CHAPTER 31
Heroes and Villains.
The Vertibird landed at Braggman's Treatment Facility at exactly 7:12 in the morning, a day after it had taken off from the pad on the M-100 Base Crawler in Washington, flown over the radioactive waste pits that were New York and Pennsylvania- and entered New England airspace.
The plant was a single large, rectangular building festooned with bulbous tank towers on either side of a T-shaped structure- there was a loading yard devoid of life, and filled with ruined trucks and shipping containers all around it.
The 7th Division had been using the building's roof as an unofficial landing pad- and when Laslar's VB-02 neared the concrete top to put down, there were already three other Vertibirds propped up on their tri-stilt landing gear nearby.
Two were VB-02's as well- but the third and last in the row, was a rare sight indeed- a VB-130 variant with a powerful Gauss Mortar cannon sticking from its upper right hull flank- observation bubbles were on either side of the cockpit in pairs.
A few of the pilots and staff members were walking around in their jumpsuit attire- heads raised as the newest aircraft's rotors screamed a final time, and the stilt landing gear unfolded with hissing whines from the VB-02's belly.
The propellers started to settle, and the craft shifted when it touched down, and the rubberized wheels squeaked against the concrete of the plant's roof. The rotors began a slow decline in rapid turning- and one of the troop bay ramps slid up and ajar, disgorging six darkened, and armored individuals who had already tore themselves free of their restraints.
The ride had gotten all the soldiers inside a desperate want of motion and walking- but even with that vigor, Laslar and Luft were the first two to exit the craft with their four attachment members of the squad trailing behind them.
Hopping down from the slightly raised, bulky ramp- the last soldier stood rigidly with the quad row behind Laslar's stance- and the Superintendent was too busy eyeing around the roof to really notice or even care about the discipline his men were obviously showing for him.
All the little people around him... The weaklings out of the Power Armor- lounging around, looking at him like he was some alien, intimidated by the stories they'd heard, and by the customized snarling helmet he wore like an extra face.
Laslar stood for the first time in darkened, awakening daylight, in nearly twenty hours that had been aboard the Vertibird- a normal flight would've taken a handful of cycles, if the radiation wasn't screwing up every single piece of technology that got anywhere near it.
The Superintendent actually glanced back at the aircraft as he thought of it- he was mentally cursing the science staffs on the Capital Rig in their inability to produce Vertibirds that could withstand the unbelievable levels of radiation over New York. Was it THAT hard to do their jobs?
"Superintendent Seduun, sir, the 7th is at your disposal."
-Laslar immediately had more of a respect for the armored officer stepping out from the skirts of the landing area for the Vertibird craft, for however meager it was- Laslar raised a bunched fist and clacked his gauntlet in a light salute over his cuirass.
The officer returned the gesture, and nodded at Luft as he cleared the brief distance- standing as tall as them in Enclave standard Power Armor.
"Name? Rank?" Laslar grunted.
"Hector Osolin, Master Sergeant. Commander Rime is on patrol, I'm in his stead, sir."
Laslar glanced at the Master Sergeant up and down, nodded in disinterest.
"Field HQ set up?"
"-Yes sir."
"Communications uplink established?"
"Yes sir."
"How many 'birds are operational?"
"Six, sir."
"Men?"
"One-hundred and eighty able-bodied soldiers. Staff is unpacked."
"You have an uplink with the Capital Rig?"
"Negative sir, with Raven Rock."
"Break it."
"...Sir, President Eden specifically ordered us to keep it up."
"I'm giving you orders to cut the connection. Break it. This is my operation now, we're doing it my way."
"...Should I notify Commander Rime, sir?"
"I'll notify him myself. I'll need to see all your field reports, all logistics records, and all active equipment/personnel records. I looked at the schematics of the plant- there's on old foreman office you're currently using as a barracks- eject the staff there, that will be mine and my squad's new temporary quarters.
All six Vertibirds are to be redirected here, cancel any sweeps they are making- I am dissolving all commands and command titles, and I am taking complete control over the operation. I'll discuss this with your Commander.
-Finally, me and Sergeant Luft will lead a team towards the last known location of my target- I'm here to catch the experiment you haven't caught in years, see it as me cleaning up someone else's mess and it'll look a lot prettier.
I want this done by the end of the day so I can begin my deployment- any questions?"
