Chapter 8: Olivia Station
It was just past Dawn when Jon walked into Sanctuary, after a healthy dose of water and food at the station. He had gotten a couple hours of sleep, functionally enough, and told Preston to get as much as he needed. Jon would take off to Tempine's with Jake by himself, maybe with Dogmeat given the tail wag and happy barks he was giving.
The town was already looking better a few days past when they all arrived here. The debris and trees were picked up and scrapped. The fallen light posts as well, mailboxes unnecessary for survival, other bits of junk and non functioning tools. There were also a few houses completely collapsed, and what couldn’t be used directly to patch the roofs and walls of others were thrown into the shop and scrapped for ASAM plots.
Their foundations were clear, and Jon would let them decided how to use them, and how to plan their town. With some construction hundreds could live here. Apartments built in between the houses, in their back yards. It’s not like anyone cared about lawn or living on top of others. Sanctuary was a larger suburban area, and it sprawled out across the island it sat on even though only several dozen lived in it before the war.
Surges and Old Paul were fast friends at this point, and were taking some stew for breakfast together before working on their projects. They were setting up an industrial area on the foundation near the entrance, and the house beside it as well as an indoor shop for it. There was a hole cut in the wall about the size of a small trailer door from one of the smaller trucks at Wicked Shipping that they were no doubt going to mount to the hole.
Jon said as he took a bowl of stew for himself, Codsworth’s house becoming a regular mess, “Morning gentlemen”
“Heey bossman”
“Howdy.”
Jon said, “Old Paul, I am in need of your services.”
Old Paul said, “Yeah I can see that. Your new pistol there has seen better days. A 45, be real nice after a bit of polish.”
“Oh it is real nice. It’s a Signer.”
“Now that’s a goodie right there. Guns and me don’t agree, but I read anything technical, and that includes stuff on guns.”
Jon gave Sturgis a wicked smile and Old Paul scratched his head, “I know a lot about guns, but that one loses me. What’s being a Singer mean that's so special?”
Jon didn’t hesitate, “It’s one of the rarest guns you’ll ever find, even before the war. Singer was a company that made sewing machines, and they got their orders from the war department like everyone else when WWII started.”
Sturgis said, “WWII was the last biggest war before china invaded and the nukes started flying, took place in the 1940s. Read any history I can too. Read any old thing, really.”
Jon said, “It was the first nuclear war too. It ended with two bombs, the first bombs. Oil war as well, given the motivations of the aggressive parties. Singer first made 45’s like this one for the war department. Their pistols were so high quality the war department put them on bomb sights instead. You had to have precision machining to make sewing machines, and bomb sights. They only made a couple thousand pistols before their orders changed.”
Old Paul nodded, “Ah, out of millions they’d have to make for a big war like that. It’s got a story, and as quality as you can get. Old Paul will take good care of her. Could you do something for me in return though? It’s not a big favor.”
Jon said, “Sure.”
“Old buddy of mine lives up near here. I’ll mark it on your map. Just a little shack by himself. Could you check on the old boozer for me?”
“Do it in a jiff. Sturgis. I got a new location with a pile of loot, but there's a caveat.”
“Whatdyah got boss.”
“Federal Ration Stockpile, but there's a Gunner outpost on the freeway near by.”
Sturgis grimaced, “Don’t need them seeing us.”
Jon said, “No we don’t. I'm thinking we go by night, pick up what we can until they get wise. If we’re lucky their orders are strictly observation, and they don’t take it before we can haul it back.”
Sturgis nodded, “Something like that would be a priority. Could make a couple trips a night, but they could have night vision. Still need that trash though. Can we use the power armor?”
“Of course. Get Preston's set fixed up, and take mine when you need it. Probably should be you driving mine.”
“Yeah that would probably be best. She trusts me.”
Jon said, “There’s a church with some deadwood cover that has a hatch to the back way in. I say you leave the armor topside and haul junk to them by hand. Then carry a full load back. Just scout first and make sure Gunners aren't crawling over the place.”
Sturgis nodded, “Thanks for the tip, boss, and it makes me feel better about hittin the place up. First thing come dusk. Want to take a spin Old Paul?”
“With some power armor? Hell yeah! My old bones won’t slow us down then. I’ll need a nap though come afternoon.”
