The Railroad was a group dedicated to saving Synths. "The Institute created them. Synthetic humans. They're mostly organic, part machine. Somewhere along the line they became more than just constructs. They think, they feel, and they act just like you and me." Desdemona declared passionately. "They are so close to 'real' people that the distinction is meaningless. If it's impossible to tell a single difference between a synth and a human - they must be treated the same. The Institute treats synths as property; as tools. So we seek to free the synths from their bondage. Give them a chance at a real life." She nodded at Deacon, who was walking next to her, leading us into the vaulted stone-walled chamber.
"I can see that," I commented carefully. "But I'm also not from here, so I'm still new to the whole concept." MacCready huffed sardonically behind me.
"As long as you keep an open mind and don't interfere with our mission, you're welcome to stay... for now." Desdemona had reached the center of the underground catacomb the Railroad was using as their headquarters. She turned to face me, leaning against the stone platform being used as a mission table. "We may ask for your help in exchange for helping you. Deacon said you need help getting home?"
"I wish it were that simple." I said, launching into my story, including the theories we had gathered in our journey around the Commonwealth. To their credit, neither Desdemona nor Deacon appeared skeptical of my story, merely nodding in understanding occasionally. When I stuttered to a stop, they stood quietly for a few moments, thinking.
"What do you think, Deacon?" she finally asked.
"Not the most outrageous story I've heard." he said. "Hell, it's not even the most outrageous story I've told." he added wryly.
"Considering your stories, Deacon, I'd believe that in a heartbeat" Desdemona crossed her arms again. "Well, since you invited them and vouched for them, I'd say they're your responsibility. I've got enough on my plate already without dealing with crazy sci-fi theories. See what Tom has to say," she suggested, turning back to the map on the main table, dismissing us.
Deacon rubbed his hands together in exuberant glee. "All right! I get my own mystery to solve! With help, of course." He motioned for us to head over to one corner dominated by computer equipment and a variety of workbenches. "Meet Tinker Tom, the Commonwealth's premiere eccentric genius extraordinaire." A ostentatious flourish pointed out a tall, thin figure bent over one of the workbenches.
Tinker Tom whirled around at the introduction. He was an energetic black man dressed in faded overalls and a leather cap covered in a large selection of lenses and wires. The impression I got was of a Wasteland equivalent to a tin foil hat, and the accompanying paranoia associated with it. Behind me, I heard MacCready muffle a snicker.
"Well, hello there, traveler from distant lands!" he exclaimed in excited greeting. "I couldn't help but listen in on your story. You're the proof I need to expand on some of my pet theories, you know?" He spoke quickly, his words nearly tumbling over themselves in his haste. "And I just happen to be the Wasteland's leading expert on the Institute outside of the cancerous organization itself." His fingers twitched almost unconsciously towards my Pip-Boy. "If that thing on your arm is connected to the Institute in any way, I'll find it for you!"
I held out my arm. "You think it might be? The Brotherhood members were only speculating."
To Deacon's unmistakable amusement, Tom had moved forward as if possessed, running his hands over every surface of my Pip-Boy. I held still as he traced the visible electrical lines leading into my fingers and arm. "Oh, wow man!" He pulled down one of the many lenses from his cap, examining my arm closely. "Wow. This is something else!" Flipping the lens back up, he let go of my arm with extreme reluctance. "Can you remove it? I would love to run that baby through a Tinker Tom special diagnostic scan. It'll find anything and everything the Institute has hidden in there."
I took a step back. It couldn't be this easy, could it? "You'd be able to figure out how I got here?"
"Maybe, maybe." Tom picked at his generous lower lip. "Can't tell until it's hooked up, can we?"
MacCready had stepped up behind me. I turned my head to ask out of the corner of my mouth, "Your thoughts?"
"I dunno, Boss," he murmured quietly. "Desdemona is almost as much a fanatic as Rhys was, but in the opposite direction. I wouldn't trust Deacon any father than I can throw him; I swear I've seen him before. But this Tom fellow seems like the real deal. I've seen genius at work before, and he fits the mold perfectly. It's ultimately your decision."
"All right, Tom." I said, to his gleeful delight. Unlatching the Pip-Boy from my arm, I handed it to him along with the data disk from the Memory Den that had been in my jacket pocket. "Here. I also have a file from Dr. Amari in the Memory Den which contains the memories she found relating to my, ah, journey here."
