, some of them, anyway.
"You want to go home? We can send you home." His breezy assurance made me instantly suspicious. "But we need something from you first." Of course. The man started pacing again, five steps back and forth, almost a nervous gesture. He glanced at the bank of computers built into the wall on every pass. His actions were anything but comforting, and my insides twisted up in warning. I want to go home, but I just don't trust these people or their intentions.
"I'm assuming you're going to let me know what that is?" Now I'm getting the distinct feeling he's not telling me everything. He's just being nice because he has to be, I've seen it too many times before. He doesn't really care about me as a person, just the living link to my world attached to their special Pip-Boy. At least the other factions were grateful for my help, not just expecting it as a matter of course. At least MacCready treats me like a person, a valued partner.
"It should already be in our systems." He turned to make another pass in front of the gurney. "What's taking so long?" Stepping out of the room, he left me alone with my own misgivings before returning with a very unhappy look on his face. "It appears we have a bit of an issue with our equipment. While I would like nothing more than to stay and convince you to willingly help our cause, I am needed elsewhere. Someone will be in shortly to tend to your physical needs. I do hope a night of quiet reflection and peaceful sleep will bring you around. You could be the key to helping our whole world." With a final pat to my restrained hand, he strode out of the room, the door whooshing shut behind him.
I highly doubt that. Once he was out of earshot, I snickered quietly to myself. Seems like Tom's programs are playing merry havoc with the Institute's computer systems. Good. Now, how the hell am I going to get out of here and back to MacCready? We need to get that Courser chip to the Railroad. At the thought of my partner, I felt a renewed rush of longing to be back with him. I've never felt this way before. It's been less than a day and I'm completely miserable without him by my side.
The Institute scientists must have been extremely confident in the security of their examination room as I was left alone for quite some time. Pulling against the restraints only cramped my muscles after a while, they were too tight and secure for me to budge. The bank of computers next to me still whirred quietly, emitting an occasional blip. I tried to invoke V.A.T.S. and even the computer hacking assistance, but only wound up with a headache and the lingering buzz of overstimulated nerves.
Sighing, I reviewed my conversation with Father, and tried to square the image he presented of a peaceful organization dedicated to helping save humanity with the stories from the surface. MacCready and I had visited dozens of communities and settlements, each with their own tales of horror caused by the Institute. "Synths razed the whole block and took anything even remotely useful" "The Institute kidnapped my son and when he finally returned, he was a completely different person. I think he might be a Synth!" "Super Mutants are just another failed Institute experiment." "Some weird diseases going around, I'm sure the Institute is behind them." "A guy just walked in the place and shot everyone. Turns out he was a Synth."
Even if some of the stories were mere speculation, maybe Elder Maxson was on to something after all. Synths directed by the Institute were dangerous, as was the organization itself. My gut feeling was screaming at me not to trust Father, or the grand design he had in mind. I need to stop them from getting further access to my world. I don't know what they're planning, but it can't be good for either of our realities.
Fine and dandy, let me just stop a technologically superior organization from executing an unspecified plan from the restrained comfort of a gurney inside said organization's hidden stronghold. As MacCready would say, "Sure, no sweat!" This time my laugh was more than a little hysterical.
An unspecified amount of time later, when my "physical needs" were becoming quite uncomfortable, a young man walked into the room bearing a covered tray. He was wearing the standard Institute white and gray jumpsuit without any color on his sleeves. Setting the tray on the table near my pack, he approached the gurney. "Hello. I am Z1-87." After a significant pause, he continued, meeting my gaze with an intense look of his own. "I am here to help you."