Scribe Logan was typing fervently on one of the few terminals they had managed to set up in the Brotherhood base camp.
"In summation, these 'laser' weapons, also referred to by the locals as 'blasters', bear a remarkable resemblance to the Q series plasma rifles developed first by REPCONN Aerospace and later the United States government, with two notable differences".
Scribe Logan looked up from his terminal, he had been working for Scribe Polk for nearly a year now.
"Firstly, the size and charge capacity inside of their respective ammunition packs. Utilising a standard-size microfusion cell a Plasma Rifle typically holds around 12 charges, although it has been known to be modified as high as 30. These blasters, however, thanks to testing, see attached testing logs 15-D, can hold roughly 100 to 150 charges".
One of Scribe Logan's most common and least favourite assignments was to act as a transcriber for his senior scribe.
"Secondly is the generation and projection of the weapons plasma, the theory for the generation of plasma is the same in both weapons except the blaster adds in one extra step. The blaster has a container of energy rich gas the locals call 'Tibanna gas' and when firing, a small portion of this gas is energised allowing for much more efficient plasma generation. Conversely, a plasma rifle simply uses a sizable charge of a microfusion cell's power to convert normal atmospheric particles into plasma".
Usually, his duties as a transcriber never lasted longer than an hour or so. However, Polk was a student of the Order of the Sword and had naturally dug into these new weapons with enthusiasm to match a Deathclaw in a chicken coop.
"In regards to projection, the approaches of these weapons couldn't be more different. Plasma rifles avoid the problem of the rapid diffusion of plasma by simply generating such a large amount of it that when projected out of the weapon it maintains enough energy to be lethal at a moderate range, this Strategy means that the plasma rifle trades range for power".
Four hours he had been here, four long hours of writing and rewriting all of the senior scribes' drabbles as he theorised about blasters.
"Blasters meanwhile use an electromagnetic field to focus and maintain the shape and power of their 'bolts' thus allowing for longer ranges to be achieved while maintaining killing potential. As a result, the plasma necessary to be generated per bolt is less than that of a plasma rifle".
The scribe paused his writing ready for the next paragraph. 'Don't get me wrong, I like weapons as much as anyone in the Order of the Sword, but it just loses something when it's someone else delving into the unknown and you're just along for the ride'.
The scribe stopped his line of thinking when he didn't hear his senior continue speaking, slowly peeking up from his monitor he met the flat gaze of Senior Scribe Polk.
"Something bothering you, scribe Logan".
Logan shot up in his seat. "No sir, nothing sir, just lost in my own thoughts, sir".
Watching his junior jump gave Polk a small smirk on his usually rigid face. "I remember my transcribing days in the order Logan. I was under the torturous tutelage of one scribe Ulster, who could make even the most interesting study seem droll. But I learned more floating over his shoulder than under any other scribe". He gave Logan a knowing look. "So you better pay attention during your days".
"Yes sir" Logan squirmed under Polks stare.
"But I suppose there are other ways to learn". Polk turned to face one of the tables in his workspace. "And it will help break up your transcribing duties, come tell me what you notice".
Logan moved to his side as Polk motioned him forward. On the table were the dissected remains of one of the many acquired blasters.
"A test Scribe Logan, an assessment of your progress in the Order of the Sword so far. Tell me what's missing from this picture".
Logan, a student of the Sword that he was, was quick to identify pieces of the deadly jigsaw lying on the table.
'Power cell off to the side of the weapon, there's the gas chamber near the back above the grip and the heat sinks under the barrel but away from the front grip'. His eyes roamed over the weapon pieces until he found the problem. 'Wait would that be it? No, it isn't, so where is-'.
"The computer". Logan exclaimed, he turned and saw that a smirk had returned to Polk's face.
"Exactly my boy". He turned to face the dissected weapon. "Temperature control, release mechanisms, managing the electromagnetic current; nothing grand but they all need to be controlled somehow and there is little mechanical movement".
"So how does it function without a computer".
Another knowing look from Polk. "It doesn't".
