Chapter 20 “Agreed.”

John woke in a small concrete room, naked on a simple bed with coarse sheets, wrapped in a damp towel. Memories of the horror the night before coming back to him. Reflexively he checked his pipboy, scrolled to the map screen and found it blank. Trying not to panic he scrolled in all directions, finding only unmapped, black screen. A mapping pulse and the error ping that followed kick started the panic. *Four pin disconnected*

He tried to remember what happened, getting only images of things that looked like nightmares. Twisted inhuman faces, the sound of flesh being chewed, the sensation of sheer terror. Before his panic could consume him, someone unbolted, then kicked the steel door three times and called his name.

“John, you up?” He recognised the blonde woman's voice from the night before, from the questioning that made Vault Sec seem kind.

“Yeah, I’m up.”

“Can you open the door, my hands are full.” Her casual tone undercut the situation and threw him slightly. He opened the door to see the blonde woman carrying a tray of steaming cups and bowls. With a perfect orange sphere rolling between them. “Morning. Here under my arm, got you some clean clothes, take them.” He reached out, holding the damp towel in place with one hand to pointlessly cover himself.

John turned and dressed in the coarse, ill fitting, dull green t shirt and pocketed trousers. The blonde woman stepped into the small room. Trying to appear like she wasn’t forcing him to sit awkwardly on the low bed. “You must be hungry, we’ll eat, then we’ll talk.” The woman sat cross legged on the floor, dressed in the same clothes. Apart from the comfy looking, tightly laced boots.

John looked at the tray of steaming bowls and cups. He recognised the coffee but not the white mush that looked like someone else chewed it first. The woman seemed to mistake his unfamiliarity with real food for something else.

She smiled, picked up a plastic spoon, and ate a spoonful of white mush from each bowl. “Trust me, if we wanted to kill you we wouldn’t waste food to do it.” John hadn’t even thought of that, and the woman saw her attempt to lighten the mood with a joke didn’t work. “It’s nothing fancy, coffee, rehyd’d oats with a little powdered milk, and a dash of syrup for flavour.” John felt too hungry to care, and found the oats surprisingly enjoyable. Warm, nourishing, with a kind of neutral flavour that made it easy to eat.

The blonde woman produced a small object from the back of her boot and clicked it, revealing a thin, sharp, blade. John recoiled slightly. The woman took the perfect orb, cutting it in half and half again, sending juice dripping on the tray below. John tried to look uninterested. Yet the glistening, deep red, interior reminded him of the apple, half an apple, he ate a decade ago. He did as the woman did, biting the juicy, sweet, insides away from the tough, outer skin.

Breakfast eaten and tension slightly eased, for a moment at least. The blonde woman handed John a pair of boots from outside the room, then stood waiting for him to put them on. The same as hers, but missing laces. Like new, strong, synthetic material, with softer, flexible sections. With socks and laces they might have even been comfortable.

“John, this is awkward, but I need to blindfold you, for your safety and ours.” John nodded, he had no choice, they both knew it. At least she tried to be respectful, and he didn’t think they would feed him before torturing him again.

The woman led him by the hand, slowly, his eyes bound in a tight bandanna. He recognised the echo of low, subterranean, corridors. Yet little else beyond a faint, static hissing. After a short elevator ride, a few smaller doors, John felt the unfamiliar feeling of carpet beneath his boots. The woman removed the blindfold and John found himself in a room that looked straight out of the old world.

Faded, wood panel walls. Fluorescent lighting. Heavy curtains covering windows, traces of the morning light breaking through. And matching, black leather, couches that looked somehow new, facing each other over a low table.

The room looked empty, or rather emptied. Faint outlines of things once hung on walls now removed. To keep whatever information they held from him. Seated in the centre of a couch, a man John recognised from the gravel in his voice.

“Morning John, I understand you’ve been fed?” Face to face, instead of a voice and light, John still found the man intimidating. Dressed deliberately in the same clothes. He looked to be in his late forties, a short black beard, patched with grey. The lean figure of a younger man, and a demeanour that expected respect.

