Fallout - Chapter 114: The Blueprint (Patreon)

Early the next morning, Maxson set out with the Knights and Proctors accompanying him.

The message had been simple: come to the Minutemen base for a meeting to discuss how to deal with the Institute, and while he was there, attend the “Ascension Ceremony” Nate had prepared for his neighbors.

Maxson was somewhat curious about the term “Ascension Ceremony,” but he didn’t ask any questions. He had seen members of the Children of Atom kneeling before nuclear bombs and chanting prayers. The Wasteland was full of strange things. One more hardly mattered.

An Ascension Ceremony sounded suspiciously like some kind of cult ritual. Still, if the Minutemen were organizing it, it probably wouldn’t be anything too outrageous.

Dawn had only just broken, and the morning fog still lingered over the Commonwealth.

That was when Maxson saw something.

A shape was approaching rapidly on the distant horizon.

A faint, sharp sound carried toward him, like something slicing through the air.

He narrowed his eyes and slowed his steps, his right hand instinctively settling on the laser pistol at his waist.

The shape drew closer, moving faster than any ground vehicle he had ever seen. It skimmed just above the ground, as agile as a snake gliding across water. The vehicle barely rose or dipped, remaining as stable as though it were traveling along an invisible rail.

When it came close enough for Maxson to make out what it was, he froze.

It was a motorcycle.

But it had no wheels.

Several hover thruster modules beneath the chassis were operating with a low, steady hum, holding the entire vehicle roughly twenty centimeters above the ground. Its center of gravity was low, and the bike remained perfectly stable without the slightest wobble.

The main body was made from lightweight alloy and finished in matte black, the same color scheme as the Type 92 Powered Suit. Cold, understated, and without any unnecessary decoration.

The front was sharply angular, with simple protective guards fitted over the air intakes on either side. The rear was clean and compact, with a storage compartment built into it.

And sitting in the saddle was Jace.

He wore his Type 92 Powered Suit, both hands gripping the handlebars as he leaned slightly forward, his body seeming to merge with the machine. Wind swept past either side of the bike, leaving an almost invisible wake behind him.

He slowed in front of Maxson. The hoverbike dipped gently and came to a steady stop.

The pitch of the thrusters dropped into a low growl, like a beast crouching close to the ground.

Jace hadn’t even had time to speak.

“What is that?”

The words left Maxson’s mouth before his mind had caught up.

His eyes were practically glowing.

The Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, only twenty years old, commander of the largest military organization in the entire Capital Wasteland, a veteran of countless brutal battles, was now staring at a motorcycle without wheels like a child who had just received a Christmas present.

The three Proctors behind him crowded closer as well.

None of them said anything.

Their actions said enough.

Proctor Ingram narrowed her eyes, repeatedly examining the thruster modules.

Proctor Quinlan stood with his mouth slightly open, having completely forgotten to scroll through the data pad in his hands.

Proctor Teagan looked comparatively composed, but even he had already reached out, running his fingertips lightly over the matte black finish.

Hover thruster modules. Alloy chassis. Matte black coating. All-terrain capability.

None of the technology was new. The materials and components could be gathered simply by stripping down a few Mr. Handy robots.

Yet no one had ever thought to combine all of it into a single machine.

Two Knights murmured behind them.

“If we had these, the Vertibirds wouldn’t have to carry so much of the workload...” the younger Knight said quietly, unable to hide the envy in his voice.

The other Knight nodded, longing plainly visible on his face.

“Imagine riding one of these out on a mission... That would look incredible.”

Jace swung off the bike and patted the seat, producing a crisp metallic sound.

“Hoverbike. It’s still only a prototype, though. The handling needs work. The steering is a little stiff, the braking response isn’t very linear, and the rear end drifts slightly when taking corners at high speed.”

Maxson stepped forward and circled the bike, his gaze moving from the thruster modules to the storage compartment at the rear, then back to the protective guards at the front.

He crouched down and carefully examined the thruster arrangement underneath. Four thrusters, one positioned near each corner of the chassis.

