(AN: So that last chapter turned out to be much longer than I thought it would be. So I decided to wrap it up and go forward with this chapter. I couldn't find a song title to go with this chapter, so I came up with something funny. I wonder if you'll figure it out.)
(I decided to stop making Vault-Tec an acronym because it was tedious, and will go back to the other two chapters to fix that. It's not an error, just me being lazy.)
Glue and Steel
Out from the museum they went and hit the road to Sanctuary; Nathan climbed back in to the Power Armor suit and followed on behind as the rearguard, while Preston led the vanguard at the front. Another twenty-three minute walk brought the little party to Sanctuary. They started milling around and checking out the houses, what few of them were still standing. To Nathan it seemed rather odd, this band of vagabonds rummaging through what had once been his neighborhood. They moved in to the yellow house across from Nathan's old house and started working around to try and make the place feel more like home. Nathan deposited the Power Armor suit nearby and decided to give them a hand, as they had helped him out by giving him directions for where to go.
It didn't take long for Nathan to start warming up to Sturges: he was someone who could make just about anything out of just about anything. Together, he and Nathan went to work clearing away any salvageable wood and steel from the collapsed houses and setting them aside in a pile near the yellow house. Jun helped out periodically, but spoke very little beyond a simple 'yes' or 'no.' Codsworth, upon hearing that the new arrivals were friendly and seeing that there was work that needed to be done, was more than happy to volunteer himself for service. Once they had a pile of wood together, they took the wood to the eastern edge of Sanctuary, on the shores of the Concord River, and started placing them in regular intervals as a fence. Panels of wood and aluminum siding were situated between the poles, along with spare tires that had fallen off the cars in the garages. By and by, a fence was starting to take shape that would provide some protection for the folks in Sanctuary.
As for Preston, he patrolled the area with his laser musket, keeping an eye on anything that might attack them while they were working. Marcy was in the backyard of the yellow house, tearing up the ground and depositing tiny seeds for growing plants. Mama Murphy helped out very little; for she went inside the houses, looking for things which she didn't reveal to the others, and would come back with something valuable for them, but not for her.
The hours passed on and they continued working. The fence was coming along just nicely when they noticed that the sun was sinking into the west. Here Nathan, Sturges, Jun, and Codsworth left off the building of the fence to address another problem which the new inhabitants of Sanctuary would be facing: the lack of beds. None of the beds in the houses were in any usable state, but that didn't stop Sturges. With a few nails and a lot of patience, he managed to make three frames sturdy enough for beds. Finding bedding was another issue. There was a couch in the yellow house whose back-pillows could be used to make a bed, but there were six people and only three beds - plus the couch on which to sleep. Dogmeat found a dog-house near one of the collapsed houses, and whined and begged until Nathan and Sturges brought it over to his old house and set it up there. When night finally came, all of them were huddled inside the yellow house. It had holes in the roof, and the windows were busted out, but they were all of them grateful for having a roof over their heads for the night: all of them except Marcy Long.
"It's a fucking dump!" she complained. "It'll take weeks for the food to come in. We could all be dead by then. And what are we gonna do about clean water? Better make sure that fence gets put up soon, because I am not spending the night here if ghouls are going to be sneaking up on us from behind! God, and would you just look at the joke of a bed we have to sleep on? Those pillows will do nothing for my back."
But her sentiment was not shared by the others. They lit candles on a table they had found and set up in the living room of the yellow house, turned on the little radio and listened to Billy Ward and the Dominoes sing about the "Sixty Minute Man." Sturges seemed the most proud of the work they had done since then, and was more than grateful for Nathan coming along with them. Jun expressed gratitude as well, but very seldom and retreated back into his reserved, mournful state. Mama Murphy wouldn't say if she found what she was looking for, but she was also thankful for the place to sleep and the home they were building for themselves.
After Billy Ward, the disc-jockey came on with an advertisement: a skittish young man stumbling over his every word and awkwardly trying to make levity. Nathan rolled his eyes: it reminded him of an exaggerated version of himself, sitting in front of the bathroom mirror some two hundred years ago, fretting over what he would say to a room of Army veterans when he gave his speech. He could almost picture Nora telling him, both Nathan and this Travis fellow on the radio, that everything would be just fine, and then impart some sage wisdom likely gleaned from her mother that would make everything better. That only soured his mood and made him feel gloomy. For Marcy Long, it was even worse.
"For fuck's sake, turn that off!" she snapped. "What does he have to be whiny about? He didn't lose his son!" She picked up a broken piece of board and chucked it at the radio. It missed and bounced off the wall, but didn't turn off the radio. Marcy got up in a huff and stomped off to the other room to sleep on her pillow-laden bed. Jun got up, flipped the switch on the radio, then turned to Nathan.
"Don't take it personally," he said. "She means well, she's just...well, we're all a little shaken up over our loss. We're really grateful for all that you've done here." He then went off after Marcy.
"Not to be a damp rag," Sturges interjected. "And I ain't complainin' about this place. It's a skip and a hop better than some o'the other dumps we've been to. But it's gonna be a long time till we get this up and runnin'. And there'll be plenty of hard days ahead of us. For starters, we'll need to figure out the water situation double-quick."
"Any ideas?" Nathan asked.
"There's some ground here we could start digging into," he said. "I could Jerry-rig us a pump or two and that'd do the trick. Trouble is, all the ground water's irradiated, even the river. We'd have to boil it ourselves before usin' it. If I had a generator, I'd fix us up a water purifier that'd get our water straight from the river and solve most of our problems."
