The Big Day, part 2
May. 11th, 2010 09:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aaaaaaaagh_skyThis is where it all began, Dad had said. Revelations 21:6, Dad had said. I am the Beginning and the End. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountains of the Waters of Life, freely, Dad had said. Would've been nice if he'd mentioned the crawling through pipes part. At least it was dry. The flood control pipes hadn't been active in years. Lucky thing, too, as they were too narrow for the shoulder pauldrons of Ellen's armor; she had to get back into her Vault suit and duster to make her way through them in order to reach the valve Dad wanted opened manually. When she found the control wheel, she almost cried. There was a hole in the pipe big enough to see through from outside, big enough to stick even an armored hand through. She could've made her way along the top. The whole trip in the tubes had been for nothing!
Still, the valve needed opening, and so she braced her feet and winched the elderly mechanism open. It made a frightful sound of metal screeching against metal as it oh-so-slowly ground open, and there was a persistent throbbing roar even after she-
Wait. That wasn't the valve. That noise was coming from outside. Ellen crouched down to peer through the hole. Outside, there were machines descending from the sky, unfamilar things- no. No, she'd seen them before. In the Museum of Technology. In the Anchorage sim. Vertibirds. Actual, working Vertibirds, sky-pointed rotors flashing in the morning sun, armored figures with glowing-gold eyes leaping from their sides with guns at the ready.
Ellen jerked away from the hole. The armored figures were heading for the entrance to the Memorial. And whatever these people were, that was no Brotherhood armor she had ever seen, Outcast or otherwise.
---
"-- under United States government control," an unfamiliar voice was saying as Ellen flung herself through the door to the Rotunda. It was a man's voice, a light tenor. The speaker was inside the central purification chamber, his brown-coated back to the airlock door, his black-gloved hands neatly tucked behind his back. "The person in charge is to step forward immediately and turn over all materials related to this project."
"That's quite impossible." James' face was still mostly hidden by the radiation suit he wore, but Ellen would have taken oath that he was glaring at the other speaker. "This is a private project. The Enclave has no authority here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. At once."
Enclave. The word dropped in her ears like a rock into water, splashing up a sick, cold dread. Her eyes flicked away from her father's yellow suit and the stranger's brown coat, taking in the rest of the inner chamber; the one other radsuited figure was flanked by a pair of power-armored soldiers, with several more watching the scene from a little further away. They all had guns Ellen knew only too well, laser rifles like the Brotherhood's weapons of choice, or plasma rifles like the one pressing into her back.
"Am I to assume, sir," said the brown-coated stranger, "that you are in charge?"
James' suited head lifted fractionally. "Yes. I'm responsible for this operation."
"Then I repeat, sir, that you are hereby instructed to immediately hand over all materials related to the purifier."
"I'm sorry, but that's-"
"FURTHERMORE," continued the man as if he hadn't heard a thing, "you are to assist Enclave scientists in assuming control of the operation and administration of this facility at once!"
There was a moment long enough to suppress an irritated sigh. "Colonel," James said. "Is it Colonel? I'm sorry, but the facility is not operational. It never has been." He gestured towards a bank of gauges and dials that even Ellen's untrained eye saw as less than optimal. "I'm afraid you're wasting your time here."
"Sir," said the Colonel, hands balling and unballing behind his back, "this is the last time I am going to repeat myself. Stand down at once, and turn over control of this facility."
"Colonel, I assure you that this facility will not function. We've never been able to successfully replicate-"
Ellen had never seen a man's hands move so fast. One moment he was standing with his arms neatly behind his back, fists half-clenched. The next he had drawn a pistol, turned away from James, and fired it without so much as batting an eye. The other yellow-suited figure slumped to the floor. As the blood started to well up and trickle out of the hole in its helmet the Colonel calmly holstered his gun and said, "I suggest you comply immediately, sir. In order to prevent any more incidents."
