Hey Tundra - interested in this myself. I personally suggest maybe waiting on a discord until later. I like to use the OOC thread here while the RP is starting up but just my opinion.
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Far Harbor
“We’ve all lost people to the Fog, some are killed outright…some are driven mad. You’re kin were driven mad through no fault of their own. I think we can accept that,” Avery nodded as she leaned back in her seat, “We’ve had more than a few Harborfolk over the years go missing in the fog and turn up later ranting and raving, with a murderous look in their eye. It's a hard fact of life here.”
“As for the food situation,” Avery continued, “Yes things haven’t been easy lately. Our catch has been spoiled and our fishing boats come back laden with only mutated, half-dead things. It's been bad before…but not like this. Never like this. The farther we have to go out to find fresh catch the more dangerous it becomes and there’s more than a little concern that the mutated fish might mean our very waters are becoming toxic. Nobody wants to leave Far Harbor, and I doubt anyone would even if we had to. Which is why we have to figure this out. Luckily, we will have help.”
Avery took the food offered by the Trapper kinsman and waited until her host had already begun to eat before she began to eat herself,
“You seem be getting relieved from famine by some Pre-Bomb rations of some kind. Does it have something to do with this “Acadia” that provided the muscle to defeat my feral kindred? I’ll need to hear who they are while we eat.”
“Those supplies are from Acadia, yes,” Avery nodded as she took a bite of lobster, “You might say we have something of an understanding with them. It's not really for me to say who they are, so all I’ll say is that they’re strange people with strange ways. They’ve done right by us so far though. They have a representative in Far Harbor right now if you want to speak with her. She’s close: up on the hill yonder at the old Admiral’s place overlooking the bay. I’m sure she’s already seen your ship coming in…”
“My Kithband, the Trappers of Clan Spearshark and a few others, are skilled hunters and fisherfolk all. We also have considerable rations with us. Maybe in exchange for a few caps and some of your guides showing us around the island to the mad Trappers’ remains and old campgrounds, we could help your food problem? Have any idea what’s causing it?”
“Well….I suppose that could be arranged,” Avery agreed, “You have deep ties with your kinfolk and wish to pay your respects, I can appreciate that. Do you have any whiskey by chance? Old Longfellow might be willing to take you for a few bottles. That’s his usual fee. He’s our best tracker and guide in Far Harbor. I will warn you though, inland things aren’t near as dangerous as they used to be, but that doesn’t mean it's safe. And if you’re looking to head to the eastern side, by the Children? Well I don’t think Longfellow would be willing to guide you there ....”
“What's causing it?” Avery continued with an exasperated sigh, “Depends on who you ask. How many salty Fisherman wisdoms and old legends are you willing to hear in one sitting? Some say it's just a bad year, some are saying it's The Red Death coming back for revenge, and if you talk to Allen Lee and his lot, well, everything is the fault of the Children of Atom now isn’t it? As for me, I’m not willing to entertain tall tales or accusations without evidence. I just want our fish back. That’s why I wanted Acadia to look into things…get to the bottom of it.”
“We’ve all lost people to the Fog, some are killed outright…some are driven mad. You’re kin were driven mad through no fault of their own. I think we can accept that,” Avery nodded as she leaned back in her seat, “We’ve had more than a few Harborfolk over the years go missing in the fog and turn up later ranting and raving, with a murderous look in their eye. It's a hard fact of life here.”
“As for the food situation,” Avery continued, “Yes things haven’t been easy lately. Our catch has been spoiled and our fishing boats come back laden with only mutated, half-dead things. It's been bad before…but not like this. Never like this. The farther we have to go out to find fresh catch the more dangerous it becomes and there’s more than a little concern that the mutated fish might mean our very waters are becoming toxic. Nobody wants to leave Far Harbor, and I doubt anyone would even if we had to. Which is why we have to figure this out. Luckily, we will have help.”
Avery took the food offered by the Trapper kinsman and waited until her host had already begun to eat before she began to eat herself,
“You seem be getting relieved from famine by some Pre-Bomb rations of some kind. Does it have something to do with this “Acadia” that provided the muscle to defeat my feral kindred? I’ll need to hear who they are while we eat.”
“Those supplies are from Acadia, yes,” Avery nodded as she took a bite of lobster, “You might say we have something of an understanding with them. It's not really for me to say who they are, so all I’ll say is that they’re strange people with strange ways. They’ve done right by us so far though. They have a representative in Far Harbor right now if you want to speak with her. She’s close: up on the hill yonder at the old Admiral’s place overlooking the bay. I’m sure she’s already seen your ship coming in…”
“My Kithband, the Trappers of Clan Spearshark and a few others, are skilled hunters and fisherfolk all. We also have considerable rations with us. Maybe in exchange for a few caps and some of your guides showing us around the island to the mad Trappers’ remains and old campgrounds, we could help your food problem? Have any idea what’s causing it?”
“Well….I suppose that could be arranged,” Avery agreed, “You have deep ties with your kinfolk and wish to pay your respects, I can appreciate that. Do you have any whiskey by chance? Old Longfellow might be willing to take you for a few bottles. That’s his usual fee. He’s our best tracker and guide in Far Harbor. I will warn you though, inland things aren’t near as dangerous as they used to be, but that doesn’t mean it's safe. And if you’re looking to head to the eastern side, by the Children? Well I don’t think Longfellow would be willing to guide you there ....”
“What's causing it?” Avery continued with an exasperated sigh, “Depends on who you ask. How many salty Fisherman wisdoms and old legends are you willing to hear in one sitting? Some say it's just a bad year, some are saying it's The Red Death coming back for revenge, and if you talk to Allen Lee and his lot, well, everything is the fault of the Children of Atom now isn’t it? As for me, I’m not willing to entertain tall tales or accusations without evidence. I just want our fish back. That’s why I wanted Acadia to look into things…get to the bottom of it.”
Third collab with @Jeddaven
Acadia Observatory - The Institute
The following morning, B7 was waiting outside the delegate’s quarters alongside a silent Courser. She could only hope that the Rontonian’s rest had not been disturbed by some of the events during the night. It would seem that the temporary withdrawal of the Fog had been just that: temporary, and by nightfall the enveloping mist had once again returned. The Institute’s Advanced Condensers had kept most of it at bay, and the area around both the airport, Far Harbor and Acadia itself had remained unaffected. Yet emanating within the areas of the Deep Fog strange sounds and unearthly cries had been heard throughout the night. The creatures within had been unusually active, and there was some concern that they might become more so as the day progressed.
Breakfast had been sent ahead with a couple of Gen-2 synths to each of the delegate’s rooms, and now B7 was merely waiting as the delegates finished and readied themselves for the day ahead.
When they finally emerged, B7 greeted them warmly,
“I do hope each of you are well rested and ready to proceed. I’ll be leading you through our facilities here at Acadia before returning you to the airport. You’ll have to excuse the heightened state of alert this morning,” She said, gesturing both to the Courser beside her and a squad of six synths that appeared to be marching at a brisk pace towards the Acadian perimeter wall, “The aggressive appearance of the Fog has elevated our alert levels. Rest assured you are not in any immediate danger.”
"It's... Quite alright. We've dealt with a few unusual phenomena in our past. Not us personally, but as a nation, and Minister Jutti is often involved with cleanup operations," he said, gesturing to her as she nodded in reply.
"Additionally, I should inform you - our pilot received a radio message last night. The Prime Minister's able to receive Director Crawford in Toronto at his earliest convenience." He explained. "We don't have access to teleportation technology, obviously, so I'm afraid he'll have to travel like us." He joked, smiling.
“Excellent, then I’ll have someone inform him immediately. My assumption is that he is very eager to make the journey, so perhaps we will be returning with you to Ronto,” B7 replied, “But in any case, let's begin….our first stop will be the Bioscience facilities.” B7 led the group towards a section of buildings directly adjacent to the main observatory structure. A large greenhouse was visible here, along with several other smaller buildings. Scientists in Green and white lab coats busied themselves moving between the labs while a few meaderd over by an open air enclosure in which a few pre-war cows, not brahmin, were housed.
“As promised, here is a sample of The Institute’s agricultural research,” B7 announced as she led the group straight into the Greenhouse building. There was a wide expanse of floral here of all shapes and sizes including various post-war and pre-war crops. B7 reached for modified mutfruit and pulled it from its branch. It was nearly twice the size of her hand, “Here Bioscience develops and tests a variety of GMO plants. Each is evaluated for their hardiness under certain soil conditions, as well as for quality and quantity of yields. We obviously have a wide variety of uses for such plants including food and medicine, but we also have a particular interest in cultivating new varieties of rare or otherwise extinct pre-war flora. I understand that Ronto has a particular interest in this field, so please feel free to ask any questions you may have….ah yes Dr. Reed. Perhaps you’d be willing to speak to the Rontonian delegation?”
A gaunt, slightly graying, man in a green lab coat had just turned the corner of the row of crops they were standing in. He appeared surprised to see them at first, but quickly regained his composure and walked towards the group and introduced himself.
“Dr. Harold Reed, Assistant Director of The Bioscience Division, I confess I was not expecting to meet you directly so I apologize if my appearance is unseemingly in any way. If you have any questions regarding Bioscience I’m happy to address them as best I can. Otherwise I would just like to offer you a warm welcome to The Institute.”
"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, Dr. Jutti - but I believe you'd best field that?" Stephen asked, raising an eyebrow, and the woman quickly nodded in reply.
"Our Minister of Agriculture was unable to attend, unfortunately - so yes. Put simply, while we're narrowly managing to feed our population, the crops we have access to are... Inadequate. Whe know there's a seed bank some eighteen hundred miles northwest of us, in Saskatchewan, but those are pre war crops - so we're wondering, quite simply, how much you can improve the yields and nutritional values of our crops. There's a number involved, of course, but the thing we're most concerned about is corn. That's our staple crop, but we need to get more out of it." Jutti calmly explained, letting out a sigh of relief. "That's a big question, of course, and we're fully aware that a comprehensive answer will take time, but that's the primary reason for our visit."
“Yes well as you stated it's a big question,” Dr. Reed began, “I don’t want to commit to giving you an exact answer yet as to how much we could improve your yields. There’s a variety of factors involved that need to be studied and documented first, not the least of which is soil composition. Mind you that’s not because I don’t think we can do it, in fact I’m confident in saying that I think we absolutely can, but just that I don’t want to give you an exact number or ratio and then we fail to meet those expectations. That is a - what’s the pre-war phrase- ‘politician’s answer’,” Reed chuckled a bit.
“Perhaps Dr. Reed, you would be willing to act as a liaison between Bioscience and your equivalents within Ronto for the duration of this project.” B7 stated.
Dr. Reed seemed a bit confused by this statement, and raised an eyebrow slightly at B7, “Well, B7, should The Director appoint me, of course I would be willing.”
“Of course,” B7 smiled cheerfully back, “I’m confident he’ll agree with such a proposal.”
“Indeed…” Dr. Reed replied, his quizzical expression still apparent, “Well in any event it was a pleasure to meet you both, and I do sincerely hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here in Acadia,” Dr. Reed shook both Minister’s hands before departing.
“The Bioscience facilities also include various research labs and a fully functioning hospital,” B7 explained, “However, I’m afraid our tour will not include those due to both safety and privacy reasons. If you are both ready, we will proceed to Facilities.”
"A pleasure indeed - no need to worry about a politician's answer, either." Stephen said, calling out to Reed as he departed. "Trust me, an honest answer is better than empty promises," he said, clearing his throat before turning back toward B7. "We're ready."
B7 led the group back out the Greenhouse and towards the opposite end of the Acadia campus. Here was a large warehouse-like building which filled much of the space of this section, along with several other smaller structures.
“Facilities is responsible for production, maintenance, and the general safety and well-being of our scientists: which includes upkeep to the residential buildings…”
“Yes we are The Institute’s under-fed workhorse,” A voice interrupted B7’s explanation. The young man to whom it belonged had walked out from a nearby building and strode towards the group. His wispy blonde hair and clean-shaven, almost boyish, appearance made him seem much younger than he was. His yellow and white lab coat appeared different from the rest of the Facilities personnel, with the yellow coloring displayed prominently in the front in a manner which almost suggested a toga,
“Samuel Blackhall, Division Head of Facilities,” He said with a smile, “I was told to expect your arrival.” He proceeded to shake each of the Minister’s hands in turn, “As B7 was explaining to you, Facilities is responsible for the all-important day to day functions that enables the rest of The Institute to operate. Don’t let anyone in Advanced Systems or Robotics tell you otherwise: we are just as important if not more so than anything they do. If Advanced Systems is the Brain, Robotics the Heart…then we are the circulatory system. Eh…something like that anyway, insert whatever cliche anatomical metaphor you think is appropriate.”
“Dr. Jutti,” He continued, turning to the female Minister, “I’m told you are the Minister for Science and Industrial Development in your country. My understanding is that you also hold a couple doctorates in that field. I would be most interested to learn more about your work. Now… I don’t suppose I can tempt you enough to poach you from the Rontonians eh? I can’t say the pay is better, in fact the pay would be entirely non-existent but….you also don’t need to buy anything so it evens out in the end. You’d also get that crisp mountain air!” He made a grand gesture out to the valley beyond which the rolling fog now blanketed and completely obscured any view beyond it, “What do you say? When can I sign you on?” He finished with a sly smile.
"Ah, I'm afraid that's not an option," Jutti chuckled, after a pointed look from the plenipotentiary. "There are restaurants back in Toronto I'd miss too much, and, besides, my resignation would need to be approved. As for my education, though - you'd be correct. I hold doctorates in Civil and Industrial Engineering from the University of Toronto. Important fields, as you can imagine, when you're trying to rebuild civilization." She smiled, momentarily falling silent. "If you don't mind the question - what are power requirements like here? I understand if you can't give away exact numbers, but I imagine it's generally quite difficult and energy intensive to keep this place running."
“Well, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take,” Samuel shrugged and laughed, and then continued, “Power requirements? Taxing in the extreme, as you can well imagine. Running the condensers alone sucks up a lot of power, and we need to keep them running nearly 24/7 in order to ensure we aren’t gobbled up by the Fog and whatever else is in there. Advanced System is working on potential solutions, but right now it's all we can do here in Facilities to squeeze out as much power as we can from Acadia’s generator along with the alternative power sources we’ve set up,” He pointed to the solar panels atop the Observatory, “We simply lack the resources and infrastructure we once had. And even back at The Institute power consumption was a continuous struggle.”
"I can imagine. Thankfully, that's one of the issues we're looking to help you solve." Jutti said, quietly nodding.
"Precisely. Bringing the power here would be an issue, obviously, but Ronto has a substantial surplus. At the least, we're confident our expeditions into the Chalk River Labs will bear fruit, when it comes to small-scale nuclear power." Stephen continued. "I'm certain there's some way we can be of help."
“I have a feeling you will be my two best friends then,” Samuel let out another laugh, “Maybe I should get a Rontonian flag to put on my desk….now I will say that I’m just the middle man here. Facilities controls our power generators…but Advanced Systems develops them. You’ll want to have a chat with Dr. Rosalind Orman for anything and everything nuclear energy, she’s the new Director of Advanced Systems and, frankly, she’s probably the cream of the crop as far as The Institute goes. Although you won’t see her bragging….well you might a little. She gave the famous ‘Latch-Key lecture that opened the way to the Phase 3 Project back in 2287. I assume you are on track to meet with her?” He gave a quick look over to B7, who nodded in reply, “Ah excellent.”
"We'll be sure to let her know, then - but I promise, we won't forget the people that keep everything working properly. We'd better not - isn't that right. Dr. Jutti?" Stephen joked, and Jutti nodded, smiling in reply.
"It'd be hypocritical of me to snub my own speciality, I think."
Samuel shook both of their hands once more, “Best let you get on your way then. Have a safe trip back to your homeland, and don’t let the Fog Crawlers get you!” He then turned and left.
“We are just going across the way now,” B7 said, and led them off once more, “This will be a bit different.”
