Home Again

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The Duchess Gambit isn't a particularly fast boat, especially not when it's loaded down with everything four Paladins could clear out of the St. Aubin's Medical Research facility. But it's a sound boat, and under Voodoo's piloting and navigation skills it makes it safely back to the Capital area in a few days' time. Navigating the Potomac is a little more challenging, as the river's a total mess, but it can be managed.

"Up there," Ellen says. "Tobar came to the dock down the river from the Citadel. I sent word to Fawkes to let Elder Lyons know we were coming."

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

"Roger," he says, laying off the throttle a little. "Who's meeting us there?"

(No, the Duchess Gambit is not a particularly fast boat - this irks Voodoo probably more than the rest of them combined. But - she's one sturdy piece of shit, he'll give her that much. He oughta know - he's been pushing her to the limit these past few days. The smell's gotten to the point where he wears his gas mask out of convenience.)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"A couple of Paladins you haven't met and several Scribes with Brahmins to carry the recovered stuff," Ellen says. After a moment's consideration she adds, "One of the Scribes is going to be Jerald."

[boston_bruiser]

"Jerald, huh?"

It's easy enough to pull the throttle back a little more and let the Gambit coast up along the dock.

"Should be interesting."

A flick of a switch, and the Gambit's anchor drops with a CLUNK. A quick check to make sure all's secure, and he jogs out to meet them. "I'll help get the heavy shit," he says, taking one side of an autodoc.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Thanks," says Paladin Morgan gruffly at the other end. "We appreciate the help."

The boat's going to be swarming with red-robed Scribes in a moment or two. They may not wear power armor, but they're capable of carrying plenty, and more importantly they know what has to be grabbed and catalogued first before anything gets strapped to a Brahmin. Ellen makes a point of staying out of their way; she's got a few crates of punga fruit she managed to grab and stash on the ship, as those are still pretty valuable even if they're not technology.

(It also gives her a chance to avoid people staring and asking what happened to her forehead. She's not quite ready for that.)

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo's not arrogant enough to think he can order the Scribes around, but he does have to educate a few in proper lifting technique. Thankfully, they catch on quick.

It takes a little less than an hour to unload it all - the last box, a Gatling laser, is plunked down next to a box filled half-and-half with laser pistols and prewar books. A nearby Brahmin chuffs at the sight, and Voodoo rubs it behind one ear.

"Don't break your back on nonna this, now. Otherwise they'll hafta make you into steak."

Beat.

"Y'know. 'cause you'll be dead."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Don't worry, we won't overpack him," says a voice Voodoo's heard before. "Hi there, Mr. whatever your name is."

[boston_bruiser]

"Hey, Jerald," Voodoo says, standing back. "You missed quite the adventure. There was iambic pentameter and everythin'."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Really? Senior Scribe Jameson's going to be sorry she wasn't there," says Cancio as he hefts the laser pistol-book combo experimentally. "The Order of the Quill's always up for more evidence of cultural survival."

There's a suitable space on the Brahmin's pack harness, as long as he's careful about strapping down the top of the crate; he can work on that without too much trouble.

"Was that how Ellen got knifed in the head? She- I didn't think it would be good to ask, the way she looked when I found her to say hello..."

[boston_bruiser]

"Nah, it was just some fuckin' nutjob who...tried t'cut her head open. Ain't clear on the details."

Oh hey lifting this next box of books is suddenly really involving.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Okay, apparently that was one of those spectacularly tactless moments to which Cancio is prone. Good thing he didn't ask Ellen; bad thing he asked it at all. He'll remember that.

"I knew we should've brought a medic down here with us, I knew it," he mutters, and glances over his shoulder towards wherever he assumes Ellen might be in the caravan. "Is she all right? It was all so busy I couldn't get two minutes together to talk to her properly."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo sighs, strapping the box next to the one already on the Brahmin. "She's walkin' and talkin', Cancio. Beyond that, I ain't no shrink."

He moves back to the boxes, heaving one of the lighter ones on his shoulder. "We've been through worse. Doin' fine for it, too."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Cancio chews his bottom lip a moment, then bends to pick up the next box. "Which is code for 'stop asking questions, she'll tell you when she's ready', isn't it," he says. "Sorry. I just- sorry."

OH LOOK WORK TO BE DONE. HE SHOULD DO IT.

[boston_bruiser]

"Just start liftin', Cancio. Heavy shit near the back, light shit near the middle. -careful with that one, that's fulla biogel."

Honestly, this is just so much easier than answering all nine billion of Jerald's questions.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Cancio nods and silently does as he's told, although it's a fidgety sort of silence interspersed with periodic furtive glances towards the rest of the caravan.

Thank God the Citadel isn't far up the river. He's going to be all but vibrating with the urge to ask somebody what happened when the group gets done and starts moving.

[boston_bruiser]

Soon enough, the caravan is all loaded up, the appropriate signals made, and they begin the trek toward the Citadel. From here, it's mostly cracked asphalt - while the DoD made damn sure the Pentagon was nuke-proof, the DoT was less thorough with the roads.

To be fair, there's only so much you can do with tar.

Voodoo eschews a seat in one of the wagons, instead opting to walk alongside the wagons with some of the Knights, taking a spot along the middle as he keeps pace with the wagons.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

(Well, DoW rather than DoD, but Voodoo has no way of knowing about that particular name not changing.)

Brahmin aren't fast, as a rule, but they're steady beasts, and so it's not that much walking before they come into sight of home. The Citadel's bulk looks more or less as it has always done in almost any world one might care to name, save for heavily oxidized metal buttressing around the lower level and a massive construction crane positioned near one corner. The fact that there are laser turrets mounted along the upper wall at regular intervals and people in power armor stationed around the perimeter? Minor details. There were always guards and defenses. It's just the accidentals that changed.

There are two human guards in armor and one massive olive-green robot on guard at the main gate; the three of them salute as the caravan arrives. One of the humans eyes Voodoo uncertainly a moment, but a sharp look from Star Paladin Cross cuts off that line of conversation before it can even arise.

"Hey," murmurs Ellen; she's fallen back among the caravan to find Voodoo as the gate slides upward. "I thought you might be back here. Welcome to the Citadel."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo nods in response. "Thanks," he says, looking up. "Looks like it does good for you guys."

He looks back at the caravan, eyes flickering amongst the boxes. "So the Scribes'll be the ones tinkering with most'a this shit?

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Pretty much, although the weapons'll be going into our armories as soon as the Order of the Sword's looked them over and made sure they're all in good repair," Ellen says. "The books and research materials will be winding up with Quill scribes instead. I don't know how much use some of it will be straight off, but they usually find a way to capitalize on recovered knowledge and tech eventually. I'm probably going to wind up being asked to try to cultivate punga fruit around Megaton somewhere, since we really want to get a better handle on anything capable of reversing radiation damage and we're going to need a reliable source."

[boston_bruiser]

"Well, it's something, and that's usually better'n nothin'."

The wagons pull in, the gates shut behind them, and whoever's training in the courtyard jogs over to the wagons and starts to help unload as Paladins bark out order after order. The sun's traveled a ways across the sky when it's all done, and the ones who aren't exhausted are simply too busy to be exhausted.

The distraction is enough for Voodoo to sneak in a few parting words with Ellen and Cross, as well as a pat on the back to Cancio on the way to the nearest door.

(Proper goodbyes for the Scribe will come in time.)