aaaaaaaagh_sky | Entries tagged with off to the commonwealth

The door opens on a gray and misty morning in the year 2282. Ellen found a door in the ruins of an apartment building, or possibly a multi-storey place of business- it's hard to say. The place was picked clean some time ago and then inhabited by something that left behind a lingering, unwholesome smell. Through the biggest gap in the tumbledown wall an almost-recognizable metal-walled building can be seen; there's a sign that says "Ivan's" hanging precariously from a post just out front. Beyond it is the looming bulk of a much larger building's outermost stone wall.

"We'll be rendezvousing with the rest of my people there," Ellen says, jerking her chin towards the building. "I told them I might be longer than usual trying to find my contacts, so if there's any questions or orientation you need here, now's the time to ask."

Livesey had good news: there were no humans anywhere at the castle, unless you counted the dead ones.

... all right, that wasn't as good as it sounded.

That wasn't good news at all.

Well, maybe a little. The dead humans were the work of more mirelurks than Ellen had ever seen in one place, according to the robot's count. The building on the shore- Fort Independence, according to the pre-War maps- had previously been an extremely stout-walled fortification occupied by some kind of organized group of humans. Livesey had found signs, locked doors, electrical wiring, a radio control console, and even a few flags, although neither the robot nor any of the Scribes recognized the flags' rifle-and-lightning emblem. But there was a massive gap in the outer walls, rimmed with broken stone blocks and a few alarmingly melted ones, and now there were mirelurks everywhere.

Scribe Pabodie frowned at the description of the melted stone and went off to where the 'lurk carcasses were drying. When she came back her face was grim. "Paladin," she said, "that behemoth 'lurk we killed had acid glands under its mandibles. I suspect that's what smashed in the castle wall."

"Or possibly another one of the same size," Ellen suggested.

"That's also possible. I don't know that I'd be able to fit two creatures that size into such a small region of ocean, though. Anything that big has to eat an awful lot."

Ellen remembered the behemoth in the ruins of Jury Street, and shuddered.

"On the other hand, if there are as many 'lurks as Livesey says..." Pabodie gazed out over the water. "Even the smaller 'lurks have to eat, ma'am. We've seen mirelurks, blue mirelurks, and sea centaurs here. Plus the behemoth. It might just be that the waters around here are top-heavy on food organisms, and they cluster here to take advantage of it."

"So if we want to move our base of operations into that castle we should assume the worst in terms of opposition," Ellen said. Pabodie nodded. "All right. I'm thinking. We don't have a lot of other options unless we want to push a lot farther north, is the thing. Ervin checked out the buildings on that southernmost peninsula. It's some kind of pre-War wastewater processing facility, but it's got people farming the grounds, and it doesn't look like it's operational. Not to mention that there's next to no security or fortification in the vicinity."

"So if we were to push the locals out-"

"Which we're not going to do," Ellen said.

"Right, ma'am, but if we were going to do it, we'd have to build our own walls as well as any gun emplacements or turrets," said Pabodie.

Ellen nodded. "There are locations further up the shore with visible human populations," she said. "One junkyard with what looks like a couple of suits of power armor on the premises; we're going to need to check that out, but it's not a suitable base of operations either. One small settlement a little further north than that. Then there's a stretch of uninhabited coastline with ordinary residential and commercial pre-War buildings, and then the castle. The old maps of the area indicate that if we keep going north there's a pre-War military base and an airport. It'll take us a while to surveil those locations from here."

"There's worse things than being located close to farmers, ma'am."

"If nothing else they're not going to be raiders," Ellen agreed. "I don't know how they handle things here, but the only people in the Capital who were ever comfortable with a large mirelurk population nearby all lived in Rivet City..."

She looked out over the water again.

"... where they hunted the mirelurks on a regular basis. All right, we're going to have to talk to these people before blasting our way into anywhere."

The prevailing winds on Spectacle Island were consistent enough that the stench of racks and racks of drying mirelurk meat- and drying sea centaur meat- and drying GIANT MIRELURK OF BEHEMOTH SIZE meat- was largely confined to their immediate vicinity. The encampment they'd thrown together was by and large upwind. That was a small mercy- a very small one. Ellen was glad of her power armor's ability to filter the air, but she'd have to get out of it sometime.

Even that wouldn't have been so bad, except-

"Sorry, Paladin," called Knight Conklin from further up the island's half-visible solitary road. "Between our sweep and the bots, we've covered this whole land mass. There's no structures here more sophisticated than a wooden shack. Looks like there were farmers here a while back, but either the lurks killed them or raiders did. Nobody's made anything of this place in years."

Ellen sighed. "So the boat's still our best base of operations."

