Finding The Garden Of Eden
Nov. 10th, 2010 11:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aaaaaaaagh_skyFawkes was only one person, Ellen knew that. Whatever else the Forced Evolutionary Virus might have done, there was no way it could have forced more than one person into a single body. She refused to consider any other possibility. This place held horror enough, without that. One person, and one person only, was leading them through twisting, corroded corridors; one person and one person only held Star Paladin Cross' supersledge in thick-fingered green hands, eyes scanning the darkness ahead without error or hesitation.
And yet... and yet, when the first of the monstrous, ancient greenskins they'd seen on the surface stepped into sight, Ellen was absolutely sure that Fawkes screamed "YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME!" in the voices of every single person who had gone into Vault 87 and never come out.
There would be other mutants ahead. She and Cross let Fawkes have that one all to himself.
The corridor took a sharp turn to the right. There had been an electricity distribution hub here once. The ceiling rose up into unlit shadows overhead, easily three or four floors high, accommodating ventilation duct and electrical cabling alike. There were two of the monstrous mutants here, and a third coming through the door at the far end of the room.
"NO MORE GAMES," Fawkes bellowed. "TIME TO DIE!"
Whether it was Fawkes' rage or the war hammer's stored kinetic energy Ellen never knew, but his enemy fell to the floor in a broken pile long before hers or Cross's even started to stagger.
The room was quiet, save for the whirring of the reel-to-reel machines that held the Vault mainframe's outlying storage. Fawkes stood over two half-pulped green-skinned corpses, panting a little, and eyed what was left of the nearer one. A single rivulet of blood ran down the warhammer in Fawkes' grip and and plinked to the floor at his feet.
"I was merciful," was all he said.
There were windows here, small oval ones set into the wall. Whatever lay beyond gleamed with a baleful green light. Ellen turned her eyes away instantly. Nothing good could ever come of light that color. Even the goo her plasma rifle left behind was healthier-looking. "Fawkes," she said, "what-"
A door at the far end of the room started to slide open. She knew better than to wait for her shot, or even aim. She simply fired immediately, fast as her finger could move. Both bolts caught the mutant beyond square in the face. Then there was no more shooting to be done; Fawkes had committed to his charge. He'd barreled into his target by the time Ellen and Cross had crossed the room, and while the other mutant was holding out with all its might, it stood no chance at all. It stopped moving in moments, and Fawkes started to push himself up.
Cross, somewhat to Ellen's surprise, held out a hand of assistance. Fawkes accepted it, more out of courtesy than need, or at least it seemed so to Ellen. "There are times," the mu- the meta-human rumbled, "when I feel the primal part of me pulling me away... My friend, we are almost at the end of our journey. The GECK lies in the chamber beyond. Wait here, and I will return and place it in your hands myself."
"We will," said Cross before Ellen could speak. "Thank you, Fawkes."
"It's the least I can do, after the kindness you showed me," Fawkes answered. "Now, be wary. My lesser-minded brethren may find this place while I am gone. I will be as quick as I can."
"We'll be careful," Ellen promised.
Fawkes nodded, and stepped through the door into the airlocked decontamination chamber beyond. As the door closed behind him Ellen turned to Cross. "I'm going to be kind of sad to see him go," she said.
"I might just feel that way a bit myself," Cross answered, though her gaze and her Gatling were on the door by which they'd arrived. "For a mutant, he's.... reliable. I wouldn't have expected that on this side of the continent."
"What do-"
Cross shook her head and indicated the doorway. There was a rebuke in the gesture- you should be paying attention, not talking. Chastened, Ellen fell silent, and waited.
How long she and Cross waited there, guns at the ready, she never knew. She made no check of her Pip-Boy beforehand, and none after; all she knew was that she and Cross waited and nothing came. Nothing so much as moved, save the sluggish, ancient air making its way through the Vault's still-working ventilation systems.
There was silence for a time, as much as any Vault could ever be silent, and then there was the sound of a door hissing open. It was Fawkes. As the vapors of the decontamination room rolled away from him he held out a heavily locked and secured box to Ellen. "As promised," he said, "here's the GECK. I hope that it was worth it."
Strange, thought Ellen, that something so small could be so important. The GECK was perhaps- oh- sixteen inches from one side to the other, and twelve inches from top to bottom, and maybe eight inches deep. Not even big enough to hold a suit of proper leather armor. But it had the Vault-Tec logo, and it had warning signal lights along one side, and when she ran her fingers over it the armored gauntlet fingertips chimed softly as they encountered the embossed capital letters of the words Garden of Eden Creation Kit. If this was truly what they needed....