"What would you need for that?"
"Well, most o'the stuff can be found here in Sanctuary," Sturges continued, staring up at the ceiling from the chair where he sat at the table. "Copper, rubber, gears, and steel from the cars, ceramics from the broken bath-tubs. Once that's done, we'll have to find cloth to strain out most o'the non-atomic impurities. Of course, that's in short supply since we're lookin' for that for the beds. Same as adhesives. That's always the first thing we always run out of when workin', and it's always the rarest thing to find." He turned back to Nathan. "You find any industrial-strength adhesive - tape, glue, don't matter, as long as it sticks - send it over to ol' Sturges. Be a godsend."
"I'll see what I can do," Nathan replied.
Nathan was still feeling restless: his first day up after so long asleep - he still could barely wrap his mind around the fact that he had been in cyrogenic sleep for over two hundred years - and he had more than enough energy, despite all that had happened. He let Sturges have the couch and walked around Sanctuary at dusk. From the bedroom, he could hear Marcy shoving Jun off the cushions and onto the bare side of the bed-frame. He wanted to say that there was a spare bed to sleep in, but Mama Murphy was snoring loudly and he didn't want to disturb their sleep. Codsworth, who needed no sleep, was patrolling the old house as before, hovering this way and that. Preston was remaining on his watch, whistling periodically to alleviate the tedium. Nathan continued strolling about, sometimes playing Nora's holotape just for the euphoria of hearing her voice again. At length he went inside the House of Tomorrow, what little was left of it, and stretched himself out on the couch, whose cushions were now being used to support Marcy Long across the street. His sleep was disturbed by images of that last morning two hundred years ago, when everything changed.
The sun rose around 6:30 in the morning, according to the Pip-Boy on Nathan's arm. Codsworth was the one to wake him up; his internal programming remembering the contingency should 'Sir' hit the snooze button on his alarm clock. Nathan was especially grumpy: he was dreaming of him and Nora, lying on the grass and wrapped in each other's arms in Heywood Meadows a summer long ago, joined at the mouth. The morning light sent the pleasant dream into the ether, and Nathan now had to prepare for the day's journey to Diamond City.
The settlers were already up and readying for the day's work. Sturges was getting to work on the wall, and Marcy and Jun were busying themselves with food for six: pork n'beans and bits of squirrel meat. Despite the repulsive sounding name, Preston assured him that the food caught out in the wild was often better than anything in cans.
"You hunt it and cook it yourself," he explained. "And you'll burn away all that unwanted radiation. The stuff in cans might be good, but then again it might not be. And it's had a long time to sit with all the radiation around."
Nathan accepted a small helping for the morning: aside from the metallic taste of the pork n'beans, which he attributed to the canning process, the squirrel tasted like a nuttier type of chicken. For the journey ahead, there wasn't much else besides what Nathan had in his duffle bag. Codsworth had for him an aluminum can which he had filled with water from the river and boiled to remove all impurities. Preston gave him a box of 10mm bullets and twenty bottle-caps, most of them with a Nuka-Cola logo on them.
"Bottle caps?" Nathan remarked. "What do I use these for?"
"Trade 'em for goods and services," Preston replied.
"You mean people use bottle caps instead of money?" Nathan asked. "How did that happen?"
"I'm not exactly sure," Preston said. "But I heard that two hundred years ago, they started using them for that purpose. Guess it stuck on, 'cuz we've been using caps ever since."
"Thank you, then," Nathan returned.
"Before you go, I wanted to say thanks again for helping us get here," Preston added. "This place is really something. I'm sure with a lot of work, we can make this a home for ourselves."
"Hope you enjoy my old neighborhood."
"Your neighborhood? What do you mean? No one's been here for years."
"Well, I certainly liked living here back then," Nathan replied with a cocky grin. "Before the War."
Preston chuckled. "Come on, man; what war? What are you talking about?"
Nathan sighed. "Well, I used to live here some two hundred years ago. I was...frozen or something for most of it. Only just woke up this morning."
"Damn!" Preston exclaimed. "Like one of those old ghouls. Did anyone else happen to make it out with you?"
"Just my son," came the wearied answer. "He was...kidnapped while I was still trapped. I've been looking for him."
Preston's lightness faded and he resumed once again his stoic demeanor. "Damn. I'm sorry. Hope you find him. Let me know if there's any way I can help."
"Thanks," Nathan repeated. "So, what happens now?"
"We'll rebuild," Preston said, shouldering his laser musket. "Once we're on our feet, I'll start reaching out to whoever I can. Traders pass through here on their way to Far Harbor or the Capital Wasteland; they'll know of any settlements that might need our help."
"Our help?" Nathan asked. "You're just five."
"Now we're six. We've got to show the Commonwealth that the Minutemen are still around, making a difference. And the more people we help, the more people decide to join the Minutemen. Pretty soon, we'll have enough support to do some real good."
"Sounds like a good idea, if it works."
"It has to work." The way Preston said this was surprising. He wasn't stoic or enthusiastic at all; only a fatalistic resignation that there wasn't any other option but to succeed. It spoke to Nathan very strongly.
"If I have the time in my search," he said. "I'll come by and help you."
"Don't stay away too long," Preston returned, a hopeful smile on his face.
"And don't forget the adhesives!" Sturges inserted as he passed them by.
