January 4, 2282
Sarah looked across the Great Hall as she took her place before the morning briefing, to the empty seat at the head of the table that her father once sat in. The preceding three days has been some of the most surreal of her life, a haze settling over her daily actions. It felt as if she was merely an observer and someone else, someone she didn't quite know, had taken over living her life. She had experienced loss through her life in the Brotherhood and had come to accept it. Her father had been her constant though, the one person she and the Chapter as a whole had always counted on. And now he was gone, laying in the dimly lit morgue in the subbasement of the Citadel, awaiting his funeral rites.
In her father's absence, and in lieu of a new Elder being elected by the senior officers of the Chapter, the morning briefings had been run by something resembling committee. Sarah, as the most senior military officer in the Chapter, and Elder Rothchild, as the most senior Scribe, had taken to issuing orders to the Chapter in consultation with each other. It had been an eye-opening experience, observing the complexities of Rothchild's job. She was comfortable in a military role. She knew how to issue orders, plan an operation, lead a small unit through a firefight and plan a campaign strategy. Rothchild's job, overseeing the orders of Scribes and Proctors, was utterly alien to her, the technical details it entailed being something she had overlooked through her years in the fighting companies. Every day brought new reports to them-reports on the progress of their massive project at Adams AFB, reports on salvage operations and particularly of the ongoing salvage taking place in Aberdeen, in the aftermath of Gallow's discovery at the Proving Ground.
The sound of the chair next to her being pulled out drew Sarah out of her thoughts. Looking to her right, she saw Colvin pulling up to the table, reaching over to give her a light pat on the back and a smile before turning his attention to the front of the room. The room had filled with the Chapter's leadership, drawing Rothchild to the front of the room to begin his portion of the morning briefing.
"Good morning, all. Today is Tuesday, January 4th. Preliminary weather forecast for the day: high cloud cover, non-existent chance of precipitation. High temperatures approaching 60 degrees Fahrenheit, lows in the mid-40s. Morning Nautical Twilight at 0624, sunrise at 0727. Sunset at 1659, Evening Nautical Twilight at 1802. Pertinent information from the Scribes for the day is the same as the past few days. Construction is proceeding on schedule at Adams on the superstructure of the airship. Supplies continue to pour in from Aberdeen. The Vertibird squadron has been working around the clock, the pilots and aircrews working in shifts to move as much materiel as quickly as possible back to Adams for processing. Reports I've been receiving from the Proctors, and from the Logistics department at Adams, are very encouraging. Aberdeen was a gold mine, just as Gallows reported. In addition to the T-60 specifications and armor sets, there was a significant cache of pre-war combat armor, energy weapons, and uniforms. More than enough to issue to every current member of the chapter, and still have enough left in surplus. In addition to the materiel that has a direct military application, there were also stores of medical supplies and communications arrays there. Some of the radio transmission arrays we have found could easily boost our radio strength to reach into Canada, at the very least." Sarah focused her gaze on Rothchild at that.
"How many arrays were there?" she asked.
"Several, of varying sizes. The largest were the long-range transmitters I mentioned, capable of international communication when they were first produced. There were quite a few smaller ones as well, more short range radio dishes."
"Could we use any to repair the array on the Washington Monument and get GNR back on the air?" she asked. Rothchild lifted his eyebrows in surprise at the suggestion.
"I hadn't quite thought of that. But yes, they should certainly fill that role nicely. Having GNR back on the air would certainly be useful." Sarah nodded at his answer.
"Do it, then, as soon as we have the resources."
"Agreed," Rothchild replied, before continuing. "That was most of the pertinent points from my side of things. Sentinel, would you like to take over?" Sarah nodded before standing up and striding to the front of the room.
"The size of the discovery at Aberdeen allows us to turn our attention to the future. We've been hamstrung to this point by how badly our supplies have been worn down over the course of our operations here in the Capital region. These finds at Aberdeen will allow us to have all of our members fully equipped, and for every member in the rank of Knight and higher to have their own set of Power Armor," she explained. A murmur of appreciation went through the assembly at that. "In addition, it will allow us to at the least equip our Initiates and Aspirants in combat armor and arm them with energy weaponry. The uniforms we found were the pre-war design for use under Power Armor. It's essentially a more advanced version of the recon armor we've been wearing under our T-45 armor. There's enough of it there to make it the duty uniform of everyone on the military operations side of the Chapter. I'm having them transported here from Adams in bulk as they're processed by Logistics up at Adams. We'll need to set up an orderly manner of issuing the new equipment to the soldiers. Company commanders, I expect you to collaborate and have a plan for distribution ready for me by the end of the duty day," she said, looking from Colvin, to Danse, and then to the other senior military officers in the room.
"Further, this find gives us quite a bit of room to expand," Sarah continued, drawing inquisitive looks from those in the crowd. "I've decided to expand the chapter further," she explained. "With the current situation in the region, and with Gallows reports of possible Super Mutant activity, we can't afford to be unprepared. Star Paladin Gunny," she began, looking at the man who had been in charge of Brotherhood training over the past years, "I'm going to detail more members to you to assist with conducting Basic Training for new recruits. McPherson," she continued, looking across to the freshly promoted Paladin, "you'll be detailed to the training branch until you recover and are cleared to return to field duty. With your combat experience and lifetime in the Brotherhood, I can't think of many people better to help train new members," she explained, smiling at him as she did. Liam nodded at her in response.
"As you command, Sentinel," he replied, before looking to Gunny. "I'll meet with you after this so you can get me up to speed." Gunny gave him a thumbs up, as Sarah continued.
"We're going to need people to teach us the systems on the new T-60 armor as well," Sarah continued. "Colvin, I want you and the Pride to get up to Adams. Proctor Ingram has been analyzing the systems on the new armor, she should be able to explain how it works and how it differs from T-51b and T-45d armor. The Pride are going to be our subject matter experts here at the Citadel on the new systems we'll be using. Ingram will bring you up to speed, you come back here, and we'll have you go to the line companies to teach them how to best use the T-60, its capabilities and limitations. Questions?" she asked.
"You sure you want to take the Pride off the line at a time like this?" Colvin asked.
"It was a concern of mine, but our presence in the ruins is pretty well established at this point. The line companies are rotating through on patrol regularly, which should buy us the time we need for you to learn what you need to learn at Adams and get back down here," she answered.
"We'll get it done, Sentinel," he replied. Sarah nodded before clearing her throat, preparing for the most difficult order of business.
"Finally, the funeral preparations for my fat…for Elder Lyons. The funeral will be tomorrow evening, after sundown. Traditional Brotherhood cremation ceremony. Dress uniform is expected. Company commanders, select your most squared away soldiers to be part of the honor guard. Questions?" she asked. None were forthcoming. She nodded at that.
"Very well. Let's get to work then, people. Ad Victoriam."
"Ad victoriam," the room responded, the sound of chairs scooting on the floor filling the room as the assembled members moved to leave and prepare to begin the day.
"So another one of JJ's…friends…is back?" Amata asked, looking across her desk at Susie and Gomez.
"Yeah. Huge ghoul. He seems pretty badass," Susie replied, practically gushing. Gomez shot her a sideways look from where he sat.
"I don't know if I'd say badass. He seems like he has an attitude. I didn't like the way he nearly started a fight with the Talon Company boys, after all they've done for us."
"What happened?" Amata asked, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. She was nearing the end of her second trimester, and the discomfort of being pregnant was enough to overcome her fears regarding motherhood.
"He talked about how many Talon Company guys he killed, back when he and JJ were fighting them," Gomez replied.
"Jackson did kind of start it with the way he talked to Charon," Susie countered.
"I've always found that the guys with the biggest mouths were also the biggest pushovers when the rubber hit the road," Gomez explained.
"Well, he can't be that much of a pushover if he was keeping up with JJ, right?" Amata asked. Gomez shrugged at that.
"Guess we'll see. Either way, he seems to know who that ghost that has been attacking the Brotherhood and the Raiders and the Talon guys was. Referred to it as a 'she', like he knows whoever it is." Amata raised her eyebrows at that.
"She? That's interesting. Did he say anything else?" Both Susie and Gomez shook their heads at that.
