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"Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to..." - remains of an Old-World poem inscribed on the New York copper ruin
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First, they tagged them.
"Name and affiliation?"
"Lissandra Maxson, Brotherhood of Steel."
The woman winced as the mechanical clamp of the tattoo machine pressed down firmly against her wrist. The needle burned the first three digits of her designated serial number beneath her skin, which could only be read by a special device carried by the colony enforcers. As the machine worked, she glanced around at the tagging booths adjacent to her own. Hundreds of Brotherhood and Basin-dwellers were being processed in droves, with more arriving every hour. Former knights, scribes and initiates were separated from the non-affiliated wasters, each group lined up into a specific queue.
Not even the children were spared from the Dominion's harrowing initiation. Theirs was a different fate entirely. If they were of any age below ten, the children were taken and loaded up into buses. Protests from both families and friends were quickly silenced once the enforcers stepped in. People were tased, beaten with night-sticks, then forced back into the lines. Maxson wasn't quite sure where the children were headed, but it wasn't at all difficult to imagine what the Dominion had in store for them. The children will be inserted into some kind of indoctrination program, to rid their young minds of anti-Dominion thoughts and create a new generation of loyal citizens out of the Brotherhood's stock.
Next, after everyone got their tags, they moved them through a narrow pass lined on both sides with chain-link fences. Guard-towers loomed above the gates, where the spotlights and sentries watched over the conquered masses. Maxson rubbed at her sore wrist as she took in the sights, memorizing every detail in case she had to find her way through it all. It was only natural for her to think of escaping, it was safe to assume that it was the same thing on everyone's minds. This colony was no better than a prison, and Maxson had no intention of spending the rest of her life behind Dominion bars.
Dominion vertibirds and helicopters flew overhead, carrying construction equipment and supplies from one end of the colony to the other. The pathway narrowed even further until only two people could squeeze through at a time, then after one final security checkpoint it widened enough for everyone to get some breathing room. From there, Maxson could finally see the entirety of the colony. It was mostly unfinished, but for the parts that were put up, there was enough to impress the former Lancer-Commander.
The colony was built into the rocky face of a small canyon, its concrete foundations fortified with an unknown alloy as it tapered closely from base to edge. The buildings looked like the outside of a hornet's nest. A symmetrical, concrete hornet's nest. Walls enclosed the first perimeter on all sides, followed by a chain-link fence topped with razor-wire. Inside the boundary walls were rows after rows of prefab bungalows, separated by the sentry towers strategically placed at every angle. Surveillance cameras were everywhere, covering the whole colony like a great big network of electronic eyes. The middle district was where the water purification plants were, and further in close to the canyon were the mines.
The guards herded the groups together before a hastily setup platform, where the colony warden ascended to address general population. The warden was an aesir, but it was only his height that gave it away. His skin wasn't pale like Admiral Locke's, it was a vibrant brown as a normal human would have. And unlike Locke, the warden was far from friendly. He was dressed in multi-camo patterned fatigues, and he wore a black beret that hugged his brow tight as regulation demanded. His voice was powerful enough to carry over the crowd without the aid of a megaphone, he made no secret of his disdain as he bellowed out his greeting.
"My name is Major Lorenzo Knox! Welcome to Tartarus, you ignorant servile scum! This place is your new home! You will live, work, fuck and die behind these walls! Why? Because you fought us, and you lost!" He paused to cast his baleful glare at the huddled masses, then resumed his rant. "But as it happens, the High Marshal thinks there's hope for you yet. In return for the blood, sweat and tears you will most certainly shed- you just might earn citizenship. You called yourselves 'Brotherhood of Steel'? Let's see how you live up to your name."
"Such a charmer." The man standing next to Maxson muttered.
When she turned to face him, Maxson immediately recognized him. "Paladin Brand! How... how are you alive?"
Brand didn't look himself. He was thinner, and the dark circles around his eyes suggested that he hadn't been sleeping well. He also had strange little metal ports in the back of his head, like someone surgically carved up his skull and bolted the pieces together. That wasn't the part. He wasn't acting the way he should. But considering the things he'd gone through, him being alive was a miracle in of itself. "They kept me alive. Just long enough to take whatever secrets I had in my head, then dumped me here with the rest of you guys."
Maxson glanced around, then clamped her hand over Brand's arm. The man swayed unsteadily in her grip, but he walked with her when the crowd dispersed. The enforcers were pushing them towards their assigned bungalows in the living district.
"So the Dominion finally won, huh?" Brand uttered a mirthless chuckle, "All that trouble, all those resources we poured into the fight. Tell me, how bad was it towards the end?"
"No point in telling you. We're here now, best focus on staying alive."
"Ah, it's fine if you don't want to. A man can think, and I think all we did was fight fire with gasoline. We got burned pretty bad, but we didn't know when to quit. Did we lose hundreds? Thousands? I bet it was thousands."