Poor old Hector had been in the Enclave military his whole life, and throughout his career he had never actually met face-to-face with Eden's feared Superintendent- now that he had though, he felt like his eyes were going to fall out of his skull for the long list he was forced to take in.
The Master Sergeant stood unmoving, and unwavering in his dark-colored Power Armor, the green helm-lenses on his headgear practically bulging at comprehending Laslar's demands.
Clearing his throat, he nodded, giving off a light creak of steel.
"A-Aye-aye, sir."
"Good. We have work to do. Lead the way, Sergeant."
"Y-Yes sir."
As the group of armored men trotted away from the now silent VB-02 behind them, Luft leaned over and muttered into a private communication link to Laslar's helmet.
"Hector here sounds like he pissed himself."
"This warrents my care?"
"No. It's just funny."
"What will REALLY, be funny," Laslar smiled- reaching down for his equipment belt. "Is what Eden will have to say when I close this operation in a week or less."
Laslar's favorite sidearm was magnetically attached just behind his Plasma Pistol- it was a specially crafted Ripper blade, the size of a machete- and the chainsaw-like weapon draped by his right thigh, inactive.
He hadn't used it since his last deployments outside of D.C.- years and years ago.
He couldn't wait to use it to chop up his former experiment- the perfect way to break it back into the routine of slaughter.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Braggman's at one point had been a pretty influencial treatment facility before the war. It supplied water to thousands of consumers across the city of Boston and neighboring Brookline- when people had started migrating more to cities like San Franisco and Seattle, Braggman's had fallen into steady disrepair.
When the bombs dropped the building remained relatively standing- Enclave updated schematics showed much of the bottom floor had been ruined, and several second story storage chambers had caved in.
A row of water tanks along the back spine of the building's T-shape had also collapsed sometime around a hundred years ago- and no one knew where the scrap went, probably collected by some industrious lot for whatever usage throughout the ages.
A group of vermin had been using Braggman's as an outpost- Raiders, the run-of-the-mill highwaymen- the 7th had cleared them out with no casualties as expected- Laslar would've had a good mind to shoot Master Sergeant Hector for news of his men dying to subhuman rodents.
The whole time he stalked down a leveled staircase to the interior second floor of the building, there were all kinds of general staff that stepped aside or went in doorways like the Devil himself was trekking through the halls.
Saluting, and remaining rigid- Laslar found the antics supererogatory and overall pointless- he was here to do his job and he had no interest in the Enclave's line of command culture.
"How large is Rime's staff, Sergeant?" Laslar questioned, their bulky forms likened to dark, shadowy titans that silently stalked through halls of peeling plaster, faded and torn poster papers adorning the walls- a rife stench of mildew present for all without helmets.
"Fifty bodies, sir."
"...That's nearly 30% of the 7th Division." Laslar observed. "I thought this wasn't a prime directive beforehand?"
"More elements of the 7th were shipped from Washington under Commander Rime's orders."
That's a lie. Laslar mentally noted.
"Sure." He went with it. "Did you arrive with the VB-130 type outside?"
"...Yes."
God damn, he's terrible at this.
"Alright."
They passed through a wooden archway- which Laslar was made to slightly incline his shoulders down to pass through, seeing as he was a half-head taller than every man around him.
Inside was a large chamber of some former occupation to the Braggman plant- there was a cluster of metal desks that were gathered in a big excuse for a table in the center of the room, their flat surfaces pressed and lined together.
Deployable laptops were gridded across them, and a group of staff were seated in swivel office chairs typing away at them. A five foot-tall holographic monitor was propped against the far wall on the other side of the room, beside a closed window that was boarded with nailed 2x4's.
There were a pair of soldiers by it, helmets off, chuckling about some issue that Laslar partially overheard as holding terrible field rations in subject.
Most of the unit's things were haphazardy piled in metal, top-grated workcrates that were stacked on both ends of the room and throughout the Braggman plant- the setup annoyed Laslar. It was shanty, and it LOOKED bad. He didn't care how it sounded.
"Your communications department told me one of your 'birds found my target."
"Yes sir, we did." Hector replied, standing just before the typing team of staff, he turned and held a gauntlet out to one of the fellows sitting there- whose head snapped up when gestured to. "Chief of Signal Corps, Selvan."
"Robert Selvan, pleasure to be of service, sir." The darker skinned man smiled underneath his black officer's cap- he was an ugly fellow, pudgy, but he had a powerful voice, deep.
"Where's the 'Claw, Chief?" Laslar ignored the commentary, looking down at the seated man.