One of Ellen's hands was clapped over her mouth. She had no memory of how it got there. As for James, he merely stared in silence at the awkwardly fallen corpse.
"Are we clear?" the Colonel said, words like a whipcrack.
"Yes," James said through clenched teeth. Had he turned her way? Ellen couldn't tell. "Colonel, I'll do whatever you want. There's no need for more violence."
The Colonel's hands slipped behind his back again. "Then you will immediately hand over all materials related to this project," he said, his voice even as before but with a thread of satisfaction running through it now. "And aid us in making it operational at once."
"Very well," said James. "I'll need a few moments to bring the system online."
He turned away from the Colonel and from Ellen's frantic gaze (the airlock wouldn't open! the button wouldn't even acknowledge her presence!), and bent over a control panel that faced the central tank. The Colonel watched calmly, his armored companions leaning over to get a better look but otherwise not changing their position. None of them bothered to look her way; why should they? They had what they wanted, and one person wasn't going to change that.
What was her father doing? She couldn't see his hands.
"My patience wears thin," the Colonel warned.
"Almost ready," said James. "I'm compiling the data now."
It all happened in the same instant. A sharp motion of James' wrist, down towards the panel- a BANG more felt in the bone than heard with the ears, as some critical system suddenly overloaded- a mad flare of alarms almost loud enough to drown out Ellen's Geiger counter's sudden shrilling-
The Colonel's hands flailed weirdly, one arm all but stabbing at the other as he toppled forward. Ellen didn't see why, or care. All she saw was her father staggering forward, his weight slamming against the glass wall. All she heard was his voice:
"Run. Run!"
And then nothing was holding him up any more, and his body slid down the glass wall and landed in a motionless, useless heap.
Someone was throwing the Rotunda door open, was pulling at Ellen's arm and talking about escape tunnels and the other scientists and the Citadel, was saying the Rangers could only hold the rest of the Enclave troops off so long. Ellen heard the words, but if they registered, she could never say what they had been. She followed because she could not think of anything else to do- because she could not think of anything else. When the soldiers pursued them into the tunnels she started screaming, or at least she assumed she did. Her throat was definitely raw once the smoke cleared. There were green goo piles where the soldiers had been, and she mechanically stuck her hand into each one to search for anything that might have been useful. Then, without further ceremony or fuss, she turned to lead the others through the dark, into God alone knew where.
Still, the valve needed opening, and so she braced her feet and winched the elderly mechanism open. It made a frightful sound of metal screeching against metal as it oh-so-slowly ground open, and there was a persistent throbbing roar even after she-
Wait. That wasn't the valve. That noise was coming from outside. Ellen crouched down to peer through the hole. Outside, there were machines descending from the sky, unfamilar things- no. No, she'd seen them before. In the Museum of Technology. In the Anchorage sim. Vertibirds. Actual, working Vertibirds, sky-pointed rotors flashing in the morning sun, armored figures with glowing-gold eyes leaping from their sides with guns at the ready.
Ellen jerked away from the hole. The armored figures were heading for the entrance to the Memorial. And whatever these people were, that was no Brotherhood armor she had ever seen, Outcast or otherwise.
---
"-- under United States government control," an unfamiliar voice was saying as Ellen flung herself through the door to the Rotunda. It was a man's voice, a light tenor. The speaker was inside the central purification chamber, his brown-coated back to the airlock door, his black-gloved hands neatly tucked behind his back. "The person in charge is to step forward immediately and turn over all materials related to this project."
"That's quite impossible." James' face was still mostly hidden by the radiation suit he wore, but Ellen would have taken oath that he was glaring at the other speaker. "This is a private project. The Enclave has no authority here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. At once."
Enclave. The word dropped in her ears like a rock into water, splashing up a sick, cold dread. Her eyes flicked away from her father's yellow suit and the stranger's brown coat, taking in the rest of the inner chamber; the one other radsuited figure was flanked by a pair of power-armored soldiers, with several more watching the scene from a little further away. They all had guns Ellen knew only too well, laser rifles like the Brotherhood's weapons of choice, or plasma rifles like the one pressing into her back.