“Sit, please.” John did, sitting in a corner instead of directly opposite the gravel voiced man. The woman took the other corner, but her manner told John she wouldn’t be doing the talking. “First things first, these are yours.” The man reached under the table, and to John’s relief, slid his boots, vault-suit and weapon belt over to him.

He checked them over, resisting the urge to reach for a weapon. Everything was still there. Save for the pistol mag he dropped and the throwing knife he’d last seen stuck in the mutant brute’s eye. He didn’t want that back anyway.

“Next time you weave lanyards with paracord, soak it in clean, warm, water first. Makes for tighter knots.” The odd tip caught John by surprise, but the man continued. “And this too.” From the large pocket on the side of the trousers they all wore, the gravel voiced man produced the missing wireless four pin connector. John let out an audible sigh of relief, without meaning to. John stood and took his connector back, clipping it away. Vowing never to lose it again, realising without it he may never get Rosie out.

The gravel voiced man said something to him, but he couldn’t hear him. He realised where his borrowed, fine leather coat would be, back with Lady Luck. Billy wouldn’t of taken it, he would have given everything to the radio host at the top of the world. Including the tale of the nights events. That would get back to Robco and he would likely think John dead.

The man spoke to him again, gently trying to get his attention. Rather than demanding it with bright lights and cold, irradiated, water. “I said that’s some interesting technology. Don’t often see a wireless four pin.” John ignored the lazy attempt to draw out information.

He felt sure he didn’t give away too much while they tortured him. He kept looking the gravel voiced man in the eye to let him know he heard him. “You did us a service last night, our people are home now, we can give them a proper burial. We’re grateful for it.”

"Funny way of showing it.” John couldn’t help himself. The man spoke with gratitude, but the burns on his arms from writhing against tight restraints in cold pain hurt.

“Now John, you’re a smart man. You know we had to bring you in like that for our safety, and from what I’m told it’s a good job we intervened when we did.” John remembered the sound of ripping and the echoing, metallic thump of whatever had fallen from above to crush the green, grotesque, brute.

“You’re right…” John stopped short of thanking them, but made a promise to do so, when they let him go. If they let him go. “What was that thing, some kind of robot?” The woman at the other end of the couch laughed. Even the stern, gravel voiced man cracked a smile, neither answered him.

“I’m also told you saw the abomination up close, saw what it did, what it…eats.” John nodded silently, up close felt like an understatement.

“I tried to help him, I couldn’t help the woman, but I got to the man. He told me to get his pack, I thought it was medicine, I didn’t know he just told me to run.” John still sounded scared, he still felt scared.

“We know that John, it’s ok, we know. You did a brave thing. Especially since you’ve only been up here…” John was aware enough to answer the man as if he wasn’t. Lying to prevent even an attempt to find his Vault.

“Ten days.” The blonde woman and the gravel voiced man seemed impressed with his answer. He almost told them the truth, just to see the look on their faces when he said three days, three nights, and breakfast.

“Those things, what were they?” John didn’t think he was going to get hit with a bucket of water, and took advantage of a lull in the one sided conversation.

“Super Mutants.” The gravel voiced man sounded disgusted by the words. “They were people once, like you and me, but they were infected with a manmade virus. Mutated into the abominations you saw."

“Wait, someone made them like that?” John thought perhaps they might be like the ghouls, a tragic accident. The idea that they were made deliberately did not sit well.

“Yes. Science and technology, left unchecked. Unguided by righteous hands and responsible minds, you’ve seen the result. Tell me, do you know what this is?” The gravel voiced man lifted something heavy onto the table. Oval shaped body, pointed at one end, square fins at the other.

John knew exactly what the object was, the unearned knowledge screamed it at him. A variable yield, miniaturised, nuclear bomb. He tried not react as the man told him what he already knew.

“And do you know where we found this weapon of mass destruction? Being used as a paperweight on a school teacher’s desk. Surrounded by children, being picked up, moved, dropped. All because this teacher thought it looked neat.” After getting lost in a memory for a moment the man continued, reaching his point.