Maxson snapped, "Paladin, get a hold of yourself!"
Brand shed a tear and his voice broke. He started sobbing, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry."
He was leaning a little bit heavily on her, but Maxson didn't mind. "Just shut up and walk with me. Everything's going to be alright."
She was lying, of course. Nothing was going to be alright. They broke Brand, just like they broke her people. She could only imagine the horrors inflicted upon him, and all the other captives the Dominion deemed viable for extracting intel. It both sickened and infuriated her, especially with the fact that there was nothing much she could do about it. For the first time since she was a little girl at Lost Hills, she was helpless. They all were.
"This bungalow is your designated bunkhouse." An officer, marked with an 'MP' across his body-armor, listed down the serial codes of every inmate assigned to the little building. "Know it by heart, or get zapped. We catch you wandering over to another bungalow, you'll get only one warning shot. One. The next shot comes with a bullet."
"Come on, time to go before you get comfy." One of the enforcers said firmly as he beckoned for them to follow him to their work stations.
Noticing the pair for the first time, the MP guy tapped at his pip-boy to look up Maxson's number after scanning her tag with an ID reader. "Prisoner 24601." Then he scanned Brand's, "Hmm... 22448. You're not supposed to be here. Boys?"
His men started to move for Brand.
"Please, he can barely stand." Lissandra blocked the rooks' path, "If you're not going to treat him, at least let him stay here with me. I'll look after him."
The MP tilted his head and was about to protest, but changed his mind when he saw the state of Brand's health. He decided he didn't care enough to argue, "Alright then. Have it your way. But if he dies, you'll be the one burying him."
Maxson glared at him but said nothing. She placed Brand on one of the beds, made sure he was comfortable first, then headed out after the others. But before she could get one stride away from the bed, the former paladin grabbed her hand.
"Please..." He whispered tearfully, "Don't leave me..."
Maxson sighed and rubbed the back of his wrist. "I'll be back for you. I promise. Now rest."
"Let's go 24601!" The MP roared, "We don't have all day!"
Maxson hurried to get in line with the rest of the inmates. She kept her head down, both figuratively and literally. Still, it wasn't enough to keep her out of people's attention. A group of four inmates, all male and among the first to be incarcerated at Tartarus, were watching Maxson leave her bungalow. And in turn, someone was watching them watching the woman.
Cold blue eyes stared murderously through the thick shade of his aviator glasses. He knew that look about them, the lecherous glances exchanged between friends when a despicable idea took root in their tiny brains. The man was wearing a hard-suit, a judge series model. It came with extra pockets for the various tools necessary for his line of work. The only thing that could distinguish it from the ones Blackwatch operatives used was the deadman's gray paintjob, and the iconic symbol of the judges carved artistically into the torsal plate- the face of Lady Justice, the blindfolded woman. And on the side where his heart should be was his badge. The name Thorne was inscribed on it.
His right arm was a cybernetic limb, made out of the same material used for his hard-suit. There was nothing covering the inner components, the pistons and actuators were all exposed. It looked like the arm of an iron skeleton. It wasn't the prettiest thing, but it worked as good as the original. Probably better.
Major Knox approached the man with a pip-pad in his hand, then stopped to follow the direction of his stare. The warden understood why he was there, why the powers that be sent a team right out of Elysion to keep tabs on the operations in Tartarus. He understood, but he certainly did not approve. Knox cleared his throat to get his attention. "Ahem, judge?"
The judge didn't look at him right away. He was still observing the men, only stopping when they finally disappeared into the crowd. The men were assigned to manual labor and were on break. He knew he had to keep an eye on them, but that wasn't his priority. The High Marshal sent him to Tartarus for an entirely different mission.
"Got a boxful of holo-tapes on everyone who came with the transports for the past two months." Knox reported. "Just like you asked."
"My team will receive them." The judge said dismissively, "Thank you, warden."
That was his cue to leave, but the warden was not about to be blown off so easily. "If I may ask, why is Elysion going through all the trouble with sending a team of judges all the way out here?"
"Short answer? We're here to make sure this place runs as a penal colony, not a death-camp."
"Why? They sent me here to ensure it does run that way. Did they make a mistake? Don't they trust me to do the job?"
"Given your history with the Brotherhood..." Thorne cast his scrutinizing gaze on the warden, "No. Not one bit."
Major Knox lost many good men in the war. First, it was an ambush in the Wasteland, they never saw it coming. This was during the days when they didn't even know there was a Brotherhood of Steel. Naturally, the Dominion got to know them better pretty damn quickly. He lost more at Pivot Point when the Brotherhood took over. Then a lot more when they attacked Riverside. All that's left were with him presently at Tartarus. "Then why the hell am I still in charge here?"