Feeling small, Robert hurriedly locked eyes with the laptop again and tried to forget about Laslar's helmet facing down to him- he typed for a second, and turned the rotatable screen towards the Superintendent.
"Right here, sir. Medium distance, Springs Quarry." Robert pointed to a blinking, orange dot on the amber-colored, dark screen showing an overhead scan of the Commonwealth.
"Interesting note, sir," Hector interjected. "Your Deathclaw has a friend."
"Friend?" Laslar asked straightly. "Explain."
"We picked up a human life signature in the structure your target was in," Hector nodded at Robert, who turned the screen back around and started pulling up the Vertibird's scanner file. "He's wearing a suit of Power Armor."
"Hmm. A challenge then- and this is assuming this- 'Friend' -wasn't hacked to mincemeat shortly after detection? What makes you think the man is WITH the 'Claw?"
"Vertibird 6 was observing for a full twenty minutes before Commander Rime ordered them back." Hector explained. "The human and the Deathclaw were coexisting without incident."
"And you said this man is wearing an exo'?"
Behind him, Luft had his arms crossed over his cuirass, a brow raised to Laslar's rear pauldron- he didn't sound awfully concerned by this.
"Yes sir." Hector nodded- Robert turned around with the monitor again and pointed at the pict-file Vertibird 6 had snapped from its heat sig scanners.
Laslar bent down with a creak of metallic servos- he eyed the blaring red outlines of the two beings in the hunched, rounded, and squat structure wordlessly.
"That's either a T-60 or a T-51," Laslar muttered- he saw a third possibility in it, but he didn't want to voice it outloud that this random Wastelander might have acquired a pre-War X-01 suit. "Alright. Give me and my team two hours- we'll drop in, I'll kill him, we'll restrain the Deathclaw."
"Sir, just as an advisement, the creature is fast. A group of paratroopers weren't even able to secure it, and they dropped right on top of it."
"Nothing is too fast for me." Laslar stared Hector to silence. "I've outrun the entire NCR army and the Brotherhood. I've hunted this thing's kind in Texas when I was in rags. I have this."
"I never doubted this, sir."
"Mm. Where is Commander Rime?"
"He should be returning with Vertibirds 2, 3, and 4. As per request."
"Direct him here immediately when he lands, we have a lot to discuss."
Laslar broke away from the conversation without another word or even a mere indication that he had been intending on such- he left Robert and Hector glancing at each other with a few mutterings. The Superintendent nodded off his squad, and the four infantrymen stalked out of the chamber through the door arch silently, boots thudding.
Luft was still standing where he was, arms folded awkwardly with the bulky armor gauntlets- he spoke with caution.
"I'm on your side, so bear with me," Luft said readily.
"Aye?"
"Don't you think Eden might make this problematic if you start just shutting everything down and reworking it?"
"Eden isn't going to know."
-Outside, muffled, the screams of rotory blades were present, and the whoosh of jet engine modulators.
Laslar glanced at the cieling, and back down to Luft.
"You don't think Rime is just going to bend over and let you have at it, do you?"
"He has no choice. He's not going to make things easier, but he's not stupid."
"Of?"
"The fact that I have all the authority and power to demote him to some border outpost in the middle of Nevada."
"He'll take kindly to it, I'm sure."
"Stop bringing it up. It does not matter, we have a job to do, personal crusades are just an obstacle."
"Whatever you say."
"You address me as- 'Sir'." Laslar growled.
"...Sir." Luft mumbled. If it hadn't been around the staff and Master Sergeant Hector, it wouldn't have mattered. Laslar was a bit two-faced with him with sometimes.
Echoing thuds of titanium layered boots from working exo's rumbled from the door archway- and when Luft stepped aside, facing with Laslar the newer arrivals into the chamber, the Sergeant almost laughed out loud when he saw just WHO was there in addition to those expected.
"Superintendent Laslar Seduun, sir." A man clad in full Enclave-variant X-01 Power Armor ducked through the wooden archway, and stood before Laslar in a heartbeat, his face obscured beneath the insectoid-like pattern of the helmet over his head. "Commander Rime, 7th Division."
Rime raised a gauntlet and cuffed his cuirass-covered breast with a metallic clunk.
"Who's this?" Laslar nodded over Rime's rounded shoulder pauldron to a second figure that stepped into the chamber.
Rime glanced at Laslar's direction THROUGH him, and then again at the Superintendent, before angling his head in annoyance and stepping aside with twin rumbles from his boots.
