“Say thank you old dead guy that invented auto-stand.” (1/2)

Chapter 25 "Say thank you old dead guy that invented auto-stand."

John stepped off the Vertibird in the centre of Excalibur Outpost just before noon. His first mission complete. He felt wide awake. To his surprise, and Sara's utter contempt, he managed to sleep a few hours. Setting his alarm for o'two hundred to relieve Sara.

Her revenge had been to introduce him to Scribe Gates. He arrived with four of his order to assess the site they held all night. He seemed to know everything about the pre-war missile silo, apart from two things. How to keep his explanation interesting and how to keep it short.

John nearly fell asleep on his feet listening to the good natured man prattle on about literally everything. From the ratio of the concrete, a subject John was actually well versed in for once. To the type of hinges on the rolling blast shutters that'd been removed years earlier.

John had to admit he found some of it interesting. The scribe told him that the building above had only been a shell, disguising the location of the missile. Which by all accounts had been of little note. He tried to keep up yet the man used too many words he didn't know. He could barely remember the mental list of things to look up later, let alone understand them now.

Thankfully, three long hours later, Valkyrie's 'engine trouble' fixed itself while she read a book and they headed home. Taking a different route and sending mapping pulses along the way.

This had the unfortunate side effect of encouraging Val to fly lower and lower to get a better reading. He sat in the front seat, glass to his side and under foot. Terrain zipping by below woke him up better than a bucket of coffee.

John found Elder Maxwell waiting for him at the landing pad. A hot meal for them both to be eaten from the Bird's Nest outdoor workbenches like everyone else.

"Morning Sir." John stood to attention and saluted, as the elder stood from his stool and did the same.

"Morning Initiate Blake, stand easy." John had to remember that could mean sit down sometimes. "Please, eat." John tore through the burger, it'd been reheated but it still tasted good, if a little dry. The freshly squeezed, blood orange juice helped.

"I understand your mission secured a vital asset for the Brotherhood. Scribe Gates must have been very excited." The elders' gravel tone, laced with wit dryer than the food made John laugh with a mouthful of juice and chewed burger. Which only made the elder laugh more.

"Do you know he once showed me round an empty warehouse. Totally empty, nothing but bare shelves, for two hours. How long did he keep you?" John's mouth still half full, he held up three fingers. The elder laughed, shaking his head. "Of course that empty warehouse led us to a train full of armour parts, do you know how he knew?"

"No sir." The elder had a point to make, joking aside he respected all of his men. John would've liked to think the elder respected him. He just couldn't trust the look in the heavy, tired eyes he'd see from time to time.

"A certain weight part of the shelving had been reinforced to take. The man's a genius in his way, I just wish he wouldn't go on all the bloody time. I understand that things went well, if not as expected?" John straightened himself up. Wiped his face as best he could on the thin jacket he kept forgetting to leave outside his room to be washed. Ready to give his report, knowing that Sara skipped the three hour tour to return first. He needed to be careful with his words.

"Sir, we encountered raiders, holding four hostages. We, Paladin Maxwell and I, overran them using a flanking manoeuvre. Eliminating the targets and rescuing the hostages." At least he thought that's what they'd done.

"Fine work, saved some lives, watched Sara's back." John started to protest, yet with a subtle nod her father cut him off. "Besides, you can't finish your quest on your first day, what fun would that be." He tried to soften the more than fair assessment of the current situation with a light tone. Knowing his daughter well enough to guess she'd been more direct.

"And to the victor go the spoils I see." The elder point behind him. Val emptied his long guns from her bird. Checking to see if John cleared the chambers, he had. And more to get the filthy, crude metal out of her pristine silver flying machine.

The elder ignored the standard issue combat rifle and the pump action shotgun completely. Going straight for the weapon John chose for himself. "Chinese a r, classic, a fine weapon." He worked the bolt, looked down the sights, John didn't feel like he was being humoured.

"One of the men we freed, he gave me a choice and I chose that." He pulled the open bottle of Robco's whiskey from his dull green ammo bag. "There's also this sir." The elder took the bottle with a smile, John tried to hide his, seeing the red stencilled 'R' again.

"A bottle of whiskey, half drunk. Like that when you found it I'm sure." He unscrewed the cap and let smooth vapours hit his nose as he swirled the bottle slowly. "Not bad whiskey at that."

"If I may elder I'd like to share a drink with you, later of course, there's something I'd like to ask."

"Paladin Maxwell told me you talked." John wondered how much detail Sara went into. "John, being an initiate, accompanying my men in the field for a few months, that's one thing. Taking the sacred oath of a knight is quite another." The elder drank his coffee slowly, letting him think about his answer.

