Chapter 2: The Castle
Ellis loved the molecular relay. He'd often spend long hours with the teams assigned to the massive piece of engineering, learning all he could about its operation and inner workings. He was by no means a stupid man, but engineering feats like architecture and teleportation had always seemed to escape his understanding. No matter how hard he tried, his brain couldn't wrap around the idea of multiple parts working all at once to move someone's molecules from one place to another seamlessly. He understood the basics, but any details flew right over his head. When he'd first taken command over the Institute, one of his top priorities was getting the molecular relay to work from distance, so that someone could be immediately relayed from Point A to Point B without going through the Institute. This allowed any of his Minutemen forces to drop into a battlefield at will; an ability that was instrumental in wiping out Brotherhood and Railroad stragglers.
What first got Ellis interested in the Molecular Relay was how it physically felt to be teleported. He equated the sensation to death; not painful, bloody death, but death in one's sleep. You cease to exist. You just stop working. Relaying didn't hurt. It just felt like nothing. And then you were suddenly somewhere else. That kind of feeling both frightened and amazed him, and he was certain he would not feel it anywhere else except his deathbed…if he made it there without getting shot first.
He was now at the Castle; home of the Minutemen, and new base of operations for above ground Institute activity. Admittedly, Fort Independence had become much like it was over 200 years ago; big and bustling, with too many people doing too many things at once. It was necessary to have such a location, but Ellis much preferred the peace and quiet of his Coastal Cottage to the shouting and blare of laser weapons being shot as training.
The Revolutionary fort had been restored-mostly- to its former glory through months of work by Ellis's men. Institute construction teams-formed with both humans and synths, at Ellis' command- had worked virtually around the clock to build up the walls of the fortress, with hundreds of scavenging teams supplying the project. Ellis himself had worked multiple times with the scavenging teams, and just about two months prior to this bright Boston day, the last brick of the walls was laid down. From his location a few hundred yards off, he could still see the discoloration of the wall's bricks where the old walls ended and new walls began.
As he approached the imposing structure, he noticed that two men, one synth and one human, were posted as guards outside the main gate. Ellis new well that racism- if one could call it that- ran rampant throughout the Commonwealth; he knew he was powerless to stop the bleeding, but there were ways he could slow it down. One such way was forcing the desegregation of what was basically the military of the Commonwealth; synths, no matter what generation, were forced to serve with humans, and vice versa. He noticed that the human guard was taking issue with the new edict, giving sideways glances to his fellow soldier. He snapped to a salute as Ellis approached.
"Good morning, General." He yelped.
"Good morning; having any issues?" Ellis asked.
"No sir, all's been quiet since I got on duty, and that was at 0600."
"You sure? Seems to me you've got a problem with your squadmate over there." Ellis nodded towards the Gen 2 synth, who looked the worse for wear but still capable.
The young man tensed up, "No, sir."
"You know his name, right?"
"Yes, it's…" The sweat began to squeeze out of the pores of the guard's brow.
"B5-12, sir. That's my designation, sir." The synth piped in.
"Yes, I knew that, sir."
Ellis raised his eyebrow towards the boy; "Right…" He motioned the synth over to him. When he arrived, Ellis took B5's hand and placed it into the boy's and shook the two, as if to simulate a handshake.
"See? He's not gonna abduct you like your parents told you. Get to know each other, boys. Maybe you'll find it's not so bad to be friends with a synth." Ellis said, and strode through the main gate as the two guards shook hands, dumbfounded.
Inside the Castle's walls was a virtual city; small wooden shacks and even miniature high-rises had sprouted up across the fort's parade ground, creating an interwoven puzzle of a community. The settlement was now about 400 strong, including synths and normal residents; roaming soldiers and units were not counted. Ellis was genuinely proud of the small city he'd made within the Castle walls, with its own culture, nightlife, and government. He was greeted at the main security station by Ronnie Shaw, as well as two security guards who seemed to be in awe at his presence; why this was so, he couldn't tell.
"Morning, General." Ronnie grunted. She'd proven to not be much of a morning person, as Ellis had expected the second he met her.
"Good morning, Ronnie. How are things, over?" Ellis mockingly responded to her gruff tone.
"Cut the radio shit; and fine."
"Alright alright. Where's this shifty looking guy?" Ellis asked. The two war veterans started making their way through what Ellis considered the 'main street' of the Castle, where most of the settlement's marketplaces and low income homes were.
"I put him out with the East wall's trainees; that way if he tried anything, he'd get put down and some relative peace would remain inside the walls." They passed a small squad of Minutemen and synths restocking after a supply run.
"Resourceful as always, Ronnie. I'll take it from here, thanks." Ellis said. Ronnie ducked off to assist the squad they'd walked by without so much as a 'see you later.' Ellis had decided that Ronnie was a fan and avid subscriber to the classic 'Irish Goodbye.'
Being the main training facility for the Minutemen, the East Wall- or simply the Wall, as it was more colloquially known as- was constantly a flurry of activity, mostly military related. Though he wasn't involved much in training nowadays, Ellis had spent literally hundreds of hours here- as well as pints of blood caused by training accidents- and actually enjoyed the barking of orders and crack of pipe rifles. Before the war, he'd hated his drafted military service; his service now had meaning, and he could at the very least relish in that.
"You there!" Ellis called out to a Gen 1 synth, who was training not far away from him.
"Yes, Father?" He said, jogging up to him.
"I'm looking for the visitor; shifty looking man, maybe you've seen him? What's your designation?"
"I am A1-19, Father. The visitor is waiting for you at the end of the main road." The synth's voice croaked its mechanical whine.
"Well, aren't you an oldie…thank you, A1; you can go back to your duties now." Ellis said, and the synth trodded off. Ellis walked through the small training compound as pipe rifles scattered 38. Rounds cracked against scarecrow targets. At the far end of the field, which was placed on a narrow strip of land between the ocean and a pond, was the shady man, leaning against a tree.
"So you're the man I've heard so much about." Ellis said, looking down to him. He was a short man, much shorter than Ellis, who wasn't physically imposing himself. "Frankly I'm surprised you've earned the name of 'shifty guy.' That's quite an accomplishment around the Commonwealth these days."
"I ain't so much shifty, just a lot dif'rent than you Commonwealth folk," he said, in a Cockney accent straight out of London.
"That's quite the accent. Not a normal one around here. I can see how 'different' got translated to 'strange.'"
"I'm glad to see we on the same page. Now, ta business." He said, stepping out from the shade. His face was ruddy; a common sight in the Wasteland. He was old; that wasn't common. That meant he was a survivor, more importantly, it meant he was either extremely clever or extremely talented. Ellis was assuming that the man knew what he was doing; assuming was dangerous, though.
"I like your style, Mister….?"
"Call me Tom. Trust me, Ay'm a friend. Ya've got nothin' to worry about." Tom stuck his hand out to be shaken. Ellis took it tentatively.
"I'll decide that for myself." Ellis said, holding the man's hand tightly, trying to devour his motives.