—------------------------
The next section of the Acadian Campus that B7 led them to a whole different layout entirely. A single small building stood in the center of a perimeter fence guarded by a couple uniformed Gen-2 Synths. Without pause, B7 led them up and into the small building, which turned out to be housing an elevator platform. B7 pressed a button and the platform began to descend into the earth.
“This is a new section of the Acadia complex which we are actively constructing. Advanced Systems and Robotics are both housed here at the moment.”
The platform descended for several seconds before stopping and opening out into a lit hallway. After they passed through this hallway and the doorway beyond, they found themselves in a large atrium space, not unlike a Vault, with an upper and lower level. B7 continued on and took them through one of the doors in the upper level, which opened up into a small lab filled with terminals and various pieces of unknown equipment. Several scientists in blue and white lab coats looked up from their stations as B7 entered.
“Oh is Dr. Orman not….?” B7 started to ask, before one of the scientists cut her off.
“She’s in the testing area.”
“Again…” Another added quietly, without looking up from her station.
“Apologies, follow me,” B7 said to the ministers as she led them back out and into another doorway on the opposite end of the atrium. Entering it led them into a large open space that was empty aside from two individuals. One of whom was a young, olive-skinned woman with dark hair and wearing a blue labcoat similar in design to that of Samuel’s. The other was a uniformed Gen-2 synth holding a laser pistol. As the group entered, they appeared to be locked in an argument.
“I apologize ma’m but I cannot comply with that order.” The synth said.
“Override restrictions, Directorate level authority,” Came the frustrated reply from the woman.
“Override is denied, this is a priority protocol which requires Director authorization. I’m sorry ma'am, but I cannot comply.”
“Arrrgh! It’s perfectly safe! It doesn’t require Director approval!”
“I’d be happy to forward your request to the Director’s office, if that is helpful Dr. Orman.”
“No…no let’s not do that. Not after last time….oh!” Dr. Orman looked surprised as she noticed B7 and the ministers, “Perfect timing!” She then walked over and grabbed the pistol from the Gen-2 unit and handed it to Stephen, “I need someone who isn’t a synth to help me with this. Their safeguards are a pain sometimes…would you please stand over there,” She pointed to a small yellow circle nearby. She then moved off to stand in a similar blue circle some distance away.
“If you wouldn’t mind doing me a tiny favor….shoot me.”
“Dr. Orman!” B7 looked utterly horrified.
“Now override guardian protocols, both of you,” Dr. Orman said, looking both to B7 and the other Synth. That one at least shouldn’t need Director authorization. Got it? Good.”
“Now if you don’t mind discharging that weapon at me please,” Dr. Orman asked again politely, “I’d appreciate it. Don’t worry, it's perfectly safe!”
For once, Stephen seemed utterly shocked - or shocked enough, at least, for his facade of complete control of his emotions to drop. His eyes widened slightly as he stared down at the weapon for several seconds, all while Jutti looked on, equally confused.
"What is it going to do, exactly?"
“Well what THAT will do is fire a focused beam of coherent light at me with enough wattage to potentially do considerable harm. What it won't do however, is actually hit me. You’ll see. Fire away!” She replied with a beaming smile.
B7 stayed silent, every coded line of her programming was screaming to intervene, but she remained motionless.
"With all due respect..." Stephen said, shaking his head. "I'm not going to shoot anyone, even if it is theoretically safe. If something went wrong, I would almost certainly lose my job."
B7 let out a deep breath and muttered a barely audible, “Oh God thank you.”
Dr. Orman gave off an exasperated sigh, “Fiiiine, jeez what’s a girl got to do around here to get shot at….” She walked back over to Stephen and grabbed the weapon from him, “This won’t be the most thorough manner to test it, but I suppose it will have to do.”
She quickly raised the weapon to her temple, and B7 reacted with a loud cry of despair but had no time to do anything else before Dr. Orman pulled the trigger and a blast of energy emitted from the pistol.
There was a loud electrically charged clash that followed, and an aura of bright blue light seemed to shimmer around Dr. Orman briefly before it once more disappeared. She held out her hands as if to say ‘See? I told you’ and then handed the weapon back off to the nearby Synth.
“Miniaturized photonic resonance barrier,” Dr. Orman explained as she pulled a small device from her pocket, “With a range tweaked just perfectly to fit an average human, and quite capable of deflecting small arms fire. Something I whipped up as a side project. I always personally test my inventions before bringing them up for Directorial approval, and I never test them before I’m 100% sure they are going to function as intended. So you see Mr…..” She cocked her head quizzically, as if noticing for the first time that the pair didn’t belong in The Institute, “Uhhh….who are you?”
“The Rontonian delegates, Dr. Orman” B7 croaked out.
“Oh wow! I guess I kind of lost track of time! I’ve been working all night….” She laughed nervously, “Rosalind Orman, Division Head of Advanced Systems. Soo…uh….what…what…brings you here?”
"Well," Stephen said, clearing his throat with a loud a-hem, "we're here to 'kick off' diplomatic relations with the Institute, as it were, and were graciously offered a tour of your facilities. Everything is tentative, but we’re exploring the possibility of supplying you with surplus generated power in exchange for aid with our crop shortage, and, potentially, wider scientific exchange. I'm Minister Plenipotentiary Stephen McLeod," he said, gesturing to himself - and then to Jutti.
"And this is Minister of Industry, Innovation, and Science, Dr. Harijhatta Jutti."
She nodded, gently bowing her head in respectful greeting.
"We're quite impressed with your technology, I must admit - back home, we're still relying on synthetic fibers and plates for body armour, and we certainly don't have access to... Teleportation technology."
“Ah well not to brag, but the teleporter is kind of old news. Heck that thing was built in my grandfather’s time. You should see the sorts of things Advanced Systems is coming up with now….” Dr. Orman trailed off and bit her lower lip, “Although I suppose I can’t really say anything more. Regardless though, I’m glad you’ve come. The notion of exchanging scientific ideas and cooperating further with the surface…I mean the wider world…is a worthwhile endeavor. I’ve always supported The Director’s new policy of breaking The Institute’s self-imposed isolation whole-heartedly. We’ve achieved great things on our own…but we could achieve so much more if we worked with others. Speaking of which, I hope it's not too bold of me to say that I find myself enthralled with your nation…or at least what I’ve read from our briefing documents. Is it true that you’ve mostly returned to pre-war standards of living?”
"We're on the way there," Jutti said, clearing her throat. "It's only recently that we've been able to begin deploying a primitive television network, but, if I'm frank, our greatest obstacle has been a lack of usable plastics. No oil, few plastics - or other petroleum products." She said, shrugging. "We're working on some solutions, like bioplastics, but deploying those on a large scale is difficult using Ontario alone."
Dr. Orman clapped her hands together excitedly, “I could help with that,” She said quickly, “The Institute has been making use of mass produced bioplastics for some time. In our weapons and early generation synths. I certainly think…well I supposed I shouldn’t make any promises without consulting The Director. Oh I wish I could make a trip to Ronto myself, I think it would be incredibly enlightening to see how a post-war reconstructed nation functions.”
“I agree,” came a voice from the doorway. Director Xavier Crawford had walked in and was approaching the conversing group. He was similarly dressed as a member of The Directorate in a black toga-like lab coat. A watchful Courser followed closely in his wake, “As a matter of fact I came down here directly to speak with you Dr. Orman. I would like you to accompany me to Ronto when I meet with the Rontonian Prime Minister and their respective government representatives. I realize there are risks involved with two members of The Directorate making the journey north, but I’m confident we are in good hands,” He nodded towards the two Rontonian delegates, “And I think the benefits of having one of my best with me when we meet with our counterparts outweighs those risks.”
Dr. Orman became wide-eyed, “I’m…well I don’t really know what to say…”
“Is that acceptable to you?” Xavier asked, looking expectantly to the two Ministers, “
“Absolutely,” Stephen cleared his throat, drawing attention away from Dr. Jutti with a nod and a smile. “Will you be traveling with us, by air - or using your own technology?”
“We will travel with you,” Xavier replied with a smile of his own, “I could make up some excuse and say this is because of proper diplomatic decorum, but the truth is, I’ve never flown before….and I think I would like to.”
“Oh! I’ll pack my things!” Dr. Orman almost shouted, “Just one second! I…” She looked around, seemingly confused for a few moments, and then looked back up at the group, “Uh…well I suppose I don’t have much to pack come to think of it.”
“I took the liberty of having a Synth pack some essentials for you,” Xavier said, “You’re all set.”
“Oh perfect! No wasted time then.”
As Dr. Orman and The Director had been speaking, The Courser bodyguard had held a hand up to his ear and turned away, seemingly getting some kind of communication. He now leaned back in and whispered something quickly into The Director’s ear.
“Ah well…speaking of no wasted time…I’m afraid we’ll need to move quickly. It would seem that the airport is currently under attack. I’m told that the defenses are holding, but that there is some concern regarding potential danger to the plane if it remains on the ground. I apologize to you both, but I suggest we cut your tour short.”
"Oh! Well, it's fortunate our bodyguards are armed, then." Stephen nodded. "We should be able to take off just fine - from what I understand, these planes could manage on runways half the length of what we landed on, and dirt, too. Shall we?" Stephen said, gesturing for the Director to lead the way. Jutti seemed nervous, her eyes darting back and forth - but Stephen, on the other hand, was utterly unperturbed.
“Indeed, follow me.”
—---------------------------
A few frantic minutes later the group had returned to the teleporter and in an instant, were sent back to the airport building. Already upon leaving the teleporter room and exiting into the reception area the sounds of gunfire and laserfire could be heard alongside inhuman, abominable, noises. A group of four Coursers fanned out in front of the delegates and led them back through the reception area and out onto the tarmac.
What they found was a chaotic scene just beyond the perimeter fence. A horde of Fog creatures, Gulpers and Anglers, were scrambling to get over the fencing and towards the plane. A host of Synths were firing their laser rifles and pistols with mechanical precision aiming for whatever parts their combat programming told them would be points of likely vulnerability. In addition to The Institute forces present, a dozen RCMP troopers in full tactical gear had disembarked from the plane and were forming a tight cordon around it. Their automatic rifles rang out as they sent a flurry of sporadic fire towards the creatures. If they were at all unnerved by the horde of unknown monsters from the mist, they did not show it.
A black haired female Courser who seemed to be in charge of the Institute forces present approached The Director as the group left the building, she raised her voice nearly to the point of shouting so as to be heard,
“Perimeter is holding currently sir, but it's been steady like this for a good ten minutes. We’ve no idea where they came from or what else is on the way. We need to get you all onboard and safely away before anything breaks through. Once the aircraft is up, the Synths will fall back to defensive positions inside the building. We should be able to pick them off from there.”
“Lead on A7!” The Director shouted back over the din of fire.
Dr. Orman desperately clutched at her briefcase as the group nearly sprinted for the plane and right into the protective line of Rontonian forces.
“We need to get them onboard straight away!” A7 yelled out to the troopers. Just as she did so a loud crashing could be heard in the underbrush beyond the fenceline. Something big was coming.
“Fog Crawler!” She shouted.
"Everyone up the stairs, buckle in! We're going for minimum takeoff distance, so it's gonna be a bumpy ride! Go, go, go!" One of the RCMP officers shouted, gesturing towards the unfolded staircase. Stephen was the first up, followed by Jutti - only once the Director and Doctor Orman filed in did the RCMP officers begin to follow, continuing to lay down fire as they tightened their cordon toward the stairs, practiced and disciplined in the extreme.
The airplane, perhaps unsurprisingly, wasn't especially ostentatious, certainly not like prewar airliners. It was relatively small, and narrow-bodied - a reduced seating configuration of 25 allowed for two people to pass by abreast, the floor and seats both clean and well-upholstered in calming, dark blue tones.
Stephen and Jutti had already strapped themselves in in two seats on either side in the front, arms braced against the armrests.
Xavier and Rosalind took seats together in the row directly behind Stephen and Jutti, while the four Coursers and B7 spread out in seats next to and behind them. There was a brief moment of awkward unfamiliarity as The Institute personnel tried to work their seatbelts before they quickly figured it out and sat back. Rosalind looked out the window and her eyes grew wide at the sight of a massive mutated crustacean breaking through the perimeter fence and rearing up as if in challenge to the plane: the Fog Crawler had arrived. It tore through a couple of unlucky Gen-2 synths with its massive claws as if they were made of nothing but paper and began making its way across the tarmac towards the aircraft. Mere moments later, the RCMP officers piled in, hopping into their seats - and the aircraft lurched violently forward, the low thrumming of the turboprop quickly transforming into a loud drone.
Moving at a speed that was likely blistering, and probably viscerally uncomfortable for a pair of first-time flyers, the turboprop charged down the runway, directly toward the Fog Crawler. Close, closer, and...
Suddenly, it pulled back, lifting into the air well short of the Fog Crawler, leaving Bar Harbor behind.
"It'll get smoother after this, I promise!" Stephen hollered.
“Oh I hope so,” The Director replied through gritted teeth. Both he and Dr. Orman were white-knuckled, gripping the ends of their arm-rests tightly. The Synths on the other hand, including B7, were surprisingly calm. The Coursers display no visible reaction, while B7 merely pursued an old flight safety brochure. Xavier almost envied them in their poise and control, their emotions tempered by their crisis response programming.
He leaned back, and closed his eyes, content to simply relax as best as he could.
Acadia Observatory - The Institute
The following morning, B7 was waiting outside the delegate’s quarters alongside a silent Courser. She could only hope that the Rontonian’s rest had not been disturbed by some of the events during the night. It would seem that the temporary withdrawal of the Fog had been just that: temporary, and by nightfall the enveloping mist had once again returned. The Institute’s Advanced Condensers had kept most of it at bay, and the area around both the airport, Far Harbor and Acadia itself had remained unaffected. Yet emanating within the areas of the Deep Fog strange sounds and unearthly cries had been heard throughout the night. The creatures within had been unusually active, and there was some concern that they might become more so as the day progressed.
Breakfast had been sent ahead with a couple of Gen-2 synths to each of the delegate’s rooms, and now B7 was merely waiting as the delegates finished and readied themselves for the day ahead.
When they finally emerged, B7 greeted them warmly,
“I do hope each of you are well rested and ready to proceed. I’ll be leading you through our facilities here at Acadia before returning you to the airport. You’ll have to excuse the heightened state of alert this morning,” She said, gesturing both to the Courser beside her and a squad of six synths that appeared to be marching at a brisk pace towards the Acadian perimeter wall, “The aggressive appearance of the Fog has elevated our alert levels. Rest assured you are not in any immediate danger.”
"It's... Quite alright. We've dealt with a few unusual phenomena in our past. Not us personally, but as a nation, and Minister Jutti is often involved with cleanup operations," he said, gesturing to her as she nodded in reply.
"Additionally, I should inform you - our pilot received a radio message last night. The Prime Minister's able to receive Director Crawford in Toronto at his earliest convenience." He explained. "We don't have access to teleportation technology, obviously, so I'm afraid he'll have to travel like us." He joked, smiling.
“Excellent, then I’ll have someone inform him immediately. My assumption is that he is very eager to make the journey, so perhaps we will be returning with you to Ronto,” B7 replied, “But in any case, let's begin….our first stop will be the Bioscience facilities.” B7 led the group towards a section of buildings directly adjacent to the main observatory structure. A large greenhouse was visible here, along with several other smaller buildings. Scientists in Green and white lab coats busied themselves moving between the labs while a few meaderd over by an open air enclosure in which a few pre-war cows, not brahmin, were housed.