"From what Sara told me it sounded like the best option. I've seen the Abomination...and I want to help you in your fight, but right now it's not my fight, I have my own." John made his decision last night. He'd gotten more honesty in a few hours than in a month, confirming what he'd felt.

That ever since Sara saved him, he was a marked man. He trusted her, trusted her practical instincts. Saw the advantages she laid out, and knew he had to keep Rosie from the Brotherhood.

"I leave in two months, up until then I want to serve as best I can. After that, if you need my help you'll have it."

"I understand. You deserve a quiet life, more than most. I hope you find it, truly." The elder nodded, accepting John's terms. Maybe he did respect him after all, John thought. "Of course, the thing about the quiet life, is it does tend to get rather dull once you've dropped from a Vertibird in a suit of power armour." The elder leant in urging John to do the same, "You never know, you might just like it."

The tiredness caught up to John as he showered. Taking longer than he needed to. Finding Sara waiting for him in his quarters as he exited the narrow, steam filled, private washroom.

"You didn't think you were going to crawl into your soft bed did you Aspirant Blake?"

"No sir." John had the sense to resist standing to attention in only a towel, and knew better to point out the bed wasn't all that soft.

"Gear up, follow me." Sara headed out. John dressed as fast as could, while still making sure he would pass the paladin's inevitable inspection.

First stop was the armoury, turning in the crude combat rifle, which he had to admit served him well. He handed in his new assault rifle and shotgun too. Hearing them fired in the distance, returned to him with extra mags and ammo.

At first John thought Sara was leading them to their little rooftop getaway on top of the steelworks. But as they reached the top of the metal stairs, she turned. Heading back almost the full length of the hangar to the glass walled room. Built to overlook the retrofitted machinery below.

John hadn't seen the room in daylight. The outer wall had been replaced with glass, cut into the old hangar roof. It filled the room with soft, afternoon light. Reflected back up from the clean, white, angled desks set up for drawing. Some empty, some being leant over by scribes. Drawing, measuring, designing away, while referring to shelves of books, manuals, blueprints. He felt like the dirtiest thing in the room, and he'd just showered.

"Lady Avalon." Sara spoke to a woman busy sketching away at her desk. Larger than the rest, and the only one running across the room instead of in rows. On the wall behind her, framed and mounted to the steel framework that held the glass together.

John saw the design drawing for the elder's sword. He'd only seen it once, at the service, but it made an impression. The cog shaped pommel. The winged, curvedcross guard. The dull section that doubled as a hand hold, with serrated sections above. And fine lettering spelling out Elder Maxwell's call sign. The name of the very outpost they stood in.

The woman turned and looked at him. Hair shorter than his, dressed ever so slightly differently to everyone else in a bright red t shirt. John couldn't tell how old she was, older than him, but probably by less than he thought.

"You remember John." Sara might have been doing her trick of acting like he knew people, he couldn't tell. Then a rare trace of polished wood caught his eye. A dummy, like the one Louisa used for making her fine clothing. This one supported the blue hooded robes he'd seen at the service.

"Welcome John." Even without the mysterious robes Lady Avalon seemed altogether different. She reached out and struck something that John dismissed as a lump of scrap on her desk, nothing more than a paperweight. Only for it to resonate a pitch perfect note throughout the glass room "Thank you, that will be all for today." The scribes gathered their things, nodding politely as they left.

The door closed behind them and the short haired woman clicked on a music player. Filing the room with upbeat sounds from everywhere all at once. He'd heard music played here and there, it wasn't uncommon. Yet Sara's talk of a difference of opinions meant he hadn't listened to a radio, till now.

"Live from The Tower with power, Lady Luck is with you children, all day every day. Here's Patsy Montana with a lesson in firearm safety." It felt good to hear her voice over the radio, familiar. So much so he got lost for a moment, and didn't hear the other soft voice in the room.

"Sorry sir, say again?" He replied. Lady Avalon waved away the gesture of rank, that wasn't needed here.

"Is that an old H and H multi?" She pointed to the multi-tool on his thigh. He'd learned well enough to just agree with questions that sounded like he should know the answer to. So he nodded and handed it over. "That's a nice piece." She swung it, feeling the weight. Detaching the bladed hammerhead. Genuinely admiring the locking mechanism that tightened with each swing.

She laid it down and smiled at him, waiting for something. He looked to Sara, she tapped her left arm.

John spent the next few hours listening to the radio while being poked and prodded at. Measured in every which way by Sara with simple tape for his body, while Lady Avalon focused on the jet black pipboy.

She measured every possible aspect using callipers, micrometres. Striking the casing with thin, light, metal sticks that hummed in return, telling her something, apparently.

They talked as they worked, Sara prompting the lady to share her story. A blacksmith of local renown, her settlement had a raider problem. Shaking down local traders, hitting the supply lines, holding people for ransoms they couldn't possibly pay. All that changed when the Brotherhood arrived. The raiders were never heard from again, her business grew, as did the settlement.

