The night before we were scheduled to depart, I broached the topic of allying the Railroad with the Minutemen. Deacon was enthusiastically in support of the idea. His infectious optimism brought a smile to my face that maybe, just maybe, the Commonwealth could be made better for everyone. Desdemona, too, was more cautiously in favor of the alliance, especially when I pointed out the arrangement already in place with the Brotherhood to protect all settlers, no matter their background. "I don't know how you managed to wrangle that kind of concession from the Brotherhood of Steel," she commented with faint praise, "but if we have more protected areas to send escaped Synths, that can only benefit our cause. Good job."
"Well, we're not exactly telling them the pedigrees of the residents, are we?" I pointed out, pragmatically. "General Garvey should be made aware of the situation, of course, but he's agreed to not look too closely into the backgrounds of new settlers, as long as they're willing to work and get along."
"All the Synths want is a chance at a new life, away from the shackles of the Institute." She reminded me. "A life as a settler is an honorable one, and many would be glad for the opportunity. Thank you."
MacCready was frankly impressed after our discussions were complete. "Quite a juggling act you're pulling there, Boss." He sat at the head of my stretcher keeping an eye on the comings and goings of the various Railroad members. "I mean, the Minutemen with Garvey in charge appear to get along with just about everyone, but to get the Brotherhood and the Railroad on the same page?" He grinned at me. "Pretty savvy."
"I dunno. It's like a tripod..." I broke off, remembering Mama Murphy's words from Sanctuary. "...a tripod, a sturdy base. You have found one leg, growing in strength from flesh and bone and the heart of the people. Find the other two... tempered steel and steam-blasted iron." "A balancing act on three legs," I mused quietly. "Bone and steel and iron... Minutemen, Brotherhood, Railroad."
"What are you talking about Boss?"
I looked up into his perplexed expression. "Remember when we left Sanctuary the first time? When Mama Murphy gave me that vision?"
"You mean when she went on a babbling Psycho trip?" he snorted. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"
"She saw this, Mac," I insisted, grabbing his hand to emphasize my point. "She saw the tripod of the three groups working together... and said it needed a focus? Or that I was the focus? I can't remember exactly... for a terrible weapon."
One eyebrow quirked skeptically. "Oh, come on Boss. Don't tell me you believe that old bat!" He rolled his eyes. "Having the three biggest non-raider factions in the Commonwealth working together just makes sense, okay? You don't need a psycho psychic to tell you that!"
"Then why has no one else tried it?"
"Probably," he smirked, knowing he had the upper hand and enjoying it, "because the Minutemen were all but decimated in Quincy, the Brotherhood wasn't here yet, and the Railroad was keeping to the shadows. You're possibly the first, and only, person to even think of trying to unite them under a common cause." He leaned in to whisper in my ear, "and as much as I think you're a fool sometimes for trying to help every poor sap in the Commonwealth, letting your compassion get the better of you, I love you for it."
-0-
Tinker Tom met with us shortly before we left the catacombs. With him, he carried not only my Pip-Boy, but also our respective jackets. He set everything down on the table next to our makeshift living space around the stretcher I had been using. Calling Deacon over, he waited until the Railroad spy joined us before speaking.
"I have two words for you: 'Matter transmission'." Tom was practically bouncing up and down in vindicated excitement. Deacon raised an eyebrow, his expression otherwise unreadable behind the ubiquitous sunglasses.
"What?" MacCready demanded. "You're kidding, right?"
"Wait," I interjected, "You mean, like teleportation?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
Tom nodded emphatically. "That Synth you rescued confirmed it. He even worked in that department, so was able to give some details."
"By the way," Deacon added, "Latest update is H3-27, now known as 'Eric', managed to make it out of the Commonwealth safely and is headed north to start a new life. Go ahead, Tom."
"Okay, here's the deal. Somehow, the Institute managed to develop matter transmitters, which is some serious technological miracle-working. That's what the Coursers are using to pop in and out when they kidnap people and kill rogue Synths!" He looked utterly pleased with himself. "It also explains why it's so hard to track them down. Get close, and poof! Gone!"
"Okay," I said dubiously. "That explains the Coursers, though it sounds like science fiction, this matter transmission thing."