“Don’t worry, it’s quite safe now, We took the core out and converted it into a generator for that schoolhouse. With enough energy left over for the settlement to run a medical facility. That’s what we do, we help keep harmful pre-war tech from causing damage.” John became uneasy, losing the relative calm built up over breakfast. Knowing he had pre-war tech on his arm and in his head that was capable of causing damage.

John tried to stay calm, tried to remember what he blurted out under duress. He felt sure he hadn’t mentioned the nightmare, dreamlike state, but he’d been unconscious. Who knows what these people knew, he thought to himself. They could know more than he did at this point. “Which brings me to your Vault.”

“What about my Vault?” John sounded more defensive than he meant to, betraying his fear. The blonde woman, who hadn’t said anything so far, looked John in the eye as she spoke.

“We want to help.”

John believed the woman, despite all evidence to the contrary. He’d begun remembering more and more from last night. He felt the ache in his hands from the white knuckle, iron grip that held the combat knife and bladed hammerhead. He felt the strain in his throat from screaming back at the grotesque, green, mutant.

Maybe they were right to bring him in the way they did. “What do you know about the Vaults?” Making a choice to trust the blonde woman at least, he answered the gravel voiced man’s question.

“Up until a few days ago, I didn’t know there was more than one.” John laid out a greatly abridged version of his sad tale. The big lie, that they were all that remained of humanity. That nothing could live on the surface. That they suffered brutal, hard labour to build things they didn’t need for a future they’d never see. As expected, he saw looks of pity on both their faces, mixed with an anger he shared. After absorbing the information, faster than most, the gravel voiced man asked a practical question.

“How long do your people have?”

“Less than three months.” Parts or no parts, he’d decided to get Rosie out at the first possible opportunity. They’d never kept anyone on organic recyc longer than that. Rosie would be back on a pointless shift, and able to slip away. John swore to himself he’d be there to meet her, and if she wasn’t there, he’d go get her himself.

“And you have schematics I assume.” The man’s eyes fell to the jet black pipboy. He’d done a good job of keeping them from it so far, just not good enough. With reluctance he scrolled to schematics, showing the man, then the blonde woman. “Interesting technology.” The man used the same comment, phrased in a questioning tone. John answered this time,

“It’s called a pipboy, it’s really just a small terminal, everyone has one.” Realising that not everyone had one of these pipboys, and they might know more than he did, John tried to correct himself. “Not like this one, there’s only one of these.” He knew of at least two more, Rosie and their friend Dutch. “It’s an older model.” The blonde woman and the gravel voiced man didn’t believe that, but they didn’t press him on it.

After taking a long, quiet, look at John, the man got up and paced behind the couch. Not looking at John as he asked him questions he didn’t want answered.

“Let’s say you somehow find a Vault, and let’s say you get the door open, what if it’s too irradiated to explore?”

“Well I—”

“What if it’s filled with horrors?”

“I…”

“What if you find the parts you need but you can’t move them, certainly not over distance.” John didn’t answer that time, he knew he had a friend with a truck. The man stopped opposite John looking him in the eye.

“What if there’s people living like you did, only without someone like you. Someone brave enough to risk their lives to help them?” John saw a hint of admiration in the man’s heavy, tired, eyes, and something more, respect perhaps.

“We have resources, shall we say, that a would be Vault hunter might find useful.” The blonde woman’s offer was quickly undercut by the standing man.

“But I’m not going to send my people out there with someone we don’t know and don’t trust.” John got the sense from the man’s expectation of attention and respect that he must be the leader of whoever these people were.

“The feeling’s mutual, believe me.” That kind of talk to a shift supervisor would get you reported in the Vault. John did respect the man and woman, yet he spoke almost like he didn’t. Due to the stress of the night before and the growing feeling that he didn’t have to bite his tongue as much. To his surprise the blonde woman smiled at him, then the man.