Jon nodded and finished his stew, and took off with Dogmeat towards the cabin. It wasn’t long to get there and see the bad news. Old Pual’s friend was lying dead in front of his cabin, and the place was ransacked. There was also a yelping bulldog with a Nuka-Cola bandanna around it’s neck that Dogmeat immediately went to console. It looked like she had been there for a couple days, and was near starved. Her injuries from the raiders left her unable to even take care of herself.
Jon knelt down and injected her with a stimpack. She stirred a little more than she was, he injuries healing, and Jon also fed her some of the rations he kept on him for travel. His Deathclaw Pemmican should be about ready, he thought.
He picked her up and swept back down to Sanctuary to deliver the bad news. His face to Old Paul told the man what he needed to know. Jon said, “Raiders got him close range. Probably would have heard the shot if they did anything else. Sorry, Old Paul.”
He nodded, “Not your fault, youngin. And what did they do to her too. Old Paul will take care of you, Cola sounds about right with the bandanna. Damnit I told him we were to damn old to be livin on our own.”
Jon said, “I’ll leave you two to morn.”
Jon began to make his way out of town when he was stopped by one of the new residents, a woman barley into adulthood. She said, “Uhh, excuse me. You’re the one in charge here right?”
Jon turned to her and said, “Something like that. Need something?”
She nervously nodded, “Uh yeah. I was wondering if these ASAM things could make a store. I always wanted to run my own store.”
Jon smiled, “Probably. Don’t see why not. It’s probably some kind of template we need. A plot type. We’re investigating how to get more out of them. Cant guarantee any kind of timetable though. Talk to Sturgis and Old Paul, see if they can get a stand up for you. We need commerce, especially if caravans come though.”
She now excitedly nodded, “Okay. Thanks!”
Jon smiled and nodded as he walked off back to his station, with Dogmeat at his side. He gave him a few bits of his food as well. When he got back it was still very much morning.
He clicked it radio on, “Hey, cowpoke.”
“Yeah, slick”
“Be there after lunch, slick out.”
“Copy, cowpoke out.”
He sat down with an ASAM, and configured it for residential use. He set it’s range to its maximum, and then set to designing an apartment block. Using ruined brick and stone, they could process them with the shops into new bricks, or set up brick firing using an industrial plot, making them from plentiful raw clay. They could also salvage good brick from broken buildings. Jon imagined there were plenty of places where it just wasn't worth it to rebuild, but still had plenty of good materials to do so.
He also thought about waste extraction, but figured he would wait further on in the ASAM investigation for that problem. For now he would design it into the building to be hooked up to whatever system that was built. He would also need a measure of the existing systems. There would have to be some kind of plot or template for such a thing, a municipal services plot. They couldn’t build everything using hacked together bits of software and exploits.
After he designed some industrial plots that he knew they would need, such as specific gun smiting plots, reloading benches, hemp processing and rope making, blacksmith forges in case they were needed, saw mills for the dead wood as there was always loss press scrapping, all with their instructions on how to build and use them. He would have Old Paul and Sturgis look them over as a sanity check. Then he programmed a small greenhouse setup with an agricultural plot. It would mostly be for the various herbs he saw growing around. With the FEV and radiation, herbal medicine would be much more effective than back home.
By the time he was done with his tear, he loaded them up on the rest of his ASAMs to give to people for testing. The hemp processing would go to Blake, and the rest to Jake and Sturgis for their input. Jon quickly ate, drank another helping of water, and got on the road towards Concorde, being about a half hour walk. He tuned his radio to GNR to see what it was, as a song was finishing up.
The voice on the radio was a dead ringer for Morgan Freeman. He said, “Hey there Bostonians, I’m your host, with the most, Moses Pentegrath. This is Galaxy News Radio, Boston. You may know my distant cousin Three Dog down at our DC sister station. We bring you the blues, and we bring you the news. The news is that some of you wastelanders are goddamned idiots! For the last time, I was pushed out of the GNR plaza by some dickheads calling themselves the Gunners! Do not, I repeat do not try to go there for my autograph! I am broadcasting from a secret location, and even if you do find it, I got mines coming out of my ass here. Now here’s the blues, Lightin’ Hopkins, bring me my shotgun, and remember Bostonians, keep fighting that good fight.”
