CHAPTER TEN: THE SWITCHBOARD
Chapter note: EDITED Apologies I've had to yank this Chapter and re-edit a small section in the middle where Deacon and Jack talk out on the road. The Mayor McDonough/Hancock bit is for a later Chapter and shouldn't have been in here I'd forgotten I'd mentioned it. Sorry. I've amended that whole bit to tie in a little more with the recent argument about the BoS values as well so it flows a little better. If you've read it once already you might just want to glance at that section again as its given it a bit of a different feel and hopefully depth!
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To say his relationship with Sam had taken a nose dive would be an understatement. He'd been on the wrong side of arguments with Sara before, usually about his work, but they had tended to simmer; his ex-wife had been more into passive aggressive sniping than wanting an outright row. But Sam … she was much more fiery, more like him and inclined to have a screaming fit before storming off to cool down for a few days. Although this was different. Quite aside from their seemingly differing opinions on the Brotherhood, he knew he'd crossed a line by having her essentially grounded, albeit in the air on board the Prydwen. Interfering with her career, particularly when it got in the way of her latest 'homeward bound mission', made him a special kind of stupid.
He'd known it was a shitty move but he was an idiot in love and scared to death of losing Sam, and pissed to all hell that she was still suffering because he'd been stupid enough to get filleted like a fish out here. He was also possibly justifiably concerned they'd shacked up with the new Reich and were being spied on by 'robots in disguise!' He was also irritated that he was stuck in a world where no one would get that damn pop culture reference… although it would have gone over Daniel's head too, he thought it said something when Teal'c, an actual alien, knew Earth culture better than the supposed anthropologist.
Not that any of his thoughts about it really made a damn bit of difference to his current predicament. Sam was mad as all hell and it was that real bad, quiet mad. He'd glimpsed the frostiness he'd known Sam was capable of once or twice out on missions, and they'd had a row or several dozen out here. But this silent treatment where she flat out ignored him was somehow worse. He'd have preferred her to scream at him or hit him maybe. Nearly two weeks of this unbearable 'nothing' was almost killing him. Particularly as it was all mixed up with a cold dose of guilt over having pushed her past her 'no go' limit sexually as well. That bit he was damn out of line for but he couldn't very well apologise for that and not the rest of it… she'd throw him overboard and frankly he didn't think he was wrong on the rest of it. Maybe going behind her back… but then he'd been mostly ambushed by Maxson, the burly guy getting up in his face and praying on his fears about Sam's value and safety out there. Damn perceptive asshole.
As it was Sam's new rank as Knight Captain of the Flight Deck was keeping her busy and she had her new best friend in Ingram, as they huddled together over endless blueprints and welding tools. She was far too 'busy' to be worried about patching things up with her husband, who she didn't even share a bed with … and whose bunk he'd noted she'd deliberately moved away from. That was cold.
Sam's new promotion meant that she was basically in charge of turning this ship into something formidable and highly secure. That gave him pause but he supposed she had been right about the impact she'd had on the Minutemen; right now, technically, this flying blimp was one giant target. He'd have said it was a tall ask to get this thing defensible or, God help her, manoeuvrable but she'd built a few spaceships in her time – some to greater degrees of success than others, he mused remembering the X-301 not so fondly. So, he suspected Maxson was about to get more than he bargained for. Given as Sam was now 'stuck' here, it had given her a single mindedness that Jack knew well enough to be slightly afraid of, particularly given his new orders which he was just itching to ignore. Why he'd thought giving up being 'the Man' was a good idea he'd never know. He was back to being a flunky and it sucked.
"Sam, you got a minute?" he asked cautiously as she lifted her head, the welding tool still lit up in her hand as she lifted her goggles to give him a pointed stare with those blue eyes flashing in warning. She hated when he cornered her in public with a polite request. It meant she had to respond, although she didn't always have to be civil about it.
"I'm a little busy right now." she snapped dismissing him as she pushed the goggles back on and turned back to her work. Jack blew out an exasperated breath and shared a look with Ingram who shrugged, with little sympathy. If anything, he suspected the woman that had also been permanently 'grounded' had been riling Sam up about it.
He had little option but to wait. Orders were orders, but he wasn't going to push it with her right now. An hour later as he fiddled with something he was quite certain he shouldn't be her hand went down over his wrist too tightly to be idle. "Will you stop messing with everything!" she hissed in exasperation, pulling his hand away from the offending item.
"Depends. If I promise not to touch anything else will you give me five minutes of your oh-so-precious time before I ship out?" Jack bit back, unable to curb his tongue and he winced internally expecting a rebuke. Instead, he got Sam's rather startled look.
"Where are you going?" she asked, dropping her welding torch and tossing her goggles onto her workbench with practiced ease, unable to keep the note of concern out of her voice. Jack looked up, noted Ingram and a couple of other engineers milling about, and pointed to an alcove. She followed him as he guided them to a corner out of ear shot and turned, surprised to find her so close to him. "Where the hell is he sending you?" she snapped, looking furious suddenly. Jack wondered if that look was for him or Maxson or a combination of the two of them.
"Erm … it's classified." he replied, sensing immediately that it wasn't really the thing to say. Her eyebrows went up. "To everyone except you of course." he conceded, "Sort of." He handed her his list of requirements and she frowned staring down at the list. "Apparently you're the new Q on board." He tried for jovial but his smile was mostly strained when she shot her head back up at him.
"And that would make you James Bond would it?" she snarked. Crumpling the paper in her fist. "When do you need all this by?"
He swallowed. "About an hour ago." Sam's glare he realised could be bottled as an offensive weapon because he genuinely felt the impact of it right down to his short and curlies.
"For crying out loud Jack! If you have an actual mission requirement, say so. Asking to 'talk' is not the same damn thing!" she snapped, deducing that she might end up being blamed for making him late. Not that he'd ever tell a soul but Sam was a stickler for protocol.
"Well, I do … you know … want to talk." he added.
Sam glanced up at him, her expression guarded. "I think you've said enough already." She made to move away and he gripped her arm, deciding that pussy footing around this wasn't getting them anywhere. Sam liked action, as evidenced by her being royally pissed at having been taken off it, amongst other things. He attempted to manoeuvre her and instead found himself pressed up against a metal wall, her forearm against his throat, he was almost as impressed as he was irritated by the move, he decided not to attempt to break it, as she leant in close and hissed in his face. "Don't you dare try to manhandle me Commander." she snarled, but Jack watched her eyes flash as she stared a fraction too long at his lips; she'd always liked a bit of a power play. It gave him hope that they might come out of the other end of this argument, if she was still able to be aroused by him when angry. The trouble tended to come when all you felt was angry. Not that he was going to mention the arousal, his or hers … he valued his life and his 'fertile' balls.
"Wouldn't dream of it … Captain." he purred instead, although he wasn't averse to a little flirting if it helped soften what he knew was her considerable annoyance with him and he was perversely enjoying the fact that she was actually in physical contact with him again. "As I recall you've always done the manhandling in this relationship." He quirked an eyebrow as if evidencing their current positions and her blatant hypocrisy, "I still remember that manhandling you gave me wearing that sweet little tank top number of yours you know." He riled her deliberately, grinning at the blush he saw creep faintly along her cheeks.
Clearly annoyed with herself for that reaction, she shoved at him and released his throat. "I'm not playing this game with you Jack. And stop flirting. If you think I'm even remotely at the level of make-up sex with you, your sorely mistaken. I'm still royally pissed at you, more so now!" There was a moment when he had a flash of an old argument … 'Princess' he'd called her. Only now he'd gone and made her just that and had her locked in the tower for her own good. He wisely chose not to let that thought appear on his face or out his mouth. 'See he was learning' he mentally congratulated himself.