"Afraid so, ma'am." Conklin was as armored as Ellen, but still contrived to look marginally cheerful. "At least the Scribes'll be happy. There's a barge full of sealed Vault-Tec supply crates that ran aground on the northeast shore. We took out the mirelurks that'd been nesting in the vicinity, so they're free to start documenting everything on board."

"Thank you, Conklin," Ellen said. "That's something, at least. But unless those crates have prefabricated construction units in them, we're going to need to keep scouting. This place isn't suitable for our needs at all."

"You don't have to tell me twice, ma'am."

"Go get Jerald and the others and have them get their kit together. You and Kang will be escorting them to the barge," Ellen said. "But have Scribe Pabodie and Livesey meet me back at the boat. There's some visible structure on the shoreline that I'd like to have a robot scout out before we risk our necks with a second landing."

I've done some digging and I found a reference to the year 2281 in a post of Ellen's from some time back. I'm going to work from this and lay out the AU like so:

The canon timeline at http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Timeline says Owyn Lyons dies of natural causes in 2278. This is the start of my divergence from canon, followed swiftly by the fact that sometime between 2278 and 2281 Fawkes took Theresa of the Faint Smile (from Claymore canon) to Vault 87 and destroyed it, ending the production of supermutants and centaurs in the Capital Wasteland. Little Lamplight was also caved in; the children are now living in Springvale, with regular attention from Fawkes and a certain amount of guard duty being done by the giant ants controlled by Tanya, the former AntAgonizer, who is in a very happy long-term relationship with Silver the ex-prostitute from Megaton.

Owyn Lyons is still alive as of Ellen's current time frame, which is around 2282. I will probably have him get sick this year and have Star Paladin Cross take over due to ongoing illness on Sarah Lyons' part, Sarah having been irradiated as badly as Ellen at Project Purity but not having had access to the UFP medical tech Ellen got treated by at Milliways. Arthur Maxson is, according to the timeline, fifteen years old. I refuse to have him inherit the Brotherhood leadership at age sixteen as per canon. I don't care if he's the full genetic reincarnation of Roger Maxson himself. The terminal entries in Fallout 4 that have Brotherhood cults springing up around him and officers who ought to know better straight-up referring to him as 'the perfect specimen of humanity' make me ill. Since he's a squire in 2277, he can be a relatively young Knight. I will consider letting him make Senior Paladin or possibly Star Paladin sometime around age 25-27. This puts him in line with the youngest man to make captain in the US Navy, Stephen Decatur, who was raised in a naval family, entered the Navy at age nineteen, and became captain at 25 in the days when wooden ships were all you had to deal with. 27 is the age of the youngest American to captain a destroyer in World War 2, Leon Grabowsky, and seems reasonable to me as far as ages for advanced technological military commands. Either way, Star Paladin Cross will be running the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood reasonably well and is not going to lose control of the Brotherhood or the returned Outcasts any time soon, so there will be no extended string of ineffectual leaders involved, thank you.

I'm still mad that the canon timeline goes 'white guy, white guy's daughter, a bunch of bad leaders, messianic white guy' and never even mentions the possibility that white guy's daughter might be succeeded by the next highest ranking officer of the Brotherhood, who happens to be black.

Anyway. 2282. The very first recon team to the Commonwealth apparently went up there in 2280 in the canon timeline. I'll allow for their existence in Ellen's AU but they didn't get especially far in terms of maps, data, or the rest of it; they were, on the other hand, sufficiently unhappy with their overland journey that the decision was made to have the next group go up there by boat since hey, Philly was restoring a boat to service anyway.

Ellen's group is replacing Recon Squad Artemis. None of the events related to that squad or its plot in Fallout 4 happen in her timeline. Recon Squad Gladius may or may not exist, I haven't decided. I also have not decided on what the deal is with Paladin Danse.

Currently the Commonwealth stands about as follows:
( Spoilers ahoy )

The pre-War maps and navigational charts of the waters around Boston indicated the presence of a number of islands of varying sizes. Neither the Bernard C. Webber's sensors nor the robots' could verify most of them; some were significantly larger than the maps indicated, others smaller or not even present any longer. How an island might disappear entirely over two hundred years Ellen did not like to think about.
There was one, though-

"The maps say this island was pretty big before the War," she said, tapping the map in front of her once before looking up at the blot on the horizon. "Livesey?"

"Yes, Madam?" asked the blue-and-white Mr. Handy.

"Am I reading this right? Did this Spectacle place have a navigable harbor?"

"It did indeed, Madam," said Livesey. "I believe I have more than enough fuel to venture in that direction far enough to verify its depth myself, if that's what you're asking."

"Please do," said Ellen. The Handy saluted with its snakelike sawblade arm and flared its thrusters, scooting away over the waves. Ellen shuddered and deliberately turned away.

