Chapter 23 Her Father, The Elder

Sara hadn’t been off base in a month, a new record for Excalibur Outpost. Only matched by the time she broke her ankle six weeks out of basic, back west.

Even the pain and hobbling felt better than this past month. A month of boredom, guilt, frustration and anxiety. Boredom, with putting someone through basic training she would have thought a natural knight. Were it not for the tech on his arm.

Growing guilt at the treatment of a man who’d already been denied so much.

Frustration at the message from her uncle, and the mounting anxiety that she hadn’t heard from him since. She knew the life he led, the life forced on him, the life that put him at risk from friend and foe alike.

Sara came to terms with communicating with an outcast simply to check in years ago. She didn’t care about that. But using secret book ciphers to slip out information on the very thing they hoped to find out here weighed heavier than expected.

The reply from her uncle arrived in just over a week, pretty fast for the enigmatic couriers the Brotherhood struck an agreement with. She transposed the numbers. Written in invisible ink. Finding the matching pages, lines, and words, in her copy of ‘A Brief History of Warfare, Vol I’. The message sounded far more simple than achieving it would be.

‘Need eyes on. Set RV. Love B.’

She knew Uncle Brandon wouldn’t get anywhere near the outpost, too risky, even the fob would be pushing it. Which meant she had to get the new recruit out into the field. To a location of her choosing. A place that would allow at least a good view through a rifle scope.

Why her uncle needed to see John she couldn’t guess. Brandon had been a step ahead of the elder, her father, her commander, for years now, and they still hadn’t found the fabled Vault X either.

Sara looked forward to high command ordering them back west at the end of their fruitless five year mission. Only for the order not to come, not with the abomination out here too.

Getting to take an initiate on even a basic scouting run would be difficult. Getting this initiate, the one that passed basic marksmanship on his first day. Basic training in his first week should have been easier. Were it not for the tech on his arm. She’d been hugely impressed with John, he worked hard, listened, improved almost daily, and he loved it.

She couldn’t imagine his life before. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to, which made his treatment here all the harder for her to participate in. Made all the worse by the fact he seemed fine with it. The sad truth was he had it better here than he ever did before.

Instead of freeing him, instead of letting him forge the links of brotherhood. As she had done, as they all did. He’d been kept from the three hundred and twenty eight on base, limited to just her and Val for company.

She could remember the name and faces of all thirty of her basic training class. She kept in touch with most of them to this day some twelve years later. Here she was taking that from someone who’d had things taken from him his whole life. Things every single person she’d ever known had taken for granted. Even slaves were allowed to see the stars. It kept her up at night.

The first two weeks Sara's orders were to make friends with the new recruit. To be the opposite of Grimm, or at least who Grimm pretended to be. That wasn’t a problem, she liked John well enough. He had grit.

She’d also been ordered to keep things from him. Things like their mission, their beliefs, even the location of the outpost. Which made conversation awkward, especially when he only knew four people by name. All of whom outranked him. She knew he’d never fit in, never join the Brotherhood in anything but name only, and she knew that was on her.

In the mornings she’d watch him run the obstacle course. He clearly loved it, glad to just be above ground she imagined, then they’d eat an mre. Whatever they fed him down there must have been bad because he wolfed down anything she put in front of him. Even the lasagne that she always imagined tasted that bad when it was fresh over a century ago.

Then she’d observe him at the range. He could shoot, no question. He wasn’t great, he couldn’t reload fast enough, he couldn’t transition from a long gun to a sidearm quickly.

Apart from that he had good form, a solid stance, and an impressive aim. Too impressive. His years of hard labour likely accounted for his fitness. Maybe the use of tools helped with his form. Putting rounds on target, consistently, is not something you can learn any other way, he could do it from day one.

By the time the weekly debrief with the big three came around he’d passed basic training, in a week. His scores were high, his times were low. She thought that might be enough to get them into the field, she forgot to account for the fastidiousness of the head scribe. Who simply would not hear it. Not even the next week. She wanted to break his half rimmed glasses, and would have, if her father hadn’t overruled them both.

The new recruit would learn hand to hand from Grimm, while Sara would put him through the Kill House. She pushed for more. Getting John access to the mess, along with the briefing hangar, by himself. At least he’d have company and spend a little less time underground.

Knowing her father’s love of history she convinced him to give a reading of his favourite ancient tale. As well as managing to get Collins to give an astronomy lecture, letting him think it’d been his idea in the first place.

This didn’t help her cause to get them off base, it probably hurt it. Expending good will Sara knew she’d need later. It had been worth it though. John’s face when he saw mountains for the first time, even if it was only on film, and the good night’s sleep she got, felt like a fair trade.

