I apologize about the delay in getting this new chapter up. My work expectations ramped back up in May which took more time away from writing than I anticipated. Thank you for your patience.
Enjoy! As always, reviews are appreciated.
Chapter 2 — Duty, Honor, and Family
Nora paced in her private quarters choking on the righteous indignation that burned her throat. How could Nate treat her like this? How could he be so inflexible and hard-headed about everything that she had experienced in the past eighteen months?
Hot tears stung her eyes but she clenched her jaw and stuffed everything down inside of her. The occasional trill from the terminal's messaging system reminded her that she still had a job to do. No matter how she was feeling, either mentally or physically, Nora had to push forward.
But that was easier said than done. Nora felt simultaneously suffocated and torn. With all of the demands from the Directorate, and from The Railroad, and now from the Institute's scientists and citizens, Nora felt like she was balancing on a precipice; one small move in any direction could send her tumbling into the abyss.
Desdemona was her most vocal critic at the moment. The spy needed reports every three days about the Institute's plans because The Railroad had recently set up Randolph safe house at a place called Hangman's Alley. Des expected the steady leek of synth escapees to resume under Nora's guidance. However, the Directorate was still unanimously against releasing anymore synths into the wasteland. When she told the spy that, Desdemona's response came with a warning:
I hope I didn't make a mistake putting my trust in you, Wanderer.
Conversely, most of the assistant scientists and the synths in the Institute seemed to accept Nora's leadership while those who were still hesitant had nothing to complain about once the beryllium agitator was installed in the Institute's reactor.
In fact, the entire Institute took to battle preparations with gusto now that the nuclear reactor was operating at full power.
Dr. Li and her assistants worked tirelessly on developing more advanced laser weaponry while Dr. Binet and Dr. Secord started work on a new project that they promised to reveal at tomorrow's Directorate meeting. Dr. Holdren was still making great strides with his hydroponics studies; now the Institute was cross-breeding various species of crops to create other resilient hybrids. Meanwhile Dr. Fillmore was overseeing a group of synth workers as construction began on the lower floors so they could add a future residential expansions in anticipation of the Institute's growth.
Despite all of the planning and preparations, Nora feel both useless and responsible should anything go wrong. And the only person who she could commiserate with, the only person who had experience — or implanted memories of experience — in leading a team of soldiers towards a specific goal was being a complete ass.
No. Nothing in Nora's life could've prepared her for this one undeniable fact: being at the top was lonely.
She sank into the plastic desk chair and scrolled through the countless messages from Desdemona until she got to the most recent message from Nick which was unopened. The subject line read: Merry Christmas! and Nora frowned. Was it Christmas already? She checked the date on her PipBoy that was sitting on the desk next to her. Sure enough, the date read 12.24.2287. The scientists either didn't seem to know that it was Christmas or didn't celebrate this particular Old World holiday.
She opened Nick's message and read:
Merry Christmas, Nora. Although I'm usually not one for gaudy festivities, Diamond City's decorations have a certain charm. As with most Pre-War things, they've got the lore of Christmas all wrong (They think Santa burns the naughty children alive with the coal he leaves them). Still, I wish you could be here to see it. They have an artificial Christmas tree, with lights and everything. Piper even snuck a Santa hat onto Takahashi last year. The poor robot had the hat on well after the New Year… I guess what I'm tryin' to say is that I miss you.
Nora stopped reading and blinked the tears from her eyes. She could only imagine how she would lean in to his warm, hard body as he cuddled her close and shield her from the bitter winter wind as they watched Diamond City illuminate their Christmas tree with the same fanfare and spectacle at would've rivaled the tree lighting at Rockefeller Center back in the day.
I just got back from Goodneighbor following a missing person's case thats turned up cold. You'd be surprised, but that derelict town throws a respectable Christmas shindig as well. Magnolia's original songs are nice, but there's something special about hearing her croon a rendition of "White Christmas" that would make Bing Crosby starstruck.
Please drop me a line when you get free time. I think Piper's getting sick of me asking if she's heard word from you, but I can't help but worry. I think about you every day.
Nick didn't leave a salutation, but it didn't matter. Nora could hear his invisible plea: 'Please Come Home, doll.' It didn't make her feel any better.