Jon smirked as he continued his walk towards Concorde. He would have to find Moses Pentegrath and put him back in his rightful place.
The body's still hadn't been cleaned from the streets of Concorde, but Jake's shop was spic and span. It even smelled clean. Jake was finishing his own food and said, “Hey there partners. Slick, Dogmeat. What do yah think?”
Dogmeat barked, and Jon said, “Clean.”
“Yup. Kept a little of the Abraxo from the chem lab for myself. Got the blood stains out and everything. So I actually went up to Tempine's yesterday, just to scope it things out, and what do yah know, their raider problem is coming from Olivia.”
“How convenient. Happen to spy any Gunner posts on the freeway by there?”
“Yup. Just one though, before the big bend into Lexington. They got a lift up to it from what I seen. I told Tempine's the Minutemen were taking care of the Olivia problem. They seemed to not believe it that much, but I reckon when the General shows up with his star and everything they’ll believe. The question is, do we give them ASAMs, and let the gunner’s potentially see.”
Jon nodded, “Good question. Wouldn't be fair if we didn’t. Just tell them to take it slow. Get their farms producing more first, a shack here or there. Nothing crazy like I got on these, check the templates out on your terminal.”
Jake did as suggested, and deadpanned before lazily jerking his head towards Jon. He said, “You just causally pound these out over breakfast or something?”
Jon scoffed, “Took most of the morning for all of them, but yeah, basically.”
He shook his head, “You are something else slick. A full apartment here, two bedrooms, small common area, and a small bath and shower. Three floors for families, a store area underneath or another apartment, all ready to have their own ASAMs put in them for furnishings. Just needs some better instructions from a builder like Old Paul or Sturgis. You got a theoretical greenhouse, and a bunch of industrial centered around guns and ammo, some other things to get us away from the shop as much as possible so we don’t rely on it wholesale, good good. I’ll need to take a closer look at these, but damn fine work, slick.”
Jon smiled, “Thanks cowpoke. I think Sanctuary is a prime candidate for these, plenty of inefficiently used space to fit them in. Just have to figure out utilities. But first, communications.”
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Jake said, “Communications. I know a guy in Diamond City. Information Broker. I’ll get a feeler out to him when I can on where we might find more ASAM leads. Anyway, Olivia indeed has raiders. Five outside, but no clue how many more inside. Tempine's is only three people, and they said a half dozen showed up the last time. So more than that I expect.”
Jon said, “Put one out for municipal maps as well. Water, power, that shit. Alright, let’s get on the road.”
Jake said, “Damn fine idea, slick. There’s a small trade post just past here. We can pick up some supply. I need a couple fusion cells for my big iron.”
Jon said, “Sounds good.”
The small group left the shop, Dogmeat taking point in the formation, and the men’s eyes all around. Eventually they came upon drumlin diner, and an argument was taking place. Jon Jake and Dogmeat came in at an angle slightly behind them, just outside their peripherals.
“We had a deal Trudy! Hand over the goods!”
Their steps were quiet as a fox, and when the woman running the place saw them, and their slow angry gait, she gave no sign of it except some boldness in her next words. Mostly to let them know what the deal was.
“I’m not going to give you poison-shilling chem pushers anything! You know what the junk was done to my boy, Wolfgang!?”
“He bought them fair and square Trudy! Ain’t our fault he’s strung out!”
“HA! Never a better one in all my days.” Jon said with an unfriendly tone.
Wolfgang and his partner spun around with their pipe bangers raised. They were both internally hitting themselves for letting the three sneak up on them like that, so close to their field of view.
Wolfgang said, “Easy there tinker tailor, this doesn’t involve you.”
“Get that fucking gun out of my face or it will involve me.”
A little noise pipped up in Jon’s ears, some distance away still, and a yellow cartoon Q with a thumbs up appeared on his HUD behind his aviators, “Whoa, whoa, just keep calm, alright?”
Jon did rudely wake him up, so why not continue the good show. Jon flared his gills in anger, and put venom on his tongue, “Your scratch. All of it. Now.”
An orange Q popped up, and another noise chirped away. Wolfgang and tired to step back, before thinking better of moving. His partner, probably girlfriend, started visibly shaking.