"The men guarding this place, they respect you. And to watch over such a large population of subjugated people, well, it's quite a daunting task. You keep them in line, and everything goes smoothly- for everyone."
Knox scowled. He saluted the judge and stomped away. Thorne's Sentinel drone, a smart enough robot with a built-in facial recognition software to analyze human emotions, flagged Knox as a potential threat. Thorne's lips betrayed a small smile of amusement, which he quickly suppressed as he tapped at his pip-boy. "Relax. He knows better than to try his luck. The moment he pulls a gun on me, his career- and his life- is over."
The drone chattered out an acknowledgement.
"Now, let's get down to business." Thorne jacked in a holo-tape and pulled up Maxson's file. The stuff in there was taken right out of a few people's heads, quite literally. It doesn't get much accurate than that, Thorne trusted the source. "Lissandra Maxson. Brotherhood Lancer-Commander. Commanded the Liberator in the attack at Riverside, then the Righteous during both the withdrawal and the final battle at Landfall. Outstanding officer... and directly related to the Brotherhood's supreme leader. Huh... I guess I understand now why the old man wanted us here."
The drone clicked twice, as if asking a question.
Thorne pretended to understand. It was kind of a silly game between them, him guessing what the drone was saying. Although when it counted, the communication and coordination of the pair was a lot smoother. "Come on then, let's go pay that woman a visit when she's back from work."
That meant touring Tartarus for the rest of the day. Workers weren't allowed back into their bungalows until after their shifts end. Good behavior earns them breaks, or other favors the administration finds inconsequential to dispense. For newcomers, such favors were rarely given. The right must be earned, and so forth.
Thorne didn't mind. He wanted to take his time, see how the forced-labor facilities worked from behind the scenes. It was, after all, why his team of fellow judges were there in the first place. Giving the inmates a hard time was acceptable, they deserved it. Torturing or killing them wasn't. The issue wasn't that it was wrong, it was wasteful. A man, and especially a woman, was no good to the Dominion dead. The judges were there to make sure everyone was in perfect shape to contribute to the nation they fought against, and in the process weed out the bad guys looking to start trouble.
Ascending up the walkway leading to the West wall, Thorne gazed out into the vast plaza where the main water treatment plant was located. Hundreds of inmates were working together, operating giant machines and hauling cargo to and from the plant- all under the watchful eye of a hundred sentry turrets and patrolling enforcers. Military drones, more armored and equipped with heavy weapons when compared to Sentinel drones, hovered above the toiling masses in droves. Knox made sure they all saw them, to remind the inmates that he was watching their every move.
It was an effective deterrent. Nobody wanted to start trouble, not out in the open. And here at Tartarus, things were rarely hidden. If Thorne was honest with himself, the highly monitored scene wasn't new anywhere in the Dominion. Even the cities and towns had eyes everywhere. The Brotherhood made them all rethink their strategy on surveillance, inadvertently strengthening the Dominion's security measures.
No one will attack them from the inside again.
'Do your work. Keep your head down. Go home. Repeat.'
Maxson mentally chanted the words like a mantra, keeping herself occupied as she worked. She was assigned to operate the large mechanical crane meant to lift the heavy stacks of filled water jugs from one loading platform to another. It wasn't the same as piloting a vertibird, but the way the Dominion designed their machines made it easy for anyone with the smarts to use it. And Maxson was smart enough. Once the others filled the stacks to their limit, she transferred the cargo into a nice and neat little pile as she was told to do.
She received no praise from the overseeing officer, who watched her work with guarded curiosity, but her satisfaction at having earned her evening meal was enough of a reward. Her first day was exhausting, and she found herself absolutely famished. All she wanted was to eat, get back to Brand, then wake up to do the whole thing all over again.
And once he was better, she could draw up a plan for their escape. But now, just thinking about it, she realized how unrealistic any plans of escape would be. She was hundreds of miles away from Lost Hills, behind enemy lines, and right smack in the middle of one of the most heavily guarded prisons in the Dominion. Even if she got away from Tartarus, she wouldn't get far.
Miles and miles of sand, radiation and monsters in between her and home. That thought alone was enough to crush her hopes, and the woman felt the tears well up behind her eyelids. Furious now, she hardened herself, refusing to give up. She reassured herself that there will be opportunities in the near future, and that all she needed to do was wait.
But first, she needed to eat. And while she was at it, get something for Brand as well.
There wasn't a mess hall for the penal colony. Whatever served as a food distribution area, it was done under a few tents connected together in a half-square, and everyone was lined up to be served. And yet the Dominion managed to make use of what seemed at first like a crude method, and got the distribution flowing smoothly anyway. It was actually impressive. The queue lines were short and moved quickly. Maxson suspected it to be the handiwork of the enforcers. When one is under the constant threat of getting shocked, it's easier to just pick up the food and move on.