Nora didn't write back. She couldn't even think about something she could say that wouldn't alarm him. She was eating and sleeping far less than she should and the intrusive and dark thoughts were back. No, she was at a point where reaching out for help was what she needed to do, but Nora was paralyzed by fear. She feared disappointing everyone.
"Director," Allie Fillmore's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You are needed in the Advanced Sciences division. Dr. Li would like show a demonstration of their new laser weaponry."
"I'll be right there Allie." Nora replied wearily.
Nora sighed and switched off the terminal. She popped another piece of gum into her mouth.
After her son died, she decided it would be prudent to quit smoking again. If her son had cancer, then it made sense that cutting out a habit that could cause cancer in and of itself was a good idea. But the gum did little to settle the powerful, instinctual craving she had and it was all because of sheer willpower that she had gone almost twelve days without smoking.
Nate would've been proud of her, she thought. Too bad she never got a chance to tell him of this herculean feat amid the accusations and shouting.
Nora slipped on her brown men's leather jacket and strapped her Pipboy to her arm. She felt like a commander strapping combat armor on before she walked out onto the battlefield. The sheer comparison made her heart pump furiously in excitement and dread.
No, like it or not, Nora was the one leading these people. Maybe there would be a time when they could elect someone else to run in her stead, but now Nora needed to guide these people away from their dark past. No matter how Nora was feeling, she still had a job to do.
And duty called.
Elder Maxson surveyed the ruined Commonwealth from the Prydwen's upper deck. The cold air stung his face but he gritted his teeth against the discomfort. On nights like this, with the entire Prydwen celebrating with raucous festivities and music — Maxson was willing to deal with the uncomfortable elements so he could have a quiet place to think.
"Elder, do you require anything?" A Paladin with a deep, rich voice rumbled.
"No." Maxson replied but then reconsidered. "Actually … yes. Could you tell Proctor Ingram that I would like to speak with her. Also, I would like you to go to my private quarters and fetch my good whisky. No need to bring a glass."
"Of course, sir." The Paladin saluted.
The Elder didn't bother to turn around. But in a few minutes, he heard the telltale sound of whooshing hydraulic footsteps accompany him on the upper deck.
Proctor Ingram stood shoulder to shoulder with the Elder and handed him a brown bottle and two glass tumblers. It was comical at how mismatched the pair was together. Proctor Ingram stood a good foot and a half taller than the Elder and was a beastly, powerful woman even before she required augmented Power Armor to function.
"I told the soldier I didn't need a glass for this whisky." Elder Maxson idly remarked.
"It's Christmas. You may be the Elder, but even you could stand to be a little more classy on a holiday." She jibbed.
"Then why do I need two glasses?"
"C'mon Arthur, I know how you get when you drink alone." Ingram replied with a gentle rebuke. "The last thing you need is another run in with a deathclaw…or worse."
Elder Maxson grinned at the memory as he poured the rich golden liquor into their glasses. He put the bottle on the deck floor and handed one of the glasses to Ingram.
"You think far less of me than I thought" Maxson replied. "I'm not as careless as I was when I was younger."
Ingram laughed. "When most men say that, they're referring to things they've done more than twenty years ago. Sometimes, I still have to remind myself that you're not a grizzled fifty year old veteran like Brandis."
Maxson took a long sip from his glass. The whisky warmed up everything it touched and he savored the pleasant but stiff burn that accompanied it's aftertaste.
"For some, five years is all they need of life experience to know what's important in life."
"And what's important in life for you?" Ingram asked although she already knew the answer.
"Duty, honor, and family." Maxson replied. "There's nothing else in the world more important than that."
Ingram nodded. That was a frequent topic that the Elder brought up to the elite Scribe and Paladin teams. Being in the Brotherhood meant they had a duty to each other as well as the mission. Successfully completing that mission would bring honor to the Brotherhood — to the family — and would ensure the safety, security, and happiness of the group for years to come.
"Did you get your test results back from Cade" Maxson asked as he went to pour them both more whisky. Ingram declined his offer with a wave of her hand and set her empty tumbler on a stack of wooden crates.