"No, nothing else. He came back down from Baltimore, said he hasn't been keeping track of things around here over the past few years," Susie replied.
"Fair enough. At least if he knows her he might be able to get the message across to stop attacking the Talon Company," Amata said, thinking out loud.
"Maybe," Gomez answered. "We should probably have Elliot stay ready to receive casualties, all the same. How's he holding up these days? I haven't seen him in a while."
"He's doing well. He seems to almost be enjoying it down here. Said the way we act down here reminds him of America, before the war happened. That and we have holotapes of some of his favorite movies from his time period." Susie laughed at that.
"He would be that easily swayed. How are you feeling?" she asked, looking at Amata as she did. Amata met her look impassively.
"Fine. Not getting sick or nauseous anymore. I just feel like a beached whale," she replied, drawing laughter from Gomez and Susie. She let out a low sigh before continuing. "I hope whatever JJ is off doing is important. I really wish he were here right now," she continued, a vaguely wistful tone mixing with one of hurt in her voice. Susie frowned at that.
"I'm sure it is, Amata. After all the years he spent with a flame burning for you in his heart? He wouldn't have left if it wasn't important," she replied. He answer seemed to do little to assuage Amata's feelings.
"He could be lying dead in the middle of the country for all we know," she replied, a distant look in her eyes as the image came to the front of her mind. Gomez violently shook his head at that before replying.
"Hey, stop that. You can't let yourself start thinking like that. We just have to keep faith that he got where he was going and will get back to us soon," he said, keeping his stare fixed on Amata until she nodded in acceptance.
"You're right. It's just hard without him here right now," she explained.
"You've made it this far, Amata," Susie said to her, before continuing. "I couldn't have done it. You're one of the smartest and toughest women I know. You can make it through the rest of this," she said, trying to bolster Amata's spirit. Amata sighed in response, a slight pink tinge in her olive skin showing that Susie's words had hit home. Amata had always been too modest to easily accept compliments.
"Thanks, Suze," she replied. She looked around the walls of her office before returning to Gomez and Susie. "Anything else?"
"Nope," Susie responded, looking towards Gomez to see if he had anything to add. Gomez remained silent.
"Alright, then. Guess it's another boring day in Vault 101, huh?" she asked, wryly chuckling as she did. Susie smiled at that.
"Guess so, Amata. Could be worse, though. At least we don't live on the surface."
A palpably dark mood had settled over the NCR in the wake of President Kimball's assassination at Hoover Dam. Flags flew at half-staff, bars were muted in the evenings, conversations much darker. The NCR Congress had passed a resolution declaring a week of mourning throughout the country, vowing that the NCR would never bow the Legion's attacks. John found it all incredibly alien. The concept of community on the scale of a nation, of being upset over the death of someone he had never met, of taking their death as a personal attack even, was something he simply couldn't relate to. For his part he was mostly disheartened by the fact that he now had to put on a pretense of not having fun when he went out with Emily and Bonzo to a bar.
It was Emily he sat across from, as usual, having finished their morning workout routine and met again for breakfast after their respective showers. The Follower's cafeteria, if nothing else, served a good breakfast. Emily spoke up in between bites of her omelet as John perused the newspaper.
"So I was thinking," she began, taking a sip from her water before continuing. "We should probably head up to Shady Sands. That's the facility I'm normally based out of and where most of the Follower's resources are coordinated from," she continued. "Your recovery is way ahead of the schedule we had set, so I think it's time we start looking to make arrangements to return back East," she explained. John's heart skipped a beat at that.
"You think so?" he asked, the eagerness audible in his voice. Emily smiled at his excitement.
"What, you already tired of the NCR?" she asked, slightly mockingly. John rolled his eyes before responding.
"It's not that. I actually like it here. I like working in the hospital, I like all the Followers I've met here. I just feel…isolated. I miss D.C., I miss my friends. I miss how much slower things were in Megaton sometimes," he admitted, taking a pause before continuing. "I miss Amata," he said, eyes downcast as he did.
"I get that," Emily replied. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't eager to get to the Capital Wasteland and try to find out what ever happened to my family," she explained. "Ever since my boyfriend was killed, I haven't had anything left here for me." John frowned at her response. Again, he debated telling her that Achilles was alive, that he hadn't died in Goodsprings and, more importantly, he was utterly out of his mind. He decided again that he couldn't. Emily was too important to risk losing. He pushed the thought out of his mind before replying.
"Well, if you think it's a good time to head there, let's do it. What's Shady Sands like?" he asked.
"Bigger than here. More planned, clearer because it wasn't built until after the war. So there's not as many ruined buildings around. Not as many resources either though, it's more inland. Boneyard will eventually outgrow Shady Sands, it's inevitable. But for now Shady Sands is still the biggest city in the NCR," she explained.
"What about San Francisco?" John asked. He realized that he hadn't heard the area around the Bay mentioned as contributing to the NCR in all his time there.
"San Francisco isn't part of the NCR," Emily replied. "It's kind of its own independent thing, run by the Shi mostly."
"The Shi?" John asked.
"Yeah, the descendants of the crew of a Chinese nuclear submarine that washed up in San Francisco after the Great War. They used their ship's computer to build a pretty advanced society up there, enough to stop the NCR from just rolling them over." Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of one of the doctors John knew from the medical side of the facility.
"Hey, Thompson. You got a minute? There's a pair of detectives here that want to talk to you," the doctor said. John's eyes widened in confusion at that.
"They say what about?" he asked, standing as he did. The doctor shook his head.
"No, wouldn't say. I'd guess it's about the patients from that shooting down in San Piedro we treated the other day. Your name was on a death certificate for one, right?" the doctor replied.
"Ah, yeah. Must be it," John began, before turning his attention to Emily. "I'll catch up with you later, right?" he asked. Emily nodded at him.
"Yeah, go do what you have to do. I've just got my usual today." John nodded at her response before following the doctor out of the cafeteria, to where the police detectives waited. They met them in the lobby of the hospital, a pair of men in worn looking suits. One was older, with a slight pudge and a nose that looked to have been broken more than once. The other was younger, with close-cropped hair and a much more aggressive posture. The detectives turned their attention to him as he approached.
"John Thompson?" the older of the two asked, extending his hand as John walked towards him. John took it, giving him a shake before responding.
"That's me," he began, before offering it to the younger detective. The cop grasped it in an overly strong handshake, as if he was trying to intimidate John. Already starting with the good cop-bad cop? He silently wondered to himself. He looked the man in the eye before continuing. "What do you need, detectives?"
"We just had some questions about a death certificate that was filed by this hospital with your name on it," the older man began. "Is there somewhere we can sit down to talk?"
"Sure," John replied. "There's a lounge for doctors over this way. Should have room there, Detective…" he trailed off, awaiting the detective's names. A look of exasperation crossed the older officer's face at that.
"Of course, excuse me. I'm Detective Keene, and this is my partner, Detective Parker. We're with the Boneyard's homicide division," he answered in explanation.
"Sounds good, Detective Keene. Right this way," John answered, leading the two officers to the doctor's lounge that was nearby. It was a fairly small affair, a simple table, some cots, a few chairs and a radio playing in the corner. It was empty in the early morning hours, as the shifts began to change. Taking a seat, John looked back to the detectives. Keene sat across from him, draping his coat over the back of the chair while Parker, the younger one, paced the room like a caged animal. John looked across at Keene, awaiting his questions.
"We were reviewing the documentation regarding the shooting down in San Piedro the other day when we came across a death certificate for one Hector Spanjol," Keene began. "You were the presiding physician when he was admitted?"
"One of two present, yes," John began. "The amount of casualties coming in left me as one of the only qualified surgeons available. I assisted Doctor Morris in triaging and performing emergency surgery on the patient," he finished. Keene nodded, taking some notes down on a pad of paper as John answered.
"What was Mr. Spanjol's condition when he was admitted?" Keene asked.
"Near morbid," John replied. "His lower leg had been traumatically amputated. The medics had applied a tourniquet but he had lost a great deal of blood prior to them being able to respond and transport him to the hospital." Keene nodded.