Sara sent word to her uncle the next morning. Giving him the only location she could think of they might be able to get to. If she got authorisation. And managed to train the man who lived underground his whole life to the point where he wouldn’t get them both killed.

The Kill House had a way of pushing people. Live fire, close quarters, even solo it created a tension like nothing else. Save for the real thing. Physical fitness and good aim only got her initiate so far.

He moved well, too well in the narrow halls for her liking. But he had no creep to him at all, not really. Lead feet, heavy handed, and worst of all, he froze under fire. Even with The Wolverine toned back down to its native two two. He didn’t react well to the highly effective method of firing live rounds at the initiate to impress on them their pretend death. Coupled with a beasting lap.

It felt strange to be on the gantry looking down, not looking up and seeing Grimm yelling. At one point she’d have gladly taken whatever punishment the Brotherhood would hand down for striking a superior officer. Just to shut Grimm up for once.

It hadn’t been until they’d made the journey east, when she’d seen him again, officer to officer, that she’d grown to see him as a dear friend.

There wasn’t one single initiate that wouldn’t have charged a greenskin head on if they got the chance to pop Grimm in the mouth on the way back. That was his gift to them. Enough hate to go one more lap. Enough to keep you warm one more night. Enough to fuel the fight just that little bit longer till back up descended from on high. Clad in steel, firing thousands of minute.

Firing weak two two rounds from The Wolverine reminded her constantly of the day they found it. It’d been her birthday the day before. Her top secret assignment was to infiltrate every bar in Shadowtown. In the company of her father and uncle, hilariously disguised as wastrels.

It hadn’t all been fun and games. They did need to gauge the how well armed the largest settlement around was. Very, as it turned out, with at least four, factory fresh, sentry bots. A host of clankers, doing grunt work, but still potentially a threat if reconfigured. A sniper team that made Recon look cute. Judging by the bird pecked corpses they saw on the way in, and enough small arms to fill a hangar.

They even bought a crate of combat shotguns. Unwieldy and impractical for infantry. Cut down, gripped in power armour gauntlets, they were a devastating close range weapon.

Counterfeiting caps didn’t present a challenge to the Brotherhood,. So with their work done they set to doing a lap of wastrel street food. Some of it vile, most of it pretty damn good, then a lap of the bars, followed by a meal near the top of the old world skyscraper. The quality of the food more than offset by the staggering views. After a another lap of the bars for good measure. All topped off by a genuine bath, and the company of the very handsome owner.

Looking back on it now, it’d been the best day out here. The glowing green river, the blood red leaves. So new and exciting, even Shadowtown turned out better than she hoped. She liked how they kept the Fifth contained to their own Ghoulhouse, for the most part. What she really liked was this far east her father didn’t have to pretend. He could hold his husband’s hand, share a kiss, an embrace. All far from gossiping scribes eager to win the approval of rival elders by snitching on their own.

Sara wished they hadn’t bought the heavy crate as they headed out on foot the next morning. Hung over, walking to meet Valkyrie in her bird.

About halfway along the old, faded road, ditched unceremoniously, her uncle saw it. He recognised it, a genuine Corvega speedster. Sweeping sliver curves, aluminium body, lightweight, strong, and in the glove box, a matching pistol.

Made from a single piece of aluminium it weighed next to nothing. It didn’t even have a moving slide, instead a finely made action that slid in and out when fired. It wasn’t a combat pistol, more a showpiece. Yet her father’s ingenuity managed to refit it to the, still a little low, thirty two calibre. Matched with its lightweight, it made a trusty sidearm. Along with being a welcome reminder of one of the best birthdays she could remember.

Now, three years later, her uncle was out there alone. Forced out by her father. After he refused to hand over whatever intel he’d discovered about Vault X. Pleading with him to let it go, to leave. Begging him not to unleash another Pandora’s box of horror onto world filled with it already. Finding only rage and dogmatic zeal in return.

Her father sat alone, as is the nature of command. She understood that. But as his loneliness grew, as did his rage at what he saw as betrayal. His obsession with the Vault filled with bleeding edge, old world tech, deepened, giving him tunnel vision. She understood enough about command to see that kind of thinking would cost lives.

The only thing that drew her out of bittersweet memory was the reaction of the man she shot at. She knew he needed to overcome it. She couldn’t quite place his reaction. He looked scared, unnerved, as expected. Yet it didn’t bother him the way it bothered most. It felt like he was more afraid of his reaction to the bullets zipping closer and closer to him.

Each time he failed the Kill House, he’d stop and breathe deeply. Always looking at the ground, instead of dropping to it. Sara thought it strange, counterintuitive. Why be scared of a reaction more than the bullet itself.

