Chapter 33: The Beginning
After a couple of days in isolation tents, Jon was finally released from quarantine. They had built a small camp using ASAMs, and took the chance to relax from the ordeal. Piper had joined Jon, deciding to forgo good sense and die with her lover from alien diseases if that’s what it came to. It didn’t come to that, so Jon enjoyed the time spent with her.
Curie, as it turned out, spoke Japanese and many other languages, as did Codsworth. It came in handy for helping the people of all nationalities they kidnapped. He was also able to have a conversation with Toshiro-sama in the isolation camp because of it. The Samurai was shocked, and saddened, but accepted his situation as a warrior would. He had already started coming to terms with it before they even left the ship.
He wasn’t going home, and most likely never would. There were many things he would have to adjust too in the new world he was in, but he understood a lord asking as a friend for his service. The samurai readily accepted the offer to train others in swordsmanship and hand to hand. Even though the battlefield was ruled by powder and shot, those skills weren't useless.
Paulson was working with Jake, a natural choice, to get brought back up to speed on things. He found that life in the modern world after the big war wasn’t that different from the frontier life he was used too. The SCPG needed men like him, and it wasn't anything for him to start back up in his old businesses, hunting and killing men for government dollars, or caps for now. There were just more do-dads to use, and more bullets in the air for him to contend with.
Sally’s loyalty was indeed bought with some fresh air, real food, and some creature comforts. Piper even offered to move her into the shop with Nat. Jon didn’t know exactly what Nat would say about that, but he figured they would both get along fine, and were both smart enough to get out of any trouble they would inevitably get into together.
Elliott was working with Curie in the labs. More camps were being built for the refugees from the pods so they could be kept under the same observation, released one at a time in a slow but controlled process. The first ones released were Elliott's unit, and they ended up not making it. At least in their deaths, what they learned would save everyone else. The men knew they were losing it, and told their medic as much. Elliott kept his promise to them, and so far everyone released after was alive and well.
That was what Jon needed most at the moment. People, and ones with different applicable skills. He went down the rows of tents of the couple hundred so far out and shook hands with all smiles. He introduced himself as the Military Governor of the SCPG. He talked up his allies in the Brotherhood. Jon explained what the SCPG was and the plan for the future civilian government. Above all he tried to reassure people that everything was all right. That even if they were out of time and place, that they were safe and had a place in a newly forming society and nation.
It was important work for him to do. If he could calm and reassure these people, get them working for the cause, they would help the others transition as well into commonwealth life. It would keep riots from starting in the refugee camp that was forming in the heart of the Brotherhood HQ. It wasn't just work important to do, but one he had an obligation to do for his allies fronting most of the costs of analyzing the ship and housing the people trapped inside.
Another thing helping to keep order with the myriad of different people coming from the pods was the work the Brotherhood was enlisting them in otherwise. No one new how long the people would be there, so to head off any issues they were planting ASAM fields in other places of the median. Scribes were showing people how to farm not only, but how ASAMs working in general. They took much the same philosophy as the SCPG with them. While there was some central planning, people mostly did with the ASAMs what they pleased as long as it wasn't a danger to others or impeded Brotherhood operations. It would be important knowledge for them to be productive in the new society there were in. The focus of the task helped keep order in the camp as much as Jon did.
As Jon was leaving the last group he talked to, getting their assurance that they would help others, and Maxson was walking up in his battle coat and officers uniform. Jon said, “Maxson. Find Sarah yet?”
He shook his head, “Not yet, and she would kill me if we went out of our way for her over everyone else. I came because the infiltration mission is ready. Has been, but our quarantine got in the way.”
“Operation Intrude N313, of course.” Jon said with a smirk.
Maxson raised his eyebrow as they took off together, “Is that what we’re naming it?”
Jon scoffed, “Yeah. Fromm a video game I played once. Get this, 8 bits instead of one.”
Maxson whistled, “Incredible. I bet the game actually had color.”
Jon nodded, “Indeed it did. Never got to play the sequel because the wars were starting. By the end of them games were moving to full 32 bit, and 3-D graphics. Some of the magazines I read said they were already working on 64 bit processors. I didn’t have any time to really play with it during the wars, and then I came here.”
Maxson said, “Must have been a shock seeing this place for the first time.”
Jon shrugged, “Yes and no. We would have had our own resource crisis, dropped our own bombs. All of the technology, efficiency, and productivity in the world wouldn't have stopped some dickhead oil lobbyist bribing governments to kill clean energy initiatives. To kill any kind of economic change that would stop unchecked consumerism. We had our own red scare and anti-socialist propaganda.”