Codsworth offered to accompany Nathan, but he refused; as the robot was keen to point out, he wasn't a Mr. Gutsy and therefore not a combat model. Instead, he would remain behind and help the settlers of Sanctuary in rebuilding and maintaining their little dwelling place. As for Dogmeat, the German Shepherd followed after Nathan with a hopeful look in his big brown eyes. Nathan couldn't say no to such an argument, and so he set out on the long and winding road by foot from Sanctuary to Diamond City, accompanied by Dogmeat.
The road was long and arduous. Were it not for Dogmeat, Nathan would have no company whatsoever and would have been driven crazy by the silence. There was hardly any sound at all on the road; only the shuffling of his Vault-suit's boots on the dusty highway. Periodically he would tune in to the radio on his Pip-Boy to alleviate the silence. There were only two radio stations that came in: the one he had heard last night, Diamond City Radio as run by the awkward Travis, and a channel that played only classical music. For several hours he would just keep the channel on DCR, enjoying Dion singing the song of "The Wanderer" to get himself in the walking spirit. Other times he would turn the radio off and replay Nora's holotape.
He had gotten his start from Sanctuary at 7 sharp and had at least a good six hours ahead of him by foot. Aside from the loneliness, the deafening silence and stillness of the air was unnerving. Even the sky, bare and without a single cloud, seemed ominous. He felt markedly exposed and open, walking with none but a dog for company. The radio, while a comforting presence, screeched and bellowed so loudly that he doubted not that any one for miles around with ears would hear him. Sometimes he would shut the radio off and keep his ears peeled, listening to the stillness around him, hoping to catch someone off-guard before they found him. But all he saw in such cases were two strange creatures wandering off the road. The first was a deer with no fur and two heads protruding from its body. Around 9 o'clock he saw another two-headed creature: this time a cow.
By the third hour, things started to change: and not at all for the better. The first thing Nathan saw were crows cawing overhead as they flew. Ordinarily, such a sight would be little cause for concern. But out here, where nothing lived that was not horribly disfigured - save for Dogmeat - the sight of crows and the sound of their hollow, mocking caws was unnerving. Here and there they would come across dead bodies that had been picked clean or horribly mangled. Nathan kept his gun in hand, wary still of anything that might attack them.
After many hours of travel, they passed the southern limits of Lexington, as could be displayed by the broken, rusting, and bullet-ridden signs they approached. Now the road they were following widened and they were forced to follow along its northern side, keeping to cover. The signs and collapsed houses they were approaching bore a skull painted in white with a black X on its forehead: a foreboding presence, even if Nathan had no idea what it meant. Like a soldier going from house to house in a war-zone, Nathan passed through houses that had been deserted long ago, or had collapsed from destruction or lack of use. Some of them still bore the tattered remains of posters planted there before the Great War: advertisements for Corvega cars, Abraxo detergent, Sugar Bombs, and the ever-popular Nuka-Cola. Some of these had been tagged with rude graffiti. Most of it was illegible, written in the uncouth script of the illiterate street, but some words could be discerned. Nathan caught phrases such as 'Go Away', 'Fuck Off', or 'Die' among the more frequently used ones. But the streets were empty.
Still Nathan went forward, going into what remained of a great city. He hadn't found the Charles River yet, which he knew was his ticket to Diamond City. About noon, Nathan found himself before the pillared facade of a structure which he knew from personal experience. He recalled visiting Nora's parents back before everything went down and seeing a picture of her beaming proudly before the pillars front of Harvard University, where she had attended law school. His thoughts drifted back to Nora and, like a junkie going for the needle, his hand went to his Pip-Boy to play the holotape yet again. But his hand nudged the radio dial and he heard a third sound: neither Gustav Holst's "The Bringer of War" nor Danny Kaye and the Andrews Sisters.
"...e Haylen...connaissan... ...Gladi..."
Nathan played around with the dial until the message came in clearer. As the static started to dissipate, he could clearly make out a woman's voice.
"...Arx. Ferrum. 9-5. Our unit has sustained casualties and we're running low on supplies. We're requesting support or evac from our position at Cambridge Police Station. Automated message repeating. This is Scribe Haylen of Reconnaissance Squad Gladius to any unit in transmission range. Authorization..."
The message repeated from where Nathan had tuned in. This sounded like a military distress call. Nathan's training snapped back into play. It was his duty to locate the reconnaissance squad and offer what assistance he could give them. Gritting his teeth to forget the ache burning his feet, he started looking around to get his bearings. If this was the front of Harvard, that meant he was just a block or two away from Harvard College Square. Then he heard the sound of gunfire coming from somewhere in the southeast. He little needed the map now.
Across the brown yard of Harvard he ran, passing by the brazen statue of its founder on his right. He was now on Massachusetts Avenue; into his mind he recalled driving past a police station all those years ago. He must be getting close. Checking the clip in his 10mm, he turned a right down the winding Bow Street. The sounds of battle were getting louder. Now he could plainly hear an electronic thwomp, similar to Preston's laser musket. He rounded the corner where, appropriately enough, Bow Street curved and turned sharply southeastward into Arrow Street.
Here he saw the Cambridge Police Station, the front precinct barricaded with junk walls similar to those that he and Sturges had erected outside of Sanctuary. The sounds of battle were now loud and apparent. Bullets and the periodic thwomp of a laser rifle, amid howling and moaning sounds. Then it struck him! Something cold and clammy seized him from behind with strong fingers. It was growling and slavering madly as it tried to subdue its captured prize. It might have been an unfortunate end for Nathan had Dogmeat not leaped upon the assailant and, jaws digging into rotting flesh, ripped the arm clean off the monster's body. Nathan was now free; he turned around, gun in hand, and unloaded three rounds into the attacker's body. It fell to the ground with a sickening squelch.