“As promised, here is a sample of The Institute’s agricultural research,” B7 announced as she led the group straight into the Greenhouse building. There was a wide expanse of floral here of all shapes and sizes including various post-war and pre-war crops. B7 reached for modified mutfruit and pulled it from its branch. It was nearly twice the size of her hand, “Here Bioscience develops and tests a variety of GMO plants. Each is evaluated for their hardiness under certain soil conditions, as well as for quality and quantity of yields. We obviously have a wide variety of uses for such plants including food and medicine, but we also have a particular interest in cultivating new varieties of rare or otherwise extinct pre-war flora. I understand that Ronto has a particular interest in this field, so please feel free to ask any questions you may have….ah yes Dr. Reed. Perhaps you’d be willing to speak to the Rontonian delegation?”
A gaunt, slightly graying, man in a green lab coat had just turned the corner of the row of crops they were standing in. He appeared surprised to see them at first, but quickly regained his composure and walked towards the group and introduced himself.
“Dr. Harold Reed, Assistant Director of The Bioscience Division, I confess I was not expecting to meet you directly so I apologize if my appearance is unseemingly in any way. If you have any questions regarding Bioscience I’m happy to address them as best I can. Otherwise I would just like to offer you a warm welcome to The Institute.”
"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, Dr. Jutti - but I believe you'd best field that?" Stephen asked, raising an eyebrow, and the woman quickly nodded in reply.
"Our Minister of Agriculture was unable to attend, unfortunately - so yes. Put simply, while we're narrowly managing to feed our population, the crops we have access to are... Inadequate. Whe know there's a seed bank some eighteen hundred miles northwest of us, in Saskatchewan, but those are pre war crops - so we're wondering, quite simply, how much you can improve the yields and nutritional values of our crops. There's a number involved, of course, but the thing we're most concerned about is corn. That's our staple crop, but we need to get more out of it." Jutti calmly explained, letting out a sigh of relief. "That's a big question, of course, and we're fully aware that a comprehensive answer will take time, but that's the primary reason for our visit."
“Yes well as you stated it's a big question,” Dr. Reed began, “I don’t want to commit to giving you an exact answer yet as to how much we could improve your yields. There’s a variety of factors involved that need to be studied and documented first, not the least of which is soil composition. Mind you that’s not because I don’t think we can do it, in fact I’m confident in saying that I think we absolutely can, but just that I don’t want to give you an exact number or ratio and then we fail to meet those expectations. That is a - what’s the pre-war phrase- ‘politician’s answer’,” Reed chuckled a bit.
“Perhaps Dr. Reed, you would be willing to act as a liaison between Bioscience and your equivalents within Ronto for the duration of this project.” B7 stated.
Dr. Reed seemed a bit confused by this statement, and raised an eyebrow slightly at B7, “Well, B7, should The Director appoint me, of course I would be willing.”
“Of course,” B7 smiled cheerfully back, “I’m confident he’ll agree with such a proposal.”
“Indeed…” Dr. Reed replied, his quizzical expression still apparent, “Well in any event it was a pleasure to meet you both, and I do sincerely hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here in Acadia,” Dr. Reed shook both Minister’s hands before departing.
“The Bioscience facilities also include various research labs and a fully functioning hospital,” B7 explained, “However, I’m afraid our tour will not include those due to both safety and privacy reasons. If you are both ready, we will proceed to Facilities.”
"A pleasure indeed - no need to worry about a politician's answer, either." Stephen said, calling out to Reed as he departed. "Trust me, an honest answer is better than empty promises," he said, clearing his throat before turning back toward B7. "We're ready."
B7 led the group back out the Greenhouse and towards the opposite end of the Acadia campus. Here was a large warehouse-like building which filled much of the space of this section, along with several other smaller structures.
“Facilities is responsible for production, maintenance, and the general safety and well-being of our scientists: which includes upkeep to the residential buildings…”
“Yes we are The Institute’s under-fed workhorse,” A voice interrupted B7’s explanation. The young man to whom it belonged had walked out from a nearby building and strode towards the group. His wispy blonde hair and clean-shaven, almost boyish, appearance made him seem much younger than he was. His yellow and white lab coat appeared different from the rest of the Facilities personnel, with the yellow coloring displayed prominently in the front in a manner which almost suggested a toga,
“Samuel Blackhall, Division Head of Facilities,” He said with a smile, “I was told to expect your arrival.” He proceeded to shake each of the Minister’s hands in turn, “As B7 was explaining to you, Facilities is responsible for the all-important day to day functions that enables the rest of The Institute to operate. Don’t let anyone in Advanced Systems or Robotics tell you otherwise: we are just as important if not more so than anything they do. If Advanced Systems is the Brain, Robotics the Heart…then we are the circulatory system. Eh…something like that anyway, insert whatever cliche anatomical metaphor you think is appropriate.”
“Dr. Jutti,” He continued, turning to the female Minister, “I’m told you are the Minister for Science and Industrial Development in your country. My understanding is that you also hold a couple doctorates in that field. I would be most interested to learn more about your work. Now… I don’t suppose I can tempt you enough to poach you from the Rontonians eh? I can’t say the pay is better, in fact the pay would be entirely non-existent but….you also don’t need to buy anything so it evens out in the end. You’d also get that crisp mountain air!” He made a grand gesture out to the valley beyond which the rolling fog now blanketed and completely obscured any view beyond it, “What do you say? When can I sign you on?” He finished with a sly smile.
"Ah, I'm afraid that's not an option," Jutti chuckled, after a pointed look from the plenipotentiary. "There are restaurants back in Toronto I'd miss too much, and, besides, my resignation would need to be approved. As for my education, though - you'd be correct. I hold doctorates in Civil and Industrial Engineering from the University of Toronto. Important fields, as you can imagine, when you're trying to rebuild civilization." She smiled, momentarily falling silent. "If you don't mind the question - what are power requirements like here? I understand if you can't give away exact numbers, but I imagine it's generally quite difficult and energy intensive to keep this place running."
“Well, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take,” Samuel shrugged and laughed, and then continued, “Power requirements? Taxing in the extreme, as you can well imagine. Running the condensers alone sucks up a lot of power, and we need to keep them running nearly 24/7 in order to ensure we aren’t gobbled up by the Fog and whatever else is in there. Advanced System is working on potential solutions, but right now it's all we can do here in Facilities to squeeze out as much power as we can from Acadia’s generator along with the alternative power sources we’ve set up,” He pointed to the solar panels atop the Observatory, “We simply lack the resources and infrastructure we once had. And even back at The Institute power consumption was a continuous struggle.”
"I can imagine. Thankfully, that's one of the issues we're looking to help you solve." Jutti said, quietly nodding.
"Precisely. Bringing the power here would be an issue, obviously, but Ronto has a substantial surplus. At the least, we're confident our expeditions into the Chalk River Labs will bear fruit, when it comes to small-scale nuclear power." Stephen continued. "I'm certain there's some way we can be of help."
“I have a feeling you will be my two best friends then,” Samuel let out another laugh, “Maybe I should get a Rontonian flag to put on my desk….now I will say that I’m just the middle man here. Facilities controls our power generators…but Advanced Systems develops them. You’ll want to have a chat with Dr. Rosalind Orman for anything and everything nuclear energy, she’s the new Director of Advanced Systems and, frankly, she’s probably the cream of the crop as far as The Institute goes. Although you won’t see her bragging….well you might a little. She gave the famous ‘Latch-Key lecture that opened the way to the Phase 3 Project back in 2287. I assume you are on track to meet with her?” He gave a quick look over to B7, who nodded in reply, “Ah excellent.”
"We'll be sure to let her know, then - but I promise, we won't forget the people that keep everything working properly. We'd better not - isn't that right. Dr. Jutti?" Stephen joked, and Jutti nodded, smiling in reply.
"It'd be hypocritical of me to snub my own speciality, I think."
Samuel shook both of their hands once more, “Best let you get on your way then. Have a safe trip back to your homeland, and don’t let the Fog Crawlers get you!” He then turned and left.
“We are just going across the way now,” B7 said, and led them off once more, “This will be a bit different.”
—------------------------
The next section of the Acadian Campus that B7 led them to a whole different layout entirely. A single small building stood in the center of a perimeter fence guarded by a couple uniformed Gen-2 Synths. Without pause, B7 led them up and into the small building, which turned out to be housing an elevator platform. B7 pressed a button and the platform began to descend into the earth.
“This is a new section of the Acadia complex which we are actively constructing. Advanced Systems and Robotics are both housed here at the moment.”
The platform descended for several seconds before stopping and opening out into a lit hallway. After they passed through this hallway and the doorway beyond, they found themselves in a large atrium space, not unlike a Vault, with an upper and lower level. B7 continued on and took them through one of the doors in the upper level, which opened up into a small lab filled with terminals and various pieces of unknown equipment. Several scientists in blue and white lab coats looked up from their stations as B7 entered.
“Oh is Dr. Orman not….?” B7 started to ask, before one of the scientists cut her off.
“She’s in the testing area.”
“Again…” Another added quietly, without looking up from her station.
“Apologies, follow me,” B7 said to the ministers as she led them back out and into another doorway on the opposite end of the atrium. Entering it led them into a large open space that was empty aside from two individuals. One of whom was a young, olive-skinned woman with dark hair and wearing a blue labcoat similar in design to that of Samuel’s. The other was a uniformed Gen-2 synth holding a laser pistol. As the group entered, they appeared to be locked in an argument.
“I apologize ma’m but I cannot comply with that order.” The synth said.
“Override restrictions, Directorate level authority,” Came the frustrated reply from the woman.
“Override is denied, this is a priority protocol which requires Director authorization. I’m sorry ma'am, but I cannot comply.”
“Arrrgh! It’s perfectly safe! It doesn’t require Director approval!”
“I’d be happy to forward your request to the Director’s office, if that is helpful Dr. Orman.”
“No…no let’s not do that. Not after last time….oh!” Dr. Orman looked surprised as she noticed B7 and the ministers, “Perfect timing!” She then walked over and grabbed the pistol from the Gen-2 unit and handed it to Stephen, “I need someone who isn’t a synth to help me with this. Their safeguards are a pain sometimes…would you please stand over there,” She pointed to a small yellow circle nearby. She then moved off to stand in a similar blue circle some distance away.
“If you wouldn’t mind doing me a tiny favor….shoot me.”
“Dr. Orman!” B7 looked utterly horrified.
“Now override guardian protocols, both of you,” Dr. Orman said, looking both to B7 and the other Synth. That one at least shouldn’t need Director authorization. Got it? Good.”
“Now if you don’t mind discharging that weapon at me please,” Dr. Orman asked again politely, “I’d appreciate it. Don’t worry, it's perfectly safe!”
For once, Stephen seemed utterly shocked - or shocked enough, at least, for his facade of complete control of his emotions to drop. His eyes widened slightly as he stared down at the weapon for several seconds, all while Jutti looked on, equally confused.
"What is it going to do, exactly?"
“Well what THAT will do is fire a focused beam of coherent light at me with enough wattage to potentially do considerable harm. What it won't do however, is actually hit me. You’ll see. Fire away!” She replied with a beaming smile.
B7 stayed silent, every coded line of her programming was screaming to intervene, but she remained motionless.
"With all due respect..." Stephen said, shaking his head. "I'm not going to shoot anyone, even if it is theoretically safe. If something went wrong, I would almost certainly lose my job."
B7 let out a deep breath and muttered a barely audible, “Oh God thank you.”
Dr. Orman gave off an exasperated sigh, “Fiiiine, jeez what’s a girl got to do around here to get shot at….” She walked back over to Stephen and grabbed the weapon from him, “This won’t be the most thorough manner to test it, but I suppose it will have to do.”
She quickly raised the weapon to her temple, and B7 reacted with a loud cry of despair but had no time to do anything else before Dr. Orman pulled the trigger and a blast of energy emitted from the pistol.
There was a loud electrically charged clash that followed, and an aura of bright blue light seemed to shimmer around Dr. Orman briefly before it once more disappeared. She held out her hands as if to say ‘See? I told you’ and then handed the weapon back off to the nearby Synth.
“Miniaturized photonic resonance barrier,” Dr. Orman explained as she pulled a small device from her pocket, “With a range tweaked just perfectly to fit an average human, and quite capable of deflecting small arms fire. Something I whipped up as a side project. I always personally test my inventions before bringing them up for Directorial approval, and I never test them before I’m 100% sure they are going to function as intended. So you see Mr…..” She cocked her head quizzically, as if noticing for the first time that the pair didn’t belong in The Institute, “Uhhh….who are you?”
“The Rontonian delegates, Dr. Orman” B7 croaked out.
“Oh wow! I guess I kind of lost track of time! I’ve been working all night….” She laughed nervously, “Rosalind Orman, Division Head of Advanced Systems. Soo…uh….what…what…brings you here?”
"Well," Stephen said, clearing his throat with a loud a-hem, "we're here to 'kick off' diplomatic relations with the Institute, as it were, and were graciously offered a tour of your facilities. Everything is tentative, but we’re exploring the possibility of supplying you with surplus generated power in exchange for aid with our crop shortage, and, potentially, wider scientific exchange. I'm Minister Plenipotentiary Stephen McLeod," he said, gesturing to himself - and then to Jutti.
"And this is Minister of Industry, Innovation, and Science, Dr. Harijhatta Jutti."
She nodded, gently bowing her head in respectful greeting.
"We're quite impressed with your technology, I must admit - back home, we're still relying on synthetic fibers and plates for body armour, and we certainly don't have access to... Teleportation technology."
“Ah well not to brag, but the teleporter is kind of old news. Heck that thing was built in my grandfather’s time. You should see the sorts of things Advanced Systems is coming up with now….” Dr. Orman trailed off and bit her lower lip, “Although I suppose I can’t really say anything more. Regardless though, I’m glad you’ve come. The notion of exchanging scientific ideas and cooperating further with the surface…I mean the wider world…is a worthwhile endeavor. I’ve always supported The Director’s new policy of breaking The Institute’s self-imposed isolation whole-heartedly. We’ve achieved great things on our own…but we could achieve so much more if we worked with others. Speaking of which, I hope it's not too bold of me to say that I find myself enthralled with your nation…or at least what I’ve read from our briefing documents. Is it true that you’ve mostly returned to pre-war standards of living?”
"We're on the way there," Jutti said, clearing her throat. "It's only recently that we've been able to begin deploying a primitive television network, but, if I'm frank, our greatest obstacle has been a lack of usable plastics. No oil, few plastics - or other petroleum products." She said, shrugging. "We're working on some solutions, like bioplastics, but deploying those on a large scale is difficult using Ontario alone."
Dr. Orman clapped her hands together excitedly, “I could help with that,” She said quickly, “The Institute has been making use of mass produced bioplastics for some time. In our weapons and early generation synths. I certainly think…well I supposed I shouldn’t make any promises without consulting The Director. Oh I wish I could make a trip to Ronto myself, I think it would be incredibly enlightening to see how a post-war reconstructed nation functions.”
“I agree,” came a voice from the doorway. Director Xavier Crawford had walked in and was approaching the conversing group. He was similarly dressed as a member of The Directorate in a black toga-like lab coat. A watchful Courser followed closely in his wake, “As a matter of fact I came down here directly to speak with you Dr. Orman. I would like you to accompany me to Ronto when I meet with the Rontonian Prime Minister and their respective government representatives. I realize there are risks involved with two members of The Directorate making the journey north, but I’m confident we are in good hands,” He nodded towards the two Rontonian delegates, “And I think the benefits of having one of my best with me when we meet with our counterparts outweighs those risks.”
Dr. Orman became wide-eyed, “I’m…well I don’t really know what to say…”
“Is that acceptable to you?” Xavier asked, looking expectantly to the two Ministers, “
“Absolutely,” Stephen cleared his throat, drawing attention away from Dr. Jutti with a nod and a smile. “Will you be traveling with us, by air - or using your own technology?”
“We will travel with you,” Xavier replied with a smile of his own, “I could make up some excuse and say this is because of proper diplomatic decorum, but the truth is, I’ve never flown before….and I think I would like to.”
“Oh! I’ll pack my things!” Dr. Orman almost shouted, “Just one second! I…” She looked around, seemingly confused for a few moments, and then looked back up at the group, “Uh…well I suppose I don’t have much to pack come to think of it.”