The confusion on Logan's face was clearly visible, so when Polk saw he brought his finger down and pointed at a small plastic container barely half the size of Logan's palm. "That is the computer"
Logan simply stared at the device Polk had picked up for a long moment. "That- that's not possible".
Seeing his student's bewildered face Polk began to explain while still marvelling at the piece himself. "We don't know how it works yet, we only know two things. These computers don't use Vacuum tubes and these computers are smaller and far more powerful than anything we currently have".
He placed the device into Logan's hand and watched as he turned it around trying to glimpse into its secrets. "If and indeed when we figure these microcomputers out almost every senior scribe and proctor is frothing at the mouth at how these could revolutionise everything we use, from power armour all the way down to hydroponics units".
"Officially the newly gazetted Proctor Vallincourt is heading the study seeing as she and her team are the ones with access to these little wonders". The smirk returned to his face. "But I suppose I could lend this to you and you could do some extracurricular research, all in aid of the Order of the Sword of course".
Polk could almost see the stars in Logan's eyes.
—
Head scribe Rothschild rubbed tired eyes, he was no stranger to long hours and burning the midnight oil. That wasn't to say at his age it got any easier.
'Vallincourt's request for more personnel, Scribe Perrin's report on hydroponics progress, three equipment recovery mission reports and plenty more'. He shuffled the reports in his hand before dropping them on his desk, it was reports and decisions like these that usually fell under the purview of the Elder.
The head scribe let his head fall into his hand and let out a long-suffering sigh, it hurt to think of his long time friends passing.
Long before the attack on the citadel and their appearance on this world, in the small hours of the night, between drinks, he would talk to his dear friend and Elder.
Sometimes they spoke of war, against bandits, against super mutants even against the Enclave.
Sometimes they spoke of politics, of right and wrong, of duty to the Brotherhood and of duty to your fellow man.
Sometimes they would speak of lives long lived, of both triumphs and regrets.
But often would the subject of his daughter come up, of Sarah Lyons, 'the apple of his eye' he would say. Owyn Lyons would worry something fierce about his daughter; Was she safe? Was she healthy in body and mind? Was he a good father to her?
Was she ready?
Owyn Lyons had been growing Sarah into the role of Elder longer than most people realised, lessons in leadership, morality and critical thinking. He didn't hide her from those in the brotherhood who thought he was in the wrong for his compassion, he always let her form her own opinions.
Perhaps his only failing was that while he was so busy teaching his daughter all she would need to survive as a leader in the unforgiving wasteland, he had neglected to teach her how to be a person.
Sarah was by no means an emotional recluse, her fellow brothers and sisters especially in her Lyon Pryde made sure of that. But that still left her open to the deep emotional losses that life was all too ready to send her way. Losses like that of her father.
There had been no ceremony, no time to prepare. The girl just lost her father and then had the weight of responsibility dropped on her shoulders.
He was there as the other scribes removed the medical equipment and laid their leader to rest with all due reverence, she'd simply stood beside him with empty eyes.
Rothschild had taken the role of directing things since then, with the assistance of Paladin Glade and Kodiak. Soon they'd decided that their presence was no longer needed at the FOB and that a guard was necessary to escort their former elder home.
Sarah was quiet as they moved, it wasn't the serious, hyper-aware silence she was known for. He had kept an eye on her as they progressed, she'd refused to ride on the hover-sled that her father's body rested on, she had instead marched in step to the rest of the escort simply on autopilot.
And no one had seen hide nor hair of her since their return.
'Oh, Owyn you fool'.
Rothschild was shaken out of his musings as the tent flap into his office was moved, another one of his assistants with more reports to read. He sat up straight in his seat and took the reports offered to him. "Thank you, scribe".
"You're welcome sir".
Just as quickly as he came was the scribe gone and he was left with more work to do and decisions to make.
The loss of Elder Lyons was felt by everyone in the brotherhood, even those who opposed his way of thinking still respected the man. But his passing hit Sarah hardest. As she was right now, she was in no way ready for the burden bearing down on her.
Sarah Lyons was meant to be the Elder, Owyn had convinced him of this much.