Maxson chuckled, “Conservation is Communism is an actual propaganda slogan I’ve seen.”
Jon laughed, “That's rich. At the end of the day, the biggest enemy of socialism were the socialists. The Soviet Union was an evil empire. Pol Pot in Cambodia made them look like saints. North Korea was a hereditary fascist monarchy in everything but name. The socialists take power and what’s the first thing they do? Kill other socialists, queer people, minorities, anyone that even looks like they’re ‘counter revolutionary.’ So it wasn’t exactly all unfounded. Probably not here either.”
Maxson said, “No. if even a tenth of what they said was true, then Communist China was just as bad.”
Jon said, “Only ones that even came close were the Vietnamese. They were international pariahs for daring to resist French colonialism, and then American imperialism. Then all of the anti communist countries took Pol Pot’s side, supported one of the most brutal dictators in human history,”
Maxson said, “Just because Vietnam fought them I take it. They share a border from the old globes.”
Jon nodded, “Specifically to end his reign of terror and stop the genocides, right after being done with decades of war against foreign powers. But even they realized communism doesn’t exactly work, and they were transitioning to semi-free, and free markets at the start of the wars. One of the few places in Asia actually that Khan ever conquered before being driven back.”
Maxson spit, “Never changes.”
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Jon nodded, “Never will. At least if we can get to space, we wont have to fight wars over resources, hopefully.”
Maxson said, “I will admit, as impossible as it seems right now, your arguments for it are sound. That is were the resources are, more than we could ever possible use. Well now its not so impossible, I guess, with that mothership in the middle of my airport.”
Jon scoffed, “Yeah, now we might not actually have to build a rocket. We can just use one of their crafts to scout the solar system before going further. I have equations for anti-matter generators and FTL propulsion rolling around. Just need to have shit cleared up to start really working on it.”
Maxson said, “The first step is to get rid of the Institute. Here it is.”
The walked back to the airport proper, and off to the side where the building had collapsed and been cleared was the transport pad. Over top of it were supports for the main competent of the decide. What looked like a Tesla coil was running and humming, every once in a while throwing off a bolt of blue lighting. Off to the side of it was a control suit, and running up to the collapsed roof was a cable for the signal dish to pick up and hijack the signal.
A team of Brotherhood scribes, some guards, and Sturgis were there waiting for Jon and Maxson. Sturgis walked up and held his hand out, “Damn good to see you bossman, you too Elder.”
Jon took the hand, “Good to see you too Sturgis. Damn fine work as always.”
He chuckled and said, “Wasn't all me. You always find the best goodies for me to pick at boss. Now come on. The more time we spend on this, the less time I have to play with that spaceship.”
Jon smiled as he walked over to his gear, taken as apart of the quarantine procedures. He put his vest back on, then his thigh plats, shoulder pauldrons, then finally picked up and checked his weapons. The Brotherhood had kindly cleaned and serviced them as well, and the actions were even smoother than what Old Paul had been able to do. Whoever their smith, they were competent indeed. His helmet was put on last, and he was satisfied to be back in full kit again. He was always torn, as if two halves existed in him. He wanted peace, he wanted progress, he wanted to do more than simply fight, but he would be a lair if he didn’t admit that he also lived for action, combat, the blood of his enemies flowing freely over his boots.
He turned and marched onto the pad, ready to go. A nod was all that told the operators that it was go time. Piper had slipped back in and stood with a worried expression. His smile and small wave tried to reassure here, but it had obviously failed. He breathed deep. If that mothership, or anything else, hadn’t been the end of him, a bunch of pansy eggheads in a bunker weren't going to do it either.
The machinery started to whirl up and cajole the state of its readiness to to the task it was built to do. Maxson walked up a final time and handed him a Holotape, “Plug this into any terminal on their network! It’s a virus that should pull everything it can connect too!”
Jon took the tape and nodded. So far he was 1 for 2 on how the mission would go. Sturgis yelled out, “Alright boss! Stand real still, don’t want any corruption of the molecular beam!”
He and the Brotherhood techs got to work for the final steps of the transport process. The machinery spooled up even more, and then a small pop rang out. The crowd flinched and saw one of the tubes had broken off, and was waving around with steam and pressure driving its motions.
Sturgis spoke first to the techs, “Better hurry. Ah...don’t mind that tube there boss! Just for decoration!”
Jon snickered as they worked more frantically. Sturgis called out, “Scanning for Institute signal….there! Got it! Alright boss. 3! 2! 1!”
