B Ring
Back in Vault 101, if you found yourself with a spare moment in between your work duties, you were more or less free to spend it as you wished. A lot of people socialized, or played pool in the rec room. Butch's mom tended to drink. Ellen, for the most part, either found a quiet place to read or slipped down to the reactor level to practice with her BB gun.
That was Vault 101. In the Citadel it was a little different. They were at war, for one thing, so duty didn't allow for much breathing space. You repaired your equipment or found someone more qualified to do it for you. You ate in the mess hall as quickly as you could. When Knight-Captain Colvin poked his head in, you went off with him for as much chaplain training as he could provide in an hour, and then you got sent off to Paladin Gunny for recon armor training. There was still free time in there somewhere and theoretically you could sit down and read, but... best to be honest. By the time she realized she had it open, all Ellen wanted to do was find the nearest ancient couch in the nearest out-of-the-way room and sleep. She didn't know when she'd get the chance again any time soon.
She might've dreamed, or maybe not. When Fawkes shook her awake she was still as tired as before, but there was no use protesting; she pulled herself up and followed the mutant. Paladin Tristan was waiting for her- and so, it happened, was one of the Scribes. "You did good work, soldier," said the older man briskly. "Ready for another mission?"
Probably not, Ellen thought, but this wasn't the Anchorage sim; she nodded and said nothing.
"Good. We don't have much choice. And I do mean 'we', not just you," Tristan said. "The Scribes've cracked those holotapes you recovered from the Enclave satellite relay. The order for that orbital strike came from a mobile Enclave command center, the last one unaccounted for. It's positioned at Adams Air Force Base, an old pre-war installation."
Ellen racked her memory for the name's significance, and drew a blank. "I don't know where that is, sir," she said doubtfully.
"Wouldn't expect you to. It's not the kind of place that looms large in the histories." Tristan sniffed. "Used to be connected directly to the DC metropolitan area by a tightly secured subway line. Only the President, some of his Cabinet, and a few members of Congress were allowed to use it. We're not sure there's another way there now- not over land, anyway, unless you've got Vertibirds. That's where you come in."
"... sir?" said Ellen carefully. She didn't think she was sleep-fogged enough to be hearing Paladin Tristan ask her for flying machines.
Fortunately, she was right. "What we need," Tristan said, "is for someone to find their way into the Congressional subway tunnels and reach the wreckage of the White House. Or get to the White House and make their way into the tunnels there, but I'll warn you right now, the only thing at 1600 Pennsylvania now is a radioactive crater and the occasional glowing ghoul. The tunnels're a better bet. Someone's got to find the old Presidential subway and navigate a safe path through to Adams. The Scribes've been working on a way of tracing their path and mapping the route they take, but that's not going to do us much good unless we've got somebody who can do underground recon without losing their head- and who's good enough in close quarters to make it through without a whole lot of backup. We've got other candidates, but you're pretty well qualified on both counts."
Ellen nodded slowly. It made sense. Might as well make use of a lifetime's Vault experience. "All right," she said. "But, uh... there will be backup eventually, right? You're not asking me to storm the Enclave base alone?"
Paladin Tristan threw back his head and laughed. "What? No! No, no, good Lord, no." With a visible effort of will he got himself under control. "No, once we have a route mapped, we'll need you to come back quick as you can, alive and in one piece. And with this." He nodded to the red-robed Scribe, who stepped forward and held out-
"That's a Pip-Boy," Ellen said slowly, the words as involuntary as breathing. She couldn't have looked away if she'd tried. "Where did you get a Pip-Boy? Is that mine? I thought-"
The Scribe shook his head. "Only in the sense that you'll be the only wearer from now on," he said. "We needed something with excellent area mapping and recording capabilities. Building from scratch would've taken much too long to be feasible. Fortunately, one of Scribe Bigsley's Initiates remembered seeing this among the Enclave data extraction equipment at Project Purity. They'd been trying to decrypt the contents-"
There were still words. Ellen didn't hear them. Couldn't, over the rushing in her ears. A Pip-Boy, at the Memorial- one the Enclave were trying to crack... that was her father's. There wasn't anybody else's it could've been. There weren't any other Pip-Boys in the whole blasted Capital Wasteland! It had to be-
Somewhere in there the Scribe had stopped talking and started staring at her instead. Ellen was only vaguely aware of that, of Paladin Tristan's look. All she was really sure of was that she was going to have to find somebody to adjust the device's fit- it was still sized for her father's forearm- and then she was going to have to find somewhere to sit with her back to the wall and her face in her hands, while Fawkes stood by to make sure no one came in. She couldn't let anyone here see.