"Oh I got that." He massaged his throat, suddenly released from her fierce hold, admiring
even as he did it the technique, anger always had fuelled her strength, "Loud and clear. But I'm not playing a game Sam." he told her firmly, moving his foot and distracting her with a feint until she was the one pressed up against the metal, her arms pinned at the sides. She'd always played fair… he didn't. He leant in, keeping his head out of 'nutting' range. "What do you want me to say or do?" he asked quietly. "You asked what was eating me, and I told you the truth, all of it. I can't help that I'm a paranoid son of a bitch. It's literally what I've been trained to do. I'm sorry you didn't want to hear it. But Sam … that's all I did ... tell you what's going on with me."
Sam blew the hair that had fallen into her eyes out and twisted her wrists in his grasp, testing her wiggle room and finding none as he moved his leg to the inside of hers. She could get out if she really put some effort into it. The fact that she was choosing not to was telling; acknowledging the lack of choice to do anything else but to listen. He wasn't dumb enough to mention that either.
"You know full well this has nothing to do with what you said. Not to me. What you said to Maxson on the other hand …" Sam trailed off snidely and he paused. Okay she had him there. Tension pooled between them and he felt drawn down to her lips again, hovering there. God he wanted her, even furious as hell with him her blue eyes flashing, her breath coming sharply.
"I won't apologise for wanting you safe." he countered. "Especially when I'm not here." He brushed his thumb over her wrists, gentling his hold. "Do you really think I want to go back down there? But orders are orders." He bit back. Story of his damn life. "Besides, we need the intel and I do mean 'we'. I have to go use those fancy toys you're going to give me and do what I do best … covert."
"No!" Sam bit out with finality and he had little choice but to release her wrists before she did them both an injury. Instantly her hands slid to his shoulders and up the back of his neck, for a moment he wondered if she might actually be about to throttle him. "You are not leaving this ship with us mad at each other." she qualified and he let out an exasperated huff. There wasn't a lot he could do about that. She was the one mad, he was just hanging on by his fingertips to his sanity apparently.
Her hands rose higher, until she was cupping his face, leaning in until their lips were almost brushing. "What if you die on me?" she asked barely above a whisper, her blue eyes shining. His heart clenched and nervous energy pooled in his gut as he sensed genuine fear a match for his own between them now.
"Give me those nifty toys and I stand a better chance of not." he replied more gently. He didn't especially want to think about dying out there either right now. In fact he was trying real hard not to think it at all. He wasn't normally one to overthink things or worry about what was going to happen to him on a mission. He went out and got the job done. But now, now he had something to lose again and if he was really honest with himself, that was faintly terrifying. Along with the little fact that he had 'mostly' died the last time out. The scar on his chest twinged as if in remembered pain and her fingers pressed over it almost instinctively, as if to soothe his unspoken pain. He groaned dropping his forehead to hers and covering her hand with his. She really was perfect for him he realised darkly, so perfect it could only end in disaster.
"Jack?" she pleaded; the sound broken. He leant in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips; a counter to their harsh movements earlier, trying to banish what he knew now were shared fears. The argument almost forgotten or at least pushed aside for now, with the stark reality that she was right; he didn't want what could be their last conversation to be in anger either. She deepened the kiss, holding him by his face and tracing the outline of his mouth as if memorising it. The thought hurt so he pulled back.
"I won't die!" he swore, reaching up to take her hands and press a kiss to the palms as he stared at her, trying not to make it a promise, without letting her realise he was doing that.
"But I am going to prove to you that I'm not on anyone's team but yours. This mission might get us closer to Kellogg, to this Institute. That's what you want isn't it?" He looked up at her earnestly and she gave a quick short nod, acknowledging that. He hoped this didn't turn out to be a wild goose chase, but the intel down the wire from their contacts were suggesting this was a good bet. However ill-advised he thought going looking for this Institute was, he'd do it because she believed it was the best option. Apparently, the Railroad had put out some feelers for Kellogg and set off Valentine's network in Diamond City. The private dick had then dutifully gotten a message up to him through the supply lines, honouring the agreement they made a while back about Kellogg. Along with the not-so-subtle suggestion that he 'get his ass to the Switchboard'. Whatever the hell that was. Valentine had drawn one of those damn Railway lamp markers next to the word on the folded-up paper that Jack had got with a bottle of Borborov's Best Moonshine with his name on. He didn't want to recognise those damn symbols but he did. The last time he saw them was when he was crawling around a disgusting sewer beneath a church, where Sam had nearly gotten her arm chewed off and he still had the scars on his calves.
"Where?" she pressed the word against his throat. And he knew why she had to know, tactically it was a bad idea not to let her know, but if something went wrong he wasn't sure he wanted her coming in after him. But if he denied her this, he strongly suspected she'd rearrange his balls and this argument would escalate again. Now wasn't the time. Instead he slid his hand up her hands that he still gripped, sliding his fingers under the cuff of her threadbare jumper sleeve to trace over the upturned bite marks. His eyes locked with hers, telling her without telling her where he was going. No orders broken. He hadn't said a word. Sam nodded, looking slightly more relieved at the notion; clearly she'd been expecting something worse.
His fingers lingered slightly and she withdrew her arm from his touch, sliding the fabric back over it. He watched her suppress a shudder at the memory of a Ghoul's mouth, it's teeth in her arm. 'Fucking ghouls.' Sam had been doing better with what had happened to her with the last damn Ghoul, but this latest relapse was on him; for touching her without her go ahead, in the one place she'd drawn her only hard line on her road to recovery. Like the damn idiot that he was. Oh he'd self-flagellated about that until he'd felt raw. And it irked him that he'd drawn parallels with Charlie, he hadn't meant to land that on her, that was his fucking guilt and it had no place between them, except the fear of failing her like that… it kept him up at nights. Karma was a bitch, and boy was he owed a kicking for all the shit he'd let happen on his watch.
"When I get back, we should talk. Properly." he offered, pushing aside his darker thoughts, certain they hadn't appeared on his face this time. "Without the shouting." Her lips flickered up for a fraction but he saw it and drew strength from it, squeezing her fingers in his and slotting them together as he leant in and pressed his forehead to hers. Not wanting to be out of contact – not when he was shipping out for god knows how long again. "I'm sorry I went behind your back with Maxson. I should have trusted you to make your own calls." It was the one apology he thought she was owed and the one he could make. The rest about the Brotherhood… well he was willing to back down on that and they'd have to find some way to agree to disagree.
"About the … other thing, with the sex." he tried nervously, feeling his gut clench in a way it hadn't from anxiety in a while; God knows how he's supposed to apologise for being such an idiot on that. Sam shook her head sharply, reaching up on her tiptoes and startling him by pressing her body hard against his abdomen; forcing him to grip her hips to slow their sudden movement backwards as her mouth crashed against his. To say he was a little stunned would have been an understatement, given she'd been adamant that they weren't at the makeup sex stage. Although that was before the apology… he was enjoying it thoroughly, his hands buried in her hair with a handful of her ass as he drew them further back around the corner out of sight. Right up until he realised she was kissing him like she honestly thought it might be the last time. He tasted tears and pulled his head back, reaching up to cup her cheek and take in the sight that hit him like a body blow.
"Hey, I'm not dying out there Sam. I promise." he swore, pressing another kiss to her lips and giving himself over to her for a moment. But even as he said it, he felt a flash of panic chasing white hot through his blood; it had been close the last time he'd been out there. He hoped to God he wasn't making yet another promise he couldn't keep. He'd left her alone out there for forty-eight hours and look at the damage. She'd be safe up here. Even if he didn't trust the Brotherhood they looked after their own and Sam was one of their own now, a valuable one.
She nodded, her breath coming out sharply as she pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek before quickly slipping out of his grasp and stalking away. "You best not or I'll kick your ass!" she threw back over her shoulder, swiping at her eyes as she went about collecting up his gear. She added a couple of fancy gadgets and grabbed a gun he'd not seen before as she headed straight to her workbench to trick it out for him no doubt.