“He-Here. That's all of it, I swear.”
They both threw him their sacks of caps, and judged about 100 each land at his feet. The show would continue.
“Now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind. Never come back.”
A noise, some laughing, and a red smiling cartoon Q flashed across his HUD as they ran away as fast as they could. He could just hear Wolfgang muttering about his luck. He picked the sacks up and walked towards a chuckling Trudy behind her outside facing counter. As he got closer, her eyes went a little wider when he saw his star, and with a shit eating grin looked back at the Minutemen flag hanging in her stockroom.
Jon returned it as he tired to give her the caps, “Keep em. And here’s a hundred more. I took the flag down when the Minutemen became a joke, but never tossed it. You guys really back?”
Jon’s grin became a shark smile, “Welcome to the SCPG, Trudy.”
She threw back her head in laughter, almost maniacal. She was old enough to remember the heyday of the Minutemen, a small child during the massacre of the CPG. She said, “Yeah, you guys are really back. Happy to be apart. Anything the Minutemen need, Trudy will sell for a heavy discount. Still need cost and a bit to eat on.”
Jon nodded, “Understood. My compatriot needs some fusion cells, and I’ll take a mag of five five, take a look at whatever else you have. Can I fill my water on your well?”
She nodded, and they commenced their trade. Jon also sold her every 32 round he was carrying. His suspicions on them were confirmed. 32 is plentiful enough, and enough reload them, that they’re about a cap per round. They were used as a stand in for currency during bartering. Many kept a stock of them even if they didn’t shoot them for that purpose. There were enough pipe bangers to keep them in demand, and thus valuable. After they were done, Jon walked away with a few more caps than he started the bartering with. He chugged his canteen and filled it back up. Jake took the opportunity to drink his fill as well, and so did Dogmeat.
They circled back around to the edge of Concorde, and up the hill towards the sat station. Ideally Jon would check out the rail line, and the salvage at the station, but that would take him too close to the Gunner post. If they have any kind of intel analysis they would start connecting dots about a man in blue walking around all parts of their forward observation lines.
The path took them around a flooded quarry, and there was a man fiddling with a pump bank. They went unnoticed behind the deadwood cover. Jake said, “Guy was there yesterday too. Don’t like the look of him. Why’s he trying to clear that place out?”
Jon took a second to observe, “Raider. Sure he took a bath and has some regular clothes on, but I can see all the chem use in his face. Don’t have hard proof though. Lets keep moving. Asshole doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’ll never fix it. Take care of it later.”
They moved on and eventually took position across the road, and just down the hill from Olivia. Jon saw two raiders leaning on the upper level railing that wrapped around the satellite itself, a dog as well hanging out with them. There was a squat bunker building that lead into the station, with raiders no doubt inside it.
Jon saw some shit that he never thought he see. It almost didn’t compute. Did Q do it? Mole rats burst from the station grounds, and every one of them had mines strapped to their backs. A dozen in all.
“What in sam hell.”
“No fucking clue, cowpoke. Got any popcorn?”
“Nope.”
The screaming of the raiders began, and explosions shortly followed when a few of the mole rats ran into the bunker to burst their load. The rest ran for the ramp to the upper level, but the raiders up top made short work of the group with their shots spraying into the cluster of mined rats. A few more shots took care of any stranglers.
Just as they were about to run for their companions down below, Jon triggered is VATS and targeted two head shots each for the raiders, a couple center mass of the dog though he didn’t expect hit it thought the grate at the angle he was.
The first shot pegged the first raider in the head, needing no second. The second shot to the second raider missed, requiring a third, and the second targeted, to put them down. Just as he was about to squeeze though the slow motion a message scrolled across his HUD, above the full bar and three stars next to it that he didn’t know what they were.
“Crit, you dolt.”
Jon activated his crits, and the first shot tunneled from the muzzle along a straight path, and though any obstacle in it’s way. It then hit it’s intended target, the center mass of the dog. One star was now empty, and he activated his crit again with the pull of a trigger. The second shot put the dog down permanently and time sped up once again. How they achieved quantum teleportation on 64kb of ram was not Jon’s business.
“Cowpoke, does your VATS slow time and have crits. Am I insane?”