“Fair point. However, even if you are telling us the truth…” He looked him in the eye, John didn’t break his gaze. “And I believe you are, you’re still raw, new to all this, untrained. If my people had to depend on you for their lives... It takes more than bravery alone to make a soldier, it takes training.” John tried not to react to the word the cartoon mascot showed him after the surreal awakening outside The Grand. He heard Robco’s voice in his head, not all who wander are lost.

Between Robco's lifetime of scavenging old world bots, and his bright grandson, they'd found a reason for impossible things the pipboy could do. Helped him do. Made him do. A pipboy meant for a soldier to fight a war that no one won. Not for a worker, not for a rock breaker. Yet here he sat, being offered the very thing the device had been designed to do. John couldn’t trust the urge to say yes belonged to him alone.

No one spoke. John shifted in his corner of the seemingly new, black leather, seating, running his hands along it nervously. Reminded of how little it resembled the ingenious, real leather, coat. Heavy with the weight of hidden armour and sentiment, a borrowed, precious thing he’d lost. He tried not to picture Lady Luck handing it back to Robco with a tale of mutants and mayhem. That could easily make the older, wiser, man, think his new neighbour had died in the wastes, like so many others. John hoped Wallace wouldn’t find out, that boy already knew too much of grief.

The gravel voiced leader of the opaque ‘we’ and the blonde woman, that seemed to be on his side, didn’t speak. Their silence underlining this wasn’t a decision to be made lightly.

“If I say yes, what happens next?”

“Our training is six weeks, it will be an adjustment. You will be at risk of injury, maybe worse, but I think you’ll do well. You may well like it. Structure, routine, fair to middling food. After that you can accompany my people in the field.” The man’s face stayed neutral, the woman stayed quiet. John couldn’t deny the thought of routine after the chaos of the last few days sounded good.

“I only heard the word freedom a few days ago, I’m only starting to understand it.” John ignored the pitying looks. “I’m not going back to living in a tiny room, underground, being told what to do every minute of every day. I won’t.”

“We can find quarters you’re comfortable with, within reason. However you must understand that we operate under rules. Commands are to be obeyed, but you will not be ordered to do anything I, or the person in charge, would not do themselves. You will have time to do with as you see fit.” John believed the gravel voiced man. He started to feel like this could be a middle ground, the growing, yet overwhelming, joy tempered with familiar routine.

“John, do you know what meritocracy is?” He shook his head as the blonde woman spoke without a hint of patronisation. “It means when you show us you can do something, we’ll give you something harder to do. Pushing you, us, further, getting better, learning more. You’re going to learn so much, you’ll have to. It will serve you well, and last a lifetime.”

“If I say no?”

“We’ll drop you back where we found you with a day’s rations. Throw in some ammo and the boots by way of thanks, and that will be that. You will never speak of us to anyone and you will never see us again.” John didn’t miss the man’s implication that if he did speak of them he may see them again. Or that terrifying machine that fell from above to save him. John remembered Robco’s highly skilled bartering, and wished he had a bottle of whiskey to sweeten the deal he decided to make.

“First, my Vault is off limits. The people there, all they have is the lie, taking it away would do damage. Given the lengths you’ve gone to keep your people safe I assume you understand.” John gestured to the stripped bare room, and matching outfits. Not mentioning the torture.

“Agreed.”

“Second, I need to radio my friends, let them know I’m…” John stopped himself from saying safe. “Alive.”

“Our comms are encrypted, an open broadcast could compromise us, I won’t allow that. But if you write a note we’ll give it to a courier, they’ll get it where it needs to be. We’ll have to review the note of course.” John got the sense the leader wasn’t used to accommodating others, yet he did.

“Lastly, and this is set in stone, whether I’ve got what I want, or you’ve got whatever it is you want. I will be leaving, alone, in time to reach my Vault in three months. I’ve escaped from tougher places, and that was before I knew how to shoot.” John surprised himself. His confidence bolstered by the blonde woman’s barely concealed amusement. Despite the unaltered, neutral face of the gravel voiced man. His heavy eyes gave away nothing as he sat quietly.