There was another man standing there, clad in in 'Tesla' mark Enclave armoring- rounded circuit towers and links drawing down his gauntlets, ankles, shoulder pauldrons and cuirass to create a similar refraction field effect that Laslar's more advanced plating had.
Laslar wouldn't have been fazed by this mysterious other's appaerance- except, that when he glanced at the trooper's left breast on the cuirass, he noticed a small 'E' symbol, that was different from the armed forces or national insignia of the Enclave.
It was an 'E', with a stylized ring of stars around it, that ended at the bottom in the stead of two smaller letters, and those were- 'I.'- and -'D.'.
Eden, you son of a bitch. Laslar quaked in his mind.
"Laureen Fend, Internal Department."
-Ah, a woman then.
And a woman, at that, that Laslar immediately was hoping would end up as a casualty in the field.
"What business does the secret service have here?" Laslar immediately quizzed.
"I understand how it looks, Superintendent, but the President's best interests are the Enclave's best interests as a whole."
"So he got one of his cronies to bug my damn operation."
"Speaking with authority from the E.I.D, I can't tolerate your freer dialogue as Eden does, Superintendent." Laureen smiled beneath her helm.
"Well then, there ought to be plenty of requests for my liquidation to add to the pile by the end of this." Laslar spat.
"Just so you gentlemen are aware," Laureen ignored him, and addressed Hector on the other side of the room. "The communications link between here and Raven Rock will be maintained, lest I say otherwise."
"Fuck." Laslar was already shouldering to the doorframe- when he passed Laureen, he angled his helm over his pauldron, and snarled at her. "-The E.I.D spooks' have gotten veterans worth more than you'll ever be worth, to try and catch me slipping- and I have news, they've NEVER, caught me slipping."
"Great things come with patience, Mr. Seduun." She kept her same smile. "I hope that wasn't a gesture."
"It's what you make of it. Luft, c'mon."
"-Oh, and I've already put in a request for my post to be in your second-floor quarters, Mr. Seduun, I'm sure there's plenty of room in the basement chambers."
"Ah-ha, really." Laslar and Luft were already halfway down the hallway outside the arch, and Hector was introducing himself for a second time to the NEWER, newer addition to the party- as not even he had been informed to Operative Laureen's presence here.
They left all them right then and there- Rime, Laureen and Hector, standing to the entrance of the chamber.
Luft trotted behind his comrade with a fairly monotone posture- he glanced over his pauldron and saw that the E.I.D agent wasn't even following them with a look underneath her helmet. He saw Laslar lumbering his arms at his side- infuriated, furthermore than he had already been.
"You can't keep going up against the E.I.D." He put out factually. "I don't know who she is, but she's secret service, and you know as well as I do that they went behind Richardson's back quite a number of times. Who'se to say they won't go behind Eden's?"
"This is just more incentive to get this Deathclaw dead in one piece, or alive, all the more faster." Laslar said. "I should've figured the bigheads at the Capital Rig would start flailing their arms at some point."
"I'm surprised they didn't send a whole squad."
"-Nope, they tossed out just one, like they think that'll keep me in line."
"They would argue you shouldn't HAVE to be kept in line, sir."
"Fuck them."
"They'll cut your strings if you don't think for the Enclave first, Las'."
"Fuck them, and fuck that agent," Laslar grunted. "That damned cunt."
"You've sidestepped the service before, you can do it again, sir."
"This isn't the same. We have a skeleton crew here- discombobulated elements of a division that isn't even entirely deployed here," Laslar reminded him, turning down a corner in the hall. "Do we even know where the REST of the 7th is?"
"Eden never said. There's no reports we got."
"Which means I have to dig in records, which will be monitored by little Laureen in there..."
"...So then you're right, we just have to move quickly."
"That we do. And-" Laslar stopped, and raised a plated finger to the Sergeant. "-For the record, yes, it's 'Sir'- when we're around them."
"I wasn't complaining, just taken aback for a sec'."
"Let's go. Unpack, un-gear, re-gear, and we're flying again."
"Joy."
-0-0-0-0-0-
Creaking, metal joints, and the crumbling of tiny specks of earth- Sanford, now encased in his X-01 suit once more, stood over the precipice of a several foot drop, that lead to one of many roundabout layers, to a multi-ribbed, stone-made crater that dug in a blocky-pattern deep into the earth.