When she handed it to him, he let their hands brush a moment longer than was necessary but she didn't look up. He could tell from the shaky way she was breathing that she was fighting tears again. He hated making her cry but he couldn't just leave without at least trying to fix this between them. Even if it wasn't entirely fair given as she was much more likely to forgive him with a threat like imminent death over his head. Screw it. He leant in and caught her chin, tilting her head up. If he was going out there again then he damn well wanted to see those beautiful eyes before he did.
"I'll see you soon." He leant in and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, holding there a moment longer as her hand rose to his own cheek, tenderly. She loved him. Mad or not. That meant something. He gave her a smile and turned away.
Walking away from her with his gear was harder than it had ever been. He barely stopped when Paladin Danse stepped in his path, merely indicating that the man join him in his swift retreat before he gave up all pretences and simply grabbed his wife and ran. He was jittery he realised. This was his first real solo mission out here. It seemed he'd spent his entire time here with a team or a partner of some sort. It was also his first foray back into a real combat zone since his near death. The Wasteland wasn't kind to anyone. It wouldn't care for his nerves; it would rip him apart just the same. He needed to bring his 'A' game; he wasn't about to make Sam a widower.
"You clear on your mission Commander?" Danse asked as they came to a halt outside the Command Deck.
"Crystal." Jack replied, giving the other man a once over, he looked relaxed. Even if he was still in that damn Power Armour. "You know you should take that thing off once or twice … put it through a wash cycle." Jack quipped and Danse looked down.
"I'll take that under advisement." he deadpanned but Jack was sure he heard a trace of sarcasm in there somewhere. Oh, he was so going to crack that one of these days. "I'll admit you're not what I'd have imagined a covert operative would be. Hardly the quiet type. Are you sure you can handle this?" he asked with clear doubt, his scowl practically carved into his features.
Jack actually barked out a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder, leaning in. "I used to do this for a living. Trust me, it's a piece of cake."
Danse seemed to take that in, giving him a knowing look. Jack wondered if the man had ever had cake and felt a stab of pity for this world. "You used to lie for a living?" Danse queried with a tad more bite than Jack was expecting, almost an accusation in there.
"Hey, I was retired from all that … back to being a true-blue soldier." Jack griped as Danse gave him a hard stare, clearly not believing a word of that. "Yeah, okay so I soldiered in a secret military base doing highly classified work that I couldn't tell anyone about … I take the point." Jack sighed realising his argument was a non-starter as he shrugged the accusation off. Hell, he'd been called worse than a liar in his time. Besides, he was, when the situation called for it, an excellent one. Which was why it was so damn galling that the only person he struggled to lie to was Sam. Particularly when a few little white lies might have made his life a hell of a lot easier sometimes. This last damn argument was case in point for what happened when he opened his damn mouth and told the truth. He was starting to think he should have shut up and kept making his Plan B's and C's on the side, to cover what he was suspecting was going to be their eventual fall from grace here.
"I see Captain Carter is still giving you hell. Must have been some row?" Danse probed unsubtly and Jack sighed. Why was it the guy suddenly wanted to talk his ear off now, when he'd just as soon be out of there? Although he kind of liked the throwback to Sam's old moniker. Sometimes he missed the young wide-eyed Captain, who'd stood in front of the event horizon of a wormhole she'd made work and would rather wax poetic about it than step through the damn thing. Although the good Captain would have probably had his hide back then too. Wide-eyed innocent or not, hadn't that row been about her being grounded for the Abydos mission too? Jack sighed, he should have known that would've been the sore point and not prodded it. But he loved her. If he didn't want to be out there then he sure as shit didn't want her out there. He wondered how exactly that had made him the bad guy in this.
"Hey, marriage isn't easy or everyone would do it." Jack replied finally. "It's also none of your damn business." he reminded Danse with a little snark. It was bad enough they had literally no privacy but Sam's dark mood seemed to have had everyone glaring at him for the last few weeks. Clearly when the woman handling the nukes and tearing holes in their flying home was pissy, you got mad at the guy that put her in that mood. He didn't doubt there was a correlation between her mood and the sudden abrupt drop in altitude they'd all suffered at breakfast the other morning, which had corresponded with his arrival in the mess hall. He still had no idea how she'd managed that … he'd been too busy face planting in oatmeal.
Danse shook his head. "You're both Knights under my Command. That makes it my business if there's friction in the ranks. Elder Maxson doesn't want his new dream team compromised." Danse warned and Jack bit back the remark that it was the Elder's damn fault for making promises to Sam he had no intention of keeping. Making Jack the de facto bad guy. Asshole.
"Yeah … me too. Believe me, getting on her bad side is not a comfy place to be." he admitted. "I'm working on it. But Sam's complicated." he settled on. "Look, just promise me you'll look out for her out here and I don't just mean have her back in a firefight. Sam's too trusting." he admitted. Danse gave him a hard look and reached out patting him on the shoulder.
"Of course. On my honour, I will watch over her." Danse crossed his hand over his chest and Jack followed suit and he sighed feeling a flicker of relief; he knew Danse was a good man. It had been one of the reasons he'd agreed to join up with the Brotherhood. They couldn't all be bad if honourable men like Danse had hitched their cart to their wagon.
"I appreciate it. Just don't tell her I asked you to do that though … or that you agreed." he winced, "She'd probably strap us both to a rocket and aim us at something unpleasant." he added with a grimace that Danse seemed to take quite seriously.
"I'm not a complete idiot. I like my testicles attached." Danse smirked. "And my Power Armour unsullied." he added patting the chest plate and Jack snorted, fair enough. "But you need to sort this out. You love each other don't you? What else do you need?"
Now that was the million-dollar question wasn't it, Jack mused. "I'll admit Sam and I are still adjusting to this husband and wife thing. Which is not helped, I might add, by the damn separate bunking arrangement!" He prodded Danse in the metal chest plate for effect. "I think you might have left that out of the recruitment brochure, huh buddy?" he sassed, still feeling genuine annoyance about that, "I might have been a little more reluctant to leave my nice castle and double bed, with my spring mattress and the wife curled up next to me."
Danse gave him the eyebrow, then reached into his pocket and slapped a key down into his palm. "Key opens a storeroom on mid-deck. It's a recreation bunk and it smells of feet but it's a double."
Jack stared at the key in his hand. "Why Danse, you sly dog. I had no idea you felt that way about me!" he quipped with a grin. There was an answering snort of laughter and an honest to God smirk from the usually stoic soldier.
"If that's your idea of an invitation O'Neill, no wonder your wife's mad at you."
He strolled off with that parting gift of a comment and Jack stared after him stunned. "Was that an actual joke?" he called after the retreating form and got a dignified silence back. He shook his head; Danse making jokes … that was probably a bad sign.
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Getting into the Railroad HQ in the old church was a lot easier when you had the back door key – well keycode – to go along with the secret handshake, Jack considered as the metal hatch swung open to admit him into the tunnel system and he hopped inside. It was also a hell of a lot easier to get around Boston when you had a Vertibird to drop you off a click out. Of course, the Brotherhood thought he was doing this covertly. They had no idea that he and Sam were already card carrying members of the little Synth resistance movement. He thought it best to keep that tidbit to himself. All the better to impress with his mad covert skills when he came back with all the goods.
As it was, he just strolled in. "Lucy, I'm home!" he called out knocking on the bunker door that was wide open and watched as Tinker Tom's head shot up in that ridiculous aviator cap.
"General!" he called out. "Man are you a sight for sore eyes. And just the man for the job. Come in, come in." he ushered him in and hastily moved around something that seemed to be ticking from off the only spare seat. "Des will be thrilled you're back. I heard it down the grapevine that you infiltrated the Brotherhood of Steel. Nicely done." he declared with virtually no artifice. Apparently, it was unthinkable that they'd actually join up which made him faintly uncomfortable all over again. If they kept at it out here just about every group of note was going to be thinking they had the loyalty of the infamous Rip-Van-Winkle Vault dwellers.
"Yes, well. I wear many hats." Jack replied smiling thinly, "Literally." He pointed to his military beret. He missed his General hat but that was stuck in the bottom of his trunk on the Prydwen for now, like he'd just tucked that whole part of his hard won life away.
