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It took a while before Maxson's senses returned, and by then she was halfway on a vertibird towards paradise.
The noise of the world outside had been drowned out by the gentle hum of the bird's engines. That was the first thing she noticed when she came to. Then, there was the fact that she wasn't in that dreadful penal colony anymore. Someone was sitting next to her. She turned her head to look at him.
It was the judge who rescued her from back at Tartarus. From the look of it, it seemed that the Dominion made all their men out of a factory. His oily brown hair, the bones of his cheeks, the squareness of his shoulders. Everything about him was well trimmed, symmetrical. Put together like a machine for a specific task. And that's what he looked like, a guy who didn't come from a loving mother's womb, but out of the cold press of a forge matrix. She'd been staring at him for a full minute that he had to notice.
The aviator glasses hung from the edge of his armor's gorget, so she could see his piercing blue eyes stare back at her. "Hey there. Feel better?"
Maxson nodded. It was the truth.
His cold exterior melted away into a warm smile, "Good to hear. My name is Jessel Thorne. So Liz- can I call you Liz? The High Marshal sent me to pick you up and have your transferred to a secure location. If you don't mind me saying so, I found you just in time."
The woman hung her head and stared at her shoes. The blood from her would-be rapists still stuck to her clothes, most of it was on her face and some caked in between her fingers. Maxson started to wipe them off. She didn't care if she wasn't going anywhere with it, or the fact that she was making an even bigger mess of things. She just wanted them off of her.
Thorne could see what she was trying to do, but he didn't try to stop her. Instead, he got up and walked towards the cargo net hanging above. He took out a water bottle and handed it to Maxson. "Here, this'll take them right out."
She glanced up at him in surprise. Receiving kindness from a man of the Dominion was rare, most of the time they were just cruel. It was easier than being nice, especially when it concerned one's enemy. But here he was, being nice to her.
Then, her eyes fell upon his cybernetic limb. It was a menacing thing. That was kind of the point. When he flashed his piece at the bungalow earlier that night, that robot hand was the one holding the gun. Almost like a metaphor, Death's killing hand. Makes people think twice about crossing the law. Although obviously, not everyone thinks that far ahead.
"Thanks." Maxson grunted upon receiving the gift. She poured some of the water in her hand and splashed it all over her face. The rest, she drank.
He got back on his seat and leaned back casually, "Don't worry, you'll get a proper shower where you're going."
"And where am I going?"
"Take a look out the window. I promise, the sights are worth it."
Maxson did as he asked. Though the window was small, and most of the view was blocked halfway by the vertibird's portside rotor engine, she could see Carlon in all of its dark, beautifully flawed glory.
Carlon grew bigger, as all cities do. Civilization, like ambition, drove it forward and outward. Buildings closest to the center were among the tallest, arcing up into the sky like giant ant bivouacs. It looked crowded from up there, but Maxson had a feeling that it wasn't. A network of streets, tram lines, overpasses and walkways stretched across the city like a giant fishnet. All of it, like all things Dominion, all of it retained the cold industrial feel of vault architecture. Every shape, every craft, down to the minute relief on a billboard, had a purpose.
Pragmaticism over excess, this city wasn't built by artists.
"This... this is amazing." Maxson admitted. She hated to think it, but she couldn't see the Brotherhood ever getting close to building something like this.
"Keep looking, that's not the best part."
Maxson's brow furrowed. For a minute there, she couldn't imagine anything being better than this city. It was like the Dominion swept away the ruins of the Old World and built something new, something better, over the Wasteland. They turned it into something livable and thriving. And if she was honest with herself, which she can't help but be at this point, the Brotherhood was getting nowhere with building anything livable- let alone thriving.
Then she saw Elysion, and her jaw dropped.
The Dominion capital wasn't as big as Carlon, but it was still a large city. It wasn't expanding, whether outward or upward. It was big, beautiful, and covered by a giant dome. The biodome was a marvel of engineering, a mechanical barrier to protect the city and its people from the harsh climate of the Wasteland. The vertibird took them through an opening in the dome, and it landed on top of a skyscraper no more than a kilometer away from the perimeter wall. Maxson noticed that the air was much cooler there when she stepped out of the transport. Artificial rain, a recent addition to the biodome's features, poured in gentle showers over the city to water the great green forests growing in between the concrete and steel towers.