The hand to hand with Grimm also brought an unusual reaction. Normally Grimm would have more than one initiate to train, leaving John to get knocked down for hours. Only then to have go up against probably the most experienced knight on base. It gnawed at her, especially after that stunt with the pistol at the start of their first session.

John seemed to like the weights. He’d obviously wanted to try them. She wished he would’ve joined the others, instead of them bringing a set in here. Giving him his own private space he already seemed too comfortable with.

Nothing pisses people off more than someone getting special treatment. According to Val they already called him the ‘paladins pet’, although not around her, not if they were smart.

It brought back her own sting of having to fight harder than everyone else to prove herself more than ‘Princess Maxwell’. Despite the fact her father was harder on her than anyone else. It hadn’t hurt in a long time. This brought it screaming back.

She gained a whole new level of respect for Grimm in those two weeks. Watching him shift from berating, loud, abusive, to quiet, slow, respectful. John struggled, a man clearly used to bluffing his way out of a fight now forced into it. Again Sara noticed his reactions. Not hesitant, not unsure, yet without confidence. As if he sensed what to do but couldn’t, or wouldn’t, allow himself to do it.

Grimm understood in a way that helped her see it too. He moved well, physically capable. Aware on a subconscious level of the move needed in the moment. Just not connecting the thought till the moment passed and he hit the floor with a slap. He always got back up, that made her smile, grit, determination.

Then in near silence Grimm would move slowly, consciously. Letting John not just see the strike, the block, the throw, but letting him understand it. Absorb it, adapt to it, and the more he did the better he got, smoother, faster, calmer.

Sara still saw they curious over reaction, if he took a shot to the face, or didn’t see a takedown coming. Here again Grimm’s instincts taught her more. He sat cross legged, or knelt. John would copy, and simply breathe, bringing the suppressed panic under control.

By the end of the two weeks she felt confident taking him into the field. Knowing he wouldn’t get her killed. Knowing that bringing him here in the first place meant she couldn’t say the same.

The weekly debriefing with the big three rolled around, no word from her uncle. Bloody couriers, she thought, always late. Either way, she had to make her play now to make the rv.

The big three were already there when she arrived, joined by Sentinel Grimm, which caught her off guard. He ranked second only to the elder. He had every right to be there. Perhaps he hadn’t come out here with the intention of retiring. Yet the monotony of this posting, and allure of a stable settlement, proved too great.

Sara felt happy for him. She couldn’t imagine him living the wastrel life, she hoped she was wrong. So few sentinels made it to retirement. “Please, continue Mick.” Sara poured herself a vodka rocks, and joined the sentinel on the leather seating. Wondering if John even knew his first name.

“Well Elder, he’s a fine student, he has good instincts, I think Scribe Collins is right.” She noticed Head Scribe Collins stayed quiet. “If I didn’t know better I’d say he’d been trained, to some degree, but.”

“But for the device.” Her father’s tone unsettled her. “Mick, you’ve seen it up close, what are your thoughts?”

“It’s part of him, I’m sure of that. You prod that thing and he reacts, it’s hard wired. He knows it and he doesn’t like it.” Sara saw the look of pity on Grimm’s that she’d learned to keep from John, mostly.

“The question is who makes the decisions.” Sara always respected Collins’ intellect, if little else. She hadn’t even considered the implications of a machine grafted to a man.

“He does, definitely.” Sara lied, knowing her father’s distaste, at best, for automated combat machines. He barely tolerated the guard and walking subroutines in his own power armour. “Look, we can’t train him anymore, he doesn’t need it, he needs a win.” She held back a moment, letting the idea hang just long enough not to be dismissed. Stopping the increasingly tiresome one dimensional scribe diatribe about protecting the device, the elder gave her a nod to proceed. “He’s isolated, lonely he—”

“I don’t give fuck if he’s lonely.” Lead Scout Marks must have just returned from a mission, she couldn’t smell him. Besides lonely meant little to Recon. “Greg died getting him here, I won’t lose another scout getting him back.”

“How many might you have lost looking for Greg and Marham…and Alice. He went up against four greenskins to help a stranger.” Out of the line of fire and into a minefield, she thought to herself. “I’m not suggesting anything too dangerous. Styx and Anubis called in an old missile silo, west of fob Sierra. A big, metal door in the ground.” She looked to the elder, hoping to reach her father. “Let me take him to secure it, hold it overnight, send field scribes in the morning. Give him a mission. We give him a win, show that we can help him.”

“Styx also said it looked infested with filth.” The elder didn’t say no, not yet.

“He can handle a few ghouls, right Mick?” Sara hoped the sentinel would back her, he’d seen John up close.

“Absolutely.” She wished John could see the look of the face of his instructor. “Could be just the thing.”