It was like a giant man-made funnel, that all centered for a concrete loading yard riddled with rusting, blue and red shipping containers, broken forklift buggies, and a large treaded construction crane whose arm rose over the height of the quarry from down there.
There were metal walkways and railings meshed in with the winding concrete paths that ribbed down the crater's flanks in all directions, forming zenith at the shipping yard at its lowest level. On the far opposite land-level side of the quarry, another set of metal buildings was propped up silently in the growing daylight.
Sanford examined the whole zone with slow sweeps of his eyes beneath the buggy lenses of the X-01's helmet- he had his scanners trying to work out any living signatures present in the area, but there was some weird inteference- maybe all the wear and tear finally causing some small problems.
Down below, there was a rectangular concrete arch that had a bolted metal door centering it- leading into the deeper tunnels of the quarry, obviously. But other than that, there really wasn't anything else here, anything else moving... It was eerily silent.
Sanford had gotten up maybe ten or so minutes after his Deathclaw friend had trekked out into the growing morning- he figured she just wanted to stroll around, be left alone- he certainly did some days.
So he suited up, had his SMG in his gauntlets, and started looking around the camp, before tracing over to the quarry- and here he stood, and he was puzzled and interested at what he was seeing.
The Haven Corp... This could be a unique find. Maybe there were some rare metals that they had dug up, and Sanford could haul a few pounds of it back home with the Deathclaw and come back some day for the rest.
A few possibilities, sounded good.
"Monsieur'?" -Came in a slight call from behind him.
Sanford didn't completely turn around, and raised a gauntlet over his pauldron.
"I'm here." He called back. "Good to see you back, Ms. Deathclaw."
"-WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?! I oughtta' cut off your lips and reapply them up your red-eye! I'll make you kiss your own ass! HA!"
...Really now?
Sanford slowly turned around with clunking boots, his eyes narrowed, head cocked.
When he faced the Deathclaw's direction, he was enlightened to the tiny hiss of flame being released from a central thruster, the metallic shifting of a ball-like chassis, the bionic whining of ocu-lenses shifting their adjustment reticules.
Before him was a military drab, three-armed, three eyed, Mr. Gutsy robot- and it wasn't just ANY Mr. Gutsy robot.
CLK-CLK
-The SMG fell out of his gauntlets, and clattered off his boots.
For a moment there was silence, and as Sanford stared at the new robotic contraption to grace his sights- the Deathclaw trotted over beside the awkward contest of eyes and ocu-lense, and grinned at both man and machine.
"I found him out back, playing with dogs, monsieur'."
"Hey now! Those furry little bastards deserved what they got! Flea-bitten, disease-infested, harrassing little- rrrrRRRRAAAGGHH! FUCKIN' FURRIES!"
"...So let me get this straight," Sanford spoke lowly, finally, regaining the robot's attention. "You've been in one piece this whole time, and you only thought to come back here... Now?"
"WELL, mister- 'You only thought to come back here, now?! Wah! Wah! Daddy! Change me Daddy!' -I ran into some problems, that civilized folk politely term- COLLECTIONS OF DOUCHE-DRINKING FUCK-HEADS! And other assorted skullduggery and Communist-induced crap!"
"...Didn't even try the communications uplink that I spent days creating for my helmet and your radios, huh?"
"-WELL-! I... I, uhm... You know it would've really sucked if I called you while you were in the middle of Cracker-Jackin' ole' Dragon-buster over here..."
The Deathclaw didn't get it, mercifully, and Sanford was content to keep it that way when he laughed outloud, stomped over his fallen gun, and raised an arm over Hancock's chassis. The robot's ocu-lenses compressed to himself, and he tried to lower to the ground in a receding flinch.
"GET YOUR GRIMY PAWS OFF ME!"
"Holy crap! You're not dead, man! You're not dead! HA!" Sanford locked the robot in an arm curl- slapping the Mr. Gutsy in a head-lock underneath his right armored arm with a shriek of steel- Sanford laughed and patted his other hand on top of his rounded form. "Hancock's back!"
"UNHAND ME, WRETCH!"
"-You have no clue how happy I am that you aren't a pile of wreckage, you dumbass!" Sanford had a huge grin on his face, and relief was flooding his system- he felt exicted, full of adrenaline, GOOD adrenaline.
"THE HAN' MUST NOT BE MAN-HANDLED!" CLM CLM CLM -the robot futilly slapped his claw into Sanford's cuirass a few times, and the Deathclaw chuckled at it. "-I ORDER YOU TO CEASE AND DESIST!"