“Yup. That’s the experimental version of VATS on our models of Pip-Boy. Most VATS is just a beefed up targeting software like you would expect, giving vault dwellers that never fired a gun a fighting chance. No one knows how the 3000 Mk IV works, no one probably ever will. They only went to a few areas. Commonwealth is one, and my area was one.”
“Alright, move up, be fucking careful.”
They moved to the station grounds, and were satisfied that that they were clear. The mole rats had made a big mess of the inside, but there wasn't much loot to be had at the bunker entrance. A few bits of choice junk were found in a shack thrown up on the grounds. No raider had come out to investigate, so Jon assumed the bunker itself was deeper down, and they had no watch closer to the main door.
The trio quietly slipped in and began down the stairs, Jon on point. Stars usually didn’t lead the way like that, even if they were at the front. The story of Ridgeway during the Korean war came to his mind, preforming his own recce. He had more stars than Jon did, so his exploits were automatically superior. Funny thing how rank worked.
There was one trap at the bottom of the stairs, and it was easily disabled. It was tied to a Tesla coil electrical trap on the roof. Jon’s steps were slow and quiet through the main reception and lockup area. He could hear a raider strolling though the left side, across the room and back down to the stairs. He gave a fist to stop, and took a knee. A single finger told Jake, and Dogmeat probably, that it was about to pop off in a moment. Wait one, essentially.
The Raider came in sight, not checking his corners like he should, and never saw the gun pointing at his head, or the trigger that was pulled. He never saw or felt himself hitting the ground. The commotion started as Jon rushed to the windows, using what initiative he had left to kill as many as possible. There were two raiders and a dog on a catwalk across the room.
He didn’t use VATS to snap his shots off. The first target was the dog. They were faster on the draw than their masters. A chest shot put it out of action, even if it didn’t kill the mutt immediately. A second and third shot took the heads of the raiders in a spray. One had a painted Army helmet on, but that didn’t protect their face. Two more raiders were milling about the ground floor, and almost had their guns up. Two more snap shots put one down, and mortally injured the other.
“FUCKING KILLLLL!”
Jon took to cover then, fully losing surprise, if not speed and violence of action. The yelling was continuing, and another raider cried his position out before the rounded the corner where the first raider came from. Jon already had his gun up on that angle when he entered cover, and the charging raider with a lead pipe fell not long after. To his credit, Jon did have to triple tap him. One went in his chest, and he kept charging, a second to his head, and he still kept his run up. A third finally put him down for good, and Jon could smell the fresh chems in his leaking blood.
Jake had taken the stairs to the right, and was firing away at any that tried to charge though the tight corridors. At the short range, and as light a weapon, VATS was guaranteed to give him plenty of reaction time to fire, with Action Points to spare for multiple shots on each target. With Action Points being a measure of total stamina, and him being as fit as he was, he could keep the fire up all day.
A mini-gun burst though the windows above where Jon was taking cover. That was fine, because he wasn’t planing to pop out from cover into it. Then the fire stopped for a second, and Jon made his move. He popped his head and activated VATS. His prediction was correct. The boss of this gang had the biggest weapon, and being intelligent suppressed the superior vantage with her superior fire rate. She was still advancing to meet the assault on her home, so had to eventually exit the mainframe and pass into the hall that lead up the stairs. She was just beginning to enter cover in slow motion when Jon picked the best shot he could.
A crit lashed out in anger against her left leg. It shot straight though her knee, and permanently grounded her. She fell though the door, about to bring her gun up at Jake before Jon brought his against her, and Jake just had the sight line to put a red lance though her head. Her screams of pain her cut off instantly.
“We’ll just call that an assist on your part, slick!” He said as he kept up his own fire against the last of the raiders.
Anyone that tired to close enough to have an angle to throw ordinance had it shot out of their hand. They were mostly pinned in their bunk room, blind firing as they could, not understand why they were dying, not understanding the eldritch technology being brought to bear against them.
“Hold my beer, cowpoke!” Jon said, as he slotted in a fresh mag.
Jon jumped though the windows, and landed on the ground floor with the ambient dust around him being riled up in a storm. He charged though the mainframe, into their common room, and brought his gun up right into the bunk. The last half dozen raiders fell to accurate automatic burst fire. When it was set and done, almost two dozen called the post their home, and now their grave.