He took a deep breath.

Only then did some of his excitement finally subside.

He began seriously evaluating the machine’s tactical value.

Its protection couldn’t compare to a Vertibird.

But it was cheap.

A Vertibird flew through open air, where enemy fire could easily lock onto it. This thing stayed close to the ground and could use terrain as cover.

Its carrying capacity couldn’t compare to a Vertibird either.

But it was cheap.

Given the Brotherhood’s current manpower, they could practically issue one to everyone.

Of course, Knights wearing power armor would still need Vertibirds for missions.

But for ordinary soldiers, scouts, and patrol teams, this would be a perfect alternative. A reconnaissance squad could cover in half an hour what had previously taken an entire day to patrol.

Maxson stood, brushed the dust from his hands, and looked at Jace.

“Is it in mass production?”

Jace smiled.

“Not yet. The first prototype just finished testing.”

Maxson nodded and didn’t press the issue.

But his mind was already working.

If they could establish a hoverbike production line in the Boston wasteland...

Jace stepped back toward the motorcycle and casually told it,

“Go back.”

The thrusters gave a low hum.

Then the hoverbike turned around by itself and headed back the way it had come. It maneuvered around a protruding rock, avoided a pothole, and smoothly followed its previous route until it disappeared into the morning fog.

Maxson watched the motorcycle drive away on its own, one eyebrow twitching.

“Autopilot?”

“Smart program,” Jace replied casually, as though introducing an old acquaintance. “It understands simple commands, knows the route, and won’t run into walls. Its main benefit is that when you’re busy, you can have it come to you on its own instead of making a trip just to retrieve it.”

The two walked into the base side by side.

As they passed through the main hall, Maxson saw the operating production lines, the combat robots standing silently in formation, and the Railroad agents busy with their work.

Then they entered the conference room.

The door was already open.

Maxson stepped inside.

Then stopped.

At the center of the room, someone sat in a metal chair.

No.

More precisely, someone had been tied to it.

The man wore the uniform of a Railroad agent. His head hung forward, and he was unconscious.

A strange helmet covered his head, made of metal and packed with dense connection ports. A thick cable extended from the top of the helmet and connected directly to the holographic projector in the center of the conference room.

Maxson turned toward Jace.

Jace spoke calmly.

“Institute spy.”

Maxson looked down at the unconscious man, then back at the data cable running from his helmet to the projector.

“You’re reading his memories?”

“Not reading them,” Jace corrected. “Playing them.”

He walked over to the projector and switched it on.

The holographic projector lit up.

Then M7-91’s memories began unfolding throughout the conference room.

The image trembled slightly, and the colors were muted, but the level of detail was disturbingly clear.

It was the Institute as M7-91 remembered it.

A holographic map of the Institute slowly rotated in the air.

Gray-white metal corridors. Uniform strips of lighting. Researchers in different-colored work clothes operating terminals.

“The Institute is located beneath the pre-War Commonwealth Institute of Technology, C.I.T” Jace explained, his voice exceptionally clear, almost like narration from a documentary. “They’ve spent two hundred years excavating underground. It’s much larger than you probably imagine.”

The image changed.

An immense underground atrium appeared in the hologram. The ceiling looked at least five stories high, with layers of corridors and walkways surrounding it like an underground city.

“The Institute’s highest governing body is the Directorate. Father Shaun is the ultimate decision-maker and oversees every division.”

The image divided into sections, revealing the Institute’s departmental structure layer by layer like a three-dimensional organizational chart.

“The Synth Retention Bureau, SRB. Black uniforms.”

A group dressed in black appeared in the projection.

“The director is Dr. Zimmer, who is currently outside the Commonwealth. The acting director is Justin Ayo.”

The image froze on Justin’s face.

“The SRB functions as the Institute’s intelligence service, security apparatus, and secret police. It manufactures, trains, and commands Coursers. It hunts down and recovers escaped Synths, brainwashes them, erases their memories, and resets their personalities.”