Barely containing his excitement, Tinker Tom exclaimed, "We're in business now!" He gleefully scampered back to his terminal with the Pip-Boy cradled almost reverently in his hands. He inserted the disk file into a reader on the side of one computer, flicking it on. Taking a few moments to attach a variety of sensors and wires to every available surface of my Pip-Boy, he crouched down to tap rapidly on his keyboard, muttering constantly under his breath. "All right baby, let's see what you got! ...Aw, no, don't be like that. ...Come on, what're you hiding? ...Aha, knew I could get past there. ...Huh, well ain't that fascinating! ...Oh no, no no no... Yes! ...Well, look at that!" We left him to his own devices, letting genius work.
Deacon gave us a quick tour of the catacomb, introducing us to some of the other Railroad members. They ranged from Dr. Carrington, the resident medic, to Glory, a rescued Synth herself, dedicated to saving as many of her own kind as possible. The Railroad had only recently claimed the Old North Church catacombs, their old headquarters having been destroyed by the Institute with a small army of Gen 1 Synths.
"It was a tough blow to our cause," Deacon explained somberly. "We lost quite a few of our best agents."
"Every time I hear about the Institute," I commented, "they just sound worse and worse."
Deacon nodded and MacCready rolled his eyes. "I told you, Boss, they're not the good guys."
Wandering back towards the main area, Tinker Tom was still typing away at his terminal, muttering incessantly under his breath, eyes bright. Deacon stopped us before we could approach. "He's gonna be a while. Probably all night at this rate." Looking to the ceiling as he thought, he turned around to lead us away from the workbenches. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you won't leave without your little toy, so you'll have to bunk down here tonight."
Several mattresses lay scattered about, the bare minimum of privacy attempted by placing them behind the stone sarcophagi and other scattered furniture. Deacon led us to a mattress in the farthest corner from the central area. "We don't have enough for everyone, so you'll have to double up." He added quickly, chuckling, "don't worry, I won't make you share with Carrington! Just put your packs there." He leaned in to whisper loudly, "the drafts are the worst here, so no one will try to steal your spot. Ask me how I know."
"Are you telling me I have to bunk with you again, Deacon?" Glory called from across the room.
"However did you guess?"
The Railroad members were generous enough to share their evening meal with us. We sat around the main table, while Desdemona discussed some ongoing missions with her crew, keeping the details vague in respect to our presence. Tinker Tom didn't join us as he was completely enthralled with his work on my Pip-Boy. Deacon brought over a dinner portion to him, making a show of tiptoeing around the engineer so as not to distract him; a performance that was guaranteed to be distracting in and of itself. He came back over to sit next to Glory, "my evening bunk buddy," who rolled her eyes at his antics.
After finishing our meal, which was reasonably tasty even if I couldn't identify it, MacCready and I took ourselves away from the Railroad members to claim our corner for the evening. We gave our weapons a good going-over, taking more time than usual in order to keep ourselves occupied.. Once that was completed, I still wasn't tired, but also didn't want to interrupt what was obviously a mission discussion at the main table. We sat next to each other on the mattress, trying to keep warm in the growing chill, despite a couple of fires burning nearby.
"Why don't you turn on the radio?" suggested MacCready, pointing to an old unit on a nearby desk. "For a musician, you don't listen to it much, and there's a classical music station."
"Good idea." Soon, the quiet strains of The Blue Danube filled the silence. I closed my eyes, hugging my knees to my chest and just enjoying the music for a minute before commenting, "I've played this one before."
"You have?"
"Yeah, in college." I gave a low laugh glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. "The clarinet part is, like, six pages of music with repeats back to the beginning. It went on forever."
"I thought you were in the Army." He shuffled down to lay sideways on the mattress, looking up at me.
"Ye-es. But I went to college first, for music. It's one of the reasons I was twenty-three when I left for Basic Training instead of the more usual eighteen or nineteen."
"How old are you now, Boss?" came the inevitable question.
"Older than you. Besides, it's not polite to ask a lady her age." I didn't want to think of the years separating us. It doesn't matter out here, anyway.
"Aw, come on, Boss. You know how old I am." He poked at me with a teasing finger. "Age is just a number, after all."
"A number that will remain a mystery, my dear sniper." I eyed the narrow span of the mattress we were supposed to share. "By the way, how are we going to..." my stomach fluttered a bit as I gestured at our perceived predicament.
He chuckled a little, eyes narrowed slyly. "You afraid to share a mattress with your bodyguard? It's fine, Boss. I've seen what you can do to someone who makes unwanted advances."
What about wanted advances, though? "Uh, right." I am not going to think about that, starting now. "I mean, if everyone has to share..." Slowly, I repositioned myself to lay down on my side, facing the wall. The mattress was reasonably comfortable, but the corner was indeed as drafty as Deacon had warned, and we had no blankets. Almost immediately, I felt MacCready move closer, pressing lightly against my back to share warmth. Starting now. I pressed back a little harder. I thought I imagined a whispered chuckle as his arm reached over to tuck against my waist. Starting... now.