"That's what the autopsy indicated too. The thing that stood out on the certificate you filed for him was your certifying agency. You listed Vault-Tec. Can you explain how that is?" the detective asked. Parker had stopped pacing and fixed something resembling a glare at John in anticipation of his response.
"I grew up in a Vault," John replied. "That's where I learned medicine." Keene lifted an eyebrow at his response.
"I didn't know there were any functional vaults anywhere in the vicinity of the NCR," he began. "I also didn't think they were in the habit of letting their residents leave." John smiled at the incredibly clumsy accusation the detective was attempting to make.
"I'm not from the NCR, so I wouldn't know about any of the Vaults out here," John responded. Keene looked vaguely frustrated at his answer.
"Can you tell us what Vault you're from, and it's location?" he asked.
"Vault 101. Tyson's Corner, Virginia," John replied, drawing a great deal of pleasure from the looks of confusion that passed between the two police officers at his response.
"Virginia?" Parker, the younger one, barked at him. "You expect us to believe that?" John rolled his eyes at him, which only served to further agitate the detective. "And you better not roll your eyes at me again," he growled, this time drawing a look from John.
"Or what?" John asked, in a faintly challenging tone. Keene, the older of the two, intervened before the pissing match could get out of hand.
"Both of you calm down," he began, holding a hand up to his partner before turning to John. "You'll have to forgive my partner. He was an NCR Ranger before he got out of the Army and joined the police force," he explained. "Would you care to tell us, though, how exactly you got here from Virginia?" John laughed at the question.
"Well, I started off in Virginia, walked north until I was in Maryland, and then, real sudden like, I turned left. And here I am." Parker thumped his hands on the table, leaning forward to fix a stare on John.
"Keep up the answers, smart ass," he threatened. John ignored him, looking at the older detective instead.
"If you don't control your dog, I will," John said, drawing a sound of outrage from the younger detective as he stiffened up. Keene held his hand up, again looking to calm his younger partner down.
"That's uncalled for, Mr. Thompson. We're not here to interrogate you. But we would appreciate some honest answers to our questions." John sighed before responding.
"I came here on a caravan. Long haul caravan from the D.C. area. Once we were west of Kansas City, we were on Crimson Caravan's payroll. They're an NCR company, aren't they?" Keene's eyebrows raised at that.
"They are. Got anybody at Crimson Caravan who would verify that?"
"Yeah, Alice McClafferty at their New Vegas office." Keene wrote something further in his notes before responding.
"I know that name. She's a pretty big name in Crimson Caravan. We'll check your story out with her, and if it doesn't match up, we'll be back to talk with you. Vault-Tec isn't recognized by the NCR as an accredited medical body. If we wanted we could take you in for practicing without a license," the detective threatened. John rolled his eyes so hard that he felt a twinge of pain in his head.
"Threatening me with bureaucracy? Really? Ask Dr. Morris if you need a witness. There was nothing we could have done to save that kid. Maybe you should spend your time trying to find who killed him instead of giving me a ration of shit," John replied, preempting any response by continuing. "Now, if you're done wasting my time, I have rounds to make through the hospital. Are we done?" he asked, his tone growing short. Keene shot him an ugly look before nodding at him.
"Yeah, we're done. We'll check in with Crimson Caravan to verify your story. If it doesn't add up, we'll be back," Keene said, standing up to leave. John stood as well, walking for the door ahead of the detectives.
"You have fun with that," he replied, not bothering to listen for a response as he walked out of the room. As he left, John noticed his hands trembling slightly. Adrenaline had begun to enter his system, as if he had been gearing up for a fight with the two detectives.
Stupid, he thought. There are rules here. Can't just go around beating up people I don't like. All the same, John realized for the first time how real the bureaucracy he had been told about was in the NCR. The police were more interested in hassling him over where he had learned medicine than finding the people who had been responsible for the shooting at the docks in the first place.
Jackson Clancy stood around the clearing he always met his contacts at, backed up by another nine Talon Company mercs. The distant sound of thumping rotors had drawn their attention, bringing the mercenaries to attention from the languid state of disarray they had spent most of the pre-dawn hours in while they waited. The distinctive shape of the tilt-rotor Vertibird was visible on the horizon, growing closer quickly, before passing over them at a low altitude. The aircraft made a slow arc back towards them, it's rotors beginning to pivot into the upright position that allowed them to make vertical takeoffs and landings. Dust began kicking up on the makeshift landing zone as the bird descended, Jackson turning his back to protect his eyes as it did. With a squeal of landing gears, the bird touched down. The engines audibly shifted to idle mode, beginning to spool down as the ramp at the back of the aircraft lowered. Jackson turned to face the emerging figures as the ramp lowered.
The first out was a woman in her mid to late-20s, if Jackson was forced to guess. Her hair was cut at chin length, neatly fitting under the olive green, peaked field cap she wore. The cap matched the rest of her uniform, a crisply pressed, olive green uniform with knee high black boots. On her waist she wore a plasma pistol. He recognized the uniform, of course. He had been dealing with them for long enough to have seen most everything that his contacts brought to the table. She was obviously the officer in charge of this exchange, her uniform and manner of exiting the Vertibird making it obvious.
Behind the officer came her escorts. No matter how many times he laid eyes on them, he always felt a chill run up his spine at the sight of them. Hulking figures, clad in black Power Armor; an insectoid helm with yellow eye lenses hiding their faces. The design of the Power Armor was brutal in its aesthetic, screaming an ability to do incredible damage. Even supported by nine other mercenaries, Jackson doubted his ability to kill these two escorts if the exchange turned violent. Behind them came laborers, people attired in engineering jump suits, carrying out dark carrying crates full of the goods that Jackson and the Talon Company always received at these exchanges. The officer made her way to Jackson, a passive expression on her face as she looked up at him.
"Commander Clancy. I'm Lieutenant Hill. We're here for your resupply," she began, fixing a pair of piercing grey eyes on him before continuing. "Anything to report?" she finished, as the laborers began laying out the crates for Jackson's men to collect.
"Nothing new. The Wasteland is still spiraling into chaos. Apparently that ghost that's been slaughtering us is a woman, the Lone Wanderer's pet ghoul knows who it is. Hopefully he'll be able to call her off." Lieutenant Hill nodded at him.
"That would be ideal. Perhaps the abomination will prove to do something useful with his existence, then," she replied. Jackson grunted at that.
"It was hard enough to not shoot him on the spot. The ghoul has a big fucking mouth," he said. The officer's face remained impassive, her two hulking guards standing over each of her shoulders, their plasma rifles held at the low-ready position.
"I've found that very few Wastelanders show respect when speaking to their betters," Hill said. "I wouldn't expect any better from an abominable mutant. Do you have anything to report on activity in the rest of the area?"
"Nothing new, like I said," Jackson replied. "We're still going out and getting into dust ups with the Brotherhood. Some of my boys laid a pretty good ambush and killed a bunch of them the other day, actually. That armor-piercing ammo you gave us helped a lot. Still not as good as a plasma weapon," he explained, glancing at the rifles being held by the figures in Power Armor.
"Not an option," Hill replied. "Plasma is too closely associated with us. You'll have to make do with directed energy lasers and the AP rounds we've provided you. Pre-War testing indicated that T-45d armor was vulnerable to larger caliber crew-served weapons, which we've already provided you with. Assuming you haven't lost them…" the Lieutenant trailed off.
"We haven't," Jackson quickly replied. The officer nodded at his response.
"Very well. You'll find all your usual supplies in these crates. Energy cells, grenades, more ammunition for ballistic weapons. Continue carrying out your operations as we've outlined before," the Lieutenant said. Her tone didn't indicate she was looking for a response. "Resupply will be at the same time next month. We'll be moving to Location C for that delivery." Jackson rolled his eyes at that. The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow at him in response. "Do you have a problem with how we operate, Commander?" she asked. Jackson shook his head at her.
"Nah, I don't got a problem. I just think all your security and code words is ridiculous. It's the Wasteland. The Brotherhood thinks they got you all years ago. What are you worried about?"
"That's none of your concern, Commander. Allow us to do the strategic thinking. Remember the deal: you assist us in our goals, and we ensure that you are left in a suitable position when this area is reclaimed."