"You're not the only one looking forward to being on solid ground," observed Knight Kang. He was perched on the edge of one of the boat's crew seats, examining another chart altogether- the best approximate map they had of the mainland Boston region. "I've had just about enough of the water to last me the rest of my life. If we have to evacuate to the Capital, I say we grab whatever we can carry and just walk back. Let the robots handle this thing without us."

"Oh, but sir," came Ervin's tinny voice from the direction of the helm, "we could never manage such a journey without human leadership-"

"He was joking, Ervin," Ellen called back. "Nobody's going anywhere without the rest of everybody. If I had to be miserable for five hundred miles in one direction, we all have to be miserable for five hundred more."

Kang rolled his eyes, but nevertheless murmured, "Yes, Paladin."

A crackle of static came from the boat's radio. "Madam," said Livesey's voice, weirdly dimmed by ongoing radio interference, "I believe the water approaching the island is deep enough for our ship to make port, and then some."

"Oh, good-"

"However," the Handy continued, "I really must urge extreme care in navigating this channel. I've observed the wreckage of at least one cargo vessel already. And may I suggest the ship's guns be manned as soon as possible? There appears to be a mirelurk presence of considerable size along the southernmost stretch of shoreline."

Ellen gestured hurriedly towards the stairs. "Kang, get the others on deck," she said. Turning to the radio she said, "How considerable, Livesey?"

"It does appear to be a breeding colony, Madam," said the Handy. "Of... more than one species, if I'm not mistaken."

"... more than one- Livesey, pull back at once," Ellen said. "Your systems are vulnerable to sonic attack and I'm not about to lose a good robot to mirelurk kings."

"Yes, Madam. It's not just kings, Madam," said Livesey. "I- I really do believe you ought to have a look for yourself. My powers of description aren't what they ought to be."

Uh-oh, Ellen thought. "Conklin!" she said aloud as the Knight emerged from belowdecks. "I need binoculars and I need them now."

"Right here, Paladin," said Conklin, and handed the instruments over.

Livesey, Ellen saw, had taken up a position over the end of a half-submerged boat some distance off the island's southeastern shore. The Handy's flamethrower arm pointed towards a spit of land jutting out into the water, on which there were not only the sort of mirelurks any Capital Wasteland surface dweller might have to face, but also- "Good Lord," Ellen said, "is that a mirelurk tongue monster?"

It certainly had the general body plan of one- a long, low, heavy body parallel to the ground, with a forward-facing torso jutting upwards and at least two long wriggly elements poking out of the area near the top. And it had legs enough to hold it up, but the similarities ended there. For one thing, tongue monsters had only the four legs, and they each ended in hands. The things Ellen saw scrambling around on the beach had what looked like eight each. The Capital's tongue monsters had no arms, either, whereas the things on the beach had huge heavy claws like a scorpion's sticking forward from their lower torsos. And the tongue monsters' tongues, all three of them, protruded from the mouths of otherwise human-looking heads; this thing had nothing remotely recognizable as such. The wriggly bits might have been antennae rather than tongues if they hadn't come out of the center of the forward-facing part, and if they hadn't had two hooked, segmented arm-like bits just below them. The thing's eyes were only recognizable as such because they resembled the eyes of a bloatfly writ very large indeed.

Ellen lowered the binoculars carefully and passed them to Scribe Pabodie, who had come up behind her. "I have no idea what I'm looking at," she said.

"Neither do I," said the blonde, red-robed woman after a moment's observation. "It looks... sort of like a mirelurk? But it- whoa!"

"What whoa?"

Pabodie shook her head rapidly. "Sorry, Paladin," she said. "They spit, apparently. At each other, if nothing else."

"Well, that's not a surprise. So do tongue monsters."

"Centaurs don't have natural body armor," said Pabodie. "These things do. I suggest you look into landing further up the shoreline. I don't think coming ashore anywhere near those creatures is safe."

"Probably not," said Elle, "but unless we can find deep enough water we're a little stuck... Livesey? Can I get a count of how many of these things are out there?"

"Ah- Madam, I'm afraid there's been- get back, you filthy-"

Unceremoniously, Ellen grabbed the binoculars away from Scribe Pabodie. Livesey was backed up against what must have been the wrecked boat's radio antenna, facing down a pair of weirdly finny mirelurk kings. As the Handy opened the valves on its flamethrower arm she called out, "I want those things targeted! Take out the kings and any other lurks that enter the field of fire!"

"What do-" Pabodie began. Ellen all but tossed the binoculars at her.

"Keep an eye out for incoming. I have shooting to do."