"Am I to assume, sir," said the brown-coated stranger, "that you are in charge?"
James' suited head lifted fractionally. "Yes. I'm responsible for this operation."
"Then I repeat, sir, that you are hereby instructed to immediately hand over all materials related to the purifier."
"I'm sorry, but that's-"
"FURTHERMORE," continued the man as if he hadn't heard a thing, "you are to assist Enclave scientists in assuming control of the operation and administration of this facility at once!"
There was a moment long enough to suppress an irritated sigh. "Colonel," James said. "Is it Colonel? I'm sorry, but the facility is not operational. It never has been." He gestured towards a bank of gauges and dials that even Ellen's untrained eye saw as less than optimal. "I'm afraid you're wasting your time here."
"Sir," said the Colonel, hands balling and unballing behind his back, "this is the last time I am going to repeat myself. Stand down at once, and turn over control of this facility."
"Colonel, I assure you that this facility will not function. We've never been able to successfully replicate-"
Ellen had never seen a man's hands move so fast. One moment he was standing with his arms neatly behind his back, fists half-clenched. The next he had drawn a pistol, turned away from James, and fired it without so much as batting an eye. The other yellow-suited figure slumped to the floor. As the blood started to well up and trickle out of the hole in its helmet the Colonel calmly holstered his gun and said, "I suggest you comply immediately, sir. In order to prevent any more incidents."
One of Ellen's hands was clapped over her mouth. She had no memory of how it got there. As for James, he merely stared in silence at the awkwardly fallen corpse.
"Are we clear?" the Colonel said, words like a whipcrack.
"Yes," James said through clenched teeth. Had he turned her way? Ellen couldn't tell. "Colonel, I'll do whatever you want. There's no need for more violence."
The Colonel's hands slipped behind his back again. "Then you will immediately hand over all materials related to this project," he said, his voice even as before but with a thread of satisfaction running through it now. "And aid us in making it operational at once."
"Very well," said James. "I'll need a few moments to bring the system online."
He turned away from the Colonel and from Ellen's frantic gaze (the airlock wouldn't open! the button wouldn't even acknowledge her presence!), and bent over a control panel that faced the central tank. The Colonel watched calmly, his armored companions leaning over to get a better look but otherwise not changing their position. None of them bothered to look her way; why should they? They had what they wanted, and one person wasn't going to change that.
What was her father doing? She couldn't see his hands.
"My patience wears thin," the Colonel warned.
"Almost ready," said James. "I'm compiling the data now."
It all happened in the same instant. A sharp motion of James' wrist, down towards the panel- a BANG more felt in the bone than heard with the ears, as some critical system suddenly overloaded- a mad flare of alarms almost loud enough to drown out Ellen's Geiger counter's sudden shrilling-
The Colonel's hands flailed weirdly, one arm all but stabbing at the other as he toppled forward. Ellen didn't see why, or care. All she saw was her father staggering forward, his weight slamming against the glass wall. All she heard was his voice:
"Run. Run!"
And then nothing was holding him up any more, and his body slid down the glass wall and landed in a motionless, useless heap.
Someone was throwing the Rotunda door open, was pulling at Ellen's arm and talking about escape tunnels and the other scientists and the Citadel, was saying the Rangers could only hold the rest of the Enclave troops off so long. Ellen heard the words, but if they registered, she could never say what they had been. She followed because she could not think of anything else to do- because she could not think of anything else. When the soldiers pursued them into the tunnels she started screaming, or at least she assumed she did. Her throat was definitely raw once the smoke cleared. There were green goo piles where the soldiers had been, and she mechanically stuck her hand into each one to search for anything that might have been useful. Then, without further ceremony or fuss, she turned to lead the others through the dark, into God alone knew where.