"Reclaimed? Doesn't saying reclaimed imply that you once claimed something?" Jackson asked, a sarcastic hint to his voice. Lieutenant Hill didn't deign to answer until she was walking away.
"It is claimed, Clancy. This is still territory of the United States. You Wastelanders are still just squatters on land that belongs to the American people," she responded, turning to face him again at the foot of the ramp leading into the Vertibird.
"The United States died over 200 years ago, Lieutenant," he responded. The impassive look on Hill's face never changed.
"We are the United States, Commander. This is still our territory. You'd do well to remember that," she said. Jackson couldn't help but roll his eyes mightily at the ridiculousness of her statement.
"I didn't think that's what you all liked to call yourselves," he replied. The rotors of the Vertibird began spooling back up as he spoke. The Lieutenant looked at him a last time before responding.
"The names are interchangeable, Clancy. The Enclave is America. America is the Enclave. Call us what you will. This territory belongs to the United States. The Enclave is the last remnant of the United States. Ergo, this land belongs to the Enclave," she said. Before Jackson could respond, the Lieutenant had walked back into the hold of the Vertibird, the ramp raising behind her. The aircraft quickly took off after that, quickly cruising into the distance, heading south. Jackson turned to face his men, pointing at the crates.
"Let's load up and get this stuff back to the Fort," he began, before turning to look in the direction the Vertibird had disappeared into. "I hate dealing with the Enclave," he muttered, before turning back to the equipment his men were gathering.
January 5, 2282
Sarah Lyons stood next to Scribe Rothchild, facing the funeral pyre that had been build outside of the Citadel walls, facing the Potomac River. Across from them, silhouetted in the inky darkness and lit by the pale moonlight, the outline of the ruins of Washington, D.C. were visible. Behind the pair of them, the most senior officers of the order stood, standing at ease as they awaited the beginning of the ceremony. Star-Paladin Cross was the most senior, standing furthest to the left, flanked on the right by Star-Paladin Gunny. Behind the group of leadership, the rest of the Chapter that was present in the Citadel had marched out, arrayed in company formations. At the head of each company was the Paladin in command of it. Colvin stood at the head of one, filling a temporary position for a company commander who had been chosen for the honor guard. Further down the line stood Paladin Danse, at the head of the company he had recently been placed in command of. Already, Danse and his company were distinguishing themselves, driven by Paladin Danse's unflinching determination and dedication to the Brotherhood. From the distance, Sarah heard the noise of movement. Glancing to the distance, she saw the honor guard beginning to move towards the funeral pyre, bearing her father's body. She waited for them to approach, watching as they did. Six Brotherhood soldiers, clad in pressed dress uniforms, carried the wooden casket containing her father on their shoulders. Behind them, a platoon's worth of soldiers, those chosen by their respective company commanders to form the honor guard, marched slowly, in perfect unison with one another. As they neared, Sarah looked over her right shoulder, calling out as she did.
"Chapter!" she yelled. She heard her call echoed by the company commanders, calling out "Company!" down the line.
"Atten-SHUN!" she yelled, snapping her heels together and locking herself at attention. Behind her, she heard the booming echo of 100s of pairs of boots being drawn together and stomping the ground, as the entirety of the Chapter brought itself to attention. The soldiers carrying her father's casket approached the funeral pyre, preparing to lay it upon the top of the wooden structure. As they did, Sarah called out again.
"Pre-sent…ARMS!" she called, moving to salute as she did. Behind her, as one, the Chapter saluted, as their departed leader's remains were laid down for the final time. As the pall-bearers stepped away and took their places, on the opposite side of the pyre, Sarah spoke again.
"Order…ARMS!" She returned her hand to her side, her movement being echoed by the soldiers in the formation. Sarah quickly executed an about-face, facing the Chapter before issuing her next command.
"Pa-rade…REST!" she ordered. In unison, the Chapter snapped to the position of Parade Rest. Quickly, Sarah composed herself, before speaking.
"Today, we mark the end of a chapter in the history of the Brotherhood of Steel. One of our Elders has passed to the Great Beyond, and with him, an era. Scribe Rothchild, please read from the Scroll the accomplishments of Elder Owyn Lyons," she said, looking at Rothchild as he stepped forward. In his hands he held a piece of paper, folded over several times.
"Owyn Lyons was born in Lost Hills, California in 2202. His ancestors had undertaken the Exodus to Lost Hills from Mariposa under the command of Roger Maxson, in the aftermath of the Great War of 2077. In 2220, he entered the ranks of the Brotherhood as a Knight. Lyons showed an aptitude for technology as well as military tactics, and was recognized by his superiors with induction into the ranks of the Paladins in 2227. There he served with distinction, engaging the remnants of the Master's Super-Mutant army, and engaging in the war with the Enclave, helping drive them from the West Coast. He married his wife, Finuala Lyons of the Order of Scribes, in 2243. In 2251 he was bore a daughter, Sarah Lyons. In 2254, he received orders from the High Elders of Lost Hills to lead the expedition to Washington, D.C. He undertook and accomplished this mission, cleansing the remains of Pittsburgh of its mutant population in the process with the loss of only a single Brotherhood Paladin. Arriving in Washington, D.C., he led the Brotherhood in establishing its operations in what is now known as the Citadel. In light of his accomplishments, he was granted the rank of Elder by the Council in Lost Hills. Recognizing the threat that Super Mutants posed to the safety of this region, he led a decades long purge of the Super Mutant menace, achieving final success in 2278. On January 1, 2282, Elder Owyn Lyons drew his final breath, and with it ended his service to the Brotherhood of Steel. Today, on January 5, 2282, his name is entered into the Scrolls of the Brotherhood for the final time." Rothchild concluded speaking, looking at Sarah and nodding at he did. Sarah looked ahead, at the Chapter arrayed in front of her, and quietly reflected for a moment on what her father had accomplished. Peace in the Capital Wasteland that had lasted for several years. The end of the Super Mutant threat. Purified water distributed to all. The beginnings of a functional government. A feeling of peace came over her as she thought of all he had done. A good life, she thought, nodding to herself before speaking again.
"Chapter!" she began, her order again being echoed by the company commanders down the line. "Atten-SHUN!" Again the Chapter snapped to attention. Turning back to the funeral pyre, Sarah walked forward. Arrayed around it were burning torches, their orange light dancing off the faces of those nearest. Grabbing one, she walked forward, tossing it onto the wooden structure the casket rested upon. Immediately it took flame, the fire quickly beginning to spread. Next to her, Rothchild did the same, tossing a torch onto a separate part of the wooden pyre. Their movements were in turn echoed by Star-Paladin Cross and Gunny, the funeral pyre turning into a roaring inferno as the fire consumed it, leaping up and around the casket until finally, it was engulfed in flame, the light it cast washing over Sarah and the assembled Chapter.
John sat next to Emily as their train pulled into the station in Shady Sands. Immediately, he was taken aback both by the number of people present and the obvious amount of security. Armed NCR soldiers patrolled the platform in groups, rifles slung over their shoulders as they walked.
"Shit," Emily muttered, drawing John's attention.
"What?" he asked, surprised by the frustration in her voice.
"I don't know how I forgot. The state funeral for the President. Shady Sands is going to be packed this week," she responded.
"State funeral?" he asked. Emily nodded at him, leading the way as they attempted to move through the crowd.
"Yeah. The President will lay in state at the Halls of Congress before they move him to the cemetery for his funeral. The whole procession will be packed," she explained, as they stepped from the train station and onto the streets of Shady Sands. Emily drew in a deep breath as she looked around, before speaking again. "It's good to be home," she said.
"I can imagine," John said, following Emily down the street. The first thing to surprise John was a truck driving down the road, followed shortly thereafter by a bus. "They've gotten vehicles working again?" he called out. He saw Emily's head nod in front of him.
"Yeah. Not tons but enough to support the city's infrastructure. I told you, this is the biggest city in the NCR," she said. "We're almost there," she continued, pointing ahead of them. In the near distance John saw a sign, with the familiar logo of the Followers of the Apocalypse on it. A smile crossed Emily's face as they neared it. Walking through the doors into the lobby of the building, Emily looked around, being greeted at once by a familiar face looking at her.