“Agreed.”

The man stood, no sign of the fatigue that usually matched his age. He reached out his hand and John shook it, he had a grip to rival his own.

“Well then John…”

“Blake.” He couldn’t remember the last time he said his own last name.

“Well then John Blake, it is my honour to introduce you to Paladin Sara Maxwell. One of my senior officers and the woman who brought you in.” He could have said saved, he didn’t. The woman smiled and winked in an attempt to undercut the formality and gravelly gravitas that emanated from the man. It fell short.

He walked John over to the still drawn curtains, and continued, prideful, committed in his words. “My name is Elder Clark Maxwell. You will be under my command, and the command of my officers, for no more than three months. After your training is complete we will determine if you are fit to serve alongside my knights. And together will we aid each other’s quest to save what little humanity remains in this harsh, unforgiving, world.” John had never seen a leader like this, his belief, his conviction, flowed from his words. He paused, looking John dead in the eye. John had misgivings, yet trusted that his instincts were his alone, and said a single word.

“Agreed.”

“Under my authority as elder of this chapter I grant you the rank of Initiate. With the rewards and responsibilities that brings. Welcome to the Brotherhood of Steel, Initiate Blake. Ad Victoriam.” The elder threw open the curtains and John adjusted to yet another surreal view.

The morning sun glinted off the shiny, bodywork of something about the size of a truck. It lifted from the concrete ground outside the window. Twin whirring engines, powering grey blades that span into a blur, propelling the machine from the ground and up into the endless blue. The unearned knowledge whispered a strange word, Vertibird.

There were a dozen large buildings left standing. The remaining footprints of around twenty more stretching into the distance. Stout, curved roofs, starting at the ground and arcing over in an half oval shape. Fitted with huge folding doors made of painted metal. Smaller, more practical, doors built into them.

Looking down at people moving below, he realised the terrifying machine from the night before wasn’t a robot. It was mechanised armour, driven by a person. Almost like a constructor frame from the Vault. A lot more manoeuvrable judging by speed they moved. The unearned knowledge whispered again. Power armour.

People in the tall, steel, broad shouldered armour ran back and forth. Other people worked on empty ones, hung ominously by metal frames and chains.

There were people lifting huge blocks of scrap. At first John didn’t see why but then he remembered the tension in his muscles after a day of little physical activity. He wanted to try lifting them himself. People ran, people played basketball. He hadn’t played any sport since leaving the family deck a decade ago. Even if he preferred five a side, it still looked fun. Fun, the men and women below were having fun, at work and play.

The elder drew him back from the window, hammering the last few details of their agreement. John’s contact would be limited to a handful of trusted officers. The pipboy would be covered in the common areas of the outpost, under the guise of a broken arm at his suggestion.

Elder Maxwell asked, not ordered as was now his right, that John refrained from connecting to anything without direct authorisation. Or using the mapping pulse, to protect the outpost and show that he could be trusted. The caveat being that they may check the map screen from time to time. John agreed, then tried not to sound weak as explained that he needed to wear the vault-suit. After they touched the smooth, advanced fabric they understood.

He would be allowed to wear his weapon belt to help get used to the weight. But he wouldn’t be issued ammunition until he passed something called basic marksmanship. He was told in no uncertain terms if he drew the combat knife, or bladed hammerhead, there had better be a damn good reason.

The elder got called away by a knock on the steel door. Sara, who had a shopping list to give to a courier anyway, left to get paper for him.

John immediately changed out of the coarse clothing and into the smooth, form fitting, shiny, blue suit he’d worn all his life. The suit he hoped to stop wearing at some point, but not now. He checked over the weapon belt, remembering the lighter and notepad stashed inside it.

He flicked open the palm sized notepad, finding a vault-suit blue coloured pencil. No doubt selected from Wallace’s vast collection by Louisa, guessing correctly it would bring a smile to John’s face.