"Cool, cool. Hey, you want to see my new idea?" Tom disappeared around his messy, scorch marked workbench, not waiting for an answer and appeared again with the biggest damn gun Jack had ever seen. In fact it looked more like a handheld canon; the slight stringy Tom was grunting to lift it. "I call it the Junk Jet." he grinned widely and expectantly up at him.
Jack's fingers twitched; he reached for it before hesitating, "I'm going to regret asking I'm sure but what does it fire?" he queried, a dozen ideas popping to mind.
"Anything." Tom chuckled. "Literally." he aped him and Jack nodded, fair enough. Tom handed the gun to him and walked him over to the indoor shooting range he'd set up in the far corner. "Go on. I've preloaded it." he insisted and Jack gave him a once over. He looked like Carter when she'd just solved a math problem, hopped up on blue jello. That look never bode well. It usually meant paperwork explaining why she needed a new lab … or assistant, or once or twice why an alien was now following her around.
Jack braced himself and hefted the huge cannon type gun, slotting his arm into it and thinking it reminded him a hell of a lot of the Anti-Replicator gun he'd designed that once. Except it weighed an actual tonne.
"Jesus, what's it got in here? A bowling ball?" he groaned, pulling the lever Tom indicated to load the chamber and lined up the iron sight as best he could with the plastic mannequin target down the range. Jack tugged the trigger and braced himself; even then the recoil damn near blew him off his feet. Jack watched in fascination as what was clearly a teddy bear shot out with incredible velocity and took the head clean off the dummy. "Now that's not something you see every day." he admitted as he handed the gun back to Tom. "I think it's got a few kinks left to be worked out though." he growled, rolling his shoulder to get feeling back into it.
"It just decapitated a man at twenty feet with a stuffed bear. I'd say it's good to go!" Tom exclaimed, looking slightly put out that he hadn't seen the genius in that invention.
"And I've lost feeling in my right arm and shoulder." Jack countered, still rubbing both to attempt to get feeling back in them as he squeezed his fingers into a fist to shake it out. "So yeah, killer teddy bear or not, I'm going to pass on that."
"Suit yourself." Tom huffed. "Here. You want something gentler, try this." He shoved a weapon that looked more like a huge dart gun into his hands, or maybe it was a super soaker. Could be either he realised.
"And this one does what exactly?" Jack held it with slightly more caution this time. At least he was fairly certain a rocket propelled stuffed bear wasn't getting out of that barrel.
"It's a Syringer. Modified of course." he declared as if that explained everything. Tom laid out a leather bag with individually wrapped 'syringes' full of various multicoloured liquids. "I designed these babies myself. Completely silent and ready for any eventuality." He picked up a yellow one.
"I call this 'yellow belly'. Makes any target completely incapacitated with sheer terror. They literally run around like headless chickens for a good minute." Jack's ears perked up.
"Not bad. What else you got?" He spent some time with Tom given as the guy was giving away free weapons. Granted they were experimental but Jack was willing to give anything a go once. Which was how he ended up with slightly singed eyebrows and burnt fingertips by the time he called it quits, making his exit to find Desdemona before Tom got him to test the rocket back-pack he was eyeing up. He'd seen what had happened to the test dummy he'd strapped it to earlier … yeah, not happening. Sam liked his ass – most the time – in one unburnt shape.
It was kind of refreshing to be around this lot. They might be misguided bleeding hearts, in his opinion, but they reminded him of a bunch of crackpot arms dealers and smugglers he'd known in the Far East. Those guys had some fantastic moonshine but they were about as far from the constrained order of the Brotherhood as you could get which, as it turns out, was just what he needed right now. He hadn't realised how miserable being back into a military routine had made him … or maybe it was just having to bark out 'how high Sir' to orders given by idiots half his age and experience.
Desdemona seemed just as pleased to see him as Tinker Tom had been, albeit in her own unflappable wry way, though that Synth woman Glory was giving him the old shifty. He merely smirked at her with a swagger and walked past, realising a moment later, when Desdemona had gaped at his appearance, that of course they hadn't seen him with his facelift. He didn't dwell on the fact that Tinker Tom hadn't noticed, if it didn't blow up the guy probably wasn't interested. He patted his cheeks.
"Little mishap with a bottle of anti-aging lotion. Got a bit overzealous with the application." Jack smirked and Desdemona swallowed whatever comment she was going to make and rolled her eyes at him. Clearly used to wise-ass comments from Deacon who'd strolled up to join them.
"Hey General." He tipped his hat and Jack did a double take; seemed like he wasn't the only who'd had some work done. He could have sworn the guy had a completely different face now … and less hair. "Where's your foxy lady at?" Deacon asked clearly looking around for his 'better half'.
"Oh, she's sowing her wild oats with a bunch of marines. Thought it best to leave her to it." Jack replied giving him a shit eating grin and telling him nothing and something all at once; deciding he didn't want to mention the face-off thing the other man clearly had going on as well. He was certain the answer would just disturb him. Ignorance was occasionally bliss; it was becoming his motto. Although he'd always had a fairly healthy respect for 'need to know'.
"So, you here to get your hands dirty or what General?" Desdemona queried and Jack grinned widely at her, baring his teeth.
"I thought you'd never ask!"
As it turns out, the Railroad didn't entirely trust him. Apparently, a man who could change his face and infiltrate the Brotherhood stronghold in plain sight was not a man to be trusted off the bat, no matter what goodwill the Minutemen brought him. He got stuck doing dead-drops and grunt work for the first few days. Turfing his ass across the Wasteland with only Deacon for company half the time. Man, that guy had a mouth on him. More than once he considered whether he should just shoot him and claim an ambush but he seemed the type to go right on talking long after death. Reminded him a bit of Kawalsky actually, which was his one redeeming feature... God rest his soul. Now Kawalsky, he probably would've gotten a kick out of this world Jack thought.
Slowly Jack was learning the tricks of the 'Synth spy trade'; his keen eyes picking out the Railroad symbols and starting to decipher the network of codes they were using; safe places, dead-drops, surveillance, SOS and his personal favourite, Synth warnings.
"So I gotta ask, was your wife related to the Diamond City Carter's, I mean I know you were frozen and all, but like is it a family line or something? Cause she certainly has no love for synths as I recall." Deacon asked him as they sat waiting for their 'guest' to appear, tucking into something that the label promised was beef jerky – yeah two hundred years ago maybe he thought swallowing it without attempting to taste it. Apparently, some Synth had escaped the Institute and was looking for debugging. Jack was kind of interested in getting his hands on one with its factory settings still intact, so he'd leapt at the chance to babysit Deacon and the Bot.
Jack winced. "This that whole Broken Mask Incident again, Synth that went nuts and started shooting up a bar, killed a bunch of people?" Jack groused, recalling the tale that had stuck to Sam like shit on her shoe. About this guy called Mr Carter, one of the earliest Gen-3 attempts to infiltrate that had apparently got a few screws loose, he'd gone quite literally postal.
"That's the one. Dark days in the whole sad synth tale that one. Fortunately someone put it out of its misery." Deacon sighed clearly not cut up about the poor misguided sods lot.
"Aren't we supposed to be saving Synth's here?" Jack queried confused by this apparent contradiction in the mission statement. When was it okay to kill synths in the Railroads books?
"When we can." Deacon confirmed. "But mostly what we do is about stopping the Institute. Some Synth's break from their programming. They evolve. Others like Mr Carter … well there's nothing to save. He was doing as programmed – or his programming broke. Nothing in his head but what the Institute put there. We aren't in the business of just freeing every Synth on the block. You got to earn it, want it. That struggle for freedom … that's what helps them find their humanity. You gotta respect the process man." Deacon told him, sounding a lot like that hippy he'd met in the 1960s with the sweet mystery bus.