She looked up to Fawkes and found that she could not speak. The meta-human must have seen her gratitude in her eyes, though, because something in his contorted face twisted up into a smile. "Well," he said, "I'm afraid this is where you and I part company. I'll find my way out of this place, don't worry. Who knows? Maybe we'll meet again, somewhere in the Wasteland."
"Thank you, Fawkes," Ellen finally managed to say. "Be well."
The meta-human lifted a hand in farewell, though he walked alongside Ellen and Cross to the first turning of the corridors. Their path turned left, and his turned right. "Where do you suppose he's going?" Ellen murmured. "This way leads out."
"I couldn't say for sure," Cross answered, "but I suspect he's going to the Vault armory."
"What do- oh." Ellen nodded. Fawkes wore the tattered remains of the oldest Vault suit she'd ever seen. Unless mutants were given to changing their prisoners' clothing before exposing them to FEV, that meant Fawkes was quite likely one of Vault 87's original inhabitants. If anyone in existence had the right to revenge on his or her tormentors, it was probably him.
She said nothing else, and neither did Cross. The unspoken agreement hung in the air between them: move now, move quickly, get out of this place and leave it behind us. To rush would have been dangerous, but to move at even a normal pace seemed agonizingly slow. They had what they needed. Why linger even a moment longer in this hell-hole?
They reached the electrical distribution hub and its corridor with the sharp turn to the left. Ellen quickened her pace. Something flickered at the edge of her vision-
BZAAAAP!
Everything around her went white.
noises, just out of reach, like heavy falling objects and metal feet on metal floors, and then there were words-
"Ah, Sarge?"
The searing light was fading. Vision was beginning to swim back in.
"Good work, Kirkley. Get that GECK secured aboard the Vertibird, Campbell."
Recognizable shapes. Power armor- black power armor, and golden-eyed, oh, God-
"Yes, Sarge. Radioing Captain Ryan to bring it down immediately."
"She'd better be unharmed. The Colonel wants first crack."
She couldn't move. Her suit wouldn't cooperate. Her limbs wouldn't cooperate. Nothing was working but her breath and even that was coming in fits and starts-
"Yes, Sarge. She'll pass out shortly. So'll the other one."
"Terrific. Prepare 'em both for transport immediately. "
"Right away, Sarge."
And where everything had gone white, everything instead went black.
And yet... and yet, when the first of the monstrous, ancient greenskins they'd seen on the surface stepped into sight, Ellen was absolutely sure that Fawkes screamed "YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME!" in the voices of every single person who had gone into Vault 87 and never come out.
There would be other mutants ahead. She and Cross let Fawkes have that one all to himself.
The corridor took a sharp turn to the right. There had been an electricity distribution hub here once. The ceiling rose up into unlit shadows overhead, easily three or four floors high, accommodating ventilation duct and electrical cabling alike. There were two of the monstrous mutants here, and a third coming through the door at the far end of the room.
"NO MORE GAMES," Fawkes bellowed. "TIME TO DIE!"
Whether it was Fawkes' rage or the war hammer's stored kinetic energy Ellen never knew, but his enemy fell to the floor in a broken pile long before hers or Cross's even started to stagger.
The room was quiet, save for the whirring of the reel-to-reel machines that held the Vault mainframe's outlying storage. Fawkes stood over two half-pulped green-skinned corpses, panting a little, and eyed what was left of the nearer one. A single rivulet of blood ran down the warhammer in Fawkes' grip and and plinked to the floor at his feet.
"I was merciful," was all he said.
There were windows here, small oval ones set into the wall. Whatever lay beyond gleamed with a baleful green light. Ellen turned her eyes away instantly. Nothing good could ever come of light that color. Even the goo her plasma rifle left behind was healthier-looking. "Fawkes," she said, "what-"
A door at the far end of the room started to slide open. She knew better than to wait for her shot, or even aim. She simply fired immediately, fast as her finger could move. Both bolts caught the mutant beyond square in the face. Then there was no more shooting to be done; Fawkes had committed to his charge. He'd barreled into his target by the time Ellen and Cross had crossed the room, and while the other mutant was holding out with all its might, it stood no chance at all. It stopped moving in moments, and Fawkes started to push himself up.