"EMILY!" Julie Moore cried, racing forward to embrace Emily. Emily laughed as she hugged her friend.
"Good to see you, Julie," she replied, rocking back and forth as she and Julie embraced. Julie stepped back after a moment, looking over Emily's shoulder at John.
"Is this the person you were talking about?" she asked. John shot Emily a look at that, one that she ignored.
"Yeah, Julie. This is John Thompson," she began, gesturing to John as she did. Julie offered her hand, which John took. Emily turned her gaze to John as he shook Julie's hand. "John, this is my friend Julie Moore. We've known each other here for years," she explained. John smiled at Julie as Emily spoke.
"Nice to meet you, Julie," he said, as soon as Emily had finished the introduction.
"Likewise, John," Julie replied, before turning her attention back to Emily. "So what are you doing here? What's going on?"
"I want to meet with Dan and the others. I want them to hear from John personally about the D.C. area. I know they shot me down last time when I asked for resources to go, but maybe they'll change their minds when they hear from him," she explained. Julie smiled at Emily's explanation.
"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" she replied, drawing a chuckle from Emily. "Might as well go find Dan. He'll want to know you're back anyway. I'm going to go grab some stuff from my room real quick. Meet you for dinner in a bit?" she asked. Emily nodded at her in affirmation, prompting Julie to turn and go her separate way. John looked at Emily as Julie turned down a hallway, disappearing from sight.
"Who's Dan?" he asked.
"Dan Parker. He's one of the most senior Followers here, and my mentor. He's a good person, but cautious. He thought sending anything to the Capital Wasteland would be too dangerous the last time I brought it up with him. I'm hoping hearing from you might change his mind," she explained.
"So why do you think I'd change his mind?" John asked.
"You can give a face and a personal story to the conditions in D.C.," she began. "It's easy to ignore suffering when it's abstract and far from your thoughts. Hearing about it, seeing someone with experience of it right in front of you? Makes everything different. Anyway, let's head to his office and I'll introduce you," Emily finished, before turning to lead John through the building.
January 7, 2282
Colvin stood in a semi-circle, the rest of the Lyons Pride around him, as Proctor Ingram pointed out various systems on the T-60 armor that was standing in front of them. Her explanation was fairly concise, touching on all the major points of what to expect-greater load carrying potential than T-45, more resistance to falls, much greater durability and ability to resist damage. The HUD in the T-60 helmet would provide real-time updates on the status of their armor and its fusion power core. Ingram had warned them that movement in the T-60 would take some adapting to, as it moved much more heavily than the T-45 armor they'd become accustomed to. Colvin was eager to try it out, and was impatient for Ingram to finish explaining the armor. While she was a brilliant technician and a spirited fighter, she had a tendency to go into the minutiae of technical details that interested no one except those that also worked with her. Mercifully, as Ingram turned to face the Pride, it appeared that she had finished her explanation of the armor.
"Did you all get that?" she asked. Colvin looked around him, seeing several glazed over expressions nodding at Ingram. She sighed before continuing. "Well, I guess we might as well get to the practical portion of this," she said, turning to lead them to a hangar that had been repurposed for the processing of the supplies arriving from Aberdeen. Colvin and the Pride followed closely behind, to a series of bays, each of which contained a support rack housing a suit of the new Power Armor. They all appeared freshly painted, the logo of the Brotherhood of Steel emblazoned on the chest, rank insignia marking the forearms of the armor. Ingram turned to face them before speaking again.
"Since we got word that you would be the first ones to learn to use the new suits, we had them cleaned up and painted with your respective rank insignias. Everyone in the rank of Paladin, you'll find yours in bays A1-5. Knights, bays A6-11. Enter the suit the same way you would the T-45 or T-51, from the rear," she explained, as the members of the Pride stepped towards their new suits of Power Armor. More than one appreciatively ran a hand over the armor. Colvin, for his part, looked up at his reflection in the eye lenses of the armor. The armor was hulking, making even Kodiak, the largest member of the Pride, look small next to it. Dusk, the shortest by far, was absolutely dwarfed by her set of armor. Colvin continued around the armor, to the access hatch at the rear of the suit. It had a waiting fusion core in it, ready for Colvin to use. Grabbing a firm hold on the handle of the hatch, he twisted it, before stepping back. In front of him, the suit opened at his command, the armor separating to allow him to step in. Placing his left boot on the support stirrup in the leg of the armor, Colvin pulled himself in, sliding his head into the helmet. Around him, the armor sealed and pressurized, venting any air as it created a hermetically sealed environment that would protect him and the others from any chemical or radiological dangers. As it sealed, connections plugged into the access points that were built into the uniform he was wearing, one of the ones that had been recovered from Gallows. Designed to mesh with Power Armor in a way that surpassed the old Recon Armor the Brotherhood had worn under their armor, it brought up a further array of information inside the display of his helmet. Heart rate, respiration, body temperature, and blood pressure were all displayed along the right side of his vision.
"This is amazing," Colvin began, his voice distorted by the grill of the helmet. It made his voice gravelly, more menacing. Slowly, he allowed his body to relax, the connection between his uniform and the armor making the armor feel as natural as his own limbs. Slowly, he raised his right armor, looking down at it as he did. He made a fist, one as tight as he could make with his real hands, before releasing it again. Returning his hand to his side, he looked forward, to Proctor Ingram, before taking a short step forward. The armor moved much more quickly than he anticipated, its stride much longer than his old T-45d armor. Before he could attempt to compensate, Colvin's other leg moved into position, bracing to stabilize him.
"That's new," he grunted, drawing an amused laugh from Ingram.
"You must have been ignoring the part where I told you that the stability systems in the T-60 have an auto-compensate feature. It was designed to adjust for uneven terrain, allows the suit's wearer to move more steadily on hills and the like. Why don't you all take a slow lap of the hangar, get used to how the stride is in these ones?" she suggested, stressing the word "Slow". Colvin took the advice, testing out the movement of the T-60 he now wore, getting used to the longer strides it took. As he grew more comfortable, he slowly increased his pace, moving to a brisk walking pace by the time he had completed a lap around the hangar. Ingram had moved over to a collection of crates, set alongside a table holding several different weapons. She beckoned the Pride over to the table to join her. As he approached, Colvin saw notifications pop up in small writing alongside the weapon he was looking at. It was the details of the weapon: an AER-9 laser rifle, unloaded at the moment. Colvin let out a sound of amazement, which Ingram didn't fail to notice.
"The information display on your HUD? Took me by surprise the first time I saw it, too. That was a new feature for the T-60, didn't even exist in T-51b," she explained.
"That's what I thought. It's been a while, but I don't remember that existing in the armor back west," Colvin replied. He heard sounds of agreement from Glade and Kodiak, the only two members present old enough to remember the T-51b armor they had worn back in California. Ingram turned her attention to the table, carrying on with her original point.
"So these are some of the weapons systems we found up in Aberdeen. Most of you should be familiar with them, at least in theory, if not operation. The AER-9 laser rifle, standard issue before the Great War. Durable and reliable. Found lots of these up there, enough to make it our new standard issue weapon for everyone," she began. "It's modifiable as well. Standard format is for it to be a semi-automatic, but it can be adapted to fire full auto as well," Ingram explained. Turning her attention, she moved down the table to a much larger weapon. Colvin recognized the general form of the weapon, if not the specific model.
"Gatling Laser," Ingram said. "Upgraded version of the one we've been using down here, runs on fusion cores and fires more quickly. With focusing optics on the end of the barrel this bad boy becomes incredible for laying down suppressing fire. Hard to control without Power Armor, though," she finished. Colvin spoke up as she did.
"Maxson picked up one and used it out of armor in the ambush we were in," he said. Ingram cocked her head inquisitively at him.
"Maxson? Without Power Armor? But isn't he like…14?" she asked.
"Yeah," Colvin replied. "Remind me to make sure he carries one now that he can wear Power Armor," he continued, drawing a laugh from the group. As the laughter died down, Ingram spoke up again.