Jack nodded, as if he understood which he really didn't. It sounded like new age hokum to him but he happily accepted it and the cigarette Deacon offered him, taking a long drag on it. God he'd missed these. Sam wasn't a fan, much like Sara hadn't been. He'd dropped the habit for both women but it was still nice to indulge once in a while, especially now he had brand new regenerated lungs. Janet would have a fit at him he realised with a grin as he exhaled enjoying the buzz.
"You do realise that Diamond City is still convinced they got Synth's everywhere, even in their Mayor. Bad press like that tends to linger. Especially when they've got an inhuman boogey man to pin it on. Your fighting a lot of resentment there, I wasn't seeing a whole lot of acceptance and understanding for the Railroads cause, or any cause that championed synth freedoms." Jack replied, remembering the journalist Piper and her tall tales that had got her barred from the gates and the strange creeping paranoia he'd sensed there from all corners.
Deacon shook his head as if disturbed by that. "Yeah, problem is the Institute learned from that incident, Mr Carter was an early prototype we figure, he still had the metal chassis and plastic internals from the accounts we've heard, but they got better at making the insides look as 'real' as the outsides." He shrugged. "Personally I think they'd have had a better chance of being accepted by folk if they had that difference, it's the whole 'hidden among' you thing that gets people's backs up." He reasoned.
Jack gave him a doubtful look. "That and the random going postal and killing people thing."
"One time. Way I figure it humans go postal and slaughter a bunch of people way more often." Deacon argued and Jack shrugged, he supposed he couldn't argue with that, they had that problem back in his world let alone out here.
"So you say they've gotten better at making these things look like 'real boys and girls'." Jack broached and Deacon gave him a patient look, waiting. "Do they happen to make them look like anything else… not human maybe?"
Deacon frowned. "Not human? I mean, I've never seen a synth Super Mutant, or a ghoul but I suppose they could, but what would be the point? The reason to infilitrate is to learn info, control the spread of information and technology. What could they learn from a bunch of monsters?"
Jack felt an odd little twitch inside of him. This guy claimed to be about 'rescuing' the poor synth's but he'd just tossed a whole bunch of ex-people into a convenient monster category. A bit like the Brotherhood had. He hadn't been talking about Synths and Ghouls. He'd meant animals, like the damn ravens, but it was interesting to see where this guys head went.
"Not sure the good ghoulified folks in Goodneighbor would be too thrilled to hear your assessment of their lives. I think lumping all ghouls into a 'monster' category is a little harsh don't you?" he asked pointedly, seeing Deacon's eyes shutter a little at the rebuke he was sure was there. "I mean unlike Synth's they were human once. A lot of them still at least think like one." He continued his back still up a little about this, given the recent argument he'd had with Sam that had taken a similar track. Not that he didn't think some ghouls were long gone down the monster road through no fault of their own like those ones in the forest… others chose to be monsters, like Edward. But the rest the 10% got on and lived regular lives. Hell he'd used to have a standing date down the airwaves with their Ghoulified Mayor Hancock to shore up the supply lines between Goodneighbor and the Castle back when he was the Minutemen's General. The guy had certainly been a peach and whilst he wasn't sure he trusted him given as Goodneighbor had a reputation for being a bit of an underworld scene out here, he'd never have called the Hancock anything but 'human', despite appearances.
Speaking of. He aimed his gun at the raven that thought it was being subtle hiding in the burnt-out car, it's shiny eyes on him. He blew it to pieces with a sense of supreme satisfaction.
Deacon gave him a distasteful look. "That really necessary?"
"Oh yeah." Jack replied. "Had its beady little eyes on me." Deacon gave him a look like he was reassessing his decision to sit so damn close and pair up with him on this op. Jack shrugged and indicated Deacon to go look. He reappeared a few minutes later, examining what Jack knew were Synth components pulled from the damn bird's head.
"How the hell did you know?" Deacon shot his head up and met him with suddenly serious eyes. Apparently he hadn't known about the feathered fiends spying on the Wasteland either.
"'Cause I had my beady little eyes on it too." Jack replied. "You should widen your 'outside the box' thinking when it comes to this Institute and what lengths they're willing to go to infiltrate. Humans aren't the only things with eyes and ears you know. Seems like they've been making fools out of everyone." he told him somewhat sagely. That seemed to be everyone's damn problem out here; too damn linear in their thinking which was half his problem with Maxson and his plans. It was so unimaginative it actually made his jaw ache from grinding his teeth on the need to interject.
"You still trying to get to your son inside the Institute?" Deacon asked suddenly. Jack suppressed the startle at the word 'son' and instead nodded, wincing at the freshly reopened wound there. Worse now since his various rows with Sam; he did seem to have a habit of failing those that relied on him. The people he loved. Hell how many times had poor Daniel died on his watch? But back to the matter of his fake kidnapped son.
"That's the plan. Soon as we find this Kellogg bastard. Sam's working on that as we speak. She's just gotta convince the man in control of that damn blimp that we need to be out that way." It was easier just to tell Deacon the truth he realised. Truth with lies sprinkled in was the only way to con a conman which Jack recognised in Deacon.
Deacon nodded looking thoughtful. "If this mission goes well, how about we see what P.A.M. can tell us about Kellogg? I know the Railroad has some data on him. Guy's been right up in the oppressing Synth business as their personal enforcer for some time. This isn't exactly our first rodeo with him." Jack nodded, as if that was news; it seemed like Valentine was right on the money again with his intel. It was exactly the pay dirt he'd been after.
"Although, I should warn you." Deacon added, "If you're going after him, I don't think he's entirely human anymore. Whatever the Institute's done to him, he's been around a long time. Plus he's as mean as they come." he advised sagely.
Jack took that in with a grim nod. "Yeah I noticed that when he kidnapped my damn son." he all but growled, letting some of the fresh anger he'd stirred up about the memories of his own son cloud his features and Deacon wasn't able to meet his eyes. "But we'd appreciate any help." he added relenting a little. Deacon nodded and held his fist out for a bump which Jack met, surprised; it wasn't a gesture he'd seen much out here and it made him feel a little worse about spying on them when they were so accepting – so desperate he supposed, but then that's what made them effective targets.
It was going to be another week or so he figured before he was going to find anything worth reporting back to the Brotherhood. He was missing Sam but he supposed there was one benefit to them being in a rough place right now; he probably wasn't missing out on much – other than some excellent cold shoulder. They did say absence makes the heart grow fonder. It had certainly worked back in Sanctuary and the Castle when he'd gone off on his little jaunts to leave her the hell alone to work through her issues and work up to actually missing him, although even as he thought it he suppressed a growl, he didn't like that it was becoming their M.O. out here.
He was still smarting himself from that row. He brushed his hand over his knuckles absentmindedly; he'd quite like to have Teal'c around right now to do a little Jaffa soul searching whilst they sparred. The big guy had always been good at letting him vent over some workout pads. Although if he was honest, he'd quite like to have Teal'c around period; his stoic presence would have got them through a lot of shit out here. His chest ached and he bit the inside of his mouth savagely to distract from that pain with something more tangible. T was gone. Most likely forever. If they got back, who the hell knows what state Earth would be in anyway without him and Sam around to save it every damn week. Not that he didn't trust the team and the good men and women back there… but he and Sam had form for world saving.
Which bought him back around to thoughts of Sam. 'Crap'. He missed her, which given how much time they'd spent together now was frankly ridiculous. He'd never been one of those twenty-four seven relationship types; he needed his own space. Maybe it was just that out here she was easily the best damn thing or maybe he'd have felt like that surrounded by his nice house and appliances that worked, beer on tap and it had everything to do with her and not the surroundings. Daniel would have likely looked at him, shoved his glasses up on his nose and told him he was an 'ass', and to go tell her he loved her. He had in fact given him that advice several times over the years. Obviously Jack had ignored it.