“I took the liberty of having a Synth pack some essentials for you,” Xavier said, “You’re all set.”
“Oh perfect! No wasted time then.”
As Dr. Orman and The Director had been speaking, The Courser bodyguard had held a hand up to his ear and turned away, seemingly getting some kind of communication. He now leaned back in and whispered something quickly into The Director’s ear.
“Ah well…speaking of no wasted time…I’m afraid we’ll need to move quickly. It would seem that the airport is currently under attack. I’m told that the defenses are holding, but that there is some concern regarding potential danger to the plane if it remains on the ground. I apologize to you both, but I suggest we cut your tour short.”
"Oh! Well, it's fortunate our bodyguards are armed, then." Stephen nodded. "We should be able to take off just fine - from what I understand, these planes could manage on runways half the length of what we landed on, and dirt, too. Shall we?" Stephen said, gesturing for the Director to lead the way. Jutti seemed nervous, her eyes darting back and forth - but Stephen, on the other hand, was utterly unperturbed.
“Indeed, follow me.”
—---------------------------
A few frantic minutes later the group had returned to the teleporter and in an instant, were sent back to the airport building. Already upon leaving the teleporter room and exiting into the reception area the sounds of gunfire and laserfire could be heard alongside inhuman, abominable, noises. A group of four Coursers fanned out in front of the delegates and led them back through the reception area and out onto the tarmac.
What they found was a chaotic scene just beyond the perimeter fence. A horde of Fog creatures, Gulpers and Anglers, were scrambling to get over the fencing and towards the plane. A host of Synths were firing their laser rifles and pistols with mechanical precision aiming for whatever parts their combat programming told them would be points of likely vulnerability. In addition to The Institute forces present, a dozen RCMP troopers in full tactical gear had disembarked from the plane and were forming a tight cordon around it. Their automatic rifles rang out as they sent a flurry of sporadic fire towards the creatures. If they were at all unnerved by the horde of unknown monsters from the mist, they did not show it.
A black haired female Courser who seemed to be in charge of the Institute forces present approached The Director as the group left the building, she raised her voice nearly to the point of shouting so as to be heard,
“Perimeter is holding currently sir, but it's been steady like this for a good ten minutes. We’ve no idea where they came from or what else is on the way. We need to get you all onboard and safely away before anything breaks through. Once the aircraft is up, the Synths will fall back to defensive positions inside the building. We should be able to pick them off from there.”
“Lead on A7!” The Director shouted back over the din of fire.
Dr. Orman desperately clutched at her briefcase as the group nearly sprinted for the plane and right into the protective line of Rontonian forces.
“We need to get them onboard straight away!” A7 yelled out to the troopers. Just as she did so a loud crashing could be heard in the underbrush beyond the fenceline. Something big was coming.
“Fog Crawler!” She shouted.
"Everyone up the stairs, buckle in! We're going for minimum takeoff distance, so it's gonna be a bumpy ride! Go, go, go!" One of the RCMP officers shouted, gesturing towards the unfolded staircase. Stephen was the first up, followed by Jutti - only once the Director and Doctor Orman filed in did the RCMP officers begin to follow, continuing to lay down fire as they tightened their cordon toward the stairs, practiced and disciplined in the extreme.
The airplane, perhaps unsurprisingly, wasn't especially ostentatious, certainly not like prewar airliners. It was relatively small, and narrow-bodied - a reduced seating configuration of 25 allowed for two people to pass by abreast, the floor and seats both clean and well-upholstered in calming, dark blue tones.
Stephen and Jutti had already strapped themselves in in two seats on either side in the front, arms braced against the armrests.
Xavier and Rosalind took seats together in the row directly behind Stephen and Jutti, while the four Coursers and B7 spread out in seats next to and behind them. There was a brief moment of awkward unfamiliarity as The Institute personnel tried to work their seatbelts before they quickly figured it out and sat back. Rosalind looked out the window and her eyes grew wide at the sight of a massive mutated crustacean breaking through the perimeter fence and rearing up as if in challenge to the plane: the Fog Crawler had arrived. It tore through a couple of unlucky Gen-2 synths with its massive claws as if they were made of nothing but paper and began making its way across the tarmac towards the aircraft. Mere moments later, the RCMP officers piled in, hopping into their seats - and the aircraft lurched violently forward, the low thrumming of the turboprop quickly transforming into a loud drone.
Moving at a speed that was likely blistering, and probably viscerally uncomfortable for a pair of first-time flyers, the turboprop charged down the runway, directly toward the Fog Crawler. Close, closer, and...
Suddenly, it pulled back, lifting into the air well short of the Fog Crawler, leaving Bar Harbor behind.
"It'll get smoother after this, I promise!" Stephen hollered.
“Oh I hope so,” The Director replied through gritted teeth. Both he and Dr. Orman were white-knuckled, gripping the ends of their arm-rests tightly. The Synths on the other hand, including B7, were surprisingly calm. The Coursers display no visible reaction, while B7 merely pursued an old flight safety brochure. Xavier almost envied them in their poise and control, their emotions tempered by their crisis response programming.
He leaned back, and closed his eyes, content to simply relax as best as he could.
Second collab with @Jeddaven
Word had gotten back to Acadia of contact with Ronto, and Director Xavier Crawford was ecstatic at the notion that a Rontonian delegation’s arrival was not only possible, but imminent. Here, at last, was a golden opportunity to open diplomatic ties with a strong nation in the North. He’d heard rumours of Ronto, and the scant details that had filtered down were impressive. If certain pacts and assurances could be made between them, then The Institute would have gained a powerful friend indeed. But first, they would need to convince Ronto of the potential benefits of such an arrangement.
The Director turned to his every present and capable Gen-3 Synth assistant,
“Are we ready B7?”
“All preparations have been made, Director, I’ll be leaving shortly to greet them.”
“Excellent, inform me when they arrive. And ensure they have a warm welcome…”
-----------------------
Before the war the small Bar Harbor airport had catered to thousands of tourists who arrived on Mount Desert Island every year to have a taste of Maine, but wished to avoid any sort of drive. When The Institute had first arrived here, they’d cleared out much of the debris and rusted out aircraft which had littered the airport, scavenging whatever they could. Afterwards they’d established a sort of forward operating base, which served both as a research camp and a supply depot for expeditions around Mount Desert Island or even to the mainland. Slowly the camp had been built up and many of the pre-war structures around it repaired and repurposed.
With the news of a delegation's arrival here, however, the airport had been a flurry of activity. Hundreds of Synths of every generation had worked round the clock to ensure that the airport was ready in every respect to allow a plane to land here and its passengers to safely disembark. Unsightly ruins had been demolished and replaced with pristine Institute prefabricated modular structures of white and blue, which included a squat traffic control tower topped with a series of satellite dishes and a large fog condenser. Armed Gen-2 and Gen-3 Synths carefully patrolled the fenced-in perimeter of the airport, overseen by a small handful of ever vigilant Coursers.
B7 stood waiting on the freshly repaved tarmac near where the airplane would be directed to park. She wore a stark white dress suit reminiscent of pre-war business attire, with a red vitruvian man badge pinned to her left jacket lapel. A uniformed Gen-2 synth stood directly to her right, holding a thin umbrella which provided her shade from the bright sun overhead. The Rontonian delegation was extremely fortunate in the timing of their arrival: the Fog had abated for the time being leaving the island almost entirely free of the mist aside from the areas of Deep Fog on the western side. The Institute’s Fog condensers normally kept the eastern half clear in any event, but their reach only extended so far, and it was better that it had retreated entirely so as to keep the chances of any incident with the landing to an absolute minimum.
Calm and composed, B7 looked up to the sky as the first sounds of the incoming aircraft could be heard many miles away.
-------
It wasn’t long before the harsh, droning noise of turboprops resolved into something clearly discernable to the synths - the small squadron of approaching aircraft had been communicating with air-traffic control for some time, several shapes transforming from pinpricks to rapidly approaching tubes. One, the largest of the group, dipped its nose down toward the hastily rebuilt airport, distant sunlight shining off of the raised stabilizers at the very top of its tail. Outside of the wasteland, its pristine white interior, marked only by the flag of Ronto, would’ve been an unusual sight - but the sheer scarcity of aircraft in the wasteland made its cleanliness and gull-wings seem even more unusual by comparison. One by one, more noises joined the first, but rather than preparing to land, they simply sped past the airfield without a care.
Twin-engined shadows briefly blotted out the sun, Maple Leaf roundels the only distinct features - aside from pairs of gunpods - visible on the undersides. Wasting no time, one after the other, the fighter escorts zoomed by, off to the ocean, only to quickly begin slow, sloping turns in v-shaped formation, back toward Canadian territory.
The largest aircraft, though, continued on its gentle slope toward the landing strip, slowing to a practical crawl barely faster than pre-war cars on the highway.
Halfway down the runway from where B7 stood, the plane touched down, nose pulling gently upward mere moments before impact. It rolled forward for a fraction of a second before the nose gear, too, touched down - and then continued to roll down the runway, onto the taxiway, before finally coming to a stop a couple handfuls of meters from B7, enough distance to avoid striking her with propwash.
The exit door toward the cockpit swung downward, a set of metal stairs extending toward the apron.
One-by-one, guards in the same red, steson-capped uniforms B7 had seen in that tiny frontier town marched down the steps, filing off to either side until they formed two lines six abreast, one deep, standing at attention.
Soon after, a fair-skinned middle-aged man clad in a black suit emerged from the aircraft, marching down the steps after the officers. Two moved into place in front of her, though he was quickly followed by another person - a slightly younger woman of a darker, wheatish skin tone dressed in a navy blue pantsuit.
Followed by their pistol-armed guards, they made their way toward B7, while the pilot and copilot of the aircraft meticulously checked over instruments in the cockpit.
“I trust I have the pleasure of addressing Minister Plenipotentiary Stephen McLeod”, B7 said turning to the gentlemen as the retinue approached her, “As well as Attaché to the Minister of Science and Industrial Development, Harijhatta Jutti,” she nodded toward the woman, “I am B7-34, assistant to the Director of The Institute as well as your aide throughout your stay here. On behalf of everyone in The Institute, welcome to Mount Desert Island. I do hope your flight was a pleasant one.”
B7 motioned with an open palm toward the largest of the prefabricated structures, “Before I escort you to Acadia, I’d like to invite you in briefly for a decontamination screening, use of facilities, and refreshments if you would like some. Do you have any immediate questions before we proceed? If not, please follow me.”
"No immediate questions," the Minister replied, silently noting the mechanical thing standing next to her - another one of the synths, he supposed. Harijhatta already seemed excited, but she managed to contain herself.
"Our flight was pleasant, yes. We've not had any interference, though that may become an issue in the near future, thanks to the somewhat nearby presence of the Enclave - hence the escort. For now, though, let's move through decontamination."
“Of course,” B7 replied with a nod of her head, “Right this way.”
B7 then turned and led the group into the reception building, passing through a set of secure double doors held open by skeletal Gen-1 synths. They then entered a tight hallway lined with wall mounted rectangular radiation sensors. At the end of the hallway, a Gen-3 male monitored a terminal closely and once the entire group had passed through, he gave a quick thumbs up to B7.
Without pausing, the Synth assistant then led the Rontonians into a medium sized open room filled with white tables containing all manner of assorted pre-war snacks and purified water. Slocum Joe’s Donuts, carefully made as precisely as possible to follow the pre-war recipe, were laid out in an elaborate turntable display next to a large self-dispensing coffee machine at the far end of the room. White uniformed Gen-3s manned each table station and happily offered the group any refreshments they desired. A small seating area with cushioned chairs was available for anyone to sit if they preferred to. It was clear the building itself was sparse and utilitarian, and these arrangements had been specifically prepared for the delegation, but that made it no less welcoming.
“Please take anything you’d like and use the restroom to the left should you require it. Also, just an aside, your pilots and aircraft crew are likewise welcome to stay here and make use of these facilities for as long as is required. They will be invited in once we’ve departed.” B7 said cheerfully.
------
Once the Ronto delegation had rested, B7 politely gathered them up and ushered them through the proceeding door at the opposite end from where they’d entered. They now found themselves in a small grey room lined from top to bottom with electronic panels and all manner of unknown equipment, which seemed very different from anything else in the building. A circular base lay on the floor beneath their feet which formed an elaborate spiral pattern.
“Please stand here and wait one moment,” B7 said.
B7 then stared forward, a small smile spreading on her face as she spoke something clear and audible to all, but that seemed to be directed to no-one in the room,
“B7-34 reporting and ready for relay to Acadia. I have the Ronto delegation with me.”
Suddenly there was a flash of blue light, and B7 disappeared before their very eyes, before each Rontontian, in turn, did the same: vanishing into the molecular relay in an instant.
--------------------------------------------
Director Crawford had watched from the balcony of the Acadia observatory as the Rontonian planes had descended from the sky. His mind churned with the possibilities of what might be accomplished if an agreement could be reached between them. They were clearly an advanced and established nation, more so than most groups in the wastes. After all, only The Brotherhood and The Enclave had managed to project that kind of air power in the past. He’d seen nothing that would indicate that Ronto outmatched The Institute in technological advancements, but everything pointed to the truth that their resources and mobilization were something to be wary of.
This could prove an interesting meeting.
—-----------------------------------------
After some time waiting, Xavier had made his way down to the lower level of the Observatory with a pair of Coursers in tow and was standing before the opposite end of the relay system. Despite the immense power required for even a short-range usage of the relay, Xavier had insisted on its use, hoping to use it to illustrate The Institute’s full capabilities.
“Sir, B7 has arrived at the relay point.” One of the coursers reported.
“Proceed.” Xavier nodded.
In an instant, the Ronto delegation was standing before him along with B7, the successful relay having transported them from the airport to the Observatory in a split second. He could only hope the countless hours of energy cutback on to enable the traversal would be worth it.
“Welcome to Acadia,” He said warmly as he approached the delegation and extended his hand, “I’m Dr. Xavier Allen Crawford, current acting Director of The Commonwealth Institute of Technology.”
The Rontonians were shocked, certainly - even amazed - but seeing as they were intact and still armed, they endeavored not to show it.
"Minister Plenipotentiary Stephen McCloud," he replied, reaching out to give Dr. Crawford's hand a firm shake. The Minister of Science, of course, shook next, and Stephen continued.
"...And Minister of Science and Industrial Development, Harijhatta Jutti, PhD."
"It's a pleasure to meet you. Doctor Crawford. We'd heard a good few things about your technology, but we certainly didn't anticipate teleportation. You don't mind the presence of our bodyguards, I hope? It's standard procedure for first contact." He said, smiling gently. The Minister of Science, however, looked simply excited.
“Oh, not at all,” The Director replied with a smile of his own, “Provided of course you don’t mind mine.” He gestured towards the dour Coursers to either side of him, “I assure you that you won’t find a safer spot anywhere on the East Coast, but one can never be too careful.”
“I’m sure we have much to discuss and I hope our conversation will be a fruitful one. Without further ado then, if you would follow me I’ll take you to a more comfortable location where we can chat.”
The Director then turned and began leading the group through the observatory basement, with B7 keeping pace directly behind him. They traveled past banks of database servers and various pieces of equipment. Every so often they crossed paths with an Institute scientist in one of their yellow facilities lab coats or synths in red and white uniforms. The Coursers kept a careful watch on the group at all times, but maintained a respectful distance.
Soon they reached an elevator and the Director ushered them inside. Once its glass doors had closed, he turned to the delegates,
“I’m afraid what you’ll see here is a fraction of what The Institute used to be. This is not our original home, you understand. We’ve certainly done what we can to make the best of it.”
Moments later and the elevator doors had opened back up and out into the open air of a bright blue sky. They were standing atop the observatory balcony now, which wrapped around the dome. The entirety of Acadia National park and part of Far Harbor was visible to them, along with the walled-in sanctuary of prefabricated buildings and residences that formed the Institute’s mountaintop home. Xavier then led them around the balcony for some distance until they came to a short flight of stairs which led up to a small enclosure that seemed to be jutting out from the dome and had clearly not been part of the original structure.