She'd never seen so much green in one place before. And at night, with all those lights, it was quite the sight indeed.
All this, the judge showing off what his people built since the apocalypse, was all to make a point. Maxson was trying very hard not to see it, that they were wrong to fight the Dominion. The pride instilled in her by her father, by the whole Brotherhood, would not allow her to think so. But she though it, even said it, anyway.
"What the hell was the war even for?"
Thorne laughed, apparently hearing her blurt out those damnable words. "Good question."
He escorted her inside the building and out of the rain. Four men, dressed in combat armor, were waiting for them in an elevator. These rooks wore badges around the right arm, with the symbol of the three-headed hellhound Cerberus emblazoned on them. They were of the High Marshal's Cerberian Guard, and if they were there to watch over her it meant that the big boss took a great interest in her well-being.
They took her down a few floors, then brought her to a little flat that came with its own bedroom and bathroom. Her shoes slid across the smooth surface of the vinyl floor, and Maxson took in the pretty colors of the interior decor. All the comforts of home in one place, which set off a lot of alarms in her head.
"Why am I here?" She asked, "What are you going to do to me?"
The judge motioned for the guards to step out of the room. "We know who you are. You're Lissandra Maxson, daughter of the Brotherhood's High Elder. Most people will like to think that the war is over. But really, folks should know better. It's never going to be over, not while most of the Brotherhood's chapters are still active all over the Wasteland. The High Marshal believes you to be an asset, that's why you're here and not toiling in the fields of Tartarus."
Maxson frowned, "I'm a hostage."
Thorne shrugged, "Now I know it's not the most ideal, and definitely not the easiest thing to swallow, but I'd appreciate it if you try to come to terms with your situation."
"You lock me up in a gilded cage and expect me to just... accept it?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
The woman approached the double-bed and saw the small stack of white clothes set up neatly on top of the covers. Most of the room was white that it hurt her eyes. At least there was a splash of mint blue to offset the brilliance, otherwise it'd just look like she was in a mental hospital. The window, just a few feet away from the bed, overlooked the city and had a good view of the dome outside.
There were towels along with that stack. Maxson grabbed one and turned to Thorne. "I'm going to take that shower now."
The judge nodded and started to go for the door. He stopped when Maxson called after him.
"Wait. I had a... friend still in Tartarus. His name is Danik Brand. He's sick and he won't last long without medical attention."
"And? What exactly do you want me to do?"
Maxson closed her eyes and swallowed her pride. She hated begging, least of all begging from a minion. "Please, see that he gets help. He's no threat to anyone. You've broken him enough already. Just... keep whatever else he has from falling apart."
Thorne stared at her and pressed his lips together in a thin line. Just as Maxson thought he'd refuse, the judge answered. "I'll see what I can do."
Thorne closed the door behind him, waited for the automatic locks to snap in place, then headed towards the elevator. The guards would watch over the flat with all due vigilance, and everything was on surveillance. Everything was secure, the asset was going nowhere.
"'I'll see what I can do'?" The judge muttered, "What the hell was I thinking?"
His Sentinel companion chirped in reply.
"Oh shut the fuck up. I didn't mean anything by it." He took a ride down one floor, where his own flat should be. The room was just like Maxson's, though it doubled as an office befitting a judge.
Thorne had the bed removed and replaced with something more practical but still comfortable. A soft bed for one, with a desk and chair just one stride away from it. Under the bed was a footlocker, which contained his weapons and ammunition. Extra uniforms were folded and placed neatly inside a wardrobe opposite the desk. Thorne didn't bring any casual wear with him, he didn't expect to remain assigned to Maxson long. Just a few months and the High Marshal will have someone rotate and take his place.
Watchdog duty. He hated those kinds of assignments.