“I can send Tick and Dagger, they’re rested.” Recon skulking through the shadows, orders to kill her uncle on sight, was the last thing Sara wanted. They could outrun them easily in an R frame. She took a moment to seem like she considered the worst possible thing Marks could have said.

“He catches a glimpse of them and it defeats the purpose of the whole mission.”

“He won’t catch a glimpse of Recon I can tell you that.” Sara knew Marks was right, which only made matters worse.

“If I understand half of what Head Scribe Collins has been telling us this past month, we don’t know what he sees, or how well.” Sara knew invoking his rank mixed with a chance to blather on about the device, would get Collins to weigh in, he did.

“It is possible the integration could allow increased visual acuity.”

“We’d have Styx and Anubis at the fob, minutes away if things go sideways.” Sara preempted more techno babble. Trying not to imagine seeing the abomination in even more detail.

“Elder if I may, I like to volunteer for the response unit.” Sara hoped Grimm would aid her cause, she hadn’t expected him to say that though. He really did like John. He threw Sara a wink, “Just in case.”

“We should all be so lucky as to have a sentinel on our response team Mick.” The elder sat back in his chair, Sara couldn’t get a read. “I’ll take it under advisement and issue my order in the morning. If there’s nothing else…” No objections, the first step out of the way she thought, but she had to push her father in way that made her stomach churn. “Very well, dismissed.”

Sara lingered as the others left. Sharing the rare opportunity to embrace her friend Mick before he became Sentinel Grimm again. Once the door closed behind them she left the elder’s office, entering the adjoining room. Her father’s private quarters. This couldn’t be a request to her commanding officer, she had to ask her father. And did not feel anything close to good about it.

Upon entering Sara did as she always did, fixed a stiff drink for them both from the well stocked cabinet. The good vodka, neat, and sat on the far more relaxing, higher quality seating. Whoever commanded this place in the old world had excellent taste.

The varnished wood panels, grain matching from piece to piece. Deep blue carpet, hard wearing yet not scratchy like all the others. An entire wall of books that even her father hadn’t made more than half way through. And her favourite thing, aside from Val, about this entire place, stack after stack of vinyl records. With a state of the art speaker system, disguised as an antique to play them on.

It sounded like nothing else she’d ever heard. A bubble of comfort, filled with sound, driving everything else out. It kept her sane sometimes. A few minutes of nothing but the classical music, or the old world folk songs, or even the more upbeat stuff. Anything to just stop thinking for moment.

Her father sat opposite, not speaking, just waiting for her to be ready. The stress of the last five years had taken its toll. In here, his guard lowered, she could see the tiredness he hid from everyone else.

The last month only made matters worse. The first real proof of advanced tech. The key to the impenetrable door at his fingertips, yet still no location. Everyone that could be sent out, and more besides, had been deployed. Searching for any sign, generating masses of reports that he dutifully went through. Leaving him less chance to sleep, pushing his obsession into overdrive. It worried her deeply.

“After the silo run I want to take John as my aspirant. He needs it, I need it.” Sara choked down the lump in her throat. Not caused by the request, caused by the lie she planned, the manipulation she’d begun for the greater good. The elder might refuse a mission for an initiate. Her father was less likely to refuse her request to take a more active role in John’s training.

“I haven’t made my mind up about tomorrow.”

“Yes you have. You did as soon as Grimm volunteered for the response unit.” Sara still couldn’t be sure, however she knew he’d appreciate her following an instinct.

“Either way, taking an aspirant is no small thing, and I don’t just mean the window dressing.” Her father’s apt term for the pomp and circumstance, the Brotherhood law and ceremony. He respected it, he lived it. Right up until it clashed with the pragmatic, tactical, decisions that a soldier had to make. She used to admire it, but out here it only brought anxiety.

“Psychologically, training someone like that, moulding them, teaching them. It’s a powerful bond that pulls both ways. If he’s lonely, why not…keep him company?” Sara threw him a look that seemed to amuse him. “You’ll kill a man for victory but you won’t sleep with one?” She had no interest in that, not with someone she might actually see again. That always kept things simple.

“He’s not interested, he’s involved.” She had to seem like she’d thought about it. Wishing she hadn’t shared that particular insight as she saw the elder respond to it, filing it away in his mind.

“Look, people have taken from him his whole life, now he’s here and now it’s us taking from him. I bet you can still name every initiate you finished basic with. You just shared a drink with one of them. We can give him that kind of bond, I can.” Sara didn’t seem to be reaching her father, she tried to reach the elder. “Plus with him operational we stand a better chance of finding Vault X. At the very least a chance to see the tech in action.”

“Let’s say I agree, you understand that there may come a time when our little agreement breaks down. We need the device, we can compel his cooperation.”

“If we do things my way, we won’t have to.” She threw back her shot, and poured them each another, hoping it might help them both sleep a little easier.