"What the hell!" Nathan exclaimed.
The thing that attacked him was of vague human shape. Aside from its right arm, it had all of its limbs and most of its smaller appendages: minus a few fingers and toes. It looked like an emaciated human whose skin had rotted away, leaving only its bloody muscles exposed to the world and elements. It was clothed, but the clothes it wore were even more ragged and tattered than those that the raiders in Concord had worn.
But Nathan's contemplation was broken by three warning barks from Dogmeat. He turned back to the police station. More of these monsters were lumbering or catering haphazardly towards the walled precinct. Gunshots and blasts of energy were heard from within, and Nathan once again sprung into action. Armed only with his pistol, he started shooting as many of the monsters as came within his sights. At his side was Dogmeat, ever vigilant, biting and tearing any who tried to take him down from the rear. A shot through the head sent the last creature to the ground, bleeding from the bullet wound.
"Check your fire! We've got civies!" came a commanding, authoritative voice from the other side of the wall.
Nathan slowly walked inside and saw an unholy mess. Numerous such monsters as those he had seen outside were lying dead all around the compound. Some of them were half-burned and lying half-broken in a pool of atomized dust. Standing at the bottom of the steps leading into the police station was a man in a suit of T-60 Power Armor: stronger and more efficient than the T-45. Nathan recognized the model from the soldiers stationed outside of Vault 111 just before the bombs hit. The suit had no helmet, and his head was just barely visible amid the tank-like suit: he was unshaven and dirty, and his hair hidden beneath a military-issue skull-cap. In his hands was a laser rifle like the ones Nathan had used during the liberation of Alaska. Behind him were two others, one of whom seemed to be wounded.
"We appreciate the assistance, civilian," he greeted Nathan in a no-nonsense military tone. "But what's your business here?"
"Before I answer," Nathan returned. "Would you mind telling me who you are?"
"In due time," the metal-clad soldier evaded. "If you want to remain on our compound, I suggest you answer my question first. Are you from a local settlement?"
"I'm from Sanctuary to the northwest," Nathan answered.
"Hmmm, not anything of importance out that way," the soldier replied.
"What's with all the questions?" Nathan asked. "I did help you against those...things."
"Feral ghouls, abominations of the worst sort," the soldier replied with disgust. As if to push his point home, he brought the foot of his Power Armor suit down onto the head of one of the dead ghouls and crushed it into a bloody pulp. He then turned back to Nathan. "You'll have to forgive me if I seem suspicious. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we've been constantly under fire. If you'd like to continue helping us, we could use an extra gun on our side."
"First things first," Nathan interjected, upon noticing the emblem blazoned onto his armor's chest-piece: a sword with eagles wings spreading out from the hilt, and cradled within the wings three cogs. "I want to know who you are and who you're working for, if I'm going to be helping you. I've had more than my share of secrets for three lifetimes."
The soldier frowned. "Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. On the stairs are my colleagues, Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys. We're on recon duty but I'm down a man and our supplies are running low. I've been trying to send a distress call to my superiors, but the signal's too weak to reach them. We believe there's a device that can help us fifteen clicks west of here: a Deep Range Transmitter."
"Fifteen miles?!" Nathan exclaimed. It was almost the entire journey he had made out here. It would be nightfall by the time he reached wherever it was that they were looking for.
"I know the road is long," Paladin Danse said. "But you'll be helping the Brotherhood of Steel."
"And who are the Brotherhood of Steel?"
"We are the best and only hope for humanity. A strong, organized military order that brings peace and stability wherever we go, while preserving the past to safeguard the future."
"Nice slogans," Nathan remarked.
"These are more than just empty words," Danse continued. "They are our way of life. That's why we're here, to keep the technological terrors out of the hands of those too foolish for their own good."
"So...you hoard technology?" Nathan asked. "Are you like scavengers, then?"
"Not at all," said Danse, a hint of disapproval in his voice. "A scavenger takes what he wants to benefit himself. The Brotherhood preserves what we take to benefit all of mankind; especially in preventing the abuse of said technology."
"What do you mean by abuse?"
"The atomic bomb, bio-engineered plagues, the Forced-Evolutionary Virus: all of them technological terrors of the old world. In its quest to seek answers about the world, mankind was playing with toys far too powerful for them. Now the world lives in the shadow of the horrors of science and technology left unbridled, unrestrained. The Brotherhood is here to make sure that never happens again. So, I've told you my story; what do you say? Will you help us?"
Nathan looked this way and that, casting his eyes periodically southward. So close and yet so far away. He wanted to leave and continue on his own personal quest, but he also had his duty. These may very well be all that was left of the military, if only because of their Power Armor. As for what Danse said, it had a ring of truth that connected with Nathan. He guessed that this man was about the same age as him, if not a few years younger. For him, the stories that he had been told were ancient history: for Nathan, all of that had happened but a day or so ago, even though it was over two hundred years away.
"I'm in," he said at last.
"Outstanding," Danse said, a smile on his face. He then strode over to his companions and gave orders for Scribe Haylen to take Knight Rhys inside and bandage his wounds. He then turned to Nathan.
"Head inside and resupply yourself. Then let me know when you're ready to begin."