"It's …" She sighed in frustration. "… it's no different than the last test. The trauma to my legs and back didn't impact my pelvic cavity, but there's no telling what the radiation from falling into that cesspool did to me.
Maxson nodded as he listened. He stared out at the glowing ruined city before them and felt a peculiar sense of loss as it reminded him of what the Capital Wasteland could've been. After all, a ruined city could be rebuilt.
"I'm sorry Arthur." Ingram murmured. Her thick, calloused hand tentatively rested over the top of his own tanned, scarred one. His thumb gently caressed the bottom of her palm in response.
"Don't ever apologize to me for that." Mason replied. "Your actions that day were heroic."
"Yeah, because running from a collapsing Power Armor station that got broadsided by an Enclave asshat holding a mini nuke and falling over 100 feet to the irradiated cavern below was the epitome of heroism." She drawled, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Of course, they never really tell you that enduring that much physical trauma could render you infertile one day."
"It's heroic when you were the last one to evacuate the building after making sure that everyone, including me, made it out before that moment." Arthur's thick eyebrows furrowed in passionate concentration, and although it was too dark for Ingram to make out the exact details of his facial expression, she felt the flush rise to her face nonetheless.
He rolled his hand so their palms met and their fingers interlaced and squeezed her hand once.
"Kari, I'm sorry about the news. I really am." He replied.
Ingram clenched her jaw so hard that her teeth ached. Arthur rarely called her by her first name, but the way he said it — with such tenderness and genuine remorse — reminded her of their teenage years with the awkward flirting and tentative touches, the stolen glances, alcohol-inspired kissing, and the exciting but nervous way that his hands touched her body and scorched her skin like she had been branded. No, she needed to bite back the tears that burned her eyes. Even after enduring that much physical and emotional pain, she had never cried in front of Arthur Maxson and she sure as hell wasn't going to start now.
"I'm sorry too." She replied huskily and then cleared her throat to regain her composure. "I still don't see why you don't just chose some willing scribe or knight and impregnate them. Anyone would be honored to carry your heir."
Maxson glowered at the thought. "Those women aren't broodmares Ingram, and I don't just want to impregnate them. I want them to …"
"… be a part of your family." Ingram finished for him. More sarcasm laced her words.
"Is that too much to ask?"
Ingram shrugged. "You're the Elder. Nothing is too much to ask."
"I'm serious." He urged.
Ingram looked at Arthur and desperately wished that there were lights on the upper deck so she could see his face beneath the cloudy night sky.
"Arthur you can have a woman who will bare you a child, and you can have a woman who would be honored to be your wife. You just have to decide if you're okay if these two women are different people." Ingram replied.
Ingram ran her thumb along the pink scar that cut across his nose and beneath his right eye. He leaned into her touch and sighed. To the outside observer, her touch was so tender that it bordered on being inappropriately intimate.
"I — I" Maxson stumbled over his words but Ingram's finger slid down and pressed gently over his lips to quiet him.
"I'll let you know if Cade says anything has changed, but otherwise don't stay out here too long." She warned, "If you froze your balls off, then where would we be?"
The next day, Christmas Day, the Institute hummed with renewed energy. Both synths and scientists seemed to be in a good mood, Nora noted. People were giddy and that excitement bled into that morning's Directorate meeting.
"Now we can finally go forward with Project Genesis." Dr. Secord exclaimed. She rifled through a manila file folder and pulled out a thick binder clipped stack of papers and slapped them onto the table in front of them. "This had been Dr. Zimmer's father's brainchild and Dr. Zimmer took a lot of inspiration from his father's experiences to inform his own android experiments before he left for the Capital Wasteland. Dr. Ayo saw no interest in it, but then again we were all under orders to conserve power and resources, but now —"
"I'm sorry, but what is Project Genesis." Nora interrupted.
Dr. Binet interjected, "In theory, Project Genesis would allow us to create synthetic humans who can develop a consciousness organically. In other words, they will develop their own personality, morality, and judgement based off of learned experience rather than artificial memories that were created or were copied from an existing human brain."