In her gratitude she used the couriers to send drawings for a choice of weapons to the elder. He'd been so impressed he invited her in. She held no rank, came and went as she saw fit. Her settlement protected in return for service that allowed access to the kind of resources that didn't exist anywhere else anymore. He remembered what Sara told him, the Brotherhood didn't make deals with just anyone.

He thought this might have been a gentle way to show him what his life could be, that maybe he could come and go at will. However Sara made it clear, 'lady' was a sign of respect. A recognition of her talent, her value, but she would only ever be a non-combatant. No one had to depend on her to watch their back. That didn't apply to him.

Her measurements taken, Lady Avalon scrawled some notes. Folded them into a square, put them into a hollow steel ball and casually threw it into a toy basketball hoop. John heard the ball roll, clanging and pinging under his feet. Descending to the steelworks below.

A short time later Valkyrie arrived laden with a large crate. Struggling with a heavy grey and black suit thrown over it. Annoyed in a way that seemed to amuse Sara.

John smiled apologetically, knowing lugging things here and there on foot didn't befit a pilot. Least of all one of her skill, likely called on because she knew about the device on his arm. Sara took the grey black suit from her as she placed the crate down by Lady Avalon, who thanked her without looking up from her drawing.

Sara began holding the suit up against him, making dashes with white chalk. Reading off numbers John didn't understand as Val took notes. The practical paladin talked him through the under armour suit as he pulled it on.

The inflatable sections that compressed wounds. And much to Val's amusement, keep him conscious during something she called high G banking. The thought of perching in the door frame and leaping off before fully landing as Sara did terrified him enough already.

It felt constrictive although surprisingly light. Even with the metal connecting ports along the suit and the hidden linkage assembly between them. The biggest issue, unsurprisingly, was the left sleeve.

Although the pipboy could go near unnoticed under a loose garment, the under armour had little give. He couldn't even get the left glove on. Sara called over the lady.

Her keen eyes and sharp mind seeing a solution immediately and moving on. Holding various pieces of the armoured Vertibird glass over the pipboy screen. Getting him to change the brightness, send a mapping pulse. Clicking the buttons for herself, listening as well as looking.

He pulled the under armour off in a way that Sara assured him would get easier with practice. Things got quiet around him. Val had left with a list, Sara and the lady busied themselves, leaving John tired, unoccupied. It felt wrong to be sat about while others worked on his behalf. He started reading the books, mostly dedicated to metallurgy. Some on history, a few comic books.

Reading felt slightly too relaxed, but he needed to be close at hand for the frequent questions or instructions from Lady Avalon. They started out straight forward enough. Walk, crouch, hold this or that, gradually becoming more personal. Not about how he felt, more about his routines, habits. His typical day here and in the Vault, stuff he couldn't believe had any relevance.

After fighting to stay awake for a couple of hours, mostly by reading comics, Lady Avalon beckoned him over.

"First these belong to you." She handed him one of the hollow metal balls used to send her instructions. John opened it to find small chunks of steel offcuts.

"Thank you." He tried not to sound confused.

"It's the leftovers of the sacred steel from your knuckles. Take them to Proctor Reed, tell him there is enough for seven." John placed the metal orb with his other gear, respectfully. "Now, choose." She stepped away from her drawings, her designs, letting John decide from the three options. He looked to Sara, hoping she might make his choice for him as she'd done before, no such luck.

The top page showed designs for an axe, two axes. Like Sara's blades capable of joining together to form a fearsome dual edged weapon. Or splitting into smaller, one handed versions. John turned the page to see a sword design next. Long and broad, it looked as if it could be folded or retracted to save space.

The last drawing showed a hammer. Long handle, square head. Flat on one side, spiked on the other and a chain running through the handle. It was the only drawing to be named. Scrawled in the corner in fine, flowing, writing John read the words he hated 'rock breaker'. An insult, a slang term for the lowest of the low in the Vault, which meant him.

"It is only when we look back we truly see how far we have come." Lady Avalon's design represented more than a weapon, it was a symbol. A reminder of just how far he'd come, and he had come so very far.

"This. I chose this." John prodded the hammer design with his finger, pinning the paper down.

"Well chosen." The lady looked John in the eye, stopping a thank you with a clean rip. He glanced at Sara who gave him a subtle, approving nod.

"Take this to Proctor Reed, tell him to come see me if he starts moaning." She stood right in front of John, weighing him up with her keen eyes. "This one will make a fine knight I think. Does he have a name yet?"

"He does not my lady, he hasn't earned one." Sara's voice and expression gave John pause, although he did feel slightly relieved she didn't say mole rat.