That was Vault 101. In the Citadel it was a little different. They were at war, for one thing, so duty didn't allow for much breathing space. You repaired your equipment or found someone more qualified to do it for you. You ate in the mess hall as quickly as you could. When Knight-Captain Colvin poked his head in, you went off with him for as much chaplain training as he could provide in an hour, and then you got sent off to Paladin Gunny for recon armor training. There was still free time in there somewhere and theoretically you could sit down and read, but... best to be honest. By the time she realized she had it open, all Ellen wanted to do was find the nearest ancient couch in the nearest out-of-the-way room and sleep. She didn't know when she'd get the chance again any time soon.
She might've dreamed, or maybe not. When Fawkes shook her awake she was still as tired as before, but there was no use protesting; she pulled herself up and followed the mutant. Paladin Tristan was waiting for her- and so, it happened, was one of the Scribes. "You did good work, soldier," said the older man briskly. "Ready for another mission?"
Probably not, Ellen thought, but this wasn't the Anchorage sim; she nodded and said nothing.
"Good. We don't have much choice. And I do mean 'we', not just you," Tristan said. "The Scribes've cracked those holotapes you recovered from the Enclave satellite relay. The order for that orbital strike came from a mobile Enclave command center, the last one unaccounted for. It's positioned at Adams Air Force Base, an old pre-war installation."
Ellen racked her memory for the name's significance, and drew a blank. "I don't know where that is, sir," she said doubtfully.
"Wouldn't expect you to. It's not the kind of place that looms large in the histories." Tristan sniffed. "Used to be connected directly to the DC metropolitan area by a tightly secured subway line. Only the President, some of his Cabinet, and a few members of Congress were allowed to use it. We're not sure there's another way there now- not over land, anyway, unless you've got Vertibirds. That's where you come in."
"... sir?" said Ellen carefully. She didn't think she was sleep-fogged enough to be hearing Paladin Tristan ask her for flying machines.
Fortunately, she was right. "What we need," Tristan said, "is for someone to find their way into the Congressional subway tunnels and reach the wreckage of the White House. Or get to the White House and make their way into the tunnels there, but I'll warn you right now, the only thing at 1600 Pennsylvania now is a radioactive crater and the occasional glowing ghoul. The tunnels're a better bet. Someone's got to find the old Presidential subway and navigate a safe path through to Adams. The Scribes've been working on a way of tracing their path and mapping the route they take, but that's not going to do us much good unless we've got somebody who can do underground recon without losing their head- and who's good enough in close quarters to make it through without a whole lot of backup. We've got other candidates, but you're pretty well qualified on both counts."
Ellen nodded slowly. It made sense. Might as well make use of a lifetime's Vault experience. "All right," she said. "But, uh... there will be backup eventually, right? You're not asking me to storm the Enclave base alone?"
Paladin Tristan threw back his head and laughed. "What? No! No, no, good Lord, no." With a visible effort of will he got himself under control. "No, once we have a route mapped, we'll need you to come back quick as you can, alive and in one piece. And with this." He nodded to the red-robed Scribe, who stepped forward and held out-
"That's a Pip-Boy," Ellen said slowly, the words as involuntary as breathing. She couldn't have looked away if she'd tried. "Where did you get a Pip-Boy? Is that mine? I thought-"
The Scribe shook his head. "Only in the sense that you'll be the only wearer from now on," he said. "We needed something with excellent area mapping and recording capabilities. Building from scratch would've taken much too long to be feasible. Fortunately, one of Scribe Bigsley's Initiates remembered seeing this among the Enclave data extraction equipment at Project Purity. They'd been trying to decrypt the contents-"
There were still words. Ellen didn't hear them. Couldn't, over the rushing in her ears. A Pip-Boy, at the Memorial- one the Enclave were trying to crack... that was her father's. There wasn't anybody else's it could've been. There weren't any other Pip-Boys in the whole blasted Capital Wasteland! It had to be-
Somewhere in there the Scribe had stopped talking and started staring at her instead. Ellen was only vaguely aware of that, of Paladin Tristan's look. All she was really sure of was that she was going to have to find somebody to adjust the device's fit- it was still sized for her father's forearm- and then she was going to have to find somewhere to sit with her back to the wall and her face in her hands, while Fawkes stood by to make sure no one came in. She couldn't let anyone here see.