He tore a page of lined paper out, knowing it would be recognised and sat down to write a note. Realising almost immediately he had no idea how to do that. He decided to type out a quick vmail, then turn up the brightness and trace over it as best he could. Knowing that too would be recognised.

‘To:[email protected]/Tower

From: Mighty_Mighty_Man

Subject: I’m OK

LL. I’m Ok, please tell R. Hope B came to see you. Have found a lead, will be back soon. Please get coat back to L/W tell them not to worry. Will write again J.’

John traced over the green writing as best he could. It looked readable, and he didn’t think there was anything the elder could object to. He felt sure Billy would have made it back. The noise would have least drawn JoJo, they’d have got him out, and got the salvage back. Either way John would have to accept the frankly ludicrous concept of passing paper to a stranger, trusting them to deliver it.

Sara returned, a strange, unrecognised, pistol holstered on her thigh. Wearing a thin jacket, not acknowledging the blue suit or the oddly formatted, poorly written note. “Mighty, Mighty, Man?” He could hear the suppressed laugh in her voice.

“It’s a song, it’s a message for Lady Luck, on the radio.” John knew the woman at the top of the world, with a gift for finding just the right piece of music, would remember that, and him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard it. This is fine.” She folded the note in half and effortlessly wrote ‘Lady Luck, Shadowtown, Tower’ in clear writing.

“How long do you think it will take to get there?” John asked, still not quite understanding communications that weren’t instant.

“I’ll tell you what the couriers tell us,” Sara put on a mocking, overly gruff voice, “Takes as long as it takes, price is the same.” She bundled the notes with others and pocketed them. “Them couriers are an odd bunch, but if they take your caps they’ll get in there.”

“I haven’t got any caps.” Caps were in the coat. Billy might have taken those, which seemed fair to John, considering what he dragged him into.

“You don’t need them here, the Brotherhood provides, speaking of.” The blonde woman removed the thin looking, dull green, jacket, she’d returned wearing. At first John thought she ripped it open, judging by the sound it made. As she gave it to him to put on he saw the sound came from the two sided fabric that gripped together. “I thought you might find it easier than buttons, you might get hot though.”

Sara opened a water canteen, sprinkled in a powder from a small packet, and handed it to him. “Electrolytes, you’re gonna need ‘em. Drink it, all of it. That’s an order Initiate.” She had a half playful tone but John drank it all.

He started to lace up the new boots, only to have Sara take over. Instructing him instead to flex and bend them to break them in. His new instructor explained how to address people here. John didn’t really get it. The only thing he really understood was if someone told you to do something, say yes sir, and do it.

He dressed in the dull green clothing and new boots. His pipboy covered well enough. The empty water canteen on his belt, the inventiveness of Wallace’s design proving itself yet again. John felt oddly calm, at ease in the subterranean corridors, following the paladin to his new quarters. “This is you.” Sara had a hard time even looking at the emptied room, John got a feeling why, and knew better than to ask.

Still underground, only a third bigger than his Vault cell. Similar lockers and desk. With the notable addition of a private washroom and shower, and a bigger bed. John didn’t like how comforting he found the room. The door was simple hinged steel and fully at his control, which felt like enough. “You won’t be doing much in here except sleeping, believe me. The water’s hot and I’m down the hall. Moving on.”

Sara led John out and up, stopping before walking into the light. “Listen, training is, it’s serious, and it’s not. We’re going to push you, we’re going to knock you down to build you back up, do you understand?” John didn’t, the only training he’d done had been taken very seriously, mind numbingly so. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes Paladin Sara, I mean Paladin Maxwell, right?” John didn’t trust the elder. He had little reason to trust his daughter, yet he felt like he could learn to trust her.

“When we’re alone, Sara is fine, not out there. That’s what I’m saying. Once your training’s over no one’s going to yell at you.” She stepped out into the morning light. Her posture, her stance, changing. Not in the fake way John did to make it through another pointless day. In a way that she knew who she needed to be, and welcomed the challenge.

“Hey wait, people are going to yell at me?”