"We've processed a large shipment of these weapons to send back to the Citadel and begin issuing to the Chapter. That's what's in these boxes, along with the uniforms, combat armor, and medical supplies we've found. There's enough uniforms and combat armor here to equip everyone currently at the Citadel, as the new Power Armor enters use," she explained. Colvin nodded at her.
"Good work, Proctor," he replied. "Have your people begin loading up so we can get this back to the Citadel. The sooner we can get it all issued and in service, the better."
"Agreed," Ingram replied. "I'll have this all loaded into transport Vertibirds, along with the other sets of T-60 we've got operational at the moment. I'll make sure they're out of here before nightfall, if you all want to load up and get back to the Citadel. I'm sure Lyons and Rothchild will want a report," she finished. Colvin nodded again, saluting her as he prepared to leave.
"Very well, Ingram. Ad Victoriam," he replied, as the Pride began to file back to their Vertibird behind him.
Achilles sat on a quiet overlook, watching the sun set over the Mojave. Alongside him sat Veronica and Gale, a small fire burning in front of them. He had been laying low since the incident at Hoover Dam on New Year's Day. While he was fairly certain he had avoided suspicion from the NCR following Kimball's assassination, he still thought it best to stay out of sight and avoid New Vegas for the time being. Upon returning to the Lucky 38, he had gathered up Veronica and then sought out Gale at the Tops, deciding to have her take him up on his offer. As they looked at the sky turning shades of purple and orange, Gale spoke.
"This is a lot different than home," she began. Veronica looked at her as she spoke.
"What's West Virginia like?" she asked. Gale thought for a moment before replying.
"Pretty, in a way. It's green. There's a bunch of stories about why the area I'm from didn't get destroyed in the Apocalypse," she began. Veronica cocked her head at that.
"The Apocalypse?" she asked.
"The Great War, sorry," Gale said, correcting herself. "The town I'm from, Coalseam, it's…religious. They say the Great War was God's judgment on the old world," she explained. Achilles laughed at that.
"Every culture ever has said that about the disasters that came before their time," he replied.
"You don't believe in God?" Gale asked, looking at Achilles. Veronica looked too, curious what Achilles would say. It wasn't a discussion they had ever had.
"No, I don't. I don't believe in any Gods, nor any masters. Just us, not beholden to anything but ourselves," he explained.
"That sounds kinda…nihilistic," Veronica replied, Gale nodding in agreement. Achilles shrugged.
"I just don't feel like there needs to be a higher power for my life to have meaning," he said. Veronica made a sound of acknowledgment before turning back to Gale.
"What are the stories about why Coalseam survived?" she asked.
"The main one is the base. In the mountains around town there's tunnels, roads that lead into the mountains themselves. But no one has ever been able to get inside of them," she explained. A quizzical look crossed Veronica's face at the explanation.
"A Continuity of Government facility?" she wondered out loud. "Wonder how that worked. Only parts of the pre-war government that survived were the Enclave, out on the Poseidon Oil Rig," she said.
"That's just the story that the old people around town tell us. That something around Coalseam made it important enough to be saved," she explained.
"With a name like that, I assume there's still mining out there?" Veronica continued.
"Yeah," Gale replied. "My brothers and father worked in the mines. It's hard work, but it pays. It's steady. Most men either go into the mines or become hunters. Only a few ever really get to open up businesses and become merchants," she explained.
"Society stratified. Just like the old world," Veronica mused, before Achilles interrupted.
"So what are the people like? The culture?" he asked. Gale pondered that, as if searching for the right word, before answering.
"It's kind of…drab. Dull. It's nowhere near as colorful as here. Not as lively, not as free. I'm not really looking forward to going back," she answered.
"Then don't," Achilles replied, drawing a look from Gale, one that bordered on shock.
"I can't just not go home. I promised John and Yudhajit that I'd go back East with them," she answered.
"And where are they now?" he asked, gesturing around the empty desert.
"I knew John was going to California to get surgery. He didn't abandon me or anything," she said, a defensive edge to her voice.
"And the other? Yudhajit?" Gale looked taken aback by the question.
"I'm sure whatever he had to do with the Brotherhood was important," she said, a hint of doubt creeping into her voice.
"We'll see," Achilles replied. "Veronica can tell you just how much the Brotherhood likes engaging with the outside world." Gale shot a confused look at Veronica following that, drawing a frustrated sigh from Veronica.
"I hadn't told her, Achilles," she said, looking at him. Her answer just deepened Gale's confusion.
"Told me what?" Gale plaintively asked.
"I'm a Brotherhood Scribe," Veronica began. Gale looked taken aback by that.
"I didn't…I just never thought…" Veronica laughed at that.
"I don't seem the type? I know. That's why I spend most of my time out here, instead of with the rest of the Chapter down in the bunker. A soft exile, if you will. Not an official one, but I was enough of a headache for the Elder that I spend most of my time out here."
"I know how it feels, to not fit in with your family," Gale replied, receiving a sympathetic look from Veronica as her reply.
"So you go back East," Achilles interjected, steering back to his original point. "Then what?"
"I don't know. At least get closure in Coalseam, so my mom doesn't have to wonder what happened to me. Then go to the Capital Wasteland with John, try to help him with what's going on there? That was my plan," she responded.
"If you insist," Achilles sighed, watching the last light of the sun fade over the western horizon. "Anyway, you should settle down for the night. Tomorrow I'll start to show you how the Mojave works. Take you on a few errands I have to run," he cryptically said, shooting a quick smile at the two women before standing and walking away from the fire, leaving them to themselves.
Emily raised a glass in beaming exultation to John, that night at the Four-Horned Bull in Shady Sands. They had returned to Emily's regular spot in town to celebrate; John's testimony to the Followers doing what Emily hadn't been able to-convinced them to lend him some support to take back to the Capital Wasteland. Emily had been proven correct, that the good hearted nature of the Followers would be unable to ignore the first hand horror stories that John had to share regarding life in the D.C. area.
"So what should we expect?" John asked her, as she shot the Scotch she had ordered. He took a long sip from his beer in response.
"They agreed to technical experts. Aside from me they're willing to send an engineering specialist, a botany expert, and two military trainers," she explained.
"Military trainers?" John asked, surprised by the answer.
"Yeah, two members that used to be soldiers in the NCR Army. To help train some sort of security force back there besides the Brotherhood," Emily answered. "Also, to keep an eye on us and make sure we don't get hurt," she continued, drawing an eye roll from John.
"They going to send someone to make sure we don't create a bureaucratic nightmare like the NCR? I still can't believe those cops back in the Boneyard," he said.
"Believe it. NCR loves their paperwork and regulations," she replied. "But that's down the road. For now let's just focus on the next few days. Meet everyone, get supplied, start to head back to New Vegas," she finished, before turning to order another drink.
"Yudhajit and Gale will be surprised to see us this soon," he laughed, drawing a smile from Emily before she sat upright in her seat. Her eyes lit up, as if she had an idea.
"That's what we should do tonight!" she exclaimed, as the bartender arrived with her drink.
"What's that?" John asked, amused at seeing Emily so excited.
"We should go downtown and visit the statue of Yudhajit's grandfather, near the Halls of Congress!" she said, her excitement bubbling over.
"I'm up for that," John replied. "I can at least use it to make fun of Yudhajit," he continued, Emily laughing at that.
"Security down there will probably be insane, with Kimball laying in state right now. But it's worth seeing," she explained.
"Are we still going to be here for Kimball's funeral?" John asked. Emily nodded at him.
"Yeah, it's later this week. We'll be here for it. I've never actually seen a state funeral before, but I'm sure it will be over the top. NCR also loves pomp and circumstance, to go with their bureaucracy," she laughed, drawing some dirty looks from those nearby.
"Hey, that's our President you're talking about! Show some respect," one of the nearby men said. John looked at him, Emily preempting anything he could say.
"How am I being disrespectful? It's true. The NCR loves it's ceremonies and symbolism," she answered, drawing more dirty looks.
"You got a problem with the NCR? What are you, a Legion sympathizer?" the man asked, his tone turning aggressive.
"Yeah, dipshit, I'm a Legion sympathizer. I liked the people who use women as slaves," she responded, drawing an angry sound from the group that the man was with.