B7 went up first and opened the door to allow their guests into a small window-lined sunroom consisting of a pristine white table and chairs. The sunroom looked out onto a magnificent view of the harbor and the wider ocean beyond.
“Please take a seat,” The Director said as he sat down at the far end of the table. He then adjusted his glasses and ran a hand through his dark hair, “I trust B7 has already offered you refreshments but if you’d like anything at any point, please don’t hesitate to ask. Perhaps B7 you can start by fetching everyone a purified water just in case?”
“Of course sir.”
“Thank you B7, “ He then turned back to the delegates, “As for your guards they may have a seat or wait outside. Whichever is more comfortable to you. My Coursers will remain standing outside.”
“Now,” he said, leaning forward and laying his folded hands on the table, “I appreciate the fact that you’ve all come a long way, with the assurances of nothing other than what little you heard from the Synth Scout you received. I’ll start by offering up what I hope to get out of our talks here: I want to open a dialogue, plain and simple. The Institute has remained in the shadows and without friends for far too long, and we suffered greatly because of that. I want us to come to an understanding that will benefit both our peoples greatly.”
"That's exactly what we're looking for, and I'm quite sure there are plenty of things we can offer you," Stephen replied, gesturing for Jutti to sit before quietly sitting down himself. "Generating capacity, for example - in the more than two hundred years since the Great War, we've managed to restore a large portion of pre-war Ontario's generating capacity, and we have a large surplus to offer at the moment, as a result. More soon enough, we believe, now that we've started to push north and secure what remains of some prewar nuclear research facilities. Of course, I'm sure you understand that I can't make promises with nothing in return, but I'm confident we'll be able to come to a mutually beneficial agreement soon enough, particularly considering the breadth and depth of your scientific knowledge." Stephen said, hands folded one over the other in his lap, while Jutti sat silently, waiting for an opportune chance to speak.
“Power is indeed something we are in great need of,” The Director nodded, “As you might guess, our technological progress is somewhat hampered by this limitation. Even before coming here, we were forced to ration power and distribute it according to project priority. Now those problems are even worse.”
Xavier removed his glasses, and cleaned them briefly within the folds of his lab coat putting them back on, “As far as the rest goes, I appreciate that there will need to be a give and take in all things we discuss here. So with that being said lets both agree to lay our cards out on the table and hash things out appropriately. What then, are some areas that Ronto needs scientific or technological support in? Let’s begin with that, and I’ll decide if we are able to meet that need first and foremost.”
"Minister Jutti?"
She nodded, clearing her throat. "At the moment, our greatest need - in terms of technological support - is in improving crop yields. We've dug up as much information as we can find on prewar agricultural techniques, but those only go so far, especially in a world that is still recovering from disastrous levels of environmental pollution. Put simply, Ronto attracts refugees, and it's our duty to feed them. Second to that concern - and related to it - is our communications network. We've made great strides in terms of deploying radio and even television technology, but without access to satellites, we lack the ability of extremely long-range communication that'd be valuable for securing mineral resources and coordinating strikes against the Enclave."
“Ah, yes, agricultural research is something we have made great strides in. Bioscience previously achieved astounding success with The Warwick Initiative, which was able to produce a strain of GMO crops that nearly tripled harvest yields in even relatively infertile soil. Perhaps when we are finished here you might be interested in touring our Greenhouse? I’d be happy to arrange it.”
The Director then paused and raised a hand to his chin thoughtfully before continuing, “As for communications, that is a bit more difficult to solve. Degrading pre-war infrastructure is the largest hurdle to overcome, as I’m sure you know. Every year that passes means that there are less and less pre-war satellites in orbit, as most if not all are well past their expected term of service. However, Advanced Systems did at one point have a project on the table which included in its goals the development and launch of new satellites to reinforce the failing old network. It was scrapped, as you might guess, because of material cost and a simple lack of need. Long-range communication was never in any sort of great demand, as our operations typically did not extend past a certain range anyway. I think we might be able to resurrect that project, and perhaps with our combined resources see it to completion. Is that agreeable?”
"We're absolutely interested in both of your proposals," Jutti replied, after receiving a nod of approval from the Minister Plenipotentiary. "You're aware of the difficulties in launching satellites this far from the equator, I'm sure - and, as you've stated, restoring and maintaining more stable methods of communication when it comes to prewar telephone lines, and the like. Mr. McLeod told me that we'd also like establish a line of communication with you as soon as possible, and, given our relationship proves to be fruitful, it may become possible to enlist your aid in recovering scientific knowledge from other prewar facilities - the Chapman Space Centre, for example." She explained, gradually leaning forward, excited at the prospect of scientific exchange. McLeod, on the other hand, had an entirely calm air about him, neither excited nor bored, a carefully practiced in-between.
"Of course -" McLeod interrupted her. "These locations are in Canada, and we consider a number to be our sovereign property, so we'd suggest that they are not visited without our permission - just as we wouldn't go rooting through your data without permission. I'm able to agree to your proposals as they've been described so far on behalf of my government, however."
"Ah well, that is no problem," Xavier replied, "We have no interest in interfering with your sovereignty. Now as for your earlier point, " he said, turning back to Jutti, "There was some consideration given to the issue of a non-equatorial launch. Frankly, the proposed solution was a bit fanciful at the time, but perhaps still possible. We can discuss those details at a later date however."
"There is something else I'd like to put on the table as well. I'll be forthright and say it's my most pressing concern,” He paused, looking back and forth between the two Ministers, “Ronto is rumoured to be a significant military by those of us in the east, and judging by your fighter escort display earlier I’d say that those rumours are not unfounded. I’d like certain assurances that The Institute will be reinforced in the case of any hostile activity towards us. Of course such a pact would work both ways, we may not be the strongest military power in the wastes, but our Synths form the core of an innately disciplined and trained soldierly which fears nothing and wants for nothing. And our technological expertise could be quite beneficial in certain situations, especially up against groups such as The Enclave. A single well-orchestrated cyber attack can be worth more than an entire army in the field. What would your government say to such a proposal?”
"That... Is an admittedly more difficult matter, Dr. Crawford." Stephen replied, gently pursing his lips. "Now, I'm not saying no - in fact, we can negotiate precise terms right here - but ratification of defense agreements requires a vote by parliament, is all." He explained.
“Indeed, the wheels of democracy must turn and so forth,” The Director said with a shrug, “I understand. Although…come to think of it…..” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment as he considered his next words carefully, “Perhaps…it would be more appropriate if I should plead my case directly to your Parliament and speak before it? I’d imagine that its members might be more apt to vote in favor of such an alliance if they were able to hear it from me personally, as opposed to a diplomat relaying it by proxy. I will defer to your judgment of course, as I’m unfamiliar with your customs, but I would not shirk such an opportunity.”
"I won't comment on whether or not it'll be more effective, but I can say that, if that's something you wish do to, you'll have to speak with the Prime Minister. Parliament generally doesn't speak with foreign leaders, but the Prime Minister does, and leads the largest party in Parliament. It's largely her duty or that of appointed ambassadors to negotiate high-level treaties, anyways - besides, a visit will give us a chance to show Ronto to you." Stephen smiled. Besides, in the context of a defensive treaty, it'd be best one of them meets with her wife anyways.
"If you intend to do that, I'd recommend bringing along whatever diplomatic staff you'd deem necessary, along with anyone you'd need to negotiate military treaties. I don't anticipate significant culture shock, however." He continued, omitting the issue of synth personhood. Whatever they were, he didn't know - but he knew he didn't want to risk being killed over it.
“That was my thought as well,” Xavier nodded in agreement, “I would very much like to visit it. I confess that I’ve spent most of my life in isolation: I was born and raised in The Institute, and my first interaction with the outside world was my journey here. I think it would do me good to see something more of the world than what my bubble of relative tranquility has offered thus far. As for my staff, I would need only bring myself, my assistant,’ He motioned to B7, “And a few Coursers for personal protection. As acting Director I speak wholly for The Directorate, and therefore all of The Institute’s personnel and am empowered to act accordingly.”
“Excellent, now that’s settled, I’m quite content to hear out anything else you wish to speak on. The floor is yours.” He said finally.
“Well, delving deeper into the matters we’ve discussed, I would like to see more of your facilities. I understand that you have your own state secrets, of course, and I won’t ask you to divulge them, but it’ll nonetheless help your case the more I’m able to see how you and your folk live and work.” Stephen explained, bringing his hands together in his lap. “Words help, of course,, but I haven’t seen enough of the Institute to make any recommendations to my Prime Minister in your favour, aside from how advanced your technology is and your generally hospitable treatment of us.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Xavier said as he stood up, “And with that said I’d like to extend you an offer to stay with us for a night. It will allow you some time to get some sense of our daily life here and then be fully rested before a return journey to Ronto. And perhaps an official tour of sorts could be arranged, I’m sure B7 would be more than happy to conduct it.”
“Absolutely sir,” Came the reply from the female Synth.
“You also have my full permission to explore Acadia for yourself, within reason of course, certain buildings and areas will be restricted. I also ask that if you have any interest in heading outside our walls that you allow us to escort you. The wilderness of Mount Desert Island can be quite dangerous, and the fog….unpredictable. Other than that, you have our hospitality. B7 would you be so kind as to show them to the prepared quarters?”
—------------------------------------------
Minutes later, B7 had led the delegates down and out of the main Observatory building, and took them towards the far end of the Acadian perimeter, towards a one-story prefabricated structure. A couple of skeletal Gen-1 Synths helped carry any luggage they had brought with them. When the door to the building opened automatically, it revealed a hallway with a series of rooms, each one containing a bed, a writing desk, and a smaller lavatory room. It was altogether sparse accommodations, but very clean at least,
“Rooms for you both and your guards,” B7 motioned for them to enter, “If you should need anything, simply speak to any attendant Synth. They will relay your request to me. Otherwise, we will see each other again tomorrow. ”
Word had gotten back to Acadia of contact with Ronto, and Director Xavier Crawford was ecstatic at the notion that a Rontonian delegation’s arrival was not only possible, but imminent. Here, at last, was a golden opportunity to open diplomatic ties with a strong nation in the North. He’d heard rumours of Ronto, and the scant details that had filtered down were impressive. If certain pacts and assurances could be made between them, then The Institute would have gained a powerful friend indeed. But first, they would need to convince Ronto of the potential benefits of such an arrangement.
The Director turned to his every present and capable Gen-3 Synth assistant,
“Are we ready B7?”
“All preparations have been made, Director, I’ll be leaving shortly to greet them.”
“Excellent, inform me when they arrive. And ensure they have a warm welcome…”
-----------------------
Before the war the small Bar Harbor airport had catered to thousands of tourists who arrived on Mount Desert Island every year to have a taste of Maine, but wished to avoid any sort of drive. When The Institute had first arrived here, they’d cleared out much of the debris and rusted out aircraft which had littered the airport, scavenging whatever they could. Afterwards they’d established a sort of forward operating base, which served both as a research camp and a supply depot for expeditions around Mount Desert Island or even to the mainland. Slowly the camp had been built up and many of the pre-war structures around it repaired and repurposed.
With the news of a delegation's arrival here, however, the airport had been a flurry of activity. Hundreds of Synths of every generation had worked round the clock to ensure that the airport was ready in every respect to allow a plane to land here and its passengers to safely disembark. Unsightly ruins had been demolished and replaced with pristine Institute prefabricated modular structures of white and blue, which included a squat traffic control tower topped with a series of satellite dishes and a large fog condenser. Armed Gen-2 and Gen-3 Synths carefully patrolled the fenced-in perimeter of the airport, overseen by a small handful of ever vigilant Coursers.
B7 stood waiting on the freshly repaved tarmac near where the airplane would be directed to park. She wore a stark white dress suit reminiscent of pre-war business attire, with a red vitruvian man badge pinned to her left jacket lapel. A uniformed Gen-2 synth stood directly to her right, holding a thin umbrella which provided her shade from the bright sun overhead. The Rontonian delegation was extremely fortunate in the timing of their arrival: the Fog had abated for the time being leaving the island almost entirely free of the mist aside from the areas of Deep Fog on the western side. The Institute’s Fog condensers normally kept the eastern half clear in any event, but their reach only extended so far, and it was better that it had retreated entirely so as to keep the chances of any incident with the landing to an absolute minimum.
Calm and composed, B7 looked up to the sky as the first sounds of the incoming aircraft could be heard many miles away.
-------
It wasn’t long before the harsh, droning noise of turboprops resolved into something clearly discernable to the synths - the small squadron of approaching aircraft had been communicating with air-traffic control for some time, several shapes transforming from pinpricks to rapidly approaching tubes. One, the largest of the group, dipped its nose down toward the hastily rebuilt airport, distant sunlight shining off of the raised stabilizers at the very top of its tail. Outside of the wasteland, its pristine white interior, marked only by the flag of Ronto, would’ve been an unusual sight - but the sheer scarcity of aircraft in the wasteland made its cleanliness and gull-wings seem even more unusual by comparison. One by one, more noises joined the first, but rather than preparing to land, they simply sped past the airfield without a care.
Twin-engined shadows briefly blotted out the sun, Maple Leaf roundels the only distinct features - aside from pairs of gunpods - visible on the undersides. Wasting no time, one after the other, the fighter escorts zoomed by, off to the ocean, only to quickly begin slow, sloping turns in v-shaped formation, back toward Canadian territory.
The largest aircraft, though, continued on its gentle slope toward the landing strip, slowing to a practical crawl barely faster than pre-war cars on the highway.
Halfway down the runway from where B7 stood, the plane touched down, nose pulling gently upward mere moments before impact. It rolled forward for a fraction of a second before the nose gear, too, touched down - and then continued to roll down the runway, onto the taxiway, before finally coming to a stop a couple handfuls of meters from B7, enough distance to avoid striking her with propwash.
The exit door toward the cockpit swung downward, a set of metal stairs extending toward the apron.
One-by-one, guards in the same red, steson-capped uniforms B7 had seen in that tiny frontier town marched down the steps, filing off to either side until they formed two lines six abreast, one deep, standing at attention.
Soon after, a fair-skinned middle-aged man clad in a black suit emerged from the aircraft, marching down the steps after the officers. Two moved into place in front of her, though he was quickly followed by another person - a slightly younger woman of a darker, wheatish skin tone dressed in a navy blue pantsuit.
Followed by their pistol-armed guards, they made their way toward B7, while the pilot and copilot of the aircraft meticulously checked over instruments in the cockpit.
“I trust I have the pleasure of addressing Minister Plenipotentiary Stephen McLeod”, B7 said turning to the gentlemen as the retinue approached her, “As well as Attaché to the Minister of Science and Industrial Development, Harijhatta Jutti,” she nodded toward the woman, “I am B7-34, assistant to the Director of The Institute as well as your aide throughout your stay here. On behalf of everyone in The Institute, welcome to Mount Desert Island. I do hope your flight was a pleasant one.”
B7 motioned with an open palm toward the largest of the prefabricated structures, “Before I escort you to Acadia, I’d like to invite you in briefly for a decontamination screening, use of facilities, and refreshments if you would like some. Do you have any immediate questions before we proceed? If not, please follow me.”
"No immediate questions," the Minister replied, silently noting the mechanical thing standing next to her - another one of the synths, he supposed. Harijhatta already seemed excited, but she managed to contain herself.
"Our flight was pleasant, yes. We've not had any interference, though that may become an issue in the near future, thanks to the somewhat nearby presence of the Enclave - hence the escort. For now, though, let's move through decontamination."
“Of course,” B7 replied with a nod of her head, “Right this way.”
B7 then turned and led the group into the reception building, passing through a set of secure double doors held open by skeletal Gen-1 synths. They then entered a tight hallway lined with wall mounted rectangular radiation sensors. At the end of the hallway, a Gen-3 male monitored a terminal closely and once the entire group had passed through, he gave a quick thumbs up to B7.