He could still hear ol Danny boy's incredulous voice in his head, "You 'care' about her!" he'd glared at him resoundingly after the whole Za'tarc incident. "What the hell kind of a thing to say is that?" Jack had shoved him out of his door and taken back the beer after that. Daniel never had quite understood that particular aspect of their lives, assuming the military would just make an exception because it was 'them'. Jack had needed to strong arm him on more than one occasion into towing the damn line. Besides it had been Sam's decision and her decision had been to slam it all behind a door and lock it away. "God you two really do deserve each other. You're both completely useless at this relationship stuff." Daniel's words reverberated around his head. He wasn't wrong of course. He and Sam were fire and ice. And they liked to switch up who was which just to keep it interesting.
But he loved her. His fingers flexed and this time he wasn't getting the urge to hit something. This time he felt the almost tangible ache to touch her, to run his hands through her impossibly golden hair. He'd assumed once that her hair had been dyed as it seemed unlikely anyone could have hair that pure blonde, but a year and a half in the Wasteland and she was still as blonde as ever. Contemplating Sam wasn't a new thing for him. In fact, he'd spent a good long time finding ways to get her off his mind. Imagining Jacob's stern face usually did it. The man would probably have dragged him out into the ass end of space and left him to rot if he knew he was upsetting her like this. In various degrees he'd sworn to look out for his little girl and here he was, yet again, breaking promises.
Of course it didn't help that Sam was a woman on a damn mission or that she'd been drinking the Brotherhood Kool-Aid. He realised he wasn't going to be able to dissuade her of her new gung-ho attitude to them anytime soon, not without finding Maxson stood over murdered puppies or at least a viable alternative. Even he wasn't getting the blame for grounding her, despite giving the order, no that was on Jack apparently, when all he'd done was not fight it. But he had to admit Sam was in her element up there in a way she'd not been with the Minutemen. This was Sam's little slice of home and happiness and he was crapping all over it with his paranoia, but he'd trusted his gut for too many years to just go ignoring it now. Even if the Brotherhood had yet to show them the sting in their tail he was certain it was coming. But what alternative did they have? Even he had to concede the Minutemen were a stop gap solution out here; a way to get food and four solid walls around them. They were never going to get them to the top of the food chain out here or potentially off this World. Sam wasn't wrong that the Brotherhood were probably their best shot at standing up to this seemingly increasingly powerful Institute. Except he also wasn't certain Sam wanted to 'stand up' to the Institute. She wanted to know what they knew and what tech they had, much like with the Railroad, Jack suspected. If they came a knocking Sam wouldn't hesitate, even if it went against her principles.
The mission went off without a hitch in the end. The 'Synth' turned up; pretty little non-descript girl dressed like a reject from Tron in her jumpsuit, fresh out of the Factory apparently. How on Earth anyone thought Sam was one of these things he'd never know. She had more character and expression in her lip quirk than this mousy thing had in her entire quivering body. Questioning her had got them just about diddly-squat. She didn't know anything, literally. She was wiped at the end of her shift and remembered nothing but the occasional command. She was supposed to be working in maintenance inside the Institute but 'no' she didn't remember where that was; only that she'd washed up from the water in the middle of Cambridge and hadn't wanted to go back.
Desdemona had got a thoughtful expression at that. "That mean something to you?" Jack pressed. After all, he figured since he'd been busting his butt for them the last few days on menial grunt work they needed doing, he deserved a little quid-pro-quo.
"There's been a rumour for a long time that the Institute is so named for its origins. In the bowls of the Cambridge Institute for Technology. The CIT building is largely intact but it's never had any activity that we've seen that would indicate a massively technologically advanced group was operating out of it." she reasoned. "Hell, very little activity of any kind other than the Super-mutants. An entire horde of them holed up on the top of it which tends to be enough to keep most people from taking a closer look." Desdemona sighed, as if she'd quite like to make his next mission to go do just that. Which was going to be a hell-no. He'd just got his chest back into one piece, he wasn't eager to tangle with those brutes again.
Tinker Tom strolled into the conversation casually, his dark skin covered in some sort of lotion across all his arms that Jack suspected was a result of playing with his jet pack again, pleased he'd passed on that 'testing' experience.
"Except there is that unexpected power drain that keeps happening seemingly at random intervals across most of Cambridge. Almost like someone's trying to borrow power unnoticed from the old grids. Picked it up on those 'weather sensors' you set up for me." Tom tipped his hat with a knowing wink at Jack then sauntered off again, his piece said. Yeah that had been a doozy of a request – just go stick this device across the local area would you, won't be a bother. He'd nearly fallen off a damn roof after getting pot shots taken at his ass by a bunch of Raiders, while doing that 'quick job' for him.
Jack refocused on Desdemona, considering if maybe this CIT building had some sort of Vault or basement labs given as everyone and his mum seemed to need an underground bunker out here. Not that he voiced that aloud. He got the distinct feeling they weren't telling him everything so he didn't feel the need to share either, but he filed it all away for Sam … and he supposed for his new 'Lord and Masters' the Brotherhood. If it was bunker busting that needed doing they were probably the best bet for it.
Desdemona had turned her attention back to the young Synth woman who was staring out into space, clearly taken with the unusual new environment. She seemed childlike to Jack, like a blank slate. There was nothing outwardly obvious, other than the spacey expression, to indicate she wasn't human. Although Marcie had a point; she did look and smell a little 'clean'. Neatly trimmed hair and nails, clothes freshly laundered, skin smooth and toned, white teeth and pale as … ah hell! Okay now he got where the woman was coming from when she'd gone for Sam, although Jack seriously doubted Sam had ever sported a look quite that vacant on her face.
Desdemona was helping the Synth to her feet and Glory hurried over. They explained that they were going to help her. This help would come in the form of a memory stamp, with a personality profile and a bunch of shiny happy new memories, that would allow her to act like an actual human being rather than a toaster with legs. It was frankly a little disturbing. More so that they genuinely seemed to think that it was a damn good idea … noble even. This was exactly how the Mayor McDonough problem had started. Maybe the guy went nuts because he realised he was damn robot! He grit his teeth from voicing that comment too. His sympathy was with Hancock on having to find out and put it right like that. Maybe he should get back in contact with the guy. Sounds like he'd have something of a bone to pick with this Institute and he'd always had his ear to the ground in less reputable places than the Minutemen.
"Des, I think it's time we graduated the General from Tourist. It's an insult. We need him and you and I both know that there's a mission with his name all over it. Might get him some of the answers he needs about his boy." Deacon argued on his behalf, although about what he wasn't sure. Jack wondered if he'd zoned out of a conversation at some point. 'Need to know' he reminded himself.
Desdemona gave Deacon the kind of look Sam had been giving him all week and he felt for him for a moment. Stink eye really stung but she relented, sighing. "Deacon is unforgivably blunt but he is also right. We do need you. There's information we need from the Switchboard." Jack's eyebrows went up … 'Oh hello' he thought. This little op was the gift that kept on giving; he recalled that exact word in Valentine's note. The man needed some serious caps for this – or probably a favour – that seemed to be his preferred currency; scratch my back and I'll come shoot something off yours.
"Switchboard you say?" Jack replied nonchalantly, "And that would be a …?" he trailed off waiting for her to fill in the blank.
"Our old headquarters." Deacon replied.
Desdemona nodded, looking wistful. "It was the perfect location really for a Resistance movement like ours. Losing it and the people there the way we did … well you can understand how that might still be a sore point. It's in a secret bunker used by the Defence Intelligence Agency during the Great War." Desdemona informed him and Jack absorbed that for a moment with a flash of annoyance. Another damn bunker.
"Seriously, what was it with you guys and secret underground bunkers? It's like it was the damn fashion. Maybe if you'd all spent a little bit longer on the surface trying to get along with your neighbours rather than tunnelling through to them, you might not have blown yourselves up!" he snapped. They shared a look and Jack huffed.
"Sorry, sore point." he muttered. "I still remember the day when things worked and people went to regular day jobs, in office hours, and didn't get gnawed on by zombies in abandoned church basements." he grumbled, the long since healed bites on his legs itching even as he thought about it.