The cook, at least, was the friendliest guy she'd met the whole day.
"And what will you be having?" He said with a warm smile. The question was more of a joke. There was only one type of meal served that night.
"Meal for two. I got a friend too sick to walk."
The cook didn't even question nor protest her request. He simply shrugged and dumped the steaming hot broth into two paper bowls, then added two loaves of bread each the size of a grown man's shoe. "Bon Appetit."
Maxson made her way back to the bungalow, carrying the food on a plastic tray. It was the biggest meal she's had since Landfall, and it astonished her to see that the Dominion had so much, or at least when compared with the Brotherhood. If they could feed their prisoners this much, she could just imagine what their actual citizens were enjoying.
She stepped into a particularly dark path to avoid a pair of Dominion enforcers, planning to step out as soon as she was clear. It turned out to be a mistake. Two inmates, huge and almost the size of super-mutants, blocked her path. Two more came at her from behind, with the fifth emerging from a seemingly empty bungalow to her right.
The man had the kind of voice that sent the hairs on her skin to stand on end, "Hey there, girlie. You lost?"
The others chuckled, "Where you going? We gonna have ourselves a party. Why don't you drop by? We've got room..."
Maxson knew exactly what they were planning to do, and she was going to make them bleed for it. First thing she did was catch them off guard. Feigning a come-on, she flashed their leader a toothy grin. "Aww shucks, darling. That's awful sweet of you, but I think I'll pass."
She tossed the hot soup in his face, causing the man to scream in agony. Surprised, his friends took a step back and spread up to cover her escape. But Maxson wasn't running. She'd been trained in hand-to-hand combat by Lost Hills' veteran knights. Commanding airships may have been her primary occupation, but she was far from helpless in a fight.
The woman balled up her fists and punched out the burned inmate's windpipe. It wasn't enough to break it, but the man staggered back as he clutched at his neck. He fell to his knees and gasped for air. Maxson crouched low in time to dodge an attack from behind. One of his friends tried to stick a crude shank into her back and missed. She went for his groin and hit the soft sack between his legs as hard as she could.
Unfortunately, there were too many of them for her to handle all at once. Before she knew what was happening, she took a blow to the face which made her see stars. When she was on the ground, someone kicked her. Hard. Her chest exploded, and all the breath was pushed out of her lungs. Dazed, Maxson was vaguely aware of being carried off into a dark room. Then all of a sudden, she was on her back and her pants were being pulled from her legs.
"I go first." One of the brutes growled as he slammed the door behind him. "Fucking bitch burned my face. Time for some get-even."
The others grabbed her by the wrists and held her down. Maxson's heart raced as she heard the rattle of his belt being undone, it jumped when the door burst open.
A drone hovered inside, covering its partner as an armored judge walked in after it. He was mostly a dark silhouette from the lack of light in the room, but the gleaming object in his hand wasn't something to miss- nor mistake.
His tongue clicked, showing his disapproval. "Assault and battery. Attempted rape. These are very serious crimes. You boys must love playing fast and loose with the law, now don't you?"
"Holy shit, that's a judge!" One of the inmates gasped.
"Bot, are you recording this?" The judge asked.
The drone emitted a cheerful chirp.
"Good." He cleared his throat, "You're cleared to execute."
Maxson winced as a shower of warm, sticky wetness covered her face and legs. The Sentinel's .50 caliber auto-cannon made short work of the convicts, but left quite a mess of things. Gore painted the walls and bunks, while the chewed up corpses were left scattered across the floor. Hurt, stunned but otherwise intact, Maxson sat up to behold the judge's handiwork.
"And that's five less scumbags to worry about." Judge Thorne approached the trembling woman. "Are you alright, miss?"
Maxson's chest heaved, and she briskly pulled her pants back up. It took a full minute for her to get a hold of herself. Her mind was racing, thinking about what happened and what could've happened.
With whatever sanity she had left, she expressed her gratitude for the judge's timely intervention. "Thank you, judge."
Thorne extended his hand to help her up. "Now, I know it may not be the best time, but I'd like to escort you out of here and move you to a safer location. You weren't supposed to be put in with general population anyway."
Everything was a blur to Maxson, she didn't even realize she was already walking out the way she got into Tartarus until she was staring at the open door of a waiting vertibird. Considering what happened to her just moments prior, it was natural for her brain to shut off. The Sentinel drone chirped twice, causing the woman to jump in shock.
Thorne snapped, "We'll have plenty of time to do the paperwork. Mission comes first. Let's go."
Without worrying about her attempting to escape, the judge moved the near-catatonic Maxson to sit beside him and closed the door. The vertibird, cleared for takeoff, left Tartarus and headed for Elysion.
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