Nathan went inside and made a quick search for anything useful. He found a bandolier and some leather armor for his arms and legs, which fit comfortably over his Vault suit. There were plenty of bullets, especially for his 10mm, and some for a .45 caliber weapon. There was, unfortunately, very little in the way of glue or tape. Nathan emerged from the police station with his bandolier strapped with bullets and more in his duffle bag. Danse was securing the helmet onto his Power Armor suit.
"Paladin?"
"Yes, civilian?"
"Where are we going?"
"ArcJet Systems," was the reply. "A contractor for military and civilian systems. Their Deep Range Transmitter was slated to be part of the Mars Shot Project, but the Great War happened and then the bombs came."
"Are you really going to walk there?"
"Of course. It's the only way."
"What about me? I've only got my feet, and it's a long way."
"I suppose I could let you ride on the back of my Power Armor," Danse resigned. "But if we get into trouble, you'll have to dismount."
"Sounds good to me."
Nathan would soon come to regret those words. Clinging onto the back of Paladin Danse's armor was the most uncomfortable he had been in a long time. Behind them ran poor Dogmeat as fast as his four legs could carry him. To his good fortune, the road there was only three hours by Power Armor. They came at last to a place somewhere outside Weston around 3:02pm by the clock on Nathan's Pip-Boy. Here he climbed off, very haphazardly, and stumbled onto the ground. Despite Danse's urges to start searching for the ArcJet building, Nathan needed to eat. He hadn't had any food since 6:40 this morning and was hungry. One of the canned foods he had in his duffle bag contained peach slices, which were sweet but tinged with a metallic taste. In addition to this, he drank the boiled water that Codsworth had given him. Not a feast, but it was enough to keep him on his feet for whatever else he needed.
"Are you ready to continue our mission?" Danse asked. "ArcJet is just three hundred feet ahead of us."
"Soon, soon," Nathan assured him. "Just need to catch my breath. That was...something else."
"Unfortunately, we're only a reconnaissance team," Danse returned. "If we had a Vertibird with us, we could be here in minutes."
"A pity."
"Rest while you can," Danse said. "I'll need you in battle-ready condition once we go in there."
"I'll be okay," Nathan said, as he returned the can to his duffle bag, shouldered it once again, and with his 10mm in hand, followed Danse's lead. "Damn, that was a long way out here!"
"If it were up to me, I'd relocate the team out here from the Police Station," Danse stated. "But Scribe Haylen detected some disturbing energy readings in the area that need to be investigated. We don't know what they are, except they're short-lived and their transmissions are broadcasted on a frequency indicating advanced technology. We're concerned that whoever, or whatever, is creating those energy readings could be a potential threat."
"So that's what we're up against?" asked Nathan. "Something...or someone...with advanced technology?"
"Exactly," Danse replied. "Are you ready now? Now, listen up; our primary target is the Deep Range Transmitter. We do this clean and quiet, no heroics and by-the-book: understood?"
"Understood."
"Outstanding. I'll go in first and draw the fire of anyone inside: you cover my rear. And check your fire around me: that fusion core in my Power Armor goes critical and we'll both be in for it."
Danse walked up to the doors of the ArcJet building and, with surprising dexterity for such a bulky armored mass, pushed open the doors with one hand. He then took hold of his laser rifle and went in, with Nathan following on behind him. Just at the door, Dogmeat let out a strained whine. Nathan turned around and petted the dog's head.
"You okay, boy? You need a break?" Dogmeat laid down on the ground like a sphinx. Nathan petted his head. "Stay here. I'll be back for you."
Dogmeat laid down and rested while Nathan followed after Paladin Danse. Despite his heavy suit, he went as quietly as reasonably possible through the dimly-lit factory building. Down a short corridor to the left he went, then right where the upper floor caved in to a room with several empty robot bays. On the floor were the remains of the inhabitants of those bays: Protectrons that looked like more used and worn versions of Robby the Robot.
"It appears as though the facility's automated security has already been dealt with," Danse commented. "Dammit, I was hoping to avoid this."
"What do you mean?" Nathan asked.
"Look around you," Danse instructed. "No spent ammo casings, no bullet holes, no drops of blood. This wasn't raiders or Gunners: this assault could very well have been carried out by synths from the Institute."
"The Institute?" Nathan asked. "What's that?"
"A group of scientists who went underground when the War started," Danse answered. "They've spent the last few decades littering the Commonwealth with their technological nightmares."
"Is that what the synths are?" Nathan asked.
"An abuse of technology created by the Institute," Danse continued, a strong note of disgust in his voice. "Abominations meant to 'improve' upon humanity. It's unacceptable! You see them, you put them down. Let's move."
Danse continued to lead the way, going as quickly and quietly as possible. Nathan followed in his wake, his ears straining to hear anything over the sound of the paladin's heavy boots on the hard tile floors. Periodically, Nathan would find lying amid the ruins a tube of industrial-strength glue or a few items that could be salvaged: aside from his military training, he had his background as an engineer to fall back on. Aside from the tube of glue, he had little time to grab anything more substantial as Danse was outgoing him.
They reached a room that looked like a dead end, when all of a sudden there was a sudden burst of shattering concrete. Danse and Nathan turned to look and saw a new threat, smaller than a deathclaw but just as dangerous. About four of them appeared through a hole that a fifth had broken into the room through the solid concrete wall: they were about human height and size, but they were clearly not human. Plastic face-plates and ceramic armor covered bodies made of metal, wires, and gears. Their eyes glowed yellow in the dim light as they scanned their opponents. In each of their hands was a plastic weapon that sent bursts of light blue light at them.