"Yes well, for those of us that don't remember the good old days, the Switchboard was our refuge for a long time. It had a lot of secrets. You've met P.A.M. She was recovered from down there." Desdemona enlightened him and Jack glanced over to the room where the slightly nuts psychic AI resided. 'Great'. He really didn't want to tangle with that thing again. Desdemona continued as though she hadn't disturbed him with that thought.
"According to P.A.M.'s predictions, you would have a ninety five percent chance of successfully retrieving a device from within the Switchboard that has the potential to tip the balance of power out of the Institute's favour and into ours."
"Only ninety five percent huh, must be losing my touch." he grinned; that went down like a lead balloon so he hastily moved on. "What sort of a device?" Desdemona pressed her lips together like she didn't really want to say which might make it trickier to retrieve.
Deacon rolled his eyes at her and gave him a pointed look, "A code breaker." Des shot him another look that he paid no heed to. Jack wondered if he needed to reassess the power balance here. Who exactly was in charge? It wasn't unheard of for figureheads to take control, to protect the true power behind the throne in little Resistance groups like this. Subterfuge by necessity. Curious.
"Okay, what's it decode?" he snipped, growing impatient with the drip-fed info. "You want me to go in there and risk my butt, I need a little more than 'it's a decoder'!" he pointed out letting his irritation show. So far they were operating on his good will (or so they thought); it wasn't supposed to be infinite. They didn't need to know that he'd have gone in there on just hearsay given his current goals and orders.
"The Institute encrypts the data files on the chip inside all of its Synths. Those little processors aren't the only thing that differentiate them from humans. After all, they are grown in a lab … artificially aged to maturity and peak physical condition. They feel no hunger, have no need to sleep or rest – although they can do both perfectly well if reminded of the need. The perfect slave race. Mindless. Apart from what they are programmed to know." Desdemona informed him gravely and Jack accepted that uneasily; human beings without all the messy bits – like a soul maybe. He turned and eyed the runaway one once more, wondering if any memory stamp could give them that.
"So the Institute thinks it's got a bunch of mindless, soulless automatons that keep inexplicably revolting against them and running away." he commented, which he had to admit was curious; Desdemona smiled indulgently at him. He mentally pinned a little gold star on his chest for that reasoning but personally he wasn't quite as convinced by that argument. He'd seen the damn robo-ravens. He wouldn't put it past an organisation like this Institute seemed to be, to send out 'lost' strays into the population to gather intel.
"Quite." she nodded. "I would suggest that this recent increase in escapes is presenting an alternative theory to that comfy little story of theirs." She looked over following his gaze to the freed Synth, talking to Glory and the surly Doc he'd met last time, as they set her up in one of their fancy 'memory chairs', ready to download a life into her. Desdemona took his concerned look for interest as she answered an unspoken question for him.
"We can upload data to the Institute chip in her brain and overwrite it easily enough. What we can't do is pull data down from it. At least not in a readable format. It's encrypted with algorithms that even P.A.M. can't or won't break. We aren't entirely sure which. Her programming is complex at the best of times, frankly chaotic at others." Desdemona confessed, which Jack filed away for later. Seems she didn't entirely trust P.A.M. either but then trusting a machine that could apparently think for itself … much like these Synths … seemed unwise in general. Funny how Desdemona didn't seem to be making the distinction that these things were robots because of all that fleshy skin covering. Programmed was programmed as far as he was concerned.
Jack nodded politely at her all the same, playing his role. "So, you want me to go in and get this device. And you think you can crack the Institute's code and just download the info you need straight outta their heads?" he reasoned.
"Simply put … yes." Desdemona nodded, pleased he clearly understood. Jack nodded. Time for a little quid pro quo then.
"Deacon said you might be able to help me out with info on Kellogg? If I do this, I want P.A.M to run one of her special little predictive algorithms and get me any data she can on him and the Institute. Let's go for a little mutual love here." Jack countered.
Des didn't even blink, in fact she looked faintly relieved that was all he was after, "Done."
"Fine." Jack sighed, getting the feeling he'd missed something and honestly just wanting to get this done and get back to Sam. All this Synth talk made him twitchy. "Point me to this damn Switchboard … although I gotta say, honestly, you guys suck at naming things. I mean P.A.M, the Calculator and the damn Switchboard. It's like the opening line to some sort of kinky nerd joke."
0000000
The Switchboard was not the cake walk he'd been promised. Oh, it was a burnt-out husk alright which he'd had to get into via a huge water drainage pipe. The less said about the amazing sights and smells he'd discovered in there, the better, including the fantastic green colour of a couple of mirelurks that had tried to decapitate him as he passed by. Once inside he'd been unpleasantly surprised to find it crawling with those plastic Gen-1 model Synths they'd encountered with Paladin Danse back in the Arc Jet building. Either P.A.M. needed an information update to her little predictive software or she'd deliberately sent him into this damn hornet's nest to get him killed. Or maybe she was that good and figured he'd survive despite the odds – maybe this was the five percent in that ninety-five percent model she'd spat out for his success rate. He wasn't sure which answer was more dangerous.
Unfortunately, this time he didn't have a handy jet engine to nuke the Synths. It was just him and an apparently useless Stealth Boy because they could damn well seem to spot him. Probably heat sensors, either way there was a lot of the nasty blighters swarming the place. If Jack didn't know any better he'd have thought they'd been tipped off which made him think of the ravens again.
There was also the slight complication and interesting note that the bastards seemed to be appearing out of thin air, literally. One minute the room was empty, the next they were swarming him. He realised what these damn things reminded him of as he let rip, forgoing stealth entirely for several dozen rounds from his very loud, very powerful, semi-automatic combat rifle. Those damn robot droids from the Star Wars movies about that freaky little pre-Vader kid. Personally, he thought the classic movies were okay but he couldn't see Teal'c's appeal for the newer ones. Doubly so now.
Tom and Deacon had given him a pretty good idea of what this scanner device looked like; he just hoped it was portable. Particularly when he started getting attacked by invisible Synths and these ones seemed to be upgraded versions. They had Stealth Boys or at least stealth tech. He was almost throttled by one that had snuck up on him. Only the ripple of light in the air and his Spidey-sense from too many years in combat zones had saved him as he'd managed to get his hands up to protect his neck. He was fairly sure he'd killed the thing but was completely unable to find the body after it had stopped moving which was a bit of a bugger. Right up until the moment he'd tripped flat over it escaping from another one.
All in all, he thought this was probably the least stealthy of his covert missions to what should have been an abandoned bunker, with literally no backup. Sam would kill him if she heard about this which was why in his little retelling he was going to have a whole bunch of eager little Railroaders with him, armed to the teeth. And possibly that Junk Jet weapon which he was seriously regretting not lugging all the way here; that thing had some range and kaboom he could have done with! At least he had a consolation prize, as he pried a chip out of the brain of one of the upgraded Synths that had been doing its invisible trick until he'd killed it. Its stealth unit snapping off when he'd cut into its skull with his switchblade. It was disconcerting; this one looked so human, even in its weird Matrix style long leather jacket. He held the chip up between his fingers, examining it. It was similar material to the thing he'd dug out the raven's head but that was about as far as he could tell; Sam would know more. He figured this thing had to be one of the elites; nifty outfit, well trained, stealth mode. Surely its chip would be more valuable, and lucky him, there was a spare; one for the Railroad and one that no one had to know about. He pocketed it for Sam and the Brotherhood. Two birds, one stone … and a fuck load of bullets. He wasn't about to put all his eggs into one Brotherhood shaped basket, not when he figured he could get the Railroad to do a little on the side digging for him. They'd owe him big after all for this.