But until she picked up the pieces of herself so that she could stand and fulfil that role, Rothschild would bear the weight of that responsibility.
Sarah Lyons would rise to be the Elder of this wayward chapter.
Of this, Rothschild was certain.
—
*Fzzzztt-
"Aww come on you almost had it". Knight Anders complained as the static from the radio cut off.
"No, I didn't, the connection to the MF cell wasn't right and it would have exploded". Scribe initiate Adalyn grumbled out as she sent her co-conspirator a glare. "Listen with all this new technology around we scribes are getting busier by the day so projects like your little radio are not a priority".
"Listen, even in this place where the likelihood of being shot is practically zero, morale has still taken a bit of a hit". The knight placed his hand on her shoulder. "I figure a little bit of music from home would help everyone".
The scribe gave him a sidelong glance before sighing, "Just let me get back to work Anders".
Watching her get back to fiddling with the radio, Anders leant back and rolled his eyes. "There is just no pleasing you scribes".
"Come on Anders". He turned to face his other squad members in their bunk tent. "You know the only thing that pleases Ada is a nice organised list of data, and you're about as far away as you can get from that".
That earned a round of chuckles from his squad mates. "Shut up Bronte".
*Fzzzzzzttt
"There it should be working now". Adalyn's announcement got a round of cheers.
"And if it explodes?".
"It won't". She handed the radio to the knight. "And if it does, it's not my responsibility".
Anders chuckled as he placed the radio on the table and his squad gathered around. "Alright, now this goes in here". Carefully he took out a holotape and placed it into the right slot.
A few seconds of static passed before the sound of a piano came out of its speakers.
"I was walking along
Minding my business
When out of an orange coloured sky
FLASH
BANG
ALAKAZAM"
"Attention"
All of the knights shot up to a standing position, as a paladin moved into the tent.
"Wonderful you came by-" *click
Anders moved fast and turned off the music.
"At ease". Came the paladin's first command with a slight mirth in his voice.
The squad moved to parade rest and they watched as the paladin began to remove his helmet.
Paladin Hardin watched as relief filled the eyes of his former squad mates, he had only been a paladin for a year now but he liked to keep in touch with his battle buddies. "Stand relaxed Viking squadron".
The first to come up to him was Knight Captain Lucroy, commanding officer of Viking squadron. "It's about time you showed up, you big Lummox, we haven't seen you since we got here". She clasped his hand and pulled him into a hug.
"Well, I've been busy ma'am".
"None of that ma'am stuff you outrank us all now". She slapped his back and ushered him forward to the rest of the squad. "You can tell us all about it"
*Click
"I was humming a tune
Drinking in sunshine
When out of that Orange coloured view
FLASH
BANG
ALAKAZAM
I got a look at you"
The music now back on, Hardin was absorbed into the group and took to regaling his former squadmates of his defence of the small village nearby. The hours went by and the music from earth naturally attracted other members of the brotherhood and soon the tent was full of conversation from Hardin's brothers and sisters.
It wasn't long until the knights of Hardin's group started talking about the biggest event in the brotherhood so far.
"So you were there weren't you Hardin". Knight Bronte leaned forward. "When the Elder passed".
Hardin simply nodded with downcast eyes. "I wasn't in the room but I heard it was peaceful".
The group and those listening shared the same sad look, many of the lower ranking members of the brotherhood were DC locals taken in and given a chance by the brotherhood.
A chance they'd never had if not for Owyn Lyons.
"What about our resident Lyon, how's she taken it, we haven't seen much of her".
Again Hardin's eyes lowered; he didn't need to speak for those around him to get the answer. Before Hardin could speak a voice called out.
"Paladin Hardin". Most people in the room looked and when they did they all stood to attention. Knight commander Rogan let his gaze sweep over the gathering until Hardin stood.
"Your presence has been requested by head scribe Rothschild".
"Yes sir". Hardin sent a quick nod to his squad mates before swiftly leaving the tent.
The rest of the soldiers felt a sweat drop as Rogan glared at those present. "Who's radio is that".
"Mine sir". Anders was quick to speak out.