"Well you sure don't sound like a Californian!" the man said, standing from his chair. John moved to stand up before Emily put a hand on his chest, holding him back.
"I'm not a Californian," Emily replied, motioning to the bartender, who was nervously looking on, to bring her another drink. He quickly complied, bringing her another Scotch as Emily faced off with the man she'd been arguing with. He was barely her height, and Emily looked completely unmoved by the man's posturing.
"Yeah, then what are you?" the man asked, a sneer in his voice. Emily mockingly saluted him with her drink before quickly shooting it, setting the empty glass down on the bar behind her. She gave the man an appraising look before responding.
"I'm Brotherhood of Steel, jackass," she said. The man's eyes went wide in surprise, wider still as Emily connected with a wicked left hook that knocked the man on his back. John jumped from his seat, ready to support Emily, who was laughing as the man lay on his back, rubbing his jaw. She turned to John, before grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door.
"Come on, let's get out of here!" she half yelled, half laughed as they bolted out of the bar, leaving the commotion behind them.
The senior leadership of the Brotherhood was gathered in the Great Hall, ready, in the aftermath of Owyn Lyons' funeral, to select a new Elder. Rothchild stood and moved to the head of the room, the first to speak.
"We know this is a formality. I nominate Sarah Lyons to be the next Elder of this Chapter," he began, drawing a loud round of fists knocking on the table of the hall. "Do I have a second?" he asked. Star-Paladin Cross stood.
"I second the nomination, and move to confirm Sentinel Lyons by acclamation," she said, looking around the room. Rothchild spoke again.
"We have a move for approval by acclamation. All in favor, make it known," he said. Unanimously, everyone in the room except Sarah spoke, each approving in their own way.
"All opposed?" Cross asked. The room remained silent. Rothchild smiled, looking at Sarah.
"It is settled, then. Elder Sarah Lyons! Long may she serve!" he exclaimed.
"Long may she serve!" the room echoed. Sarah raised her hand, recognizing her comrades.
"Thank you for the trust you have placed in me. I will do my best to live up to your expectations," she said.
"I'll have word sent to Lost Hills today," Rothchild continued, excitement in his tone. "With this done, we can look to the future. As Elder, you will set our priorities in the coming years," he explained. Sarah nodded.
"We continue what we have been doing. Secure the Capital Wasteland. Protect the people of it from any outside threats," she said. There were looks in the eyes of some of those present, looks that bordered on discontent. She knew many had stayed with the order when the Outcasts had broken off solely out of loyalty to her father. Loyalty to her, while real, was more tenuous than it had been to Owyn, who had served as Elder since before many of them had joined the ranks as Knights. Realizing the situation, she quickly continued with her statement.
"And we remain true to the Brotherhood's mission. We confront and destroy abominations of science left by the old world. We secure dangerous technologies, that a second apocalypse may be prevented. We respect the tenants of the Codex," she finished. An almost palpable feeling of relief filled the room, the older, more traditional members of the Brotherhood relieved to hear her pay service to the tenants the Brotherhood had been founded on.
Yudhajit walked back through the gates of the New Vegas Strip, happy to have returned after his journey to Lost Hills. Accompanying him was the member of the Circle of Steel that the Council of High Elders had assigned to return with him to the East Coast. The man's name was Gabriel, and in the course of a week's travel from the Lost Hills bunker back to New Vegas, Yudhajit hadn't spoken to the man for more than five minutes. A slight scowl formed on the man's face as he walked alongside Yudhajit, taking in the Vegas strip. For a member of the Circle, the most devoted adherents to the Brotherhood's tenants, the Strip was an assault on his senses. Most members lived a borderline monastic life, focusing themselves on their training rather than indulging in vices. A city committed to vice bordered on being anathema to Gabriel, Yudhajit assumed. In silence, surrounded only by the noise of the Strip, they made their way to the Tops. In addition to securing a room, Yudhajit was eager to reconnect with Gale and make sure she had remained safe in his absence.
Entering the Tops, it took a moment for Yudhajit's eyes to adjust from the glaring Mojave sun to the moor dim lighting of the casino floor. As his eyes focused again, he saw Swank, the de facto manager of the Tops, behind the front desk. Quickly, the pair made their way to him, Swank recognizing Yudhajit as he approached.
"Hey there, big guy! Welcome back! Lookin' for another high rollin' time here?"
"Just a room, for now," Yudhajit replied. "I had a friend with me when I was last here. Gale, a younger woman. Dark hair, blue eyes. Is she still here?" he asked. Swank smiled and nodded at that.
"She sure is! I got told by the boss to comp her the suite on the 13th floor, so she's got a room up there. She stepped out a few days ago with him, though," he replied, drawing a frown from Yudhajit.
"The boss? And stepped out with him? Who's him?" he asked.
"You know, Achilles. The guy that rolled Benny when he tried to sell Mr. House out," Swank explained, Yudhajit's eyes going wide in alarm.
"Did they say where they were going?" he asked. Swank shook his head.
"Nah, not to me. But he had that cute little thing that always wears the brown robes with him too," Swank said. A frown crossed Yudhajit's face at the answer.
"Alright, then. Can you get us checked into a room?"
"Can do!" Swank answered, a smile on his face. "You know the rules, though. Gotta ask for your guns while you're in here," he continued. Yudhajit drew his pistol from its holster, handing it over to Swank. From behind him, Gabriel did the same. Nodding at the two of them, Swank spoke again. "Don't worry about your pieces, boys. They'll be safe as houses here. And here's a room key. Remember where the elevators are?" he asked. Yudhajit nodded at him, turning to walk away from the desk. Finding out Gale had gone off with a mentally unhinged Courier was not the way Yudhajit had been looking to return to Vegas.
Arthur Maxson stood across from his freshly issued set of T-60 armor, painted in the livery of a Knight, and felt a rush of excitement. Not only would it be his first time on patrol wearing Power Armor, but he was part of the first group to go through training on the T-60 armor that was entering service throughout the Chapter. Stepping to the back of the armor, he checked to make sure it had a power source before turning the handle, opening the suit and stepping into it for the first time. The HUD came alive as his armor interfaced with the uniform he was wearing, displaying his vital signs on the right side of his vision. Arthur took a few slow, looping swings with his arms, feeling out the movement of the armor before stepping forward to the weapons table in front of him. Reaching down, he picked up the Gatling Laser, the weapon the Paladin in charge of the patrol had assigned him. The massive bulk of the weapon disappeared when he was assisted by the powerful servos present in the T-60. Smiling a wide smile inside of his helmet, Arthur made his way to where the rest of the patrol was assembling. Paladin Brandis, a senior and well respected member of the Brotherhood, stood off to the side in his own Power Armor, talking quietly with Star-Paladin Cross and Paladin Danse, reviewing the evening's mission. The patrol consisted of Brandis, Maxson, and three other Knights, all wearing the new T-60 armor that was entering service, and another six initiates and aspirants, wearing the uniforms and combat armor that had been acquired from the Aberdeen Proving Ground. Maxson, with his Gatling Laser, and another Knight, carrying a minigun, were the heavy weapons present on the patrol. The others all carried laser rifles, all semi-automatic except for Brandis, who carried a fully-automatic one he had customized with Proctor Ingram's assistance. Maxson looked at the group of initiates and aspirants, performing final checks on their weapons. Sarah's words to him rang through his mind as he examined the other members of the patrol. Be the example, not the exception. Ever since his promotion, Arthur had taken those words more seriously than ever.
Brandis returned to the group from where he had been conversing, facing the other armored figures first.
"Radio check," he said, indicating for the Knights to make sure their radios were tuned to the same frequency.
"Sanders," came the first voice, clear through the radio.
"Cutler," came the next.
"Maxson," Arthur said, Brandis nodding at them.
"All coming through clear," he replied. "When we step out, headlamps on. Standard dispersal. Maxson, I want you towards the front with the Gatling. Cutler, rear of the patrol with your minigun. Got it?"
"Roger," Arthur replied, Cutler chiming in a moment later.
"Affirmative, Paladin." Brandis switched from their radio net to his vocal unit, communicating with the rest of the patrol.