Without pausing, the Synth assistant then led the Rontonians into a medium sized open room filled with white tables containing all manner of assorted pre-war snacks and purified water. Slocum Joe’s Donuts, carefully made as precisely as possible to follow the pre-war recipe, were laid out in an elaborate turntable display next to a large self-dispensing coffee machine at the far end of the room. White uniformed Gen-3s manned each table station and happily offered the group any refreshments they desired. A small seating area with cushioned chairs was available for anyone to sit if they preferred to. It was clear the building itself was sparse and utilitarian, and these arrangements had been specifically prepared for the delegation, but that made it no less welcoming.
“Please take anything you’d like and use the restroom to the left should you require it. Also, just an aside, your pilots and aircraft crew are likewise welcome to stay here and make use of these facilities for as long as is required. They will be invited in once we’ve departed.” B7 said cheerfully.
------
Once the Ronto delegation had rested, B7 politely gathered them up and ushered them through the proceeding door at the opposite end from where they’d entered. They now found themselves in a small grey room lined from top to bottom with electronic panels and all manner of unknown equipment, which seemed very different from anything else in the building. A circular base lay on the floor beneath their feet which formed an elaborate spiral pattern.
“Please stand here and wait one moment,” B7 said.
B7 then stared forward, a small smile spreading on her face as she spoke something clear and audible to all, but that seemed to be directed to no-one in the room,
“B7-34 reporting and ready for relay to Acadia. I have the Ronto delegation with me.”
Suddenly there was a flash of blue light, and B7 disappeared before their very eyes, before each Rontontian, in turn, did the same: vanishing into the molecular relay in an instant.
--------------------------------------------
Director Crawford had watched from the balcony of the Acadia observatory as the Rontonian planes had descended from the sky. His mind churned with the possibilities of what might be accomplished if an agreement could be reached between them. They were clearly an advanced and established nation, more so than most groups in the wastes. After all, only The Brotherhood and The Enclave had managed to project that kind of air power in the past. He’d seen nothing that would indicate that Ronto outmatched The Institute in technological advancements, but everything pointed to the truth that their resources and mobilization were something to be wary of.
This could prove an interesting meeting.
—-----------------------------------------
After some time waiting, Xavier had made his way down to the lower level of the Observatory with a pair of Coursers in tow and was standing before the opposite end of the relay system. Despite the immense power required for even a short-range usage of the relay, Xavier had insisted on its use, hoping to use it to illustrate The Institute’s full capabilities.
“Sir, B7 has arrived at the relay point.” One of the coursers reported.
“Proceed.” Xavier nodded.
In an instant, the Ronto delegation was standing before him along with B7, the successful relay having transported them from the airport to the Observatory in a split second. He could only hope the countless hours of energy cutback on to enable the traversal would be worth it.
“Welcome to Acadia,” He said warmly as he approached the delegation and extended his hand, “I’m Dr. Xavier Allen Crawford, current acting Director of The Commonwealth Institute of Technology.”
The Rontonians were shocked, certainly - even amazed - but seeing as they were intact and still armed, they endeavored not to show it.
"Minister Plenipotentiary Stephen McCloud," he replied, reaching out to give Dr. Crawford's hand a firm shake. The Minister of Science, of course, shook next, and Stephen continued.
"...And Minister of Science and Industrial Development, Harijhatta Jutti, PhD."
"It's a pleasure to meet you. Doctor Crawford. We'd heard a good few things about your technology, but we certainly didn't anticipate teleportation. You don't mind the presence of our bodyguards, I hope? It's standard procedure for first contact." He said, smiling gently. The Minister of Science, however, looked simply excited.
“Oh, not at all,” The Director replied with a smile of his own, “Provided of course you don’t mind mine.” He gestured towards the dour Coursers to either side of him, “I assure you that you won’t find a safer spot anywhere on the East Coast, but one can never be too careful.”
“I’m sure we have much to discuss and I hope our conversation will be a fruitful one. Without further ado then, if you would follow me I’ll take you to a more comfortable location where we can chat.”
The Director then turned and began leading the group through the observatory basement, with B7 keeping pace directly behind him. They traveled past banks of database servers and various pieces of equipment. Every so often they crossed paths with an Institute scientist in one of their yellow facilities lab coats or synths in red and white uniforms. The Coursers kept a careful watch on the group at all times, but maintained a respectful distance.
Soon they reached an elevator and the Director ushered them inside. Once its glass doors had closed, he turned to the delegates,
“I’m afraid what you’ll see here is a fraction of what The Institute used to be. This is not our original home, you understand. We’ve certainly done what we can to make the best of it.”
Moments later and the elevator doors had opened back up and out into the open air of a bright blue sky. They were standing atop the observatory balcony now, which wrapped around the dome. The entirety of Acadia National park and part of Far Harbor was visible to them, along with the walled-in sanctuary of prefabricated buildings and residences that formed the Institute’s mountaintop home. Xavier then led them around the balcony for some distance until they came to a short flight of stairs which led up to a small enclosure that seemed to be jutting out from the dome and had clearly not been part of the original structure.
B7 went up first and opened the door to allow their guests into a small window-lined sunroom consisting of a pristine white table and chairs. The sunroom looked out onto a magnificent view of the harbor and the wider ocean beyond.
“Please take a seat,” The Director said as he sat down at the far end of the table. He then adjusted his glasses and ran a hand through his dark hair, “I trust B7 has already offered you refreshments but if you’d like anything at any point, please don’t hesitate to ask. Perhaps B7 you can start by fetching everyone a purified water just in case?”
“Of course sir.”
“Thank you B7, “ He then turned back to the delegates, “As for your guards they may have a seat or wait outside. Whichever is more comfortable to you. My Coursers will remain standing outside.”
“Now,” he said, leaning forward and laying his folded hands on the table, “I appreciate the fact that you’ve all come a long way, with the assurances of nothing other than what little you heard from the Synth Scout you received. I’ll start by offering up what I hope to get out of our talks here: I want to open a dialogue, plain and simple. The Institute has remained in the shadows and without friends for far too long, and we suffered greatly because of that. I want us to come to an understanding that will benefit both our peoples greatly.”
"That's exactly what we're looking for, and I'm quite sure there are plenty of things we can offer you," Stephen replied, gesturing for Jutti to sit before quietly sitting down himself. "Generating capacity, for example - in the more than two hundred years since the Great War, we've managed to restore a large portion of pre-war Ontario's generating capacity, and we have a large surplus to offer at the moment, as a result. More soon enough, we believe, now that we've started to push north and secure what remains of some prewar nuclear research facilities. Of course, I'm sure you understand that I can't make promises with nothing in return, but I'm confident we'll be able to come to a mutually beneficial agreement soon enough, particularly considering the breadth and depth of your scientific knowledge." Stephen said, hands folded one over the other in his lap, while Jutti sat silently, waiting for an opportune chance to speak.
“Power is indeed something we are in great need of,” The Director nodded, “As you might guess, our technological progress is somewhat hampered by this limitation. Even before coming here, we were forced to ration power and distribute it according to project priority. Now those problems are even worse.”
Xavier removed his glasses, and cleaned them briefly within the folds of his lab coat putting them back on, “As far as the rest goes, I appreciate that there will need to be a give and take in all things we discuss here. So with that being said lets both agree to lay our cards out on the table and hash things out appropriately. What then, are some areas that Ronto needs scientific or technological support in? Let’s begin with that, and I’ll decide if we are able to meet that need first and foremost.”
"Minister Jutti?"
She nodded, clearing her throat. "At the moment, our greatest need - in terms of technological support - is in improving crop yields. We've dug up as much information as we can find on prewar agricultural techniques, but those only go so far, especially in a world that is still recovering from disastrous levels of environmental pollution. Put simply, Ronto attracts refugees, and it's our duty to feed them. Second to that concern - and related to it - is our communications network. We've made great strides in terms of deploying radio and even television technology, but without access to satellites, we lack the ability of extremely long-range communication that'd be valuable for securing mineral resources and coordinating strikes against the Enclave."
“Ah, yes, agricultural research is something we have made great strides in. Bioscience previously achieved astounding success with The Warwick Initiative, which was able to produce a strain of GMO crops that nearly tripled harvest yields in even relatively infertile soil. Perhaps when we are finished here you might be interested in touring our Greenhouse? I’d be happy to arrange it.”
The Director then paused and raised a hand to his chin thoughtfully before continuing, “As for communications, that is a bit more difficult to solve. Degrading pre-war infrastructure is the largest hurdle to overcome, as I’m sure you know. Every year that passes means that there are less and less pre-war satellites in orbit, as most if not all are well past their expected term of service. However, Advanced Systems did at one point have a project on the table which included in its goals the development and launch of new satellites to reinforce the failing old network. It was scrapped, as you might guess, because of material cost and a simple lack of need. Long-range communication was never in any sort of great demand, as our operations typically did not extend past a certain range anyway. I think we might be able to resurrect that project, and perhaps with our combined resources see it to completion. Is that agreeable?”
"We're absolutely interested in both of your proposals," Jutti replied, after receiving a nod of approval from the Minister Plenipotentiary. "You're aware of the difficulties in launching satellites this far from the equator, I'm sure - and, as you've stated, restoring and maintaining more stable methods of communication when it comes to prewar telephone lines, and the like. Mr. McLeod told me that we'd also like establish a line of communication with you as soon as possible, and, given our relationship proves to be fruitful, it may become possible to enlist your aid in recovering scientific knowledge from other prewar facilities - the Chapman Space Centre, for example." She explained, gradually leaning forward, excited at the prospect of scientific exchange. McLeod, on the other hand, had an entirely calm air about him, neither excited nor bored, a carefully practiced in-between.
"Of course -" McLeod interrupted her. "These locations are in Canada, and we consider a number to be our sovereign property, so we'd suggest that they are not visited without our permission - just as we wouldn't go rooting through your data without permission. I'm able to agree to your proposals as they've been described so far on behalf of my government, however."
"Ah well, that is no problem," Xavier replied, "We have no interest in interfering with your sovereignty. Now as for your earlier point, " he said, turning back to Jutti, "There was some consideration given to the issue of a non-equatorial launch. Frankly, the proposed solution was a bit fanciful at the time, but perhaps still possible. We can discuss those details at a later date however."
"There is something else I'd like to put on the table as well. I'll be forthright and say it's my most pressing concern,” He paused, looking back and forth between the two Ministers, “Ronto is rumoured to be a significant military by those of us in the east, and judging by your fighter escort display earlier I’d say that those rumours are not unfounded. I’d like certain assurances that The Institute will be reinforced in the case of any hostile activity towards us. Of course such a pact would work both ways, we may not be the strongest military power in the wastes, but our Synths form the core of an innately disciplined and trained soldierly which fears nothing and wants for nothing. And our technological expertise could be quite beneficial in certain situations, especially up against groups such as The Enclave. A single well-orchestrated cyber attack can be worth more than an entire army in the field. What would your government say to such a proposal?”
"That... Is an admittedly more difficult matter, Dr. Crawford." Stephen replied, gently pursing his lips. "Now, I'm not saying no - in fact, we can negotiate precise terms right here - but ratification of defense agreements requires a vote by parliament, is all." He explained.
“Indeed, the wheels of democracy must turn and so forth,” The Director said with a shrug, “I understand. Although…come to think of it…..” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment as he considered his next words carefully, “Perhaps…it would be more appropriate if I should plead my case directly to your Parliament and speak before it? I’d imagine that its members might be more apt to vote in favor of such an alliance if they were able to hear it from me personally, as opposed to a diplomat relaying it by proxy. I will defer to your judgment of course, as I’m unfamiliar with your customs, but I would not shirk such an opportunity.”
"I won't comment on whether or not it'll be more effective, but I can say that, if that's something you wish do to, you'll have to speak with the Prime Minister. Parliament generally doesn't speak with foreign leaders, but the Prime Minister does, and leads the largest party in Parliament. It's largely her duty or that of appointed ambassadors to negotiate high-level treaties, anyways - besides, a visit will give us a chance to show Ronto to you." Stephen smiled. Besides, in the context of a defensive treaty, it'd be best one of them meets with her wife anyways.
"If you intend to do that, I'd recommend bringing along whatever diplomatic staff you'd deem necessary, along with anyone you'd need to negotiate military treaties. I don't anticipate significant culture shock, however." He continued, omitting the issue of synth personhood. Whatever they were, he didn't know - but he knew he didn't want to risk being killed over it.
“That was my thought as well,” Xavier nodded in agreement, “I would very much like to visit it. I confess that I’ve spent most of my life in isolation: I was born and raised in The Institute, and my first interaction with the outside world was my journey here. I think it would do me good to see something more of the world than what my bubble of relative tranquility has offered thus far. As for my staff, I would need only bring myself, my assistant,’ He motioned to B7, “And a few Coursers for personal protection. As acting Director I speak wholly for The Directorate, and therefore all of The Institute’s personnel and am empowered to act accordingly.”
“Excellent, now that’s settled, I’m quite content to hear out anything else you wish to speak on. The floor is yours.” He said finally.
“Well, delving deeper into the matters we’ve discussed, I would like to see more of your facilities. I understand that you have your own state secrets, of course, and I won’t ask you to divulge them, but it’ll nonetheless help your case the more I’m able to see how you and your folk live and work.” Stephen explained, bringing his hands together in his lap. “Words help, of course,, but I haven’t seen enough of the Institute to make any recommendations to my Prime Minister in your favour, aside from how advanced your technology is and your generally hospitable treatment of us.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Xavier said as he stood up, “And with that said I’d like to extend you an offer to stay with us for a night. It will allow you some time to get some sense of our daily life here and then be fully rested before a return journey to Ronto. And perhaps an official tour of sorts could be arranged, I’m sure B7 would be more than happy to conduct it.”
“Absolutely sir,” Came the reply from the female Synth.
“You also have my full permission to explore Acadia for yourself, within reason of course, certain buildings and areas will be restricted. I also ask that if you have any interest in heading outside our walls that you allow us to escort you. The wilderness of Mount Desert Island can be quite dangerous, and the fog….unpredictable. Other than that, you have our hospitality. B7 would you be so kind as to show them to the prepared quarters?”
—------------------------------------------
Minutes later, B7 had led the delegates down and out of the main Observatory building, and took them towards the far end of the Acadian perimeter, towards a one-story prefabricated structure. A couple of skeletal Gen-1 Synths helped carry any luggage they had brought with them. When the door to the building opened automatically, it revealed a hallway with a series of rooms, each one containing a bed, a writing desk, and a smaller lavatory room. It was altogether sparse accommodations, but very clean at least,
“Rooms for you both and your guards,” B7 motioned for them to enter, “If you should need anything, simply speak to any attendant Synth. They will relay your request to me. Otherwise, we will see each other again tomorrow. ”
Far Harbor
Zadok the Watchmen was making his usual rounds atop part of the rebuilt hull along the coast, carrying a large polehook which he leaned loosely on his left shoulder. The grizzled old Harborwatch veteran was cursing both the cold sea spray and the stench of rotting fish that permeated the air and looking forward to a hot bowl of creamy vegetable soup that he knew his wife would be cooking up this very moment back home. His usual spot by the fireplace in his cozy easy chair was calling to him as well and within less than an hour he’d be off duty and racing home to warm up.
He stopped along the hull’s ramparts and looked out towards the water, the fog was light today but still obscured part of the bay and the ocean beyond. He stared out longingly, daydreaming about how good that soup would be, before his vision focused in on a shape that began to clearly manifest itself through the fog. It didn’t take the old seafarer long to realize what it was,
“Red Death take me that’s a ship!” He sputtered out, and immediately ran towards the nearest bell station atop the hull. He began furiously ringing the bell and shouting at the top of his lungs to alert the rest of the Harborwatch,
“Ship sighted! All hands! Ship in the bay!”
He knew full well it wasn’t one of their fishing vessels, but who could it be?