Thorne glanced at the computer sitting on top of his desk and smiled. At least with this job, it came with the latest gadgets from Future-tek. The computer wasn't like the Pre-War terminals that operated like a glorified calculator. It had color, a faster processor, and it was connected to the Dominion's Extranet. Of course, back then, the Commonwealth had the internet. The Extranet wasn't so different in terms of function, but it was heavily encrypted and reserved only for government use. The High Marshal had been skeptical of its inception, but allowed its existence so long as it served the Dominion the way he wanted it to serve.
The judge took his suit off and sat down. He turned the monitor on and opened the channel into the surveillance feed from Maxson's room, just in time to see her step into the shower stall.
Thorne froze. Maxson removed her olive-green colonial outfit. Shirt first, then bent over to pull her pants down. He wasn't mesmerized, that term applied only to creeps who were actively out to peep on showering girls. Still, a man's a man. And a woman has curves. He couldn't help but stare.
The judge closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "Get a hold of yourself, Jessel. Woman's been through a lot, she don't need any of this from you."
The camera picked up the noise of the water running. Maxson tentatively stepped closer to the gentle waterfall pouring from the shower-head, as though marveling at the sight of so much water. Thorne thought it silly, that the Brotherhood lacked so much in the way of basic necessities when they put on quite a show of force in the past three years.
Maxson let the water soak her head, then leaned back to let it wash away the blood from her hair. The camera angle allowed an unobstructed view of the inside of the stall, more than Thorne thought possible. Eventually, driven away by embarrassment, the judge politely averted his eyes and focused on other tasks.
Professionals have standards.
He heard the door to his room open. In walked his partner, Judge Francis Caricci. Guy had a silly last name, but usually people laugh once, and never again after getting a solid fist under the jaw. Italian names came with power, and a lot of history. Caricci looked the part too. A suave, slick-back haired mafioso with a talent for violence. "You dig brunettes?"
Thorne scowled, "Shut up, Frank."
"I dig brunettes." Caricci said, bringing in two plastic cups of coffee. His own Sentinel drone hovered over to Thorne's and landed on the floor to be recharged. Caricci offered one of the cups to Thorne, "Want one? Seems to me like you're pulling an all-nighter."
"Nope, no." The other judge shook his head, "Thanks anyway. I'll get some shut-eye soon, after I have my little guardian angel here finish uploading my little incident at Tartarus."
"Incident? Why, what happened?" Caricci pulled up a chair and sat down next to him.
"Oh, I came across a bunch of lowlifes looking to have their way with this one. Got there just in time too. They had her pants down and everything."
"Shit. Did you kill them?"
"Not me. The bot did most of the work, I just... pronounced judgement."
"You okay, Jessel?"
Thorne rolled his head till he was giving Caricci a sideways stare, "You fucking kidding me, man?"
"Hey sorry!" Caricci threw up his hands defensively, "Just looking out for my buddy, is all. Seriously though, you need time to process this shit?"
"No." Thorne pinched the bridge of his nose gently, "I killed scumbags who had no place in the world. They were going to ruin her, maybe worse. Women are a precious resource, didn't they keep reminding us about that the whole fucking time? Doesn't matter that she's Brotherhood. She's my mission, and I delivered on my part. Nothing to feel guilty about. In fact, I'm glad I killed those fuckers."
"Good. Good." Caricci nodded as he leaned backwards into his chair. "Long as you don't lose sleep over what you do, I rest my case."
Once the Sentinel finished uploading his records to the Extranet Justice database, Thorne unplugged the drone and got ready to hit the sack. Caricci took over with watching Maxson, a move that Thorne started to regret.
Caricci was watching her get dressed, and he was enjoying the show a little too much. "Gotta hand it to the Brotherhood, they sure know how to build their women. This one's got an ass of steel."
"You're more horndog than watchdog, you know that, Frank?"
"Sticks and stones, boy. Least I get to smash every now and then."
Thorne slid his gun in the drawer built into the bed headrest, then laid his head on the mattress. "All the same, look but don't touch. Anything happens to her-"
"Yeah yeah, I got you. Look but don't touch."