"Sweep and clear tonight. Moving to contact with any raiders, or anyone else who wants a piece. Marking any sites for cataloguing and retrieval by the Scribes. Got it?" A round of affirmation went through the patrol. "Alright, let's step off. Knights, begin mission clock on 3…2…1…mark." With Brandis' command, the Knights, in their Power Armor, all started a mission clock, marking how long they had been on patrol for. Sanders, the lone Knight not carrying a heavy weapon, toggled his headlamp on; the bright light shining into the settling darkness surrounding them. Shouldering his laser rifle, he moved forward, the rest of the patrol falling in behind him. Maxson carried his Gatling low, scanning back and forth as they began to move through the ruins. They were moving towards an area that had been particularly contested lately, in the vicinity of the Talon Company ambush that had nearly destroyed McPherson's patrol. While it had proven to be a dangerous area, the potential salvage in the vicinity was too valuable to be ceded so willingly.
The patrol advanced much like Maxson's last, under Colvin, where they had been ambushed by raiders. It was silent, wind whistling through the canyons formed by rubble. The occasional dust devil would kick up, before dying down just as quickly. The headlamps of the Knights, and of Paladin Brandis, cut through the darkness easily, making it easier for the unarmored Initiates and Aspirants to see where they were going. Much like Maxson's previous patrol, an eerie silence had begun to settle through the area as well. Clicking his radio active, he spoke to the other members of the patrol in Power Armor.
"Something feels wrong," he began. "It's too quiet. This is just like before I got ambushed with Colvin," he said. Brandis was the first to come over the radio to respond.
"Quiet down, Maxson. Just scan your sector and focus on the task at-" before he could finish, the air cracked around them, the sound of a bullet whizzing past. Before Maxson could yell out, the night erupted, the two Initiates between him and Sanders cut down before they could respond. Sanders, at the front of the patrol, immediately began returning fire with his laser rifle, calling out as he did.
"Contact front!" he began, focusing on the muzzle flashes lighting up in the dark in front of him. Maxson ignored them. Too obvious! Look left, look for the L-shaped ambush. Quickly, Maxson swiveled to his left, bringing his Gatlin with him. As he did, fire lit up the night from that side, shadowy figures moving under cover of what was obviously machine gun fire.
"Contact left! It's an L-shape!" Maxson yelled out, before unleashing a withering barrage with his Gatling at a group of shadows racing forward, bounding from one piece of cover to the next. The high-energy beams scythed through the shadows, cutting them all down, their screams drowned out by the intense exchange. Relentlessly, Maxson began striding forward, feeling an impact thump off his chest, followed by two more in quick succession. To his surprise, they didn't hurt. He focused his attention on a window in a ruined building, one which was letting out controlled bursts of fire. It was obvious to him that it was the machine gun that was the base of fire for this part of the ambush, laying down a wall of covering fire so it's comrades could move unopposed on the beleaguered Brotherhood patrol. Arthur quickly began laying down bursts back at it, forcing the machine gun to fall silent. As it did, he heard the Initiates begin falling into positions of cover alongside him, returning fire at the enemy positions. Over the radio, both in his ear and yet sounding a world away, Maxson heard Brandis relaying information to his superiors, calling for reinforcements.
"Move forward!" Maxson yelled, taking purposeful steps as he unleashed merciless bursts at every muzzle flash and movement he saw in the dark. Behind him, he heard the Initiates following the bursts from his Gatling, laying down fire in those directions when figures popped back up after Maxson's attention had moved elsewhere. Further behind him, he could hear Cutler's minigun whirring, lending it's voice to Sanders and the remaining Initiates fire as they disposed of the other wing of the ambushing enemy. As quickly as it had started, it was over, and the night fell silent. Maxson led the junior members surrounding him forward, calling out orders as he did.
"Clear the bodies!" he said, directing the nearest Initiates to begin kicking away weapons from the enemies they had killed. As he approached, Maxson looked down, his headlamp illuminating the bodies. The black combat armor, emblazoned with a white claw, made it clear. Talon Company, the same as had ambushed McPherson's men. Looking back up, Maxson saw shadowy figures, moving away into the distance.
"Cover this way," Maxson ordered, pointing in the direction he wanted his men to look. "If they come back, open up on them." While he doubted that the enemy would return, security had to be maintained. Turning back, Maxson made his way towards Brandis, opening up his radio channel as he did. In the distance, he saw Sanders and Cutler moving their own troops into positions as well.
"What's our status?" Maxson asked over the radio net.
"I have two KIA over here, from when they first initiated the ambush," Sanders replied.
"No KIA on my side. I think I might have been hit a few times, but I can't tell," Maxson replied as he approached Brandis. Brandis looked him up and down before replying.
"You took a few rounds to the torso, but it looks like your armor deflected them all. None penetrated," he explained, before continuing. "There's a Vertibird en route with QRF and to extract the bodies. You see any signs of who it was?" he asked. Maxson spoke up.
"Talon Company. There's some bodies lying over there, they're in Talon Company kit. They had AP rounds that tore through McPherson's T-45. These T-60 suits are the real deal," he explained. Brandis grunted.
"I'll say. That Gatling Laser of yours was the real deal, too. Every good weapon has a name. You should think of one for it," Brandis replied, before continuing. "Good work, all of you. Maintain security and keep your heads on a swivel until QRF gets here." Maxson moved to return to his men, thinking as his armor thumped forward. It occurred to him, without any conscious thought, what to name his weapon. Smiling to himself, he opened up his radio connection to the others.
"Final Judgment, Paladin. That's the name of my Gatling Laser. Final Judgment."
January 15, 2282
Amata sat in the Vault clinic, watching Elliot fill out paperwork on the other side of the clinic. As he did she thought back to all the times she had been in the clinic through her life. Not for the first time, she mused on just how familiar the Vault was. How despite its size, everything was familiar, everything still felt…safe. Like home. She remembered being a teenager in the Vault, coming for her yearly check up with James Thompson. How kind he always was, how he tried to protect her privacy from her father in the face of him prying into her personal information. Elliot looked up from the paperwork, putting the clipboard back down as he turned to face her.
"Everything looks normal, Overseer," he began, smiling at her. Amata laughed.
"You can call me Amata, Elliot. We're in private here." He nodded at her.
"Sounds good, Amata. But like I said, everything looks normal. You're healthy, there's no signs of any problems with the baby. Three months left. How do you feel?" he asked.
"Good. Ready to finally pop this baby out," she replied, drawing a laugh from Elliot. She continued before he could say anything. "You know, in all the months you've been down here, I've never asked about you, Elliot. I only know what JJ told me." He cocked his head at her.
"What'd you want to know, Amata?" he asked. She shrugged.
"Just about you. Where you're from, how you learned medicine. All that," she replied. He nodded before responding.
"Well, I'm from Arizona originally, Tucson. I ended up going into the Army in 2075. I thought I'd be assigned to a hospital, but I got assigned as a line medic to an Infantry unit instead," he began.
"What was the like?" Amata asked.
"Rough, at first. I was sent to Alaska for the reclamation. My unit saw a lot of combat, but I had really good leadership. That made it a bit better. And then I got taken with a few other guys one night. Sometimes I wonder what happened to my friends from the Army. They're all dead now, though."
"Who were some of your good leaders?" Amata asked, intrigued. "What made them good?" Elliot thought for a moment before responding.
"Lieutenant Howard comes to mind," he replied. "He was a badass. Nate Howard. He had a college degree, but he joined up as an enlisted man before he got a field promotion to Lieutenant. He was a Medal of Honor recipient, too. Great guy. Funny. Talked about his wife a lot, girl named Nora. I think they were from the area around Boston? He talked about it a lot, was a big Red Sox fan. But either way, he's someone that stood out. I always wondered what happened to him."
"Interesting," Amata replied. "Maybe we have some old government records in the Vault's database where we can find out what happened to him." Elliot nodded.
"I'd appreciate it if you did. Anyway, I'm not gonna hold you here, Amata. Like I said, everything looks good and on track for April 15. It's the home stretch," he said, smiling at her as he did.
"Home stretch," she repeated, as much to herself as Elliot, as she stood up to leave. Home Stretch.