"Hostiles! Take them down!" Danse shouted.
The paladin drew their fire as he charged towards them, firing with his laser rifle. Red danced with blue, turning the room into a light show in which Nathan could only keep his head down from being blown off and incinerated. Despite the flashes of light, Nathan found that it was easy to differentiate his opponents from Danse. Their skin-plates were white and his Power Armor was dark. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do to help Danse: the 10mm tore holes in the machine men's casing, but did little damage to them. One by one, the metal men were defeated, until at last Danse stamped on the body of one and blasted its head in three times with his laser rifle.
"Damn synths!" he snarled as he climbed off its remains. He turned back to Nathan. "You alright?"
Nathan nodded silently, but said nothing. He had never seen anything like these before. Their pale faces were unnerving, frozen in the final moments of concern: it wasn't fear, or at least Nathan didn't believe it was. Their voices, hollow and electronic, rang throughout the fight, coordinating with their companions. They never once showed anything remotely resembling fear.
"It looks like they've come here before us," Danse said. "Probably compromised most of the facility. Let's hope the transmitter is still intact." He then reached down and picked up one of the plastic laser rifles the synths had been wielding.
"An inferior model," he commented. "But better than what you've got. Here, take this with you. You'll need it once more of these freaks show up."
"More?"
"I'm expecting the worst," Danse replied. "Though I'm surprised you kept your head in that fight. Most settlers lose control at the first sight of one synth, and we fought five."
"It's...complicated."
"Understood. We can talk about it later. Right now, we've got to get to the engine core and hope the synths haven't taken the Deep Range Transmitter. Double time!"
Danse clicked something on his helmet and set off a tracking sensor. Following it, he crashed through the concrete wall and, following a pipeline, led Nathan deeper into the facility. Several twists and turns, through another broken wall, up through a collapsed upper story floor, and then down again twice, and through another door. This led to a long, descending corridor with no lights. The Pip-Boy automatically turned on its green running light, and the forward-facing lamp on Danse's helmet shined light two meters ahead of him. At the end of the corridor, they entered upon a wide cylindrical chamber. The sides had steel walk-ways that led up and down, though the higher levels had collapsed. Shining their lights forward, the two of them saw a great single-engine rocket in the middle of the room, suspended on its scaffolding.
"The scribes would have a field day here!" Danse remarked. "This is it; the transmitter should be in the control room at the top, but the power's out. There should be an auxiliary generator near the bottom."
Slowly the two of them made their way down the walk-ways to the bottom of the engine core. Every step of Danse's boots made the steel groan precariously, which set Nathan's teeth on edge. Every moment it seemed as though they would be attacked, for all the noise they were making. What's more is that he recalled barely hearing any noise of the approach of the synths until they crashed through the concrete. If they were preparing an ambush for them down at the bottom, they would be walking blindly into it: both figuratively and literally.
At the bottom of the engine core was a doorway leading to a maintenance chamber. Danse had Nathan check it out while he stood guard. Inside he found a still-running reactor with a fusion core in the battery outlet. Checking the battery, he saw that still had a full U-235 charge. It must have been switched off. A little searching found a computer terminal. Nathan hung his head; yet another computer to try and figure out the password. Unfortunately, every attempt he made proved incorrect and the lock-out began.
"Dammit!" Nathan exclaimed, slamming his palm against the desk on which the terminal sat.
The trap was sprung. Flashes of blue light exploded outside in the launch tube. Danse was surrounded by at least half a dozen of these metal men, all of them armed with laser rifles. Nathan sprung into action, gripping the plastic grip and barrel and aiming at the nearest pale-faced robot. The kick-back from the laser rifle was minimal, but the blue beam did the trick. It struck the head-piece of one of the synths, blasting off part of its face-plate and several bits of wires and mechanical offal: not a kill shot, but a hit nonetheless. He fired again, heedless of the flash, and struck one in the chest. One hit after another, now he had broken through their lines and was fighting back to back with Danse, covering his rear from the synths. The last one fell with a blast from the paladin's laser rifle, and he turned around to Nathan.
"Weren't you supposed to be turning the power on?"
"Got locked out of the terminal."
"Try again. Our only way to get to the transmitter is through the elevators, but they need power."
Nathan ran back to the console and waited another five minutes before the terminal was unlocked. After three tries he stumbled upon the correct password: MARSJET. Power hummed through the walls and lights flickered to life or exploded in sparks from their broken sockets. Immediately Nathan and Danse went into the service elevator, clicked the button, and waited as the lift began to ascend.
"You've definitely seen combat before, haven't you?" Danse asked.
"What?"
"Our second fight and not only are you in one piece, you're barely even shaking. You've been in battle before." Nathan nodded, though he knew that he was trembling on the inside.
"Where did you serve?" he asked.
"United States Commonwealth Army, 108th Division."
"108th? That division ceased to be over 200 years ago, when most of the surviving members died from the bombs. That doesn't mean...just how old are you?"
"I'm 30...and then some," he added with a sardonic chuckle. "I was...frozen in a Vault for 200 years. Just woke up yesterday morning."
"Incredible," Danse remarked. "Let me ask you something: did you know that you were being cryogenically frozen?"
"No, it...it all happened so fast. They never told us anything."