Cross, somewhat to Ellen's surprise, held out a hand of assistance. Fawkes accepted it, more out of courtesy than need, or at least it seemed so to Ellen. "There are times," the mu- the meta-human rumbled, "when I feel the primal part of me pulling me away... My friend, we are almost at the end of our journey. The GECK lies in the chamber beyond. Wait here, and I will return and place it in your hands myself."
"We will," said Cross before Ellen could speak. "Thank you, Fawkes."
"It's the least I can do, after the kindness you showed me," Fawkes answered. "Now, be wary. My lesser-minded brethren may find this place while I am gone. I will be as quick as I can."
"We'll be careful," Ellen promised.
Fawkes nodded, and stepped through the door into the airlocked decontamination chamber beyond. As the door closed behind him Ellen turned to Cross. "I'm going to be kind of sad to see him go," she said.
"I might just feel that way a bit myself," Cross answered, though her gaze and her Gatling were on the door by which they'd arrived. "For a mutant, he's.... reliable. I wouldn't have expected that on this side of the continent."
"What do-"
Cross shook her head and indicated the doorway. There was a rebuke in the gesture- you should be paying attention, not talking. Chastened, Ellen fell silent, and waited.
How long she and Cross waited there, guns at the ready, she never knew. She made no check of her Pip-Boy beforehand, and none after; all she knew was that she and Cross waited and nothing came. Nothing so much as moved, save the sluggish, ancient air making its way through the Vault's still-working ventilation systems.
There was silence for a time, as much as any Vault could ever be silent, and then there was the sound of a door hissing open. It was Fawkes. As the vapors of the decontamination room rolled away from him he held out a heavily locked and secured box to Ellen. "As promised," he said, "here's the GECK. I hope that it was worth it."
Strange, thought Ellen, that something so small could be so important. The GECK was perhaps- oh- sixteen inches from one side to the other, and twelve inches from top to bottom, and maybe eight inches deep. Not even big enough to hold a suit of proper leather armor. But it had the Vault-Tec logo, and it had warning signal lights along one side, and when she ran her fingers over it the armored gauntlet fingertips chimed softly as they encountered the embossed capital letters of the words Garden of Eden Creation Kit. If this was truly what they needed....
She looked up to Fawkes and found that she could not speak. The meta-human must have seen her gratitude in her eyes, though, because something in his contorted face twisted up into a smile. "Well," he said, "I'm afraid this is where you and I part company. I'll find my way out of this place, don't worry. Who knows? Maybe we'll meet again, somewhere in the Wasteland."
"Thank you, Fawkes," Ellen finally managed to say. "Be well."
The meta-human lifted a hand in farewell, though he walked alongside Ellen and Cross to the first turning of the corridors. Their path turned left, and his turned right. "Where do you suppose he's going?" Ellen murmured. "This way leads out."
"I couldn't say for sure," Cross answered, "but I suspect he's going to the Vault armory."
"What do- oh." Ellen nodded. Fawkes wore the tattered remains of the oldest Vault suit she'd ever seen. Unless mutants were given to changing their prisoners' clothing before exposing them to FEV, that meant Fawkes was quite likely one of Vault 87's original inhabitants. If anyone in existence had the right to revenge on his or her tormentors, it was probably him.
She said nothing else, and neither did Cross. The unspoken agreement hung in the air between them: move now, move quickly, get out of this place and leave it behind us. To rush would have been dangerous, but to move at even a normal pace seemed agonizingly slow. They had what they needed. Why linger even a moment longer in this hell-hole?
They reached the electrical distribution hub and its corridor with the sharp turn to the left. Ellen quickened her pace. Something flickered at the edge of her vision-
BZAAAAP!
Everything around her went white.
noises, just out of reach, like heavy falling objects and metal feet on metal floors, and then there were words-
"Ah, Sarge?"
The searing light was fading. Vision was beginning to swim back in.
"Good work, Kirkley. Get that GECK secured aboard the Vertibird, Campbell."
Recognizable shapes. Power armor- black power armor, and golden-eyed, oh, God-
"Yes, Sarge. Radioing Captain Ryan to bring it down immediately."
"She'd better be unharmed. The Colonel wants first crack."
She couldn't move. Her suit wouldn't cooperate. Her limbs wouldn't cooperate. Nothing was working but her breath and even that was coming in fits and starts-
"Yes, Sarge. She'll pass out shortly. So'll the other one."
"Terrific. Prepare 'em both for transport immediately. "
"Right away, Sarge."
And where everything had gone white, everything instead went black.