Sturgis slapped a big red button, and in a flash a bolt of lightning shot down and enveloped Jon. He felt the process in excruciating detail that a normal person wouldn't feel. He felt himself get ripped apart piece by piece, molecule by molecule, and zipped away at the speed of light to his destination. If his head wasn't one of the first things to go, he might have screamed. It wasn’t exactly pain, but it felt wrong on every level. He hopped he would not have to transport like this often. It felt nothing like the Zetan transporters, but was faster in every respect.
He took a couple heavy breaths as the process was complete, and he found himself on a larger pad in a room. He was cold, but quickly steeled himself for the mission and brought his rifle up. So far there were no enemies to greet him. Just outside the room, he saw the Institute control for the pad he was on.
He walked off the pad and into the control room. His rifle was still up as he sidestepped around and found he was 2 for 2 on the mission. There in the mainframe was as terminal, and a quick activation showed it was connected to the Institute network. With his offhand he pulled the holotape and slotted it in. A percentage bar overtook the screen, and he waited with his gun up down the hall while it did its work.
It wasn't long. Institute hardware was no doubt faster to process, and the network not that large. Their own resources were being used against them in the hack. Only a couple minutes of waiting was what it took for the download to complete, and he pulled the tape with one hand as his gun hand still held his rifle down the hall. After slotting the tape into a pouch, he reactivated the transporter using the controls that were fairly intuitive.
Then finally the Institute showed up to handle the breech they probably never expected to happen. Jon was backing away into the whirling pad as he fired of his first shots. There were only mechanical synths, and proved not match for his reaction speeds. The lighting shot around him and initiated the transport as he was still firing, and they were getting their first shots off.
In another flash he was whisked away to the above ground of the bunker. He was in the center of the main square of the ruined CIT campus. Jon immediately fell to his knees and began coughing up blood. He could tell what had happened. Stray shell casings, and the bullet he was firing as he transported had reintegrated themselves into his body due to the process. He had one shell casing in his lung, one in his liver, and more in other places like parasites all through him.
He would survive, his immune system would dissolve them, but that could take days he he didn’t feel like writhing on the ground for that long, or for someone to find him. Still coughing on reflex, trying to expel the foreign body in his lung, he shot up and ran as fast as he could towards the only place he knew he could get medical attention.
After a few minutes of running towards the police station, he finally happened upon a Brotherhood patrol. They had been briefed that the mission was occurring, in case the way out took him to the campus and not back to the airport. They were on there way in to take a post, not expecting the mission to take so little time. They had their guns up and Jon understood why. He just went to the institute, alone, and it would be nothing to assume was was replaced. They had to take precautions.
He threw his rifle away and got back down onto his knees to continue hacking. The patrol, the same two he met at Graygarden actually, jogged up. Jon wheezed, “Bullet casings...In my lungs...the transport…shooting as...I did it.”
He continued his nonstop coughing as the picked him up and drug him back to the station. It seemed they were enjoying the sight, and manhandling the man that got them reprimanded over some bots, but they did their duty and got him to the station as soon as they could. His rifle was picked up, and his sidearm and ordinance was confiscated as he was pulled in. The trail of blood from his mouth never stopped all the while.
They pulled him back to the med area and tossed him on the operating table. He could still pull his own vest and fatigue top off, and did so as the medic prepared for their work.
He coughed though the words while motioning to where it was, “Rip it...out. Don’t care...if lung comes out...need to be fast...heal fast...be fine.”
The medic nodded as he laid down. A stethoscope was used to confirm where the shell casing was. Jon got his coughing under control for a moment to give them the chance, then went back to coughing as soon as they nodded.
They said, “Going in.”
Jon held what breath he could, and controlled what coughing they could as the scalpel met flesh and cut in. The medic was indeed fast. As soon as they made the cut in between his ribs they held the wound open with their fingers. With their other hand they shoved a pair of pillars in and though his lung tissue. Usually operations would never be done like this, but the medic’s patient was unlike another, and told them basically to rip the thing out and damn the consequences. They didn’t blame the general after the 308 shell casing was ripped out with a chuck of his lung attached to it. Another man would have been dead before they even got to the med bay.
Jon started breathing again. It was wet, wheezing, but he wasn’t coughing uncontrollably to expel something that would never be expelled that way. He whispered, “Thank...you.”
The medic nodded, “Anything else?”
Jon shook his head, “Nothing that wont take care...of itself. Just needed to breathe.”
He took one final breath, and then passed out from the ordeal. Some good sleep would certainly get him over the trauma that he just suffered. The medic had nothing to say against it, so he let the General have his rest. The mission to infiltrate the Institute was complete.