"It's a way to make our synths indistinguishable from humankind." Dr. Secord replied. "The main flaw of these Gen-3 synths is that the synthetic component in their brains are not always reliable. Sometimes they malfunction and we have to clean up the mess. But with more power coming in, we can now devote more resources into developing an upgraded synth component."
"That sounds unethical." Nora commented. "What if we created a synth who developed a sociopathic personality? We would be accountable for their behavior. What if the synth raped someone, or killed innocents, or —"
Dr. Secord interrupted, "With all due respect Mother, but we could play the 'what if' game all day, but true scientific invention needs to be free to push the envelope. We already have those problems with our current Gen-3s —"
"Exactly!" Nora agreed. "And we have recall codes to deactivate them so they can be brought back to the Institute where they are held accountable for their behavior. Would their recall codes still work on their upgraded synth component?"
Dr. Secord looked venomous. "No."
Nora nodded. She expected that result. "So we are releasing synths into the world who are untested and can develop in ways we can only fathom. Then when one of them opens fire on Goodneighbor, Diamond City, or a local settlement, are we going to take responsibility for their carnage?"
Nobody spoke for a good minute, but finally Dr. Secord spoke up. Her voice was cold but she maintained a certain level of dignity and respect that took every ounce of her self-control to force out.
"So…Mother. Are we to assume that you care more about the lives in the Commonwealth than you care about scientific pursuit that could, one day, redefine our future?"
Nora met the woman's snake-like stare with her own. She rose out from her seat and suddenly the words coming out of her mouth didn't seem like her own.
"I came from a world in which rampant scientific pursuit became our downfall, and I stand before you all now with the harsh truth. The Commonwealth is our future. Like it or not. Even if we defeat the Brotherhood, and especially if we maintain this staunch isolationist policy, the Institute will die out. The people above —"
"— the savages —" Dr. Secord snarled. She too rose from her seat. Her impossibly thin, talon-like fingers grasped the table like a bird of prey.
"— the people above," Nora continued "are our future. We have nothing to gain by releasing an unknown variable into their world. Our goal is to establish a truce with them, not antagonize them more by proving to them that the Institute and the synths are things they should fear."
Dr. Li spoke up, "I agree with Nora. While our Gen-3 synths can always be improved upon to make them more resistant to the dangers topside, I don't think tampering with something as delicate as their consciousness would yield beneficial results. Besides, the Institute has already failed in that regard once before, and I'm not keen to have something like that happen again."
"That was a century ago." Dr. Secord interrupted. "I can improve upon Dr. Zimmer's father's work with DiMA if —"
"Wait, what's a DIMA?" Nora asked.
Dr. Secord sighed and passed her a thick binder clipped pack of diagrams, terminal transcripts, and scientific data. "DiMA was Dr. Robert Zimmer's first synth prototype for the Genesis Project before it was disbanded by the director that preceded Father. This was his attempt to create a self-aware consciousness out of a Gen-2 body. Dr. Robert Zimmer's son Eugene was too focused on the Courser program like Ayo, and now he's probably dead in the Capital Wasteland. We've come a long way since his father's experiments and I can assure you that we wont make the same mistakes twice if you give me clearance to continue his work."
Nora flipped through the pages and looked sideways at Dr. Li. The woman's face was impassive, and Nora couldn't tell if she was trying to take a back seat out of fear of being accused of influencing Nora's decision too much, or if she truly didn't know what this whole experiment was about."
"How about we table this discussion until I can look through this information. If there's something from this experiment that I think is both worthwhile and doesn't violate basic human rights, then maybe we can resume this discussion later." Nora replied.
But Dr. Secord wasn't satisfied. "Are you sure you can handle the scientific jargon? That information was written for other scientists. I don't want you to misconstrue the study out of sheer wastelander ignorance."
The rest of the Directorate shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Dr. Li was about to speak up, but Nora cut her off.
Nora spoke carefully and in a measured, icy tone. "Dr. Secord, I can appreciate that you're far more intelligent than me. That's something I'll freely admit, but you're not better than anyone else here. So how about you remove that chip from your shoulder because this mean girl act is beneath you. If I have questions about the science behind this experiment, you will be the first person who I'll go to for questions. In the meantime, you may find that you're arguments are more persuasive when every other word isn't laced with vitriol and hate."