"Oh shut the hell up and deal with it," Sanford leaned back and patted the robot's top again. "I'm so glad you aren't dead, my friend."
"I feel violated!" Hancock ranted, all three arms sticking outwards his lifted stance- petrofied. "Oh the in-humanity!"
"Alright, alright, alright... Geez'." Sanford opened his arm and the robot zipped away from him, angled back with a appearance of mortification about his undetailed body-langauge.
"We shall NEVER, speak of this moment!"
"No, huh?" Sanford smiled- half listening.
"This touchy-feely moment! NEVER!"
"Uh-huh."
"-AND YOU! Lizard-chops! I hearby automatically swear you in to a blood oath to keep silent of said events!"
"You don't have blood, Han'." Sanford noted.
"Who reads the fine print nowadays, eh?"
"Hancock," Sanford nodded. "It's good to see you aren't dead."
Sanford raised a balled fist, and after a pause, Hancock did similar with his claw, and clacked the side against the man's armored knuckles.
"...Good to be back for duty, sir!" Hancock said jubilantly. "You weren't injured at all, right?"
"I'm good."
"And you tore out ooga-booga bitch's balls and forced him to eat them, right?"
"...Something like that, yep."
"Perfect! Then my vindictive inner spirit is placated! The gang's back in business!" Hancock glanced between the two of them with his ocu-lenses, and noted the quarry that Sanford had been observing. "So now that I'm back... Tell me the news! Who reached puberty? Who got married? Who died? Who did their taxes?"
"...There's a lot to talk about," Sanford laughed, stepping over to his fallen gun- he picked it back up, and gazed across the quarry as he stood straight again. "And there's some new stuff we've found."
"I'm all ears! Figuratively!"
-0-0-0-0-0-
Amazingly, Hancock hadn't been much for words the entire time that Sanford broke down what had happened over the last few days- the giant roach, the Ghoul brothers, the Minutemen passing and the bucthering of the Super Mutants.
Sanford was strolling through the campsite throughout half of the talk- and every now and again his speech was interrupted with Hancock stopping by a corpse and prodding it with his claw, all the while laughing, or making some obscene comment about how the Mutant's father had drank himself to death upon learning of his birth.
-The Deathclaw spent a good while napping again- after all, she had become exhausted after all the fights they'd been in, and the only reason Sanford hadn't broken as much of a sweat was because he was used to it.
"So the thing's called a Nukalizer?" Hancock asked- watching Sanford with interest as he munched out of a box of Sugar Bombs he held in his gauntlet.
"Yep." He responded, swallowing. "Fires a jet-beam of blue flame- the thing's a killer."
"LET ME TRY!"
"NO! No! Just... Oh God, Han', NO."
"I'm insulted, sir!"
"You are? I mean... Just consider this for a moment, YOU, would be wielding something like that. YOU. Eh?"
"That doesn't mean jack-shit! I'm just as civilized as the next- ... Uhm... Alright, FINE, monkey, you have a point..."
When the Deathclaw had woken, she sat outside the archway frame to the interior of the work building she and Sanford had camped in- she watched quietly the two banter about, yell at each other, laugh at each other... And for a minute she forgot that Hancock was a machine.
This was exactly why Sanford had become so connected to the Mr. Gutsy- Hancock was just as 'Person'-like, as any other Wastelander or scavenger Sanford could've come across, more or less crazy, but it stood as fact.
She had one of the books they had picked out from the house down in the still unnamed urban development that they had cleared of mutated roaches- it was the book on biplanes, and she was becoming agitated with being unable to open the book without tearing it.
Sanford and Han' were standing over the rectangular opening that they had been dropped in upon first being captured- and Sanford held a gun, a new gun, in his grasp.
"-It's good they didn't break this thing, it's the only one I have."
"You get your shotgun back, and I get my beautiful baby-gun back! HOO-RAH!"
"...Speaking of that... Where did you... Get that NEW Plasma gun from, anyway-?"
"NEVER ATTEMPT TO UNRAVEL THE MYSTERY OF THE HAN'!"
-Glancing up at the shout- she shook her head and sighed, before staring down at the bulky book in her palm with a frown.
She looked at Sanford's armored back, and she thought of calling out to him to help her read the stupid tome- but, when she heard Hancock talking to him again, she grew... Embarassed.