"Then you have firsthand knowledge of the unbridled..." The elevator rang and the doors opened. "...we'll finish this later. Weapons live, we've got company!"
No sooner had they exited the top of the elevator when blue laser blasts lanced across the upper level of the engine core. Across from the rocket in the center, the control room was barricaded by another six synths with laser weapons. With Danse in front and Nathan bringing up the rear, they made their way across the steel girder that led to the control room's door. Laser blasts struck the walls behind them, or left black marks on Danse's armor. Once they reached the control room, they went in back to back, firing at anything that moved. Nathan's training came rushing back to him, driven by a shot of adrenaline from deep inside. One synth lost its face-plate and half its head, and still kept on shooting. Another blast from Nathan's laser rifle and its right arm was blown off. With its weapon in its left hand, it charged towards Nathan. A few shots more and it lost one of its legs; but it kept coming after them, crawling with its left arm.
"Shit!" Nathan exclaimed. "I'm out!"
The laser rifle he held had run out of battery life. Using the stock, he struck the rest of the crawling synth's head as hard as he could. It hit something important, and the synth collapsed onto the floor. But the stock was now damaged. Tossing it aside and taking up the robot's own laser rifle, he rejoined the fray.
"I'll draw their fire!" Danse said. "Take them from behind!"
"Enemy attempting flanking maneuver, begin counter..."
The synth's bottom half of its face was blown off by a blast from Nathan as he took aim and fired at it. Danse had subdued two; one with his laser and another by slamming it forcefully with his foot into a computer console. Nathan took out another one with a blast to the chest that made it into a breach in its armor. Danse subdued another one, crippling its legs and getting on top of it to send blasts into its head. The mouth-less one was now trying to attack Danse from behind. Nathan took aim, but then recalled what Danse had said about his Power Armor: one stray blast could damage the fusion core. Then he remembered his Pip-Boy. Clicking on V.A.T.S., he aimed at the machine, ignored the readout, and focused his laser on the green dot. There was a blast of blue light and it collapsed to the ground. Hearing the sound near at hand, Danse did an about-face and saw Nathan with his rifle aimed and the fallen synth.
"Thanks," he nodded curtly. "Now fan out and scan the area for the device."
Nathan nodded in return, then lowered his gun and started searching the remains. "What does it look like?"
"Wish I knew," the paladin replied. "If Scribe Haylen were here, she could give you a full technical readout of what it would look like, and what frequency it transmits on. Try using that Pip-Boy of yours."
Nathan clicked V.A.T.S. off and turned to the radio. He fiddled with the dial a little, a sea of static between Edvard Greig's "In the Hall of the Mountain-King" and the Ink Spots' "Maybe". At last he heard a loud series of beeps coming from somewhere left of the Classical Music channel. Using his Pip-Boy to scan the area, he followed the beeps where they became louder and quicker. At last he came upon the body of the synth that he had blown off most of its limbs and kept charging at him. Turning the machine over, he noticed the chest-piece had a compartment that could open up. Prying it open he found a small square device with several blinking lights on it.
"That's it!" Danse said. "Now, let's take the service elevator and get out of here."
At the far end of the control room was another elevator. With power restored, they had no trouble getting it to work and taking them back up to the top level. However, once they passed through the doors and went outside, things changed immediately.
The sky above their heads was suddenly filled with clouds: dark clouds that turned the sky a sickly shade of green. Under normal circumstances, this would mean a tornado was on its way. But amid the howling of the wind, Nathan could hear a tell-tale clicking sound from his Pip-Boy. He looked down and noticed that the Geiger counter was slowly rising. In the distance, there was a flash of green lightning that broke the darkness of the gathering storm, and then the roll of thunder.
"What the hell is this?" Nathan asked.
"Rad-storm," was Danse's reply. "We need to get out of this now, or we'll end up sick."
Nathan groaned in frustration, but instead held his hands around his mouth and shouting "Dogmeat!" Very soon the German Shepherd came running over to them.
"Not back the way we came!" Danse returned. "We all won't fit in the elevator. Go back around and head into the lobby!"
The two of them, with Dogmeat following after Nathan, ran back around the ArcJet building and went back up into the main lobby where they had first entered. Danse sealed the door as best he could and made sure any cracks or openings in the walls were plugged. He then breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Nathan.
"Looks like we're going to be here until the storm lets up," he said. "Might as well get comfortable." He reached around and clicked the manual release on his suit. The man who climbed out of the T-60 was about the same height as Nathan and of similar build. He was clad in a jumpsuit and hood, which he took off and rubbed the sweat from his forehead: Nathan noticed that he also had short dark hair, like himself.
"I tell you," Danse said. "It's a relief, doing this with a civilian who knows what they're doing. But then again, you said you had military experience, didn't you?"
"Yes," was the reply.
"And you've seen firsthand," he continued. "The damage of unchecked science. Vault-Tec Corporation was one of the biggest defense contractors of the United States Commonwealth, back before the war. But things..." He sighed, as he took a seat. "...things weren't always as they seemed."
"Tell me about it," Nathan said, taking a seat opposite him. Dogmeat laid down on the floor at Nathan's heel.
"The Brotherhood made three reconnaissance missions into the Boston Commonwealth. The first one came back with a load of military equipment, technology, and historical records of the old world. We know as much as anyone about the dirty secrets of Vault-Tec. You know most of their Vaults were designed to fail, or specially made for some sort of twisted experiment: as if we didn't have years of progress to give them answers to questions they already knew. All ethical questions were outright dismissed."