He also pulled out the data port that Sam had set up to link into his PipBoy and any computers down here; a sort of instant hack given as he didn't have her skills and she wasn't being let out to play – a sore point as she'd slapped the cable into his hand none too gently back at base. He crossed his fingers, hoping there was something valuable on there, as it downloaded the Railroad's secrets. He felt a slight twinge of guilt at that one but they needed info. Perhaps he could ask Sam to purge it of anything too sensitive to the Railroad's operations before she handed it over to Maxson. Whether she'd do that or not though, he couldn't be sure right now. Like him, she didn't hold the Railroad's ideals and objectives in the highest regard; 'Synth freedom' was somewhat lower on the list of priorities. Put bluntly, Sam thought they were idiots, dangerous idiots. She'd probably consider dismantling them a public service if the outcome was unstable Synths like McDonough. But, having spent time with them, Jack was coming down a little softer. They were okay, misguided probably, but not monsters and not actively out to hurt anyone like he suspected the Brotherhood were.
Battered, grumpy and lugging a not so small 'device', that turned out to be around about the size of a bulky old computer, across his back he made his way back to the Railroad HQ; noting another raven as he went. He put a bullet in it as it took flight the minute it spotted him. Nasty little blighters. He was surprised the Railroad HQ had stayed hidden all this time with those things watching. But then again, maybe they hadn't always been watching. Or maybe they were just watching him and Sam. Fun thought. He spared a moment to think about her. She was as safe as could be right now up there on the blimp surrounded by soldiers. Although that little trick of theirs enabling them to appear anywhere was bothering him a little; it stunk of a teleporter but surely the Institute didn't have that kind of tech? Either way, he was further convinced that having Sam safe and sound on a floating blimp surrounded by big-ass guns and burly blokes with an attitude to match was a good thing. Even if she hated him a little for essentially locking her up there.
The Railroad were somewhat stunned by his survival and besting of a Courser (there was a name it turns out for his matrix-esque upgraded invisible Synths). Apparently surviving them was a rarity but taking them out, that just wasn't the done thing! Coursers, as he was being somewhat belatedly informed, were the Institute's hit men and once they had bead on you, you were usually dead to rights. Jack absorbed that, along with the fact that he'd just survived two (relieved he'd only mentioned one) with a small sense of pride and concern. Whoever had sent those Coursers hadn't been dicking around. Which meant they hadn't wanted anyone recovering the device that he'd just none to gently dumped down in front of the Railroad. That or they hadn't wanted Jack getting out of there alive. He wasn't sure which was the better of the two options. Targeted attacks were trickier to handle. He almost preferred the idea that he'd just stuck his head where it wasn't wanted than being actively head-hunted.
"So, I'm guessing they really didn't want you recovering this device then huh?" he deflected, looking for some feedback. He was still a little annoyed they'd not seen fit to mention these super-Synths to him, or their nifty disappearing trick. But then if most people didn't survive them, he figured it was a 'what you don't know can't scare the crap out of you' kind of omission.
Desdemona frowned, leaning forward, her hands pressed into the bench as she examined the machine. "I'm guessing not." she gave him a once over. "Deacon was right. You're not a Tourist. This maybe the single most important piece of technology we've recovered in our fight against the Institute. I cannot thank you enough. You are officially an Agent of the Railroad but you must understand that whilst I would like to reveal all to you, we operate in cells. Information is our most closely guarded possession. Lives depend on it. Therefore, whilst it may seem we are withholding things, I assure you, that is not the case. You will be told as much as we are able."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "Need to know." he snorted. Oh he knew how that went. "Look, given as I just risked my ass for that technology and given as the Institute clearly has it in for you, don't you think it's a bit short sighted to keep all your eggs in one basket?" They looked confused as to what he was suggesting, or maybe just not familiar with that turn of phrase, so he spelt it out.
"Look, why don't you give me a copy of this program or whatever it is you use to decrypt these Courser chips? Well, technically you'd be giving it to Sam. We'll keep it safe. You have my word. At least this way, if you go up in smoke then all isn't lost."
Desdemona and Deacon shared a look. "Your lack of faith in us notwithstanding, what benefit would it be to you without the code breaking device?" Desdemona snarked. Jack didn't care for her tone, not when he'd just been given the secret 'secret' hand shake and got shot at on their behalf.
"Sam's a genius. She could build a device to read this damn program in the time it probably takes you to decrypt the damn thing. Hell, if I let her have a crack at the Courser chip instead of you, I'm quite certain she wouldn't even need the program." He narrowed his eyes; the threat there that he didn't have to bring either the device or the Courser chip to them. "But we're a little entrenched at the moment in the Brotherhood. Keeping something like this to ourselves might prove tricky, which is the only damn reason I bought it back here!" He smacked his fist down onto the table and the device rattled as he roped in his anger; most of it was mock indignation for the sake of his cover. His little Courser backup chip was safely in his pocket and as far as he knew Sam might well only need that but best to have all the bases covered.
"You said you trusted me, prove it!" he barked. "I want a copy of that program. Because I've just crawled my way out of the damn rubble of the last place you said was 'secure'. Let me tell you there were a lot of dead people in there that I assume were once yours. And let me remind you, you did leave that damn device behind once!" he snapped pointing a finger at her threateningly. "So, forgive me for doubting the sanctity of your damn operation. Especially with the Institute watching like it is. Or has Deacon failed to mention the ravens?"
Desdemona looked sideways at Deacon. Jack suspected that for some reason the man had indeed not mentioned that. Curious. He had got a weird vibe off Deacon but then again, if Deacon was actually the power in this little place then he wouldn't need to report a little thing like that to Desdemona at all. Curiouser and curiouser.
With their little silent discussion over Desdemona sighed and nodded. "Very well. You make excellent points and you have quite ably demonstrated your loyalty to us and our cause. At least so long as it aligns with your desires to find your son in this Institute. If I can trust nothing else, I have to trust in that father's instinct." Jack felt slightly insulted at her backhanded compliment but he kept his expression neutral. He also didn't like throwing the word 'son' around every few minutes. That old wound was gaping open right now and everyone kept prodding it, himself included.
In the end they agreed to make a backup of the program and uploaded it to his PipBoy with the password 'fishing', which he'd supplied, along with all the data they had on Kellogg, including some of P.A.M.s gibberish. Now he also had a chip and the means to decode it and a buttload of whatever came off the Switchboard server. Not bad for a good two weeks' sleuthing. He felt a slight twinge of guilt that he was duping this group of mostly decent people but he really wasn't sure about this whole idea of 'freeing' Synths to go on their merry way.
Plus, their 'enemy' the Institute might end up being Sam's and his ticket out of here which would most likely make them expendable, or at least no longer allies. Sometimes he hated the way his brain worked. It was of course the way it had been trained to work in these situations but some of it was just on him. 'For Sam' he reminded himself, squashing down his conscience in a way that was becoming just a little too easy when it came to her and what he thought was the 'greater good' because, as far as he was concerned, she was the greatest good!. So, as he strode away with a Syringer rifle under his arm, he was just relieved that he didn't have to lie to their faces anymore.
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END NOTES:
Thank you all for your wonderful comments on the last Chapter, it's great to know that so many of you are still with me and enjoying this. I open each one with glee, so please keep them coming they really do feed my muse! And I'll admit I've really struggled the last few months to get the last few chapters of this down not just with writers block but also a lot of life stuff (thanks COVID). As always my thanks goes out to my wonderful Beta Neverbefore for reading endless re-writes of the later chapters and gently encouraging me to get back on into this! Hopefully you'll all be pleased to know that I've finally broken the back on it and am in full flow again, just in time before y'all catchup!
For the Fallout fans. I've modified the Switchboard a little to suit with the narrative, as I know there was no quest to retrieve a decoder – they just needed the chip which I've introduced a little early here. I've made it easier to come by the chip but harder to decrypt. I've also played a bit fast and loose with the rules for the data retrieval from the Synths as it's never clearly explained what they can and can't find out from theirs but we knew they could upload new data to them.
Regarding Deacon – I'm running with the claims that he makes in the game that he is actually a Synth and was among the first liberated Gen 3's; that he helped found the Railroad in the 2210s and that he is the true leader of the organization with Desdemona serving as a figurehead.