--------------------------------------------------------
The bell mounted in the Far Harbor church tolled loudly and its sound carried across the bay and even to Cadillac mountain. Members of the Harborwatch raced towards the docks along with a few civilians, armed with whatever weaponry they had on hand including pole hooks, meat hooks, and lever action rifles. Some of the Harborwatch ran up to the hull and grabbed hold of large swivel harpoon guns mounted on its wooden parapets and swung them towards the approaching ship. Alarm mounted as it was soon noticed that far from being alone, this ship appeared to be the first in an entire fleet of vessels that were now anchoring themselves just off shore.
When the foreign sailors began to disembark and tie up their ship, none of the Harborwatch made a move to stop them, but instead watched cautiously as someone who appeared to be their leader approached. Decked in marine armor and with a curiously speared shark crest emblazoned on his helmet, he struck an imposing figure along with the rest of his entourage.
“Hello. I am Chief Liam Carter-Spearshark, of the Spearshark Trapper clan. I am here to look for my relatives, who travelled here to hunt years ago. I don’t want a fight unless you do, and I would be happy to talk to whatever you folks have as a leader.”
At the mention of the word ‘Trapper’ the Harborwatch reflexively gripped their weapons tighter, despite the chieftains apparent polite demeanor, and inaudible murmurs filtered through the crowd.
“Lower your weapons,” Came the call from the back. Captain Avery strode forward. She was dressed in a Harbor fisherman’s outfit upon which straps of scrap metal had been attached to form a makeshift armor and wore a brown tricorn hat upon her head. An old fishing net was draped about her left shoulder like a sidecape. She’d obviously come dressed for battle, and when the Chieftain offered peaceful interaction she was more than happy to accept
“I’m Captain Avery, I speak for the Harborfolk. You’ll have to excuse our somewhat tense demeanor and show of weapons, we don’t get many visitors to Far Harbor and we’re always cautious of new faces. I’m sure you can understand. If you’re here to talk, I’m happy to acquiesce. Perhaps we can talk somewhere a bit more private, if you’d be willing to follow me.”
She looked around at the Harborwatch before continuing,
“I only ask that you and any who accompany you disarm before you do so. We’d appreciate a show of courtesy. You have my word and honor as Captain that you’ll be granted safe passage.”
(OOC: if the Trappers refuse to disarm, Avery will still take them in but the Harborwatch will be on their guard)
------------------------------------
Avery led the Chieftain towards her house situated on the docks. She welcomed him and any members of his entourage in and bid them to sit around a large table on the lower floor. She removed her hat and placed it on the table to the side before sitting down herself.
“Before we begin, can I offer you anything? Something hot to drink? Perhaps a bit of food?” She then nodded to one of the Harborwatch who’d entered the house and was leaning up against the far wall, “Fetch them anything they want from the Last Plank. Tell Mitch that it’s on me.”
Avery shifted uncomfortably in her seat before she continued and addressed their leader, Spearshank,
“You said that you came here looking for your kin; fellow Trappers. I confess that we did not realize that the Trappers here were part of a larger group, although we did know that they came from beyond our shores. If you are here seeking them, then I’m afraid I have some unwelcome news. The Trappers who were on this island were driven mad by the fog, and lost to it. Either falling to the creatures that dwell in the deep fog or driven out by Acadia when they pacified this part of the Island.”
She held up her hand, hoping to calm any immediate protest,
“And before you become quick to anger or judgement. Know that your kin caused much harm to this island and its people. I know many of our Harborfolk, especially those obstinate few who tried to eke out a living in the wilderness, were lost to Trapper attacks and viciously murdered. So understand that we have lost friends and family as well, but even so I do not fault them completely for their actions: the fog is ultimately to blame for consuming them as it has so many others.”
Avery paused and took a deep breath,
“So with that said, I’m sure you have questions aplenty. I’ll do my best to answer them, provided we can all remain civil.”
Zadok the Watchmen was making his usual rounds atop part of the rebuilt hull along the coast, carrying a large polehook which he leaned loosely on his left shoulder. The grizzled old Harborwatch veteran was cursing both the cold sea spray and the stench of rotting fish that permeated the air and looking forward to a hot bowl of creamy vegetable soup that he knew his wife would be cooking up this very moment back home. His usual spot by the fireplace in his cozy easy chair was calling to him as well and within less than an hour he’d be off duty and racing home to warm up.
He stopped along the hull’s ramparts and looked out towards the water, the fog was light today but still obscured part of the bay and the ocean beyond. He stared out longingly, daydreaming about how good that soup would be, before his vision focused in on a shape that began to clearly manifest itself through the fog. It didn’t take the old seafarer long to realize what it was,
“Red Death take me that’s a ship!” He sputtered out, and immediately ran towards the nearest bell station atop the hull. He began furiously ringing the bell and shouting at the top of his lungs to alert the rest of the Harborwatch,
“Ship sighted! All hands! Ship in the bay!”
He knew full well it wasn’t one of their fishing vessels, but who could it be?
--------------------------------------------------------
The bell mounted in the Far Harbor church tolled loudly and its sound carried across the bay and even to Cadillac mountain. Members of the Harborwatch raced towards the docks along with a few civilians, armed with whatever weaponry they had on hand including pole hooks, meat hooks, and lever action rifles. Some of the Harborwatch ran up to the hull and grabbed hold of large swivel harpoon guns mounted on its wooden parapets and swung them towards the approaching ship. Alarm mounted as it was soon noticed that far from being alone, this ship appeared to be the first in an entire fleet of vessels that were now anchoring themselves just off shore.
When the foreign sailors began to disembark and tie up their ship, none of the Harborwatch made a move to stop them, but instead watched cautiously as someone who appeared to be their leader approached. Decked in marine armor and with a curiously speared shark crest emblazoned on his helmet, he struck an imposing figure along with the rest of his entourage.
“Hello. I am Chief Liam Carter-Spearshark, of the Spearshark Trapper clan. I am here to look for my relatives, who travelled here to hunt years ago. I don’t want a fight unless you do, and I would be happy to talk to whatever you folks have as a leader.”
At the mention of the word ‘Trapper’ the Harborwatch reflexively gripped their weapons tighter, despite the chieftains apparent polite demeanor, and inaudible murmurs filtered through the crowd.
“Lower your weapons,” Came the call from the back. Captain Avery strode forward. She was dressed in a Harbor fisherman’s outfit upon which straps of scrap metal had been attached to form a makeshift armor and wore a brown tricorn hat upon her head. An old fishing net was draped about her left shoulder like a sidecape. She’d obviously come dressed for battle, and when the Chieftain offered peaceful interaction she was more than happy to accept
“I’m Captain Avery, I speak for the Harborfolk. You’ll have to excuse our somewhat tense demeanor and show of weapons, we don’t get many visitors to Far Harbor and we’re always cautious of new faces. I’m sure you can understand. If you’re here to talk, I’m happy to acquiesce. Perhaps we can talk somewhere a bit more private, if you’d be willing to follow me.”
She looked around at the Harborwatch before continuing,
“I only ask that you and any who accompany you disarm before you do so. We’d appreciate a show of courtesy. You have my word and honor as Captain that you’ll be granted safe passage.”
(OOC: if the Trappers refuse to disarm, Avery will still take them in but the Harborwatch will be on their guard)
------------------------------------
Avery led the Chieftain towards her house situated on the docks. She welcomed him and any members of his entourage in and bid them to sit around a large table on the lower floor. She removed her hat and placed it on the table to the side before sitting down herself.
“Before we begin, can I offer you anything? Something hot to drink? Perhaps a bit of food?” She then nodded to one of the Harborwatch who’d entered the house and was leaning up against the far wall, “Fetch them anything they want from the Last Plank. Tell Mitch that it’s on me.”
Avery shifted uncomfortably in her seat before she continued and addressed their leader, Spearshank,
“You said that you came here looking for your kin; fellow Trappers. I confess that we did not realize that the Trappers here were part of a larger group, although we did know that they came from beyond our shores. If you are here seeking them, then I’m afraid I have some unwelcome news. The Trappers who were on this island were driven mad by the fog, and lost to it. Either falling to the creatures that dwell in the deep fog or driven out by Acadia when they pacified this part of the Island.”
She held up her hand, hoping to calm any immediate protest,
“And before you become quick to anger or judgement. Know that your kin caused much harm to this island and its people. I know many of our Harborfolk, especially those obstinate few who tried to eke out a living in the wilderness, were lost to Trapper attacks and viciously murdered. So understand that we have lost friends and family as well, but even so I do not fault them completely for their actions: the fog is ultimately to blame for consuming them as it has so many others.”
Avery paused and took a deep breath,
“So with that said, I’m sure you have questions aplenty. I’ll do my best to answer them, provided we can all remain civil.”
<Snipped quote by Andronicus23>
I think I'd prefer to do a collab, when it comes to first contact, and especially with Synths - I'm not especially comfortable controlling people from someone else's 'nation', even with explicit permission.
Fair enough, we can certainly do that.
@Andronicus23Did you have specific plans for your scouting Synths? I don't want to intrude, but I'd love to have Ronto approach the Institute for help improving crop yields, especially as they'd be sending out Pathfinders and diplomats to make contact with other wasteland factions. There's also the sheer number of radio transmitters operating in Rontonian territory (compared to the rest of the wasteland), and while I can't imagine getting great reception at all, they'd probably at least be able to notice the noise at night - or bump into some Pathfinders!
Honestly, what you just suggested is pretty much my plan. If anyone is interested in contacting The Institute, they could have a Synth arrive at their territory or otherwise learn of them/bump into their representatives and then through the Synth contact The Institute. I can write for the Synth, or you could CC them. Either way is fine.
The Institute has such a small out of the way territory, I figured this was a good way to enable contact and get a network with larger nations going.
Director Xavier Crawford - Acadia Observatory, The Institute
Six synths stood before Director Crawford as he inspected them and their gear closely. Each of them were dressed in Harbormen garb, and were lightly equipped with a survival pack and a lever-action rifle supplied by Far Harbor. They’d be traveling light and keeping a low profile whenever possible, and only contacting The Institute via a long-range transmitter to check in and report status when necessary. Xavier disliked the idea of sending the Gen-3’s out in the wastes unsupported, but The Institute would remain effectively blind if nothing was done. They need to gather valuable intel about what was out there, which factions had arisen in the East, and who they might be able to contact directly. Waiting around and simply hoping to remain undisturbed and undiscovered seemed a poor excuse for a plan, and it had unfortunately been one that Institute leadership had entertained for far too long.
Xavier nodded approval and turned to the nearby Courser, Z4-22: a black haired female synth who’d previously been a member of DiMA’s Synth Refugees before her reclamation.
“They appear ready. You're approved to deploy them,” He said, “Escort them as far as the mainland and then return immediately. After that they’ll be on their own.”
He looked back to the Synths,
“I expect an initial report upon arrival at your assigned destinations. Understood?”
“Yes Director,” The synths nodded.
“All of you, follow me,” Z4 ordered as she began heading for the Observatory doors. The Synths dutifully complied.
Xavier then looked over at his personal Synth assistant, B7. She’d been standing off to the side since the courser had brought the Synths in,
“I hope this works...otherwise we’ll have lost six Gen-3’s and gained nothing.” Xavier muttered as he watched them leave, “But for the record…..I think it’s necessary. I’ll admit I was hesitant when you came to me with the suggestion, but you’re absolutely right.”
B7 brushed aside a strand of blonde hair and watched as the last synth left,
“You need to know what's out there. We need to know. I vetted them personally...each of them could be Coursers if they were given the evaluation tests. They’ll make it to their destinations...and we’ll get valuable information as a result.”
“Then let's see what they find.”
----------------------------------------------------
Dr. Mara Holdren, Far Harbor
“Give me that box of food you stupid plastic freak.”
Mara heard the commotion right as she’d stepped back off the dock. A crowd had gathered around her Gen-2 Synth guards and the crates of produce they and the Harborwatch were offloading. Several angry residents of Far Harbor were trying to grab a couple of the boxes for themselves, and one in particular was attempting to wrestle away one that was held by the Synth Leader. The Synth was holding back and stoically warning the Harborman,
“Please stand back.” It droned out, “Refrain from theft.”
“Everyone back away god-damnit!” One of the Harborwatch members shouted at the increasingly unruly crowd, “Where the hell is the Captain, we’re going to have a full on riot here soon.”
Finally the man who’d been wrestling with the Synth pulled out a meat hook from his belt and took a swipe at the Gen-2’s head. The Synth Leader swiftly dodged the attack and then in one fluent motion, drew out a holstered security baton, extended it, and jabbed it into the Harborman’s stomach. The man immediately let out a sharp cry and fell back to the ground, winded by the strike.
The other Gen-2’s immediately formed up around their leader and raised their laser rifles,
“By order of The Institute, disperse.” The Synth Leader ordered. The crowd immediately backed away, and even the Harborwatch seemed surprised and began swiftly backing away from the cart at the sudden outburst from the Synths.
Mara burst into a run and began waving her hands in the air frantically,
“No! Halt! Stand down!” She shouted. J2 stand down!” The Synth leader immediately lowered his hands and the rest of the Synth guards lowered their weapons.
“What the hell is going on?” Came a voice from the crowd. Captain Avery had, finally, returned.
“Damn thing nearly killed me,” The harborman who’d been struck groaned out as he lay on the ground holding his stomach.
“And why’s that I wonder?” Avery looked at him skeptically. She turned to Mara, “What happened?”
“He and a few others were trying to take some of the crates...forcibly. The Synths reacted defensively, that’s all. “
“They damn near shot at the crowd!” one of the Harborwatch men shouted out.
“They are programmed to protect Institute personnel and property. They wouldn’t have fired unless absolutely necessary,” Mara contended, “I assure you. They were not going to shoot.”
Murmurs and mutterings of disagreement fluttered through the crowd and Captain Avery raised her hand,
“Well they wouldn’t have reacted that way if you damn fools hadn’t been trying to take the produce. What the hell makes you so impatient? The food is going to get distributed fairly and evenly, same as everything else. Honestly, Acadia sends us supplies to help and this is how you react? Shame on anyone who was trying to grab something from that cart. You think you deserve it more than anyone else here?”
“Ain’t that Captain, but damned if my kids aren’t going hungry,” The man on the floor wheezed, “Haven’t been able to fish for days and I just want to provide for my family. That food ain’t going to last forever, what’re we going to do when it runs out?”
“We’ll send more,” Mara said confidently, “The Director will receive my report, and I’ll make sure to emphasize the needs of Far Harbor. We’ll figure out what’s happening here and resolve it. You have my word.”
“How do we know you won’t just go up to your Ivory tower up there and lock your doors?” One of the crowd asked.
“Because I’m staying here in Far Harbor.” Mara replied. Silence fell around her.
“See? There you go. Now quit your bellyaching and go back home!” Avery told the crowd.
The crowd began to disperse with some further murmurings, but there was no further argument or disagreement. Mara’s assurance’s had at least satisfied them for now.
“So you’re staying then?” Avery turned to Mara, “I hope that wasn’t just a bluff.”
“I intend to stay until I’ve determined the cause of whatever blight is affecting the waters. My report to The Director will include a request to do so. I’m sure he’ll approve.”
“Good to hear, in that case I’ll make sure to provide you with quarters. There’s an abandoned house on the south end of town, overlooking the bay. Might take a little work to make it homely, but it's still in good shape. You’re welcome to it. “
“Sounds fine, thank you Captain Avery,” Mara said with a nod.
“If you need anything, or if anyone gives you trouble. You come straight to me. I’ll handle it.”
“Understood.”
Six synths stood before Director Crawford as he inspected them and their gear closely. Each of them were dressed in Harbormen garb, and were lightly equipped with a survival pack and a lever-action rifle supplied by Far Harbor. They’d be traveling light and keeping a low profile whenever possible, and only contacting The Institute via a long-range transmitter to check in and report status when necessary. Xavier disliked the idea of sending the Gen-3’s out in the wastes unsupported, but The Institute would remain effectively blind if nothing was done. They need to gather valuable intel about what was out there, which factions had arisen in the East, and who they might be able to contact directly. Waiting around and simply hoping to remain undisturbed and undiscovered seemed a poor excuse for a plan, and it had unfortunately been one that Institute leadership had entertained for far too long.