Nathan nodded. There was truth in Danse's words: they hadn't been wholly forthcoming about what they were doing to them in the Vaults, to say nothing of being frozen without permission. More and more it seemed that Danse's people, the Brotherhood of Steel, had a valid reason for doing what they were doing.
"You said three groups went into the Boston Commonwealth. What happened to the other ones?"
"The second one was lost, never reported back in. Myself, Rhys, and Halyen are what's left of the third group."
"Tell me about your organization," Nathan replied. "If you're allowed to, that is."
"We were formed from the ashes of the United States military just after the Great War," Danse said. "Beyond that, I'm afraid I can't help you. I'm a soldier, I do my duty. If you wish, Scribe Haylen could give you a history lesson when we get back to the Police Station." He then got to his knees, took his laser rifle, and gave it to Nathan.
"You're pretty good in a fight, but that Institute weapon is an inferior piece of junk," he said. "Take mine: I call her Righteous Authority. It'll keep you alive longer."
"Don't you need it?" Nathan asked.
"I have a spare back at the Police Station," was the answer. "A paladin never goes into battle with only one weapon. You'll need this more than me."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Now, I'll be having that transmitter and we'll be done." Nathan handed him the transmitter, which he stowed next to his Power Armor, then slumped down on the floor with his back against the wall.
"So, civilian," Danse continued. "Since we've got no place else to go for the foreseeable future, tell me: what brought you out to the Police Station?"
"I was looking for someone," Nathan replied. "A man killed my wife and kidnapped my son."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Danse said grimly. "Any idea who it might be?"
"Just a vague description, that's all," Nathan returned.
"If it's any consolation," Danse stated. "If we weren't short of manpower, I'd offer to help you. But the safety of my team and our mission have to come first."
"I understand," Nathan sighed.
"Once the storm clears up, I assume you'll be wanting to continue searching for your son, right?"
"Yes."
"I wish I could give you some hope that you'll find him. But, realistically, it's not good. Then again..." He added with a smirk as he noticed Nathan looking glum. "...we had quite a bit thrown at us in there and you pulled through nicely. So anything's possible."
"Thank you."
"For me, the Brotherhood is my family. May not be the folks I was born with, but they have my back and I have theirs. As such, I would like to make you an offer. We're still miles away from any Brotherhood outpost, so I have more or less free reign to act as I wish as long as it doesn't jeopardize my team or our mission. Maybe if you were to join the Brotherhood, I could help you find your son."
Nathan sighed. "I appreciate the offer, but let's be real here. You're just three. More than that, you took me five hours out of my way to locate this piece of junk!" He held up the Deep Range Transmitter as proof, then placed it back down. "Look, I'm...I'm not angry at you, or ungrateful for the gift. I...I'd just hoped we'd be going in a different direction...maybe towards Diamond City..."
"Diamond City?" Danse asked. "Is that where you think your son could be? Apologies that I took you so far out of your way. I can understand your frustration, and..." He sighed. "...even your hesitation to join us. But we don't force outsiders to join us, that's never been our way. We cooperate with them, try to build mutual trust in order to show that we are working for their good." He shook his head.
"Diamond City. Such a shame for those people. Half of the buildings in downtown Boston are still in serviceable condition and they choose to cower in fear inside a stadium."
"A stadium?"
"Before the War, it was known as Fenway Park. Now the locals call it Diamond City, after the shape of the baseball stadium."
Nathan was now more optimistic. He knew where Fenway Park was, and if Diamond City was there, he could find it himself in no time.
"Thanks again."
The storm raged on outside, showing no signs of stopping. Slowly the dusk deepened as night fell upon the Commonwealth. Nathan, who was still on edge from the synth assault, offered to stand guard while Danse took a brief rest, with the promise to wake him up at midnight and go to sleep himself. He ate the last of the canned fruit, but saved the can in his duffle bag: for why, he didn't know. Maybe it could hold more glue if he found any in his travels. At times, he would depart into another room, outside of listening range, and play Nora's holotape. Then he would come back and pace the floor, or check his Pip-Boy. According to the clock, it was 11:28pm, Eastern Standard Time, October 24th 2287. He chuckled softly: he had escaped from the Vault 210 years to the day of his entry.
Thirty-two minutes later, he woke Danse and had him watch while he slept. After a little search, he found the least uncomfortable spot in the lobby and, using his duffle bag for a pillow, fell fast asleep. Dogmeat walked softly over to him and rested obediently at his side. The last sound Nathan heard before falling asleep was the gentle breathing of the dog.
(AN: I just realized, while double-checking maps of the Boston area, that the Brotherhood of Steel mission takes you WAY out of your way just for the transmitter. Since I'm factoring distance into this story, that would make things go extremely slowly and I'm already feeling the weight of each chapter. So I kind of cheated and had Danse carry Nathan. Unfortunately that still means he gets benighted in Boston by next chapter.)
(One thing I hope to reconcile in this story is the difference between the Brotherhood of Steel from Fallout 3 and how they're portrayed in 4. I'm having some ideas, but if any of you have any suggestions, I would be welcome to considering them. I for one thought it was very cheap and manipulative, the way Bethesda tried to turn them into generic 40s-Germany bad-guys [the way they did aesthetically with the Empire in Skyrim: as if they needed any more bad press] when, in the last game, they were the noble good guys "fighting the good fight" [hint hint].)