Maxson frowned.

“Zimmer?”

He turned toward Proctor Quinlan, who stood behind him and was responsible for intelligence and archival records.

“I feel like I’ve heard that name before. Was he ever in Washington?”

Quinlan adjusted his glasses and searched through the data pad in his hands, rapidly swiping across the screen until he found the relevant record.

His expression became slightly strange.

“According to an operational report submitted by the Sentinel, the Lone Wanderer, in 2277, Zimmer personally pursued a fugitive Synth designated A3-21 all the way to Rivet City in the Capital Wasteland.”

Quinlan paused before continuing.

“According to the file, the Lone Wanderer intervened. Zimmer ultimately left Rivet City with the Synth. The record does not include what happened afterward.”

Maxson gave a slight nod and asked nothing more.

The projection continued.

“Robotics. Red or orange uniforms.”

The hologram switched to an automated production line.

“Director Alan Binet. Robotics designs, manufactures, assembles, and maintains all Synths. It handles mass production of Generation 1 and Generation 2 Synths, hardware upgrades, and body repairs. The bodies and basic memories of Generation 3 Synths are also produced there.”

Maxson stared at the production line for several seconds.

“BioScience. Green uniforms.”

The projection changed to a laboratory filled with test tubes and potted plants.

“Director Clayton Holdren. Genetic engineering, biological experimentation, FEV research, and synthetic biology. They cultivate radiation-free crops, edible algae, and synthetic meat, supplying the Institute with food. They also handle medicine, pharmaceuticals, gene therapy, anti-radiation research, and a secret FEV laboratory.”

FEV.

Maxson’s frown deepened.

The Institute had been conducting experiments with FEV.

That meant the Commonwealth’s local Super Mutants and those mutant hounds...

He drew a deep breath but said nothing.

“Advanced Systems. Blue uniforms.”

A vast laboratory appeared in the hologram. The entire room was filled with processing units and servers, pulsing like an enormous heart.

“Director Madison Li.”

Maxson’s fingers stopped moving.

The entire conference room fell silent.

Even the three Proctors stopped taking notes, their attention turning simultaneously toward the woman in blue on the holographic display.

“Advanced Systems is primarily responsible for research into advanced physics, energy, weapons, and teleportation technology. It also designs and maintains the Institute’s nuclear fusion reactor and develops laser, plasma, and other energy-based equipment.”

The holographic image paused.

Maxson remained silent for several seconds.

“Dr. Li...” he finally said, his voice lower than before, carrying an emotion difficult to define. “She’s with the Institute?”

“Yes.”

Jace’s answer was brief.

There was no room for misunderstanding.

Maxson fell silent again.

He remembered what had happened years ago.

Not long after Project Purity was completed, Madison Li had left the Capital Wasteland and traveled to the Commonwealth. She had told the Brotherhood that she wanted to “pursue other scientific endeavors.”

The Brotherhood knew she had left.

But all they knew was that she had “gone north.”

No one had known she joined the Institute.

The three Proctors behind Maxson exchanged looks but said nothing.

The projection resumed.

“Finally, Facilities.”

The image changed to a wide corridor where large numbers of Generation 2 Synths transported supplies, cleaned floors, and inspected pipes. The floor was polished enough to reflect light, and the air was so clean that it hardly seemed possible they were six hundred feet beneath the Wasteland.

“No dedicated uniform.

“Director Allie Filmore. Facilities handles air circulation, water purification, power distribution, and life-support maintenance. It also manages food distribution, residential quarters, and internal logistics. Large numbers of Generation 1, Generation 2, and Generation 3 Synths are assigned to the division for general labor and maintenance.”

The holographic recording ended and slowly faded, like a door closing.

The conference room remained silent for several seconds.

Maxson leaned back in his chair, slowly tapping his fingers against the armrest as he processed everything he had just seen.

Then he turned toward Jace.

“Is there something wrong with the map? The Institute has no entrances or exits?”

“That’s right. They have no entrances or exits in the conventional sense.”