The Directorate looked at Nora and Dr. Li failed at masking a small, approving smile. Dr. Secord looked like Nora had reached across the table to smack her, but all she could do in response was nod and sit back down.
"If there are not other items that need to be discussed, then you are all free to go." Nora replied.
Once she was alone in the room, Nora looked down at the giant packet of information in front of her and read the cover page:
Experiment: Genesis Program
Lead Scientist: Dr. R. Zimmer
Experiment Termination Date: 2179
Nora skipped past the intricate diagrams of various synth component prototypes and saw that a series of terminal transcripts had been printed out. Attached to the first one was a polaroid of a man who looked oddly familiar.
The picture was a standard headshot of a Boston cop. The man's golden-brown eyes looked out at the photographer with paternal sternness. He didn't smile, but his expression wasn't unkind either. He had a thick nose that fit his face and large ears. His prominent cheek bones and his strong jaw line and were clean shaven, but his dusky blond hair was slightly tousled and mussed. Nora could almost imagine him running his hand through his hair to try and smooth it down into some semblance of order.
She flipped the picture over to see if there was a name written on the back, but it was blank. So Nora set the picture aside and read through the first terminal entry.
April 18 2076
Thanks to our connection with the Cambridge, Natick, East Boston, South Boston, and Malden Police Departments, we've had our pick of prime candidates for our memory archive program. Many of these men and women are either referred to us not knowing the true purpose of these memory scans, or are paid recruits who have signed an iron clad non-disclosure agreement to take part in these experiments.
We wanted a variety of candidates so we can splice memory sequences to create an infinite combination of memory sequences.
Once our contract with the United States Army is cleared by the Department of Defense, we will have a slew of memories from Boston's most noble uniformed men and women to help balance the less desirables who are just in this for the money. The joke's on them; once the bombs fall, and they will, money will be useless to them.
Below the terminal entry, Nora saw a hand-written intake list written in neat block lettering. Each person was listed chronologically by date admitted.
9.27.2075 — V. Martinson, Age 30, Natick Police Department, Generalized Anxiety
10.13.2075 — Z. Breyen, Age 46, Natick Police Department, Paid Recruit
10.22.2075 — J. Czubinski, Age 65, Malden Police Department, Retiree
12.05.2075 — N. Gomez, Age 24, East Boston Police Department, Paid Recruit
2.01.2076 — M. Rodriguez, Age 28, East Boston Police Department, PTSD
3.10.2076 — N. Valentine, Age 31, East Boston Police Department, PTSD
Nora saw Nick Valentine's name as the last entry and her heart sank. Hearing Nick's account of it was different than actually seeing it on paper. She never doubted that he was telling the truth about his past, but having the proof of the experiment right in front of her made it seem surreal. She almost felt like she was reading something that was meant to be for Nick's eyes only.
She looked at the blond-haired man in the photograph, and something told her that the man staring back at her was indeed the human Nick Valentine. She couldn't know for sure of course, but as she stared into his eyes, she could almost detect how his golden-brown eyes took on glowing yellow hue.
Nevertheless, she put the picture aside and read on. The byline in the terminal's heading read: Property of R. Zimmer, Commonwealth Institute of Technology.
June 25 2177
One hundred and one years. That's how long it has been since Doctor Patel had a vision that would revolutionize not just neuroscience but also humanity. Although it took a team of scientists to sift through the CIT ruins above us, finding proof and documentation on his holotape made the effort worthwhile.
I had a team of my best men carefully extract the machine he used to scan his patients' memories, and we've installed it into my laboratory. Our Gen-2 android experiments have been ready to test for the past three months, so I will have plenty of canvas to create my masterpiece. If implanting a memory scan onto a human brain will work, then I think we are safe to move on towards improving our Gen-2 androids even more.
September 27th 2177
Perhaps I was too ambitious in this project. Each and every Gen-2 android we've used run through our memory programing has succumb to a coma. One hypothesis as to our failure is that the splicing and sequencing of these memories is creating too much confusion in the android's processor which causes it to shut down from the influx of data.