Xavier nodded approval and turned to the nearby Courser, Z4-22: a black haired female synth who’d previously been a member of DiMA’s Synth Refugees before her reclamation.
“They appear ready. You're approved to deploy them,” He said, “Escort them as far as the mainland and then return immediately. After that they’ll be on their own.”
He looked back to the Synths,
“I expect an initial report upon arrival at your assigned destinations. Understood?”
“Yes Director,” The synths nodded.
“All of you, follow me,” Z4 ordered as she began heading for the Observatory doors. The Synths dutifully complied.
Xavier then looked over at his personal Synth assistant, B7. She’d been standing off to the side since the courser had brought the Synths in,
“I hope this works...otherwise we’ll have lost six Gen-3’s and gained nothing.” Xavier muttered as he watched them leave, “But for the record…..I think it’s necessary. I’ll admit I was hesitant when you came to me with the suggestion, but you’re absolutely right.”
B7 brushed aside a strand of blonde hair and watched as the last synth left,
“You need to know what's out there. We need to know. I vetted them personally...each of them could be Coursers if they were given the evaluation tests. They’ll make it to their destinations...and we’ll get valuable information as a result.”
“Then let's see what they find.”
----------------------------------------------------
Dr. Mara Holdren, Far Harbor
“Give me that box of food you stupid plastic freak.”
Mara heard the commotion right as she’d stepped back off the dock. A crowd had gathered around her Gen-2 Synth guards and the crates of produce they and the Harborwatch were offloading. Several angry residents of Far Harbor were trying to grab a couple of the boxes for themselves, and one in particular was attempting to wrestle away one that was held by the Synth Leader. The Synth was holding back and stoically warning the Harborman,
“Please stand back.” It droned out, “Refrain from theft.”
“Everyone back away god-damnit!” One of the Harborwatch members shouted at the increasingly unruly crowd, “Where the hell is the Captain, we’re going to have a full on riot here soon.”
Finally the man who’d been wrestling with the Synth pulled out a meat hook from his belt and took a swipe at the Gen-2’s head. The Synth Leader swiftly dodged the attack and then in one fluent motion, drew out a holstered security baton, extended it, and jabbed it into the Harborman’s stomach. The man immediately let out a sharp cry and fell back to the ground, winded by the strike.
The other Gen-2’s immediately formed up around their leader and raised their laser rifles,
“By order of The Institute, disperse.” The Synth Leader ordered. The crowd immediately backed away, and even the Harborwatch seemed surprised and began swiftly backing away from the cart at the sudden outburst from the Synths.
Mara burst into a run and began waving her hands in the air frantically,
“No! Halt! Stand down!” She shouted. J2 stand down!” The Synth leader immediately lowered his hands and the rest of the Synth guards lowered their weapons.
“What the hell is going on?” Came a voice from the crowd. Captain Avery had, finally, returned.
“Damn thing nearly killed me,” The harborman who’d been struck groaned out as he lay on the ground holding his stomach.
“And why’s that I wonder?” Avery looked at him skeptically. She turned to Mara, “What happened?”
“He and a few others were trying to take some of the crates...forcibly. The Synths reacted defensively, that’s all. “
“They damn near shot at the crowd!” one of the Harborwatch men shouted out.
“They are programmed to protect Institute personnel and property. They wouldn’t have fired unless absolutely necessary,” Mara contended, “I assure you. They were not going to shoot.”
Murmurs and mutterings of disagreement fluttered through the crowd and Captain Avery raised her hand,
“Well they wouldn’t have reacted that way if you damn fools hadn’t been trying to take the produce. What the hell makes you so impatient? The food is going to get distributed fairly and evenly, same as everything else. Honestly, Acadia sends us supplies to help and this is how you react? Shame on anyone who was trying to grab something from that cart. You think you deserve it more than anyone else here?”
“Ain’t that Captain, but damned if my kids aren’t going hungry,” The man on the floor wheezed, “Haven’t been able to fish for days and I just want to provide for my family. That food ain’t going to last forever, what’re we going to do when it runs out?”
“We’ll send more,” Mara said confidently, “The Director will receive my report, and I’ll make sure to emphasize the needs of Far Harbor. We’ll figure out what’s happening here and resolve it. You have my word.”
“How do we know you won’t just go up to your Ivory tower up there and lock your doors?” One of the crowd asked.
“Because I’m staying here in Far Harbor.” Mara replied. Silence fell around her.
“See? There you go. Now quit your bellyaching and go back home!” Avery told the crowd.
The crowd began to disperse with some further murmurings, but there was no further argument or disagreement. Mara’s assurance’s had at least satisfied them for now.
“So you’re staying then?” Avery turned to Mara, “I hope that wasn’t just a bluff.”
“I intend to stay until I’ve determined the cause of whatever blight is affecting the waters. My report to The Director will include a request to do so. I’m sure he’ll approve.”
“Good to hear, in that case I’ll make sure to provide you with quarters. There’s an abandoned house on the south end of town, overlooking the bay. Might take a little work to make it homely, but it's still in good shape. You’re welcome to it. “
“Sounds fine, thank you Captain Avery,” Mara said with a nod.
“If you need anything, or if anyone gives you trouble. You come straight to me. I’ll handle it.”
“Understood.”
The Town of Far Harbor - Mount Desert Island, Maine
Dr. Mara Holdren couldn’t help but hold her nose as she rode in the driver’s seat of the cart into the town of Far Harbor. The locals had not been exaggerating when they’d claimed that whatever was affecting the waters was devastating their catch. She caught sight of discarded heaps of blighted fish outside the town’s walls and everywhere permeated the smell of decay. Up ahead a short ways was the massive bulwark that was The Hull and she could already see movement on its makeshift battlements indicating that the Harborwatch had seen her approaching. Moments later the gates of Far Harbor were being opened for her.
The sturdy cart which she rode was pulled not by brahmin, or any pack animal for that matter, but a group of six Gen-2 Synths which held on to a series of yolks in front of the cart to propel it forward. The cart was furthermore laden with the promised supplies: fresh vegetables, fruits, potatoes, and other assorted produce from Acadia’s greenhouse were stacked high in wooden boxes behind her. However underneath her feet in a white metal box stamped proudly with the red vitruvian man was perhaps the most valuable part of the supply: much needed anti-radiation and antitoxin medicines for the town’s doctor.
A grizzled looking member of the Harborwatch bellowed as the cart passed through the gate,
“They’re here!” He then rang a mounted brass bell three times.
A small cluster of people shuffled out from nearby houses and began to crowd around the curious cart pulled by the ‘plastic people’ as the Harborfolk had come to refer to the lower generation Synths. Soon a lone figure cut through the crowd and came up to Mara directly, it was Captain Avery,
“Welcome….Dr. Holdren I presume?”
“Mara Holdren, yes,” Mara replied as she stepped down from the cart and brushed off her green and white Bioscience lab coat. She retrieved the briefcase from underneath her seat and offered it to The Captain,
“For Doctor Wright, with our Director’s compliments.”
“Thank you,” Avery nodded as she carefully took hold of the case, “I’ll deliver these to Teddy myself.”
“Zadok!” Avery called out to the Harborman who’d let Mara in, “Grab some of your watchmen and get this produce offloaded from the cart.”
An affirmative grumble followed from the old Harborman. Mara turned to the Synth Leader of her Gen-2 escorts,
“Assist the townspeople with the offloading and distribution. Then come find me when you’re done.”
“Yes ma’m,” the Gen-2 droned out.
Mara then turned back to Avery, “Captain, if it's all the same to you. I’d like to get started right away. I’ll proceed to the docks.”
“By all means Doctor.”
---------------------------------------------------------------
The docks were, perhaps expectedly, far worse. Mara was fully dressed head to toe in her environmental suit but even through the air filters she could still pick up on the stench of death and disease. The town was indeed in crisis if the shores around the harbor were all like this. Some unknown radioactive blight had struck its waters and without these vital stocks, the town could very well starve. She knew that her colleagues were dismissive of the claims of Far Harbor, or at least believed them to be exaggerated, but she had all the proof she needed right here. Something was indeed very, very wrong.
In her hands, Mara held one of the blighted fish: a specimen of Melanogrammus aeglefinus or Haddock. It was affected by advanced tissue necrosis along with an array of other obvious physical deformities and mutations. If she didn’t know better, she’d assume that the creature was displaying signs of Radiation Induced Post-Necrosis Syndrome: also known to the wasteland as ‘Ghouldom’: a phenomenon only rarely observed in non-humans species. That observation alone was cause for alarm, as it suggested an entirely as-yet unknown process by which these fish were being affected by the condition. At the very least, this warranted more study, she had a feeling she wouldn’t be leaving Far Harbor for some time.
“It's the Children, isn’t it?” A voice from behind her asked. Allen Lee was standing on the top of the stairs leading down from the dock.
“No...or at least, I don’t have enough data to make any kind of determination like that.” Mara replied.
“Their poisoning the town...using whatever hoodoo they cook up worshipping that god of theirs. Why don’t you and The Institute do something about it?”
“Because we rely on hard data, not speculation,” Mara said confidently, “And this could still be a natural phenomenon.”
Allen narrowed his eyes, “Hmmph, I thought maybe when you scientists arrived and took out DiMA….things would be different. Thought maybe we’d have someone in our corner finally with the balls to do something about the Children. I’m starting to think I was wrong.”
“Your town is safer and more prosperous than it ever has been thanks to us,” Mara countered, “Mr. Lee, you need to be patient and let us do our work. If the Children are responsible, be assured we’ll find out. I will not report back to the Director speculations and fear with no evidence to back them up….I will however report back the seriousness of the situation here and request further resources and relief. That will have to suffice for now.
“Whatever you say,” Allen turned around and stormed back towards his shop. It was clear he’d heard enough.
Mara turned back to the sea and the rotting fish. Allen was more of a hothead than she’d ever expected when she was warned of his behavior. He was the type of self-righteous idiot who held to his own ideas and wanted it his way or no way at all. What’s more, he was unfortunately also someone that many people in town looked to when things got bad. He was, in other words, a problem. Mara thought how much easier it would probably make things if Allen was simply replaced with a Synth that was less….murderous….when it came to dealing with the Children of Atom. However she checked herself and remembered that The Director had mandated that they weren’t going to utilize Gen-3’s in that manner going forward without serious consideration and dire need. They didn’t need any more ill-will from the surface-dwellers.
Diplomacy it was then. She needed to ingratiate herself with the people of Far Harbor.
Dr. Mara Holdren couldn’t help but hold her nose as she rode in the driver’s seat of the cart into the town of Far Harbor. The locals had not been exaggerating when they’d claimed that whatever was affecting the waters was devastating their catch. She caught sight of discarded heaps of blighted fish outside the town’s walls and everywhere permeated the smell of decay. Up ahead a short ways was the massive bulwark that was The Hull and she could already see movement on its makeshift battlements indicating that the Harborwatch had seen her approaching. Moments later the gates of Far Harbor were being opened for her.
The sturdy cart which she rode was pulled not by brahmin, or any pack animal for that matter, but a group of six Gen-2 Synths which held on to a series of yolks in front of the cart to propel it forward. The cart was furthermore laden with the promised supplies: fresh vegetables, fruits, potatoes, and other assorted produce from Acadia’s greenhouse were stacked high in wooden boxes behind her. However underneath her feet in a white metal box stamped proudly with the red vitruvian man was perhaps the most valuable part of the supply: much needed anti-radiation and antitoxin medicines for the town’s doctor.
A grizzled looking member of the Harborwatch bellowed as the cart passed through the gate,
“They’re here!” He then rang a mounted brass bell three times.
A small cluster of people shuffled out from nearby houses and began to crowd around the curious cart pulled by the ‘plastic people’ as the Harborfolk had come to refer to the lower generation Synths. Soon a lone figure cut through the crowd and came up to Mara directly, it was Captain Avery,
“Welcome….Dr. Holdren I presume?”
“Mara Holdren, yes,” Mara replied as she stepped down from the cart and brushed off her green and white Bioscience lab coat. She retrieved the briefcase from underneath her seat and offered it to The Captain,
“For Doctor Wright, with our Director’s compliments.”
“Thank you,” Avery nodded as she carefully took hold of the case, “I’ll deliver these to Teddy myself.”
“Zadok!” Avery called out to the Harborman who’d let Mara in, “Grab some of your watchmen and get this produce offloaded from the cart.”
An affirmative grumble followed from the old Harborman. Mara turned to the Synth Leader of her Gen-2 escorts,
“Assist the townspeople with the offloading and distribution. Then come find me when you’re done.”
“Yes ma’m,” the Gen-2 droned out.
Mara then turned back to Avery, “Captain, if it's all the same to you. I’d like to get started right away. I’ll proceed to the docks.”
“By all means Doctor.”
---------------------------------------------------------------
The docks were, perhaps expectedly, far worse. Mara was fully dressed head to toe in her environmental suit but even through the air filters she could still pick up on the stench of death and disease. The town was indeed in crisis if the shores around the harbor were all like this. Some unknown radioactive blight had struck its waters and without these vital stocks, the town could very well starve. She knew that her colleagues were dismissive of the claims of Far Harbor, or at least believed them to be exaggerated, but she had all the proof she needed right here. Something was indeed very, very wrong.
In her hands, Mara held one of the blighted fish: a specimen of Melanogrammus aeglefinus or Haddock. It was affected by advanced tissue necrosis along with an array of other obvious physical deformities and mutations. If she didn’t know better, she’d assume that the creature was displaying signs of Radiation Induced Post-Necrosis Syndrome: also known to the wasteland as ‘Ghouldom’: a phenomenon only rarely observed in non-humans species. That observation alone was cause for alarm, as it suggested an entirely as-yet unknown process by which these fish were being affected by the condition. At the very least, this warranted more study, she had a feeling she wouldn’t be leaving Far Harbor for some time.
“It's the Children, isn’t it?” A voice from behind her asked. Allen Lee was standing on the top of the stairs leading down from the dock.
“No...or at least, I don’t have enough data to make any kind of determination like that.” Mara replied.
“Their poisoning the town...using whatever hoodoo they cook up worshipping that god of theirs. Why don’t you and The Institute do something about it?”
“Because we rely on hard data, not speculation,” Mara said confidently, “And this could still be a natural phenomenon.”
Allen narrowed his eyes, “Hmmph, I thought maybe when you scientists arrived and took out DiMA….things would be different. Thought maybe we’d have someone in our corner finally with the balls to do something about the Children. I’m starting to think I was wrong.”
“Your town is safer and more prosperous than it ever has been thanks to us,” Mara countered, “Mr. Lee, you need to be patient and let us do our work. If the Children are responsible, be assured we’ll find out. I will not report back to the Director speculations and fear with no evidence to back them up….I will however report back the seriousness of the situation here and request further resources and relief. That will have to suffice for now.
“Whatever you say,” Allen turned around and stormed back towards his shop. It was clear he’d heard enough.
Mara turned back to the sea and the rotting fish. Allen was more of a hothead than she’d ever expected when she was warned of his behavior. He was the type of self-righteous idiot who held to his own ideas and wanted it his way or no way at all. What’s more, he was unfortunately also someone that many people in town looked to when things got bad. He was, in other words, a problem. Mara thought how much easier it would probably make things if Allen was simply replaced with a Synth that was less….murderous….when it came to dealing with the Children of Atom. However she checked herself and remembered that The Director had mandated that they weren’t going to utilize Gen-3’s in that manner going forward without serious consideration and dire need. They didn’t need any more ill-will from the surface-dwellers.
Diplomacy it was then. She needed to ingratiate herself with the people of Far Harbor.
<Snipped quote by DX3214>
Paradise Falls?
And The Pitt
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