Maxson’s fingers stopped in midair.

“The Institute uses molecular relay technology,” Jace explained. “All personnel and supplies enter and leave through teleportation.”

He paused, letting that sink in.

“The technology can make you disappear from one location and reappear somewhere else within seconds. It sounds convenient, but there’s an extremely serious problem.”

The three Proctors looked up.

So did Maxson.

“When someone is broken down into molecules, transported, and reassembled,” Jace said evenly, as though presenting a philosophical question, “how can you be certain the person who comes out the other side is still the original person?”

The room fell silent.

It was more than ordinary silence.

For a moment, their thoughts themselves seemed to stop.

Maxson’s brow tightened sharply.

His lips moved slightly as though he were trying to formulate an answer, but no words came.

Beside him, Proctor Quinlan murmured,

“...The Ship of Theseus.”

The Ship of Theseus.

The Athenians preserved the ship Theseus had sailed home after his encounter with the Minotaur. As time passed, its wooden planks gradually rotted and were replaced one by one, until eventually none of the original planks remained.

At that point, was it still the same Ship of Theseus?

If a person was broken down into molecules, transported, and reconstructed,

was the person who emerged really still the same person?

Or did every teleportation kill someone and create a copy possessing the same memories?

The three Proctors remained silent for quite some time.

Finally, Proctor Ingram spoke. There was unmistakable shock in her voice, not fear of the technology itself, but fear of the people willing to use it.

“If this technology is being used to transport humans...”

She stopped.

Because she had realized something.

Everyone in the Institute, the scientists, researchers, and division heads, used the relay.

They entered it, vanished, and reappeared somewhere else.

Did they know the truth?

Did they care?

The silence in the room lasted for a while.

Finally, Maxson spoke, his voice carrying a complicated weight that sounded somewhere between anger and resignation.

“So, if that’s true, then Dr. Li has already...”

“Probably.”

Maxson released a long breath, as though emptying every trace of stale air from his lungs.

By Brotherhood tradition, Madison Li was a traitor.

She had left the Brotherhood and joined the Institute’s scientific staff. Under military regulations, Maxson should have ordered her designated for elimination.

But he didn’t want to.

Dr. Li was brilliant. She was a scientist who had helped save the entire Capital Wasteland through Project Purity.

Without her, Project Purity would have been little more than an unrealistic dream.

She was a good person.

She had simply chosen a different path.

And besides, there was no guarantee that the Dr. Li inside the Institute was even truly the same Dr. Li who had left all those years ago.

Maxson shook his head, a dry trace of amusement entering his voice as though he were laughing at the absurdity of the world.

“Forget it... We’ll find a chance to recruit her back.”

He didn’t dwell on the matter.

There was a much more immediate problem.

“So how do we get inside?”

Maxson looked at Jace.

His gaze sharpened again, and the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel returned.

“You just said there are no entrances or exits. Everything goes through the relay.”

He paused.

“Are we going to dig?”

Jace answered calmly.

“No need. There’s already a way in.”

Maxson narrowed his eyes.

Jace didn’t explain immediately.

Instead, he glanced toward the corner of the conference room.

Saifu was still standing there with his arms crossed, waiting to haul the unconscious M7-91 away.

“Take him downstairs.”

Saifu nodded and walked over to release the restraints securing M7-91 to the chair.

“Wait,” Jace added. “He’s still useful. Tell Jezebel to hold off for now. When the time comes, I’ll let her choose one herself.”

Saifu’s movements paused.

Only for an instant.

His fingers lingered on the restraint buckle for just a fraction longer than necessary.

Then he nodded, his voice perfectly calm.

“Understood.”

He took M7-91 and left the conference room.

The door closed behind him with a dull thud.

Maxson watched the spy being taken away, then glanced at Jace.

There was scrutiny in his eyes.

The General of the Minutemen was considerably more complicated than Maxson had imagined.

He returned to the subject.

“You said there’s already a way in. Where?”

“By the Charles River.”