The only memory that has stuck for any significant period of time is of a N. Valentine, a Pre-War Boston cop. I don't know what makes his memory different than the others, but we are going to continue to test a variety of memory sequences before resorting to implanting a full memory from one person into our androids.
Dr. Christie in Robotics has been creating a Gen-2.5 android of sorts. It has all of the basic anatomical design as the Gen-2s but has far more processing capeabilities. All I need now is to ask her if I could borrow a couple prototypes to experiment on, and we'll see if this is even feasible.
May 1st 2178
Eureka! A breakthrough at last!
We are progressing quite nicely with both of our experiments which are housed in our new Gen-2.5 prototypes. The "Designated Intelligence Matrix Algorithm, henceforth designated as DiMA, is developing awareness of its physical surroundings. It's like a child exploring the world brand new. We have been careful in monitoring what information it has access to since anything could
Meanwhile, the "Neurological Intelligence Memory Algorithm, henceforth designated as NiMA, is not progressing as successfully as it's counterpart. NiMA is having trouble differentiating what is reality and what is part of his implanted memories. He keeps experiencing Mr. Valentine's past trauma as his own and no amount of reasoning or rationalization will calm him down. We've resorted to activating NiMA once in a while to see if anything has changed, otherwise he's in a semi-permeant deactivated state until we can decide if it is worth going forth with our memory implant experiments.
October 13th 2178
NiMA is semi-functional for limited spans of time during the day. We are still working on addressing a suspected memory loop that is preventing the android from moving past the death of Mr. Valentine's girlfriend. Each time he is brought online, he asks about her or asks to see her. No response is enough for him and he can detect when we're lying with an eerie accuracy.
Being near DiMA seems to help. DiMA has adopted a sort of brotherly bond for the android despite being locked in his own containment pod. We put him next to NiMA because we noticed that DiMA's voice and overall demeanor seems to allow NiMA to process through memories long enough to get through the first memory loop. Results are inconsistent, however, and NiMA is prone to violent outbursts when it feels threatened or provoked. We will need to look into tweaking it's aggression parameters.
March 10th 2179
A waste. This has been an absolute waste of both technology and resources.
I knew that allowing DiMA and NiMA to be housed in neighboring containment pods would be a bad idea. After all, isolation is a far better prison than mere glass.
But I never expected that DiMA's mind would develop this quickly. His progress in developing his own intellect, personality, and moral compass have far surpassed my expectations. It's too bad that his conscious decided to intervene because now we've lost both of our prototypes to the wastes!
Thanks to the cryo pod experiments in Vault 111, we still have plenty of subjects' memories to use in future android iterations, but we've taken too many steps backward for my liking.
This will not happen again. Thanks to the courser program, we will soon have our own internal force to stop any leeks that may happen. Our android technology is much too fragile to deploy to the wasteland just yet. But just w…
The transcript ended there and Nora rubbed her eyes. There was too much information for Nora to process all at once. She tried to break down the key information into smaller bits.
First, the CIT had contracts with the local police department, paid recruitment for the Boston public, and a tentative contract with the U.S. Army. Although the list that was enclosed depicted only six people, she knew that there had to be a lot more. The terminal implied that the Institute, even if it was still considered the CIT in some respect, also had a contract with Vault 111.
The existence of synth Nate was enough evidence to confirm that as the truth, but Nora never processed how dangerous that could be for the wasteland. If the Institute had memory scans of every Vault 111 inhabitant, including her, then there was nothing to stop the Institute from creating a synthetic version of herself as well. Who knows how many already created synths were just copies of her neighbors or of local residents who were unlucky enough to make it to the Vault only to die? She's need to get to the bottom of this, if only to put her mind to rest that another synth doppleganger wasn't prowling the wasteland pretending to be her while she was with the Institute.
Additionally, if this Dr. R. Zimmer was experimenting on Gen-2 androids, and if this DiMA somehow escaped with Nick in tow, then Nick's memory or belief that he was dumped in an Institute trash heap was partially false. He had escaped. Nora had no idea if his savior was still out in the wasteland somewhere — she assumed that it was unlikely — but Nick deserved to learn the truth about what really happened to him. Nick needed to know that he wasn't as alone as he thought.