And, arguably, that was just completely and unadulteratedly ludicrous. Not only had she developed this bond with Sanford, but Hancock had a loud tendency to talk shit without any real basis- he'd make fun of her for a second before forgetting about it.
So then why did the idea of getting Sanford to help her, make her feel- without a more advanced terminology- icky?
She didn't like that. But she also didn't like not being able to read while Sanford worked out his lack-of-robotic-companion anxiety out of his system. She was happy that Hancock hadn't been harmed the entire time he'd been gone- and she questioned whether that was her concern for Sanford's feelings or actual care if the robot was ploughed.
She reasoned with herself that it was both. But mostly the first option. Mostly.
She huffed at it, and absentmindely lined her thumb's nail up with the side of the book's cover, and flicked it upwards- where the hard-cover flicked aside, and then, against her own recognition- she put the print of her finger against the page, and slid it to the next one.
"I've always wondered how my life has taken such drastic turns... Maybe it's indigestion." She mused, leaning down and reading the beginning of the intro paragraph to the birth of airplanes.
She got past three sentences before she narrowed her eyes, and edged her head back in astonishment to the book being open, and readable.
She blinked, looked up at Sanford, who was still with Hancock- and then back down at her pointy finger, which she flexed in front of her face a few times to process what the heck she had just done. She looked at her pointy's print, and... She immediately felt so stupid.
...Of course! Why not just slide the pages with- OH! Lord! Why had she not deciphered this EARLIER?!
Must have had something to do with Sanford- she was beginning to see him as a good thing to just be around too. Huh.
So that's what she did the whole time Hancock and Sanford reconnected- she read about biplanes, and the developmental processes that turned airplanes into what they had been before the war. The facts of Richard Pearse who did the real first flight experiment before the Wright Brothers- she got through half the first chapter.
"What are ya' reading?"
She looked up and saw Sanford standing over her- his helmet still off, a smile on his face.
"Biplanes, monsieur'." She answered, blinking.
"You got the book open." He observed.
"...OH, oh... Yes, yes I did, monsieur'." She smiled quickly and went straight across her chops again.
"That's really good."
"Oui'."
"I think me and Han' are ready to go, what about you?"
"Yes, monsieur', I'm ready." She shut the book, and offered it to him carefully, where he took it and put it back in the rucksack over his suit's thigh. "We're off to this home of yours?"
"I wanted to actually check out this quarry over here before anything else." Sanford said. "Would you want to?"
"I'LL DO IT! I'll be the brave one! They'll sing songs about me for generations! HOO-RAH!"
-Hancock zipped past in a drab-colored blur right behind Sanford's stance, and he vanished behind the corner of the work building she was still sitting against.
Watching where the robot had gone, the dust trail he'd made still wavering away- Sanford shook his head and chuckled.
"Would it be a sign of brain damage if I said I had missed that?"
"I don't know what is crazy and what isn't anymore, monsieur'," She shrugged. "-'Whatever'- is it?"
"Yep. I'll take that as a good explanation. Whatever."
"I greatly appreciate your words last night, mon ami'."
"-Huh? Oh, yes... Yeah, I, uhm... I've never had a talk like that in my life, ya' know?"
"Understandable. Neither have I."
"...Well... Hey, before we go in that quarry, I want to show you something- HANCOCK! GET BACK HERE!" -Sanford interjected himself with a call over the work building's side.
"-THEY'LL SING ABOUT ME SANFORD! I'LL BRAVE THE HAUNTED QUARRY BY MYSEEELLLFFF-!"
"-The only place they'll sing about you in is hell, Han'!"
"...Fuck you!..."
"I love you too, my friend." Sanford looked back down at the Deathclaw, and she had her claws unfurled, elbows to scaly knees- she supported her chin with her nails splaying on either side of her face, and she was smiling at him.
Sanford smiled back and reached out with his gauntlet- wrapping his fingers over her shoulder blade, he gave it a rub- and she felt disappointed it was the cold steel she felt.
"I wish you took the suit off more often, mon ami'." She sighed.
"Well, it's nice to be in my usual firefights with this baby, yes?"
"That it is."
"Han'! Where are you? Come back here before you wander off and get lost again!"
"...I have an excellent sense of direction and ability to maintain clean underwear!..."
"You don't WEAR underwear, idiot!"
"...That you KNOW of..."
"God damn... He's such a freak, ain't he?"
"...Diligence! DILIGENCE!..."
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