“We clear!?”
“Think so, still have to formally clear the rest of the place!”
“Alright, right behind you!”
Jon waited for Jake to catch up, and they both moved though the last bit of the place. The common area was cleared, so was the boss’s quarters, and a quick pick of the lock opened the lager store room. A few rad roaches had taken residence there, and they were of no consequence. Olivia Sat Station was clear, and now a Minutemen post.
Jake said, “This is a veritable junk mine here slick.”
Jon nodded, “They have an impressive stockpile here. Both stock and everyday shit. Are these weights lead? Yeah smells like lead. Lot a fucking bullets here.”
“Damn straight. I’m gonna check the boss lady. Maybe she had a key or password for that lockup. I don’t see a com hub anywhere here.”
Jon said, “I’m going to check this terminal, pull that fusion core when we’re done here.”
They took to their tasks, and Jon sat at the terminal with a smoke after the engagement, along with a healthy bit of water and some food. Dogmeat got a bit for himself too. He checked the logs, and saw the last update ten years ago, the same time frame as his map update, and the return of the Enclave in DC.
It was obvious what they did. They came out from under their hole, and pinged every Government asset they could. The system went silent again when they lost, and their bunker destroyed. It was most likely a master control hub, being in the former Capital, and could ping and send commands to everything still active. Do that before your enemies and you've basically won WWIII. They just got killed trying clean up the un-American rabble during their victory lap. By a kid with a vault suit, the spit and grit of an unbreakable pride of heroes, the firepower of a cobbled together death machine.
Jon whispered, “How did you like that second amendment mother fuckers.”
He could almost hear the founders laughing from their irradiated graves. Knowing Q he probably had them all tuned in on their deathbeds for this moment, to see that their heavily armed descendants rebelled again against tyranny. Against the mutated monster that they had a hand in creating, something they knew it would become eventually, that their Minutemen were going to rebuild in the birthplace of it all. A chirp and thumbs up told him what he needed to know.
As of ten years ago there were a 25 Com and GPS satellites still running out of several hundred, and a 1 listed as BRADLY-HERCULES, another as ARCHIMEDES II. They were obviously classified, given how it said so and threatened court marshal for even looking at the short logs, and were probably some kind of super weapons. Jon would have to control them, destroy them if he couldn’t.
Jon finished his work and went back up the stairs to a waiting Jake. He was sitting on the desk casually and said, “Anything good?”
Jon nodded, “As of ten years ago there were still satellites up in the air.”
Jake nodded, “That’s when the last update on the Pip-Boy came though. About the same time as the Enclave in the Capital.”
Jon smiled, “Great minds think alike. The Enclave pinged everything they could when they broke EMCON.”
“EMCON? Radio science?”
Jon said, “Yeah. Emissions control. There were 25 com and GPS satellites still up ten years ago, and two probable super weapons.”
Jake huffed out a breath, “Yeah, that tracks. The Enclave fired one off during their tear, and I’ve head rumor about a space laser out west.”
Jon huffed and said, “Add it to the list of capture or deny. Anything good here?”
“Boss lady had a key and password. So she’s open, just waiting for you.”
Jon and Jake walked into the lockup, and he grabbed the mini-nuke first thing, along with another covert operations manuals and a few more magazines besides. One was another skinner. Jake zeroed in on his target, a yellow crate with computer equipment packed into it. Jon also picked up a note on the shelving of the room.
He said, “Check this. They wanted to hook it up to the dish. Reposition it, though for what I don’t know.”
Jake took it and looked at it, “Well, slick, to get it communicating, obviously.”
Jon snickered, “Fuck you too, cowpoke.”
He smiled, “Think you can haul this bad boy out for me?”
Jon nodded, “In a bit. I’m going to pull the core, check that vertibird, and take a quick spin over to Tempine's. When this place gets junked, leave the mainframes as in tact as possible, junk what isn’t running or can’t be salvaged. It shouldn’t be critical that we need those.”
Jake nodded, “Sure thing, slick. You want to keep it actually working, instead of just an outpost. Fair enough. We could need it. I’ll take a full inventory of what we got here while you're gone.”
Jon exited Olivia Station to the late afternoon sun of the Commonwealth.