"I expect to see that radio donated to the communal area by tomorrow". Another sweep of his gaze. "As you were" and he left.
—
Hardin entered the tent and briskly made his way towards the head scribe and stood to attention.
"Ahh good Paladin". The head scribe held out a folder to Hardin. "Take a look at this"
As Hardin began reading Rothschild leant back into his seat. "Earlier today I was approached by Mayor Brajun, he has requested that we provide an escort for a trade convoy from this village to the city of Wasulta".
"Several reasons have made me accept the least of which being that they offered to pay for the escort". The Scribe leant forward resting his head on his elbows.
Hardin looked up from the mission profile. "Sir?"
"You will lead both your new squad and a small detachment of knights, your primary objective for this mission is the protection of the convoy and all of the people within, your secondary objectives are no less important however". He pushed another folder towards Hardin.
"First, I will be assigning a full team of scribes to your group, they will be under your command and will assist you in gathering as much information as possible. The information provided by the locals has been good but they speak of a way to access much more information through something called the holonet. Find a way to access this network and let the scribes gather as much as they can".
"Secondly, Mayor Brajun has agreed to pay you upon arrival at Wasulta. You will use these to purchase items that are listed on the mission report. It's mostly raw materials but if the scribes happen across something worth purchasing in their research I expect you to use your judgement".
"Finally, continue to collect or mark any brotherhood equipment. Also keep an eye out for any Brotherhood personnel that may have been scattered outside of the transmitter beacon range".
"Understood Paladin".
"Yes sir". Hardin was quick to reply but hesitated for a moment.
"Permission to speak sir". Rothschild nodded. "Why was I chosen for this assignment".
The Head scribes' once serious eyes softened a little. "I have read your file Paladin Hardin. You've been a Paladin for just over a year and before this whole debacle had not had the chance to prove yourself. However in the past few days you have acquitted yourself well, you've shown good leadership qualities in both your engagements so far".
"Paladins in your position will spend much more time shadowing a senior Paladin, you've proven that you deserve a chance to go further". Rothschild gave him a strong look. "Don't waste this opportunity".
—
"KRIFFING DAMMIT" *BANG
Her clenched fist came straight down onto her desk.
"NOT ONE, NOT TWO, NOT THREE BUT NINE RAID ALERTS AND YOU DIDN'T RECALL US"
"Governor Pomst was-"
"I DON'T CARE WHAT THAT OVERBLOWN CHEAPSKATE SAYS, WE'RE THE PLANETARY MILITIA THESE RAIDS WERE THE REASON WE WERE FORMED" she shouted down the comm link
"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING". She looked down at the comm link and saw it had disconnected. "AAARGH"
Her cap came off and was promptly sent flying across the room.
Her name was Salant Hesp and she was angry. All her life she had fought the good fight, first on her homeworld then as a part of the galactic judiciaries and now here as commander of the Eulea planetary militia.
She should be happy, her homeworld's martial culture said that she had done well to lead and maintain an effective fighting force.
But she wasn't and the main cause of that was Pomst Decaren or as most knew him, Governor Pomst. That man just grated on her, denying fund requests, openly mocking her credibility and now leading her force on a wild goose chase and not calling them back when an actual threat presented itself.
She let her head fall into her porcelain white hands.
"That bad huh". She looked up to see her second-in-command and friend, Dyl Tsu, he was a Quarren that like her had found her way to this backwater planet.
"Really, you can tell, I thought I was keeping it quite close to my chest". He chuckled at her sarcasm.
"So what are we gonna do, send out relief supplies?"
"Like Pomst would approve that". She let out a long sigh. "Get the word out to the usual people that were going out there to see what's what and we'd appreciate any donation they can make for a relief effort".
"And you?"
"I'll manage things here, between Pomst and these reports of Mandalorians, I certainly won't be without work".
AN: Just a few bits of info. The power armor their using is the FO4 I.E. armour built around and exoskeleton. The time line for this fic is around 40BBY-ish (subject to change). And yes Authur Maxson is goin to be included in this fic, i already have some hilarious ideas for his character in this universe.
Thank you for reading this fic so far :)