Tom shook his head vehemently, "Believe it! It's true, we have proof! And in your case, your Pip-Boy was the beacon to guide the matter transmission. Instead of giving you the virtual reality game it promised, it 'teleported' you here in actuality. When you turned it on, it caused the Institute, and whoever they're working with, to lock on to you, using that DNA link the Brotherhood discovered." He flapped his hands expressively. "I don't know when or how, or even why they managed the initial contact to coordinate it, but you were transported between worlds- from your reality to ours!"
"Fallout 4: Actual Reality," I said sarcastically. But why?
Deacon was nonplussed, taking off his sunglasses to reveal pale blue eyes widened in disbelief. "What kind of world are you from that we're just a game?"
I answered in a sad, desperate homesickness. "A world where we have a general level of security, compassion, and humanity to be able to pretend... to be able to say 'what if?' and develop entire industries around telling stories." A world I miss with all my heart and soul. I wiped away the tear that had escaped down my cheek, digging up a faint spark of anger. "A world where I signed up to help defend that level of humanity in whatever tiny way I could." A world where the arts could flourish, not die drowning in blood. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, and knew it was RJ.
"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." Deacon apologized. "I know you're not to blame. It just surprised me, and not much can do that anymore. I'm pretty un-surprisable as a rule."
Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself. Keep it together, girl. "All right." I nodded at Deacon, accepting his apology. "Tom, now that you know how I got here, however unbelievable it seems, is there a way I can get home?"
"Ah, that's the hard part," Tinker Tom temporized. "I was able to go into a long-term deep scan of your Pip-Boy while you've been recovering. The signal that brought you here? Well, it was only for the Institute to lock on to. It boosted the process, but the actual science comes from the Institute." He wrung his hands together nervously. "Only Coursers have the full programming for the matter transmission process in that chip of theirs. That squeal you heard was your device reacting to its activation frequency, by the way."
"Which means we still need to hunt down a Courser," I groaned. "With the added difficulty that we now know they can just bamf out whenever they want. I-" I closed my eyes for a moment, rubbing my forehead. "I need to think about this."
"Sure, sure!" Tom agreed with false enthusiasm. "In the meantime, you need your Pip-Boy back." With a show of reluctance, he held out the cleaned and re-padded device. "I, uh, added a bit more in the way of 'blocking the Institute' programming and stuff, just in case. Whatever it is they want, we can't let them get it."
"Thanks, Tom." Time for the moment of truth. I had avoided looking at my arm, closing my eyes whenever Doctor Carrington checked it, and leaving the bandages on. Just as Deacon had promised, I was able to use my arm and fingers fully, but I didn't want to be reminded of my torture, or the ruthlessness of my partner. I'm still coming to terms with that side of him. With a sigh and a quick glance at MacCready, I slowly unwrapped the bandages.
My arm was intact. That much was evident from the fact that I could use it. Carrington handed me a miracle. The faint ghost of the cathodes were visible, leading up to the line of pin receivers that paralleled my radius. Why am I not more grateful?
At a quick glance, the arm looked almost normal, but the light outlined dips in my skin where the raider boss had decimated my arm muscles, gouging out chunks of flesh. It was all overlaid with a shiny crisscross of fading scar tissue. Well, there it is, I thought grimly, snapping the Pip-Boy in place with its usual pulse of electrical activation. The Commonwealth is certainly leaving its mark on me, making me as ugly and scarred as the blasted trees dotting the landscape.
"It works," I announced to Tom, flicking quickly through the selection screens, my voice a dead echo of its normal tones. "It works." That's the best I can ask for when I get home. Never been much of a looker, anyway.
Oblivious to my inner monologue, Tom beamed happily. "I have some other goodies for you." He held out MacCready's duster. "Here, try it on."
"It's heavier." My partner shrugged into his coat with practiced ease, belting the material closed around his waist. "What did you do?" he asked suspiciously, rubbing the scarred leather between his fingers.
"Two more words for you: 'Ballistic weave'!" Handing me my own jacket, he explained. "It's a little side project I've been working on for a while. Woven fabric strong enough to stop bullets!"
MacCready turned to face the engineer, eyes wide. "No kidding?! And you put it in my duster?" He gaped for a moment before suddenly giving Tom a very unexpected hug of gratitude. "Thank you."
"Hey man, it's all good." Tom awkwardly patted the sniper on the back. "It's a little something to help you once you find that Courser for me, yeah?"