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aaaaaaaagh_skyThere were worse things to wake up to at three-thirty in the morning than a slightly overzealous robot at your cot's side, announcing "Primary mast structure complete. Notification delivered immediately, as requested." Undoubtedly there were worse.
Ellen would have to think of them later. She was too busy trying to get her heart to stop hammering in her ears.
"... we really built that," said 101, staring up at the outline of the mast's structure silhouetted against the stars of the Wasteland sky. "That whole thing."
"Yep," said Thornburgh. He wasn't particularly pleased at being awakened so early, but hell, the radio project had been kind of fascinating to work on. Being roused three hours ahead of schedule to see the fruit of that labor made real? He could live with that. "All of it. Scavenged and cut the pipes, dug the holes and sank the rebar into the foundation, welded everything in place, ran the guy wires- we did it. Everything except get the dish up."
It might've been just his imagination, but 101 suddenly looked seriously pale. Then again, there was a full moon up. Everybody looked pale under moonlight. "Mind if-" She paused. "Can I get a reason for that?"
"Didn't want it mounted on an incomplete structure. Anything went wrong with the construction, we'd be out one seriously rare and hard to replace component."
"All right," 101 said slowly. "That... makes sense. But it's going up in the morning, right?"
"Sure is, ma'am."
"And someone else is going to get it up there?"
Thornburgh couldn't help but laugh. "Do I look like a climber, ma'am? Don't answer that," he said. "No, don't worry. Younes is going to do it, although she doesn't know it yet."
"Good," said 101. She reached up and rested one hand a moment on the nearest guy wire. "Good. The sooner, the better. Once the sun's up, of course."
"Of course, ma'am."
There were radio sets in the Citadel, plenty of them. Most of them worked, if you pointed them at a frequency that anybody bothered to broadcast on any more. Mostly that meant Three Dog and Agatha these days, ever since the Enclave went silent. They kept an ear out on that frequency, though. Just in case. Vallincourt kept a radio tuned to the old Enclave frequency in her part of the lab; she found the static soothing. It flattened out the background noises of the other Scribes and let her think.
It wasn't supposed to suddenly crackle and squeal like that, though. That was somebody trying to signal, or she was a Deathclaw's uncle. "Go get Scribe Rothchild," she snapped at the nearest junior Scribe. "We've got a-"
"-sorry! Sorry, ma'am, I didn't-"
"Are you all right, Sprunk? Check that thing over- did anything get broken?"
"I'm fine, I just tripped-"
"Ma'am, is that light supposed to be on?"
"Oh, God, the test's not for another two hours. Um. Anyone listening? I'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to- look, this is Paladin 101 of the Brotherhood of Steel-"
Somewhere, Vallincourt was suddenly convinced, the ghost of Marconi was laughing.
Ellen would have to think of them later. She was too busy trying to get her heart to stop hammering in her ears.
"... we really built that," said 101, staring up at the outline of the mast's structure silhouetted against the stars of the Wasteland sky. "That whole thing."
"Yep," said Thornburgh. He wasn't particularly pleased at being awakened so early, but hell, the radio project had been kind of fascinating to work on. Being roused three hours ahead of schedule to see the fruit of that labor made real? He could live with that. "All of it. Scavenged and cut the pipes, dug the holes and sank the rebar into the foundation, welded everything in place, ran the guy wires- we did it. Everything except get the dish up."
It might've been just his imagination, but 101 suddenly looked seriously pale. Then again, there was a full moon up. Everybody looked pale under moonlight. "Mind if-" She paused. "Can I get a reason for that?"
"Didn't want it mounted on an incomplete structure. Anything went wrong with the construction, we'd be out one seriously rare and hard to replace component."
"All right," 101 said slowly. "That... makes sense. But it's going up in the morning, right?"
"Sure is, ma'am."
"And someone else is going to get it up there?"
Thornburgh couldn't help but laugh. "Do I look like a climber, ma'am? Don't answer that," he said. "No, don't worry. Younes is going to do it, although she doesn't know it yet."
"Good," said 101. She reached up and rested one hand a moment on the nearest guy wire. "Good. The sooner, the better. Once the sun's up, of course."
"Of course, ma'am."
There were radio sets in the Citadel, plenty of them. Most of them worked, if you pointed them at a frequency that anybody bothered to broadcast on any more. Mostly that meant Three Dog and Agatha these days, ever since the Enclave went silent. They kept an ear out on that frequency, though. Just in case. Vallincourt kept a radio tuned to the old Enclave frequency in her part of the lab; she found the static soothing. It flattened out the background noises of the other Scribes and let her think.
It wasn't supposed to suddenly crackle and squeal like that, though. That was somebody trying to signal, or she was a Deathclaw's uncle. "Go get Scribe Rothchild," she snapped at the nearest junior Scribe. "We've got a-"
"-sorry! Sorry, ma'am, I didn't-"
"Are you all right, Sprunk? Check that thing over- did anything get broken?"
"I'm fine, I just tripped-"
"Ma'am, is that light supposed to be on?"
"Oh, God, the test's not for another two hours. Um. Anyone listening? I'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to- look, this is Paladin 101 of the Brotherhood of Steel-"
Somewhere, Vallincourt was suddenly convinced, the ghost of Marconi was laughing.