Bernard C. Webber had been equipped with a number of automatic ballistic weapons in its day, and the crew in Philly had brought them up to full function, but the Knights were manning them already. That was all right. Even with the deck moving under her like some kind of a bad joke Ellen could brace herself against the rails well enough to line up a shot with her Gauss rifle. Livesey had successfully set one of the kings on fire, but the other one's gilled neck was flaring, a sure sign of imminent sonic blast-

( Aim for the body and you'll hit something, if you're lucky. Aim for the heart and you'll hit the body; aim for the eye and you'll hit the head. Aim for the pupil and you'll hit the eye... )

The thing screamed, and pawed at the air, and fell over backwards spewing the weirdly blue stuff that passed for blood among its kind.

"Thank you, Madam! Ho, there's more of this lot incoming!"

Sure enough the splash of the fallen king, and the thrashing of the burning one as it tried and failed to leap at Livesey, was drawing attention. The hump-like waves that marked a mirelurk shell just below the water's surface were converging rapidly on the half-sunken boat. A particularly large bluish 'lurk lunged out of the water, crashing against the remains of the hull. "Livesey!" Ellen called out. "Get back here at once! We'll cover you!"

"Yes, Madam-"

It all happened at once, as Ellen watched through the binoculars. The Handy spun its arm assembly about, spewing flames in an arc as the 'lurks fell back. The big blue 'lurk crashed against the sunken boat again, shaking the hull badly. The radio tower or mast or whatever it was that Livesey had been backed against sagged with the impact.

Livesey's sawblade arm jammed into the sagging mast. The Handy pulled it free. Something that looked like a large switch came with it.

And the water erupted in a fountain of foam and rage as more mirelurk than anyone knew even EXISTED broke the surface.

From Philadelphia to Boston, according to the port-finding software still found on the Bernard C. Webber's computers, was a journey of five hundred and thirty-five nautical miles. Webber's top speed was supposed to be twenty-eight knots. (Ellen wasn't aware that there was more than one kind of mile. After several attempts at explanation, the Mr. Handy they'd dubbed Ervin gave up trying to explain 'knots' and said they were 'a mile an hour plus a bit'.) Theoretically, that meant it could be as little as nineteen hours between Philly and the Commonwealth.

That, of course, relied on calm weather, experienced sailors, and fully navigable waters. The robots knew what they were doing with the boat's controls and systems, but the navigation- well, there had been a thing once called the Global Positioning Service, and apparently it didn't work any more. Something to do with an insufficient number of operational satellites. Not to mention that the Global Positioning Service was only good for saying where you were, exactly, and didn't offer any kind of information about where the seafloor was or whether there were... rocks or ... things? Reefs? Was that what they called them? (Ervin said yes, it was.) Whether there were any of those sticking out of the ocean bottom. There were probably obstacles in the same places the boat's computers said there had been two hundred years ago, but they might have moved in all that time, and who knew what had fallen out of the sky or sank to the bottom since then? Who knew what might be waiting under the surface to rip them open at full speed?

So, yeah. No thirty-miles-an-hour trip to Boston. Not even close.

Oh, they'd take it at a decent rate of speed (at least what Ervin considered a decent rate of speed for a boat), but they'd be running all the area scanners and radar and sonar and whatever else the ship had, and recording every last bit of positional data they found. And avoiding the... distressingly large... moving things under the-

HOLY GoD WHAT WAS thAT THING

(According to Ervin, 'probably some sort of mutant whale'. Ellen did not consider this to be a helpful answer.)

-well, they'd be avoiding anything that might be a whale, since the extent of the human crew's knowledge of whales could be summed up in a combination of Moby Dick and the Book of Jonah. They'd pause for the night, too, because it was just not worth it to let the robots try to navigate in the dark. They'd make the trip four times longer than it had to be.

But they'd get there, eventually.

Three days in a row, it had been raining.

Ellen wasn't really used to rain even now. Nineteen years of indoor living had given way to topside life in which rain tended to fall in nasty, heavy, brief spasms, and about half of it was heavily acidic anyway. Things were different in Philly; a hundred and fifty miles of separation could work wonders. The rain here was almost all water, and it fell easily and steadily, and it left the sky gray as the inside of a badly-lit helmet, and it had been falling for days on end while the Scribes and the robots tested every single system on the Bernard C. Webber-

(That was the name on the front end of the ship, anyway. One of the Scribes had suggested giving it a name out of Brotherhood history, or knightly legend, or something suitably mythic. Ellen didn't know ships, or the naming of ships, but... the name had survived intact for at least two hundred years. It seemed like a bad idea to go changing it now.)

(Prydwen sounded weird anyway.)

But it had been raining three days in a row, and looked like it would rain a fourth, when the Citadel made radio contact.

"Paladin 101, this is Senior Paladin Tristan... Star Paladin Tristan now. Your handling of the Philly operation to date has been evaluated and found outstanding, so I know this may come as something of a surprise to you. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your new assignment- I hope that ship in your last three reports is up to the task..."