Thorne was just about drifting off to sleep when a stray thought crossed his mind. He tried putting it off, but it kept knocking like some stubborn door-to-door salesman. Eventually, he gave up and went for the phone hanging by the door. He hooked up to the secure long-range communications network reserved for judges and called his team back at Tartarus.
It took a while to get a hold of them. It was getting close to midnight, and most people had gone to bed.
"Thorne... what do you need?"
"Hey. Sorry about the timing, I'll make this brief." Thorne rubbed his eyes, "I need you to check on a prisoner there in general population. Goes by the name of Derek... or Danik Brand. Guy's Brotherhood, I think. Serial number 22448."
"Hang on. Could you repeat the number?"
"Yeah, 22448. How copy?"
"...Solid." The voice on the other end paused.
"You still with me?"
"Afraid I got some bad news. Your guy's dead."
Thorne was wide awake now, "Are you sure? Did you check?"
"Was an incident not too long since your departure. Couple of inmates walked back to the bungalow after supper, found him hanging from the rafters. Guy couldn't handle the transition, I'm guessing. I had him put up for resyk myself. Sorry..."
"Well shit... thanks anyway. Good night." Thorne hung up.
"What was that about?" Caricci inquired.
"Doesn't matter. People are dead, the Wasteland takes its due as always."
Sleep would not come.
Maxson curled up and pulled the covers over herself to make a nice warm cocoon, then closed her eyes. Still, sleep would not come. Her head was filled up with too many thoughts, like a balloon taking up water and ready to burst.
They were watching her. The cameras weren't exactly hidden, as though they wanted her to know that they were watching. It was effective, she decided, effective enough to dissuade her from thinking about escaping.
Daylight was coming, though. The dawn of another day. At the very least, something was getting somewhere.
Being a prisoner was one thing, but a hostage- a political hostage- was an entirely new experience. There will be no work for her, no routine, no wide space to walk to distract her from the fact that the Dominion ruled over everything and everyone. And she was now in the heart of their operation, behind the domed walls of Elysion itself.
Now that she had plenty of time to think, Maxson began to see that her situation kind of got better. Better than everyone else, especially those in Tartarus. The Dominion certainly had a knack for naming things. Elysion, for their little cybertopia in the desert. Tartarus, for their giant penitentiary. It amazed her that here, no one wanted for anything. People had plenty of food, water, shelter and the protection of what was probably the strongest army in the world. Green, so much green, grew in this place. They had a future, something that the Brotherhood was actively trying to give the Wasteland. Maxson knew better than anyone that they were trying all the wrong methods, and they were failing.
The Dominion, its people, they got something right. How else would they have gotten this far? And all they had to do was submit.
Maxson got up and walked towards the window, just in time to see the sun rise over the distant mountains. Elysion, like her, never got a wink of sleep the whole night. In truth, it was more like the cities of old, it never sleeps.
There was a knock on her door, but Maxson didn't turn to greet her visitor. She was enjoying the sunrise, the warmth of its light, as though embracing the idea of a new kind of life.
"Hey. It's me." Thorne said.
"Good morning, Jessel. How can I help you?"
The judge relaxed a bit, seeing her in a better disposition. "I don't mean to spoil your day, especially with such a lovely morning. But... I didn't want to keep this information from you. Thought it best to let you know sooner."
Maxson was no stranger to loss, and she was smart as a whip. The judge was bumbling about awkwardly, and there were only a handful of reasons why someone like him would act that way with bad news. "He's dead, isn't he?"
Thorne sighed, partly in relief. "Afraid so."
"How'd he die?"
"Hung himself last night."
Maxson closed her eyes, feeling sorry for Brand. The paladin was among the best of them. A good fighter, an even better spy, who gave the Brotherhood an edge in the war. To have him go out like that, it seemed both noble and pathetic. The irony made her smile, "Thank you for telling me, judge. And especially, thank you for all you've done. I truly appreciate it."
"Y'know..." Thorne tried to move the conversation to something lighter, "Breakfast will be served soon. Anything in particular you want me to get you?"
Maxson had no idea what kind of food could exist beyond the form of MRE's, soups or canned goods. She was curious what the Dominion had to